Not everything that’s supposed to help actually does. And if you’ve survived abuse—especially the kind that wounds you young—you already know that.
You’ve probably heard a dozen suggestions from people who meant well but didn’t really get it. “Let it go.” “Talk to someone.” “Time heals.” None of it lands right when the pain has lived inside you for years.
I’ve spent a lot of time listening to survivors. Some are clients. Some are close friends. Some are strangers who’ve told their stories with trembling hands. This article is for them—and for you—because I’ve learned there are things that work… and things that don’t.
Let’s talk about both.
Healing is not about “getting over it.” It’s not a race. It’s not a straight line. And it sure as hell isn’t something you measure by whether you cry less or smile more.
What actually helps is anything that brings safety, expression, and meaning back into your life. That’s the short version.
Here’s the longer one—broken down by what I’ve seen work again and again.
Let’s start with the obvious—but not all therapy is created equal.
If someone’s sitting across from you with a notepad and no clue what it’s like to live with trauma, that hour can feel like a waste. But when a therapist understands how abuse rewires the brain, everything changes.
There are trained professionals who focus solely on this. They don’t just ask how you feel—they help you map the shape of the pain so you can begin to move around it without tripping every time.
EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) is one method many survivors swear by. Somatic therapies—where the body plays a role in healing—are gaining ground for a reason. The body remembers. You can’t logic your way out of trauma that was absorbed physically.
Some survivors say the only time they’ve ever felt understood was in a room full of people who didn’t flinch when they spoke.
Not every group is right. Some feel performative. Some have strong personalities that dominate. But when you find a group where people really listen, something in you starts to unclench.
You realize you’re not the only one who feels rage and numbness in the same breath. You’re not broken. You’re reacting to something that broke your trust.
Healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about knowing you’re no longer alone in it.
Now I’ll be honest: I used to roll my eyes at this stuff. “Breathe in… breathe out…” It sounded like fluff.
But then I watched a client describe how she used breathwork to stop a panic spiral she’d lived with for 20 years. She wasn’t “curing” anything. She was interrupting the pattern.
Same goes for journaling. Or sketching. Or even boxing. Expression can look like a blank page, or it can look like a punching bag. Doesn’t matter. What matters is letting the body and mind release what they’ve been holding too long.
Some call it mindfulness. I call it making space—so the memory doesn’t swallow you whole.
Silence is a survival skill. Especially for children. But silence, carried too long, starts to rot.
That doesn’t mean you need to tell the world. You don’t owe anyone your story. But many survivors say the turning point came when they told someone. A therapist. A spouse. A lawyer. A friend. Someone who could hold it without minimizing it.
Naming what happened doesn’t give the abuser power—it gives you power back.
This is especially true for survivors of abuse tied to religious institutions. When the harm came from someone you were taught to trust without question, the shame can run even deeper. But shame doesn’t belong to you. It never did.
Not all healing advice is helpful. And some of it can make things worse. Here are a few things survivors say missed the mark:
Forgiveness is a personal choice. Some never get there—and that’s okay. You don’t owe your abuser peace. You owe yourself honesty. Healing can happen with or without forgiveness.
Time by itself doesn’t heal. Time with support, safety, and self-understanding does. Otherwise, those wounds just scab over and open back up when triggered.
There is no schedule. Some people speak out after 6 months. Others wait 40 years. Trauma keeps time differently than the rest of the world.
If you’re still holding it, it’s not because you’re weak. It’s because you were never given the right tools or support to let it go.
I’ve heard this question asked with a whisper and with a scream.
Here’s the truth: healing doesn’t mean returning to who you were. That person was never allowed to fully exist. Healing means becoming someone new—someone you would’ve been if the abuse never happened.
You can recover a sense of peace. You can have relationships that feel safe. You can build a life that isn’t ruled by the past.
But you don’t need to be fully healed to have value. You don’t need to be “all better” to start living again.
Not every therapy session leads to a breakthrough. Not every group meeting feels right. Sometimes you have to try, leave, and try again.
The key is fit. Do you feel safe? Heard? Less alone?
Start small. Interview therapists. Test out meditation apps. Read about the impact of child sexual abuse on mental health. Bookmark what feels helpful. Close what doesn’t.
You don’t need to commit to a method. You need to commit to yourself—to the version of you that wants something better, even if they don’t know what that looks like yet.
And wounds can be treated. Not quickly. Not perfectly. But with care.
If no one’s ever told you this, let me be the first: You’re allowed to seek help. You’re allowed to take your time. And you’re allowed to build a life where what happened isn’t in control anymore.
No matter where you are on this path, you’re not walking it alone.