From Trauma to Triumph: Why I Work Hard and Protect My Peace
This morning, I found myself reflecting on a conversation with my mentor.
This morning, I found myself reflecting on a conversation with my mentor. One of the women in our group is struggling, feeling frustrated because she believes she can’t match what she perceives as my work ethic.
The irony is, I no longer lean on my mentor the way I once did. I completed her program two years ago, and now I guide and support others in our group who are on their own journeys. But three years ago, Nakeshia would never have admitted that my work ethic comes from a place of fear and insecurity.
See, I work hard because of where I came from, and the truth is, my drive has roots in trauma.
I grew up attending private school, spending every moment the church doors were open. But I wasn’t at church because I was some great servant; church was my refuge. Compared to home, it was safe.
At home, I slept and played in my closet until I was 12 — not because I was a quirky kid, but because I convinced myself that if bullets or intruders came, they’d have to go through several walls and doors to get to me.
Some parts of my childhood were mentally blocked out for years. Then, COVID hit, and the Black Lives Matter movement forced many difficult conversations into the light. I began to see how many people in my life misunderstood my perspective. They assumed I was arguing with them about race when, in reality, we just didn’t share the same lens. While they grew up in suburban houses with sleepovers and playdates, I grew up in the projects. My mom wouldn’t let me bring friends home from school because she feared that the violence outside would spill into our home. And it often did, right around us.
Therapy became a lifeline during COVID. It helped me realize how many relationships I needed to let go of for my own mental health. These were people who could never see me for who I really was, who only saw the mask I wore at church. They believed the facade I built to survive, never recognizing the trauma I hid behind it.
The truth is, the violence outside wasn’t the only thing shaping me. My mom took in medically fragile children, and I often carried their traumas, too. I was flicking a baby’s foot to wake him when he’d stop breathing in his car seat or keeping a watchful eye in case a biological family member tried to snatch one of the children in public. At an early age, I learned to live on high alert.
But I work hard now because I refuse to let my children endure what I went through. I go to therapy because my children will never suffer from the wounds I’ve had to heal. I set boundaries and cut off people unwilling to face their own faults or get help because I won’t let anyone disrupt my peace or theirs.
Being in my children’s lives is a privilege. Being considered a friend or family member in my world is a privilege. My peace and their mental well-being are non-negotiable. I hustle, create, and build because I am determined to give them what I didn’t have: stability, safety, and love without fear.
Scripture and Quotes for Reflection
• “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28
• “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
• “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” — Romans 12:2
• “Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny.” — C.S. Lewis
I share this story not for pity but to encourage you. If you’re carrying trauma or living behind a facade, there is hope. There is healing. And there is strength in choosing to live authentically and prioritize peace.
Work hard, yes — but for the right reasons. Hustle to build a life that nurtures your well-being, not one that hides your pain. And never forget, protecting your peace is the ultimate form of self-care.
My story ain’t over yet and neither is yours.