It’s been a wild few days! I have been designing our mock-ups for our future toy line! We are designing entire worlds for our future grandchildren and great grandchildren to come!

In addition, I have been working on our first set of journal books! “On Your Way To You” This is part of our, “Journey To Survival.” Most people do not realize that it is hard sometimes to let go of the past. Sometimes you need to write it down. Read it. Read it until it doesn’t hurt anymore. Then, store it in a box. Burn it. Do to it whatever you need to do, to bury it from your mind. As you read my daily blogs, you will find it took me decades to figure this method out. Thankfully, I am stubborn and pig headed, or I might have given up! Ok, back to the story – Love, Raven

That level of anger did not disappear when childhood ended. it increased if anything.

It followed me into my early twenties like something living just beneath the surface. At times, it felt stronger than anything I had ever known, stronger than fear, stronger than sadness. It moved through me like acid in my veins, hot and relentless. It fueled me at times. It gave me motivation. It gave me goals. It gave me a reason to survive. Just to prove I could.

There were moments when I could feel it rising without warning.
It would start as a quiet tightening in my chest, then race upward until my ears burned red with heat. My vision would narrow. My thoughts would sharpen. The world around me would begin to feel less like a place of connection and more like a battlefield.

In those moments, I was no longer reacting from defense.

I was already on offense. I was plotting. Playing out each and every scene in my head.

I became hyperaware of everything around me. I could walk into a room and instantly scan faces, body language, tone, and tension. I could predict how conversations might unfold before they even began. I watched people closely how they stood, how they spoke, how they looked at others, always preparing for what might come next.

It almost became a kind of game in my mind. Not a game born from amusement, but from survival. A constant calculation of risk and response. A learned instinct developed long before I even understood what I was doing.

This is one of the hidden effects of growing up in abuse.

Some children retreat inward. They bury themselves in fear, sadness, or quiet escape. Others develop a different response, a fierce determination to become stronger than the very thing that once threatened them.

For me, it often felt like I was living with only two choices.

I could allow the pain to define me, to let it make me small, silent, and defeated.

Or I could stand up to it, face it directly, and refuse to let it break me.

Every day felt like a decision point.

I could sit back and absorb the shouting, the humiliation, the physical threats. I could accept the role that had been forced upon me.

Or I could look directly into the eyes of the person trying to control me and think,
“Take your best shot. You still will never destroy who I am.”

That mindset became both a shield and a weapon. It protected me in moments when I truly needed strength. But over time, it also shaped the way I moved through the world, always alert, always prepared, always ready for conflict even when conflict was not actually there.

Learning to survive taught me resilience. Learning to live would eventually require something very different. Even when I thought I was happy, or things were going right. I was not ready to lower my guard.

There were still many battles ahead of me.

When you grow up in constant survival mode, anger does not simply fade away when you become an adult. It becomes part of your wiring. It sharpens your instincts. It hardens your reactions. It convinces you that staying prepared is the only way to stay safe.

For a long time, that anger felt like fuel.

It pushed me forward when I was exhausted.
It gave me courage when I was afraid.
It gave me a voice when I felt invisible.

But it also meant that every disagreement could feel like a threat. Every raised voice could feel like danger. Every moment of uncertainty could feel like the beginning of another fight I had to win.

I was always ready.

Ready to defend myself. Ready to argue. You couldn’t even turn, say 3 words before my instincts kicked in and I was ready to defend. Walls up. Chains locked. Windows bolted shut.

I was always ready to walk away before anyone else had the chance to hurt me first.

I didn’t just react to situations, I anticipated them. I studied people. I watched for subtle shifts in tone or expression. I learned how to read tension before words were even spoken.

That ability had once protected me.

Now it often kept me on edge.

There were times when I would enter a room already braced for conflict, even if no one else in that room had any intention of creating one. I carried an invisible armor everywhere I went, convinced that vulnerability was the same thing as weakness.

And life, it seemed, continued to test that belief.

New relationships brought new struggles.
New environments brought new challenges.
New opportunities often came hand in hand with new fears.

Each time I thought I had finally gained control over my reactions, something would happen that reminded me just how quickly the old instincts could return.

So the battles continued.

Some were loud and obvious.
Others were quiet and internal, the kind no one else could see.

But each one shaped me.
Each one forced me to confront parts of myself I didn’t fully understand yet.

And at that point in my life, fighting still felt safer than healing.

The motivation of the day. Keep fighting. No matter what, do not give up. Ever.

Use our journals to help give you motivation! They are going live in a few days finally, after months of hard work creating them!

Love,

Raven Sapphire