Jessica Woodville | Memoir & Musings

There are moments in life when you look around and realize that everything you thought was holding you together is actually tearing you apart. For me, that moment came after leaving an unhealthy relationship and finally recognizing that not only was my living situation making me physically ill due to a chronic illness I hadn’t yet been diagnosed with, but that the traumas I endured—especially in my formative years—were potentially the root cause of that illness. So basically, my life was a dumpster fire, and I was just starting to realize that maybe I was the one holding the matches.

I found myself lost in a way I never expected. It wasn’t just about trying to rebuild my life after a toxic relationship; it was about uncovering the layers of pain, neglect, and systemic failure that had shaped my entire existence. And when I started looking for answers, I discovered that they were next to impossible to find—worse than a needle in a haystack. That’s when I knew I had a unique opportunity—to use my voice to show the reality of what it means to live with a lifetime of trauma and very little support for others that might be struggling the way I was.

I have always wanted to be a published author, but I never imagined my first book would be such a raw and personal narrative. I thought my debut would be a fantasy novel or a sweeping historical fiction, but life had other plans. This memoir, at its core, is about survival—not just of abuse and hardship, but of the invisible wounds that linger long after the trauma ends. More than that, it’s about the surprising resilience I was able to find within myself, even when I didn’t know it was there. Turns out, I’ve been a lot stronger (and more stubborn) than I ever gave myself credit for—who knew?

My hope is that this book finds the ones who are still lost. The ones who look around and wonder why everything seems so much easier for other people. Because the truth is, for some, it is easier. Childhood trauma changes the brain, the body, and the way we navigate the world. Most survivors don’t even realize that their struggles—whether with relationships, health, or stability—are often rooted in the unhealed wounds of their past. We didn’t just wake up one day and decide to be exhausted by life; it’s a full-time job that started in childhood.

But beyond reaching survivors, I also wrote this book for policymakers and medical professionals. Because we, trauma survivors, are up against a broken healthcare system that often fails to recognize the long-term impact of childhood adversity. Resources are scarce. People are being left behind. In my book, I say that “childhood trauma survivors are being abandoned by society just as we were abandoned in childhood.” My hope is that this book will be a call to action, a testament that we can and must do better—because let’s be real, pretending trauma doesn’t affect people long-term is about as effective as putting a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on a broken leg.

I also wrote for the still very real problem of the troubled teen industry—an industry that, despite survivors and advocates pushing for reform, continues to thrive today. Parents, desperate for help, are still being misled into sending their children to places that have the potential to cause more harm than good. In my memoir, I explore boarding school syndrome and post-incarceration syndrome, because all survivors of institutional abuse deserve a voice. More importantly, parents need to truly understand the profound impact of separating their child from a safe, engaging, and supportive environment.

I know I am just one voice, a voice that has often been lost in the noise. I’m not a trained advocate, I don’t have a degree in trauma studies, and I definitely don’t have a polished PR team making me sound fancy. I’m just a normal person with a story to tell, a whole lot of feelings, and an unreasonable amount of iced coffee in my system. But if I can use my voice to spark a conversation—if I can inspire others to add their voices—maybe, just maybe, we can make a difference.