Reclaiming the Narrative: What I’ve Learned About Healing After Abuse

As an Associate Marriage and Family Therapist grounded in narrative practices, I’ve had the privilege of sitting with people navigating the long, often complicated process of healing after abusive relationships. It’s work that’s tender, non-linear, and incredibly brave. No two stories are the same—but over time, I’ve noticed some themes.

Healing isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about finding space to reconnect with the parts of yourself that the abuse tried to silence. Sometimes that begins with a single moment of feeling heard—of being believed. And from there, something begins to shift.

The Power of Naming—Gently

I’ve seen how important it can be for people to find their own language for what happened. For some, even saying the word “abuse” feels overwhelming or too final. For others, naming it clearly brings a sense of validation and clarity.

In narrative therapy, we’re less concerned with labels and more interested in how the experience has shaped your story about yourself. Sometimes I’ll ask, “What did the relationship try to convince you about who you are?” That question can open up so much. I’ve heard responses like: “That I’m too much,” “That I can’t trust myself,” “That I deserve what I got.”

And that’s where the work begins—not to argue with those beliefs, but to understand where they came from, how they were reinforced, and whether they feel true to you.

Safety First—Internally and Externally

From a nervous system perspective, trauma impacts our ability to feel safe in our own bodies and environments. I’ve worked with clients who had left the abusive situation long ago, but still felt “on alert,” unsure who to trust, unsure if they could even trust themselves.

Therapy doesn’t force safety—it invites it. What I’ve found is that when clients are met with steadiness, slowness, and curiosity (rather than pressure to move on or “get over it”), something begins to soften. That softening allows space for reflection, grief, anger, and eventually—choice.

Honoring Resistance

One of the most powerful shifts I’ve witnessed in clients is when they begin to see how they resisted abuse, even when it didn’t look the way they thought resistance should. Sometimes it was staying quiet. Sometimes it was leaving and returning multiple times. Sometimes it was simply enduring.

Narrative therapy doesn’t measure resistance by outcomes. It notices intent. It notices values. When a client realizes they were holding onto their dignity in small, invisible ways, I’ve seen that lead to a deeper sense of self-respect and agency.

Reconnecting with What Was Lost (or Hidden)

Abuse has a way of shrinking identity. Clients often tell me they feel like they lost themselves—like their preferences, passions, or even their sense of humor faded away. It’s not uncommon for therapy to involve slow, careful experiments in rediscovery:

  • What brings you even a small sense of ease or delight?

  • Who were you before this relationship?

  • Who are you now, beneath the survival strategies?

These aren’t questions with quick answers, but when they’re asked with care, they create openings for new stories to emerge—ones that center resilience, desire, and self-definition.

You Get to Decide What the Story Becomes

In narrative therapy, we hold the belief that no one is a passive character in their life story. Even in situations where someone else had immense control, that’s never the whole story. I’ve seen clients begin to re-author their experiences—not by denying what happened, but by placing themselves at the center of the narrative again.

This doesn’t mean rewriting the past. It means reclaiming the right to decide what meaning you carry forward, what values still feel true, and how you want to relate to yourself now.

Closing Reflections

I never assume to know what healing looks like for someone. But I do know this: when a person has space to speak their truth without shame, to be witnessed without judgment, and to explore their story with curiosity—they begin to feel a little more real to themselves. And that, to me, is a powerful form of healing.

If you’re in the thick of this journey, please know you’re not alone. Your story is worthy of care. And you don’t have to untangle it all at once. One word at a time is enough, and I am here to support you in your journey.

Warmly,

Abbey Vince, AMFT

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