CHAPTER 4
Shadows of the Past
Aurora entered college at 16, the youngest in her class and far from the safety of what she once knew. The excitement of being accepted to college—the first in her family—quickly gave way to a sense of isolation. At such a young age, surrounded by older peers, she felt vulnerable, like a piece of meat. The nickname given to freshmen, “fresh meat,” only deepened her unease.
By 18, Aurora attempted dating for the first time, hoping to reclaim a sense of normalcy. But the fears that had been buried within her resurfaced with a vengeance. One night, while walking from the dining hall to her dorm, she found herself running—not from anyone, but from her own shadow. Her heart raced, convinced she was being chased. The paranoia that had taken root in her mind grew stronger, and she began to suspect that the boy she was dating might be plotting to harm her. The shadows of her past whispered to her, feeding her fears and pulling her further into isolation.
Aurora wanted to trust, to believe she could let someone in, but the trauma she carried was a constant barrier. Even as she tried to move forward, her fears kept her running—from others, from herself, and from the pain she had never truly faced.
The Breaking Point
By the time Aurora was ready to graduate, the weight of her unresolved trauma became too much to bear. One evening, she experienced her first blackout. It wasn’t something she could explain or control—one moment she was fine, and the next, everything went dark. When she awoke, she found herself in the college’s behavioral health center, surrounded by concerned faces.
The staff, recognizing the severity of her condition, transferred her to inpatient care. It was there that Aurora’s past began to surface in ways she had never expected. For the first time, she heard doctors refer to her as a “survivor.” It felt strange, almost foreign, as if they were describing someone else. Until that moment, she had kept her pain locked away, buried deep beneath layers of denial and distraction. Now, it was out in the open, demanding to be confronted.
Aurora was diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety disorder, and the lingering effects of the trauma she had endured. The doctors explained what these diagnoses meant, but what struck her most was the simple acknowledgment: she was a survivor. That word—survivor—was both a revelation and a burden. It named what she had endured, but it also placed responsibility on her to take the steps toward healing.
A Mother’s Desperation
After four years of running from her home and her pain, Aurora’s mother came to see her. She didn’t come alone. She arrived with a priest, a symbol of her faith and the only help she could think to bring. In her mother’s mind, Aurora’s struggles were the result of something spiritual, something beyond the physical realm. She believed Aurora might be filled with evil spirits, and she had come with the priest in hopes of freeing her daughter from whatever was tormenting her.
At first, Aurora felt anger and disbelief. Her mother’s actions seemed to minimize her pain, framing it as something otherworldly instead of acknowledging the deep trauma she had endured. But as she looked into her mother’s eyes, she saw something else—desperation. Her mother was willing to try anything, even things Aurora didn’t believe in, to help her heal.
This was the moment Aurora realized the depth of her mother’s love. It was misguided, perhaps, but it was sincere. Her mother was fighting for her in the only way she knew how. It was also the first crack in the wall that had grown between them since Aurora had first told her mother the truth.
The Choice to Heal
That moment marked a turning point for Aurora. She saw how much her pain had affected not just herself, but those who loved her. It became clear that healing wasn’t just about surviving—it was about reclaiming her soul and rebuilding her relationships. Aurora’s diagnoses forced her to confront what she had been running from. PTSD, anxiety, and the lingering shadows of her past were now out in the open. There was no more hiding, no more pretending everything was fine. The choice to heal was no longer optional—it was necessary.
In the days and months that followed, Aurora began the hard work of recovery. Therapy became a lifeline, a place where she could begin to unpack the years of pain and fear. Brian, her therapist, helped her understand that healing wasn’t about erasing the past but integrating it, reclaiming the pieces of herself she thought she had lost.
For the first time, Aurora began to see herself not just as a survivor, but as someone capable of thriving. It was a long road, filled with setbacks and moments of doubt, but it was hers to walk.