I just finished reading Girl Code by Cara Alwill—and it hit me hard.

Why? Because it reminded me of something we, as women, already know in our bones but often forget:

We are not meant to heal—or rise—alone.

Not from trauma.
Not from heartbreak.
Not from generational silence.
Not from the lies we were raised to believe about ourselves.

I bought the book last year when I was starting on my “empower me” phase in life. Ya’ know, “I am woman hear me roar.” Needless to say, my roar was silenced under the weight of daily tasks.

But, as 2025 comes to an end, I saw it on my shelf and said, “Now is the time, girl, to focus on you.”

But what I got out of the book was not the roar I thought would happen.

When I was hurting or struggling, I hid in silence. Sadly, I thought healing required isolation. That I had to figure it out quietly, perfectly, without burdening anyone.

Our minds play tricks on us, and trauma convinces us to disappear. But Girl Code reminded me to return to myself and to other women.

I believed survival meant staying silent.
Don’t burden anyone.
Don’t make waves.
Don’t risk being “too much.”

There’s a special bond or “code” that many of us share, but we often keep it hidden deep inside.

I came from a family where pain was inherited like eye color.
We didn’t talk about it—we endured it.
We didn’t ask for help—we adapted.
We didn’t collapse—we became experts at holding our breath.

That silence didn’t just protect the wound, it protected the system that created it. But healing, I’ve learned, requires rebellion. Not the loud, in-your-face kind. But the holding boundaries and respecting yourself kind.

One of the biggest lessons from Girl Code—and from surviving trauma—is this:

Women aren’t dangerous to each other. Unhealed wounds are.

We were taught to compare, compete, diminish ourselves, dim our brilliance, and apologize for existing. Not because it’s our nature but because someone once needed us small.

But trauma-informed healing teaches something different: Women don’t destroy each other; we save each other.

How? We are mirrors for one another.
We are each other’s witnesses.
We are reminders of who we were before survival became our personality.

Through nursing, writing, therapy, and conversations with survivors, I’ve learned that a woman who has healed becomes medicine for others. Not because she knows everything, but because she knows what it’s like to feel like nothing.

And when she rises, she doesn’t rise alone—she holds out her hand and helps another woman climb up the ladder rung.

That’s the authentic Girl Code. That’s the revolution.

Writing my book, Burnt Letters, didn’t just change my life—it changed my lineage.

Every unsent letter became a boundary.
Every truth spoken became a torch.
Every chapter became a doorway for someone else.

Healing isn’t about being strong all the time; it’s about refusing to abandon yourself. And that kind of healing doesn’t happen in isolation. No! It happens through women who refuse to let other women struggle alone.

So here’s to the lessons Girl Code reaffirmed:

There is room for every woman’s story.
Community heals what silence destroys.
We don’t compete—we co-rise.
Your success doesn’t threaten mine—it validates possibility.
Vulnerability is leadership.
Your voice can free someone still buried in theirs.

We become unstoppable when we stop seeing each other as rivals and start seeing each other as mirrors to our success and the success of all women.

To every woman rebuilding herself quietly—the cycle-breakers, the journal page-bleeders, the ones still learning to stay when love feels safe:

Keep going. Your healing is not self-indulgent—it’s generational work.

Know that your story is not embarrassing; it just might be a survival manual for another woman.

Your voice is not too much, it’s the match that burns the old blueprint and lights a fire to start a new life.

If I could pass along one final reminder, it would be this:

Rise, my beautiful queen—but lift another woman with you.

~