Jessica Woodville | Memoir & Musings

For a long time, I let the fear of being questioned—of not being “qualified enough”—keep me from telling my story. The idea of writing a memoir about trauma, survival, and resilience felt almost audacious. Who was I to talk about these things? I didn’t have a degree in psychology or trauma studies. I didn’t spend years in academia dissecting ACE scores and childhood adversity. No, I was too busy just trying to survive it.

And yet, when I finally sat down to write my story, imposter syndrome came roaring in like an unwelcome guest. That nagging, negative voice—one that reminded me of every mean girl from school—tried to convince me that I wasn’t enough. That voice? I call him Frat Boy Kyle (no offense to the actually cool Kyles out there). And I refuse to let some imaginary frat boy dictate what I can and cannot do.

It’s easy for people to look at me—a woman without a college degree—and assume I’m uneducated. But let’s be real: who memorizes dictionaries for fun? I did, as a kid. Words were my escape, my power. And when it came time to research for my memoir, I didn’t just skim the surface—I dove in headfirst. I scoured medical journals, ACE studies, and survivor testimonies. Was it fun? Not one single iota. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I do love data.

But in doing the research, I didn’t just find validation—I found pain, regret, and a deeper understanding of my own past. The hardest truth I had to face? That my unhealed trauma caused trauma for my children. Divorce may seem “innocent” in society’s eyes, but the impact on kids is profound. Watching their father treat me a certain way, absorbing the tension in our home, experiencing their own struggles—another layer of developmental trauma added to the mix.

The difference between my story and theirs, though? I am helping them build resilience. I am showing up for them in ways I was never shown up for. I learned the hard way with my oldest what abandonment trauma does. You’d think I would have known firsthand from my own childhood, but trauma has a funny way of blinding us. Now, I refuse to let history repeat itself. I am not going anywhere.

I am standing up and fighting—not just for my children and myself, but for every single survivor out there. And for those who lost their battle, I will never let them be forgotten.

So, when someone on Threads decided to question my “authority” on the subject matter of my memoir, I had one response: Receipts. I now have an extensive resource list on my website, filled with research, books, crisis hotlines, and organizations that support survivors.

Because while I may not have a PhD, I have something just as valuable: lived experience, relentless research, and the unshakable truth of my own story.

And that? That makes me more than qualified to tell it.