I never wanted to believe it.

That the things I did in the dark— the things that left me hollow, aching, ashamed— were somehow connected to what happened to me. But the truth is…

They were.

I didn’t wake up one day and decide to destroy myself. That kind of pain is rooted somewhere deeper.

Somewhere older.

Somewhere no one wanted to look.

When Survival Becomes Sabotage

Incest isn’t just a betrayal of the body.

It’s a dismantling of the soul.

It warps the way you see love.

It confuses pleasure and pain.

It teaches you that your safety can be taken, that your “no” means nothing, and that your worth is tied to your ability to be silent, pleasing, and invisible.

And when you grow up with that as your blueprint, self-destruction doesn’t always look like a cry for help. Sometimes, it looks like—

• Staying in relationships that mimic the same powerlessness
• Starving your body to feel in control
• Seeking sex to feel needed, then feeling dirty for needing it
• Hurting yourself because you never learned how to soothe yourself
• Dismissing your dreams because shame told you you’re undeserving

You see, self-destruction isn’t always a choice. Sometimes, it’s a legacy.

Passed down through touch, silence, and secrecy.

You Are Not Broken—You Are Wounded

I used to think I was just “too much.” Too emotional. Too reckless. Too numb. Too intense.

But what I didn’t understand is that all of those “too muches” were parts of me screaming for acknowledgment.

The cutting. The bingeing. The disappearing. They were never about attention.

They were about unspoken grief.

Because incest doesn’t just steal your innocence. It steals your ability to feel safe inside your own skin. And when you can’t feel safe, you’ll find ways to escape.

Even if it means destroying the very vessel you live in.

Breaking the Cycle Begins With Telling the Truth

Here’s the thing:

You don’t heal self-destruction with self-control.

You heal it with compassion.

With truth-telling.

With creating spaces where survivors can say:

“Yes, this happened to me. And yes, it’s still affecting me.”

“No, I’m not overreacting. I’m reacting to something I was never allowed to feel.”

“I am learning to choose life, even though life has hurt me deeply.”

You’re not crazy.

You’re not damaged.

You’re responding in a way that makes perfect sense, given what you’ve been through.

From Destruction to Reclamation

This is not the end of your story.

Your pain is valid, but it is not final.

The self-sabotage?

It’s not proof that you’re doomed. It’s proof that something inside you is still fighting for your attention.

And when we begin to tend to those broken places— the ones that were never our fault but somehow became our burden— we begin to reclaim something powerful:

Our choice to live. Fully. Tenderly. On purpose.

If you’re walking through the ruins of self-destruction today, know this:

You are not alone.

There is a room for you in this House. A place where your pain is not too much to hold. A place where your wounds are seen, not shamed. A place where destruction can be transformed into healing.

One breath, one truth, one choice at a time.

Holey House is where we rebuild from the wreckage. Where the holes become holy. Where survivors become sovereign.

You are not what happened to you.

You are what you choose to become from it.

And that is sacred.