I felt a little undone after running into Elias at The Crate during the NNT Stand-up this morning. There was a subtle shift, though — I didn’t feel the urge to flee the room like I used to. Monday’s prayer ministry softened something inside me, unravelling just enough of the tangled threads for me to stay present.

After the stand-up, Elias lingered and asked what was happening with me — one of those casual, passing questions that somehow pried open a deep well I hadn’t planned on revealing. I stumbled over my words and shared, briefly, about the prayer ministry I received on Monday and how being ignored by him had impacted me. I’d traced that pain back to generational and cultural wounding from way back before my grandparents were born.

He noted that I was growing and added that he was glad to have helped “set the ball rolling.” There was a slight curl to the comment that left me unsure — was it pride, deflection, or simply a lack of awareness? 🤔

I told him, sincerely, that I forgave him. He replied, “I wasn’t asking for forgiveness.” Autch, that stung and just like that, the ache that had quietened surged forward again — a moment that didn’t unfold the way my heart had longed for.

I admitted that I usually wouldn’t have shared something so vulnerable. That, in itself, was a victory. So yes, I am growing.

Yet my body told another story — trembling hands, voice rising with the ache of being unheard, that old familiar surge that comes when words catch in my throat. Unfinished sentences. A rising tide of emotion without names. The sense of betrayal, my body manifesting the dagger in my back with a sudden pain in the back of my shoulder. I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. Not really.

What remains is the grief that clings to the edges of healing.

I was reminded how whilst reading his book on leadership, I would often think to myself, but Elias, you didn't do that for our team. There was so much about the job… about the silence… about being replaced by a VA, about the slow, gentle erasing of my presence, no formal farewell or acknowledgement and making it look like I'm the one who opted out… yes, I may not have been looking for a job when it found me, but loosing it triggered more trauma responses than I could have ever imagined. ...these things remained unspoken. Not for lack of words, but for lack of safety, lack of trust and lack of certainty that my truth would be received or held with care.

Perhaps I had still hoped for a reckoning. An apology. A softening of the heart from someone I once held in such high esteem. A restored relationship. 🤔

Instead, I was met with distance. A vague nod to growth. A handshake when my soul had extended both arms in longing.

So here I sit, not to wallow, but to witness.

To honour the Trixi who spoke.

To comfort the Trixi who still wishes it had unfolded differently.

To embrace the Trixi who is learning to stand, even when her knees shake and in the quiet that followed, I heard Him whisper…

“Wait, there's more.” , I hear the Lord say, "I'm not finished with you yet." and so, the roller-coaster journey to healing continues...