• Jade


Sometimes writers need to write just for the hell of it. Because it’s what we do. It’s what we love.

In effort to keep getting better at my craft, I joined the 7-Day Blog Like a Pro Challenge. And was inspired to get back to the basics, at least for today.

So here’s what I’m about. Here’s why I write.

I write because trauma and dissociation are still not well understood, even now, here in 2016.

I blame the accreditation boards for psychology education; for not requiring its study, for believing that these issues are irrelevant to a large portion of the population regardless of how many statistics prove otherwise, for turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to the needs of the very people they claim to serve.  This needs to change. People need to be educated. Professionals need to stop seeing trauma responses and dissociative disorders as anomalies. They need to be educated and trained in how to recognize and help those who are stuck in the dysfunctional loop of disconnection from themselves and the world – with compassion, and not condescension.

I write because media and pop cultural portrayals of multiples have made it impossible for those Americans with DID to believe they’d be accepted – nevermind understood – by the general population.

(I can’t speak for other countries because I’ve only experienced the USA.) Every American fiction movie, every mystery story that involves a multiple makes us out to be dangerous, unstable, irresponsible, reckless, often murderous, or otherwise someone to be feared and shunned. Even a large portion of “informational” stories sensationalize the facts of cases of multiplicity to the point that those with DID feel like their stories (which often involve an absolutely incomprehensible amount of suffering) are simply fodder for other people’s entertainment. People with Dissociative Identity Disorder deserve to be respected no matter what their inner experiences have been or how “different” they might seem. They are not curiosities, nor are they even all that rare. They deserve to live without the theatrical image attached to the label.

I write because ritual abuse is happening around the world, and so many people don’t know about it, and the ones who do know are ill-equipped to help survivors.

Ritual abuse is one of the most devastating things a person can experience. And it’s not enough that we had to endure it; if we do manage to survive, then we have to endure the isolation, the stigmatism, the rejection, the disbelief, the denial, the platitudes, the ignorant and irrelevant attempts to “help” us recover, and the judgment and misunderstanding of 98% of other non-ritually-abused people we will ever know or meet in our lives, should we choose to share this part of our experience. We must either choose to appear evasive and deceptive by not letting anyone deeply know us, or we must choose to be mishandled and sustain further emotional damage by (often well-meaning) people who don’t have the first clue what we’ve been through or what we need – even when we tell them. Ritual abuse survivors need friends and communities who know how to hold space for them and not prolong or exacerbate the emotional damage that has already been done. They need safety and compassion. They need resources for recovery.

I write because people who struggle to recover from traumatic experiences – with or without DID – need and deserve more and better care than they currently have access to.

Healing and wholeness – whatever that looks like to the individual – should not be only for the wealthy and privileged. The majority of trustworthy, helpful resources for trauma survivors (in the USA) are so expensive and out of reach for the average survivor that they send the message that health is only for the rich. Every person deserves a chance to live a life they’re at peace with. Every person deserves to have access to resources, regardless of cost, that can help them recover from traumatic experiences they did not invite upon themselves, but yet have to take responsibility for, just the same.

I write because people need to know they’re not alone.

Whether the readers are trauma survivors themselves, those with DID, those without DID, friends, family or loved ones of any of the above, people need to know they’re not alone. We’re out here, too, and we’re trying to find our way in the dark just like you are. Maybe we can catch hold of each other’s hands, and help each other.

Cheers. ~J8

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