The Purple Phoenix Collective

Bought some binoculars. Following through on a New Year’s resolution. Birdwatching and being out in nature used to be very important to me, but they got associated with trauma. I’m going to start reconnecting with the natural world in small doses with my partner, and try to make new memories.

I know what it’s like to literally walk through flames. And rise from the ashes. I have lost everything in two house fires. The last one left me homeless for months. It was only eight days after the fire that I found out my sister Leah had lost her battle with addiction. It’s not true that God only gives us what we can handle. Some kinds of pain can swallow you whole. That’s when I died and was reborn as Wavy Purple. Indestructible, wise, strong, creative, spirituality aware, emotionally connected, my authentic self. My forest had to burn down before something more beautiful could grow ☯️

Something I’ve been realizing lately: My shadow isn’t just the “dark” parts of me. It’s the parts I had to ignore to survive. It’s the instinctual, primal part of me that doesn’t ask for much… so I forget it’s even there. Until I don’t. Until it shows up in ways I can’t ignore—burnout, disconnection, impulsive decisions, that quiet feeling of “something is off.” It’s my anger too. The kind that protects me. The kind I’ve softened, rationalized, or pushed down because I care about people and don’t want to hurt anyone. But anger isn’t the problem. Ignoring it is. It’s also my “too muchness.” The intensity, the depth, the way I feel everything and want real, meaningful connection. At some point that felt like a liability, so part of me learned to shrink, to second-guess, to pull back after showing up fully. And then there’s the part of me that doesn’t even want to heal sometimes. The part that’s tired. That craves chaos because it’s familiar. That doesn’t fully trust safety yet. That part exists too. None of this makes me broken. It makes me human. I’m starting to see my shadow less as something to fix and more as something I need to actually pay attention to. Feed. Listen to. Work with instead of against. Because the truth is—your shadow doesn’t go away just because you ignore it. It just waits. And it will find a way to be seen. The question is whether you meet it with awareness… or let it run the show from behind the scenes. 🖤

Some versions of you saved your life. You can honor them… without staying trapped inside them.

Even when no one else is watching, remember that God—or a higher power—is always present.

Lately I’ve been exploring Mindberg and doing some Jungian shadow work… and it’s been hitting deeper than I expected. I keep having this recurring dream: I find a reptile in my house—usually an iguana—forgotten, starving, filthy. I feel disgust, guilt, shame. Sometimes I try to euthanize it because it’s too far gone… but I always wake up before I can. The interpretation shook me. It’s not about a pet. It’s about a part of me I’ve been neglecting for years. Something cold-blooded. Slow. self-contained. A survival instinct that doesn’t perform warmth or people-pleasing. The part of me that can detach, be still, not care sometimes—and be okay with that. I buried it because it didn’t fit who I thought I was supposed to be. So it starved. And now when I see it, I feel disgust—but that disgust is actually shame. The wild part? In the dream, I keep trying to “humanely” kill it off. But my psyche won’t let me. It wakes me up every time. Because this part of me isn’t meant to die. It’s meant to be fed. Shadow work isn’t pretty. It’s not all love and light. Sometimes it’s realizing you abandoned pieces of yourself just to be accepted. I’m learning to sit with that. To stop performing warmth 24/7. To reclaim the parts of me that are quiet, detached, and self-protective. Not everything in you needs to be soft to be sacred.

Sex after trauma is complicated, and it can show up in very different ways. Some women shut down—your body says no before your mind catches up, and touch can feel overwhelming or disconnected. Others become hypersexual, chasing intensity or trying to reclaim control. Sometimes that feels empowering, sometimes it’s avoidance. Both are real. Neither means you’re broken—it’s your nervous system trying to protect you. Healing isn’t about forcing yourself into or out of sex. It’s about rebuilding safety in your body. If you have a partner, go slower than you think you need to. Take penetration off the table sometimes and focus on low-pressure touch—warmth, skin, breath—without expectation. Talk normally: say what feels good, ask to pause, change your mind anytime. Stay present in your body. Notice your breath, the feeling of touch, or put a hand on your chest to ground yourself and remind your body you’re safe now. You also get to control the environment—lighting, music, eye contact. Sometimes progress looks like stopping and just holding each other. That counts. You deserve sex that feels safe, not something you push through. If you’re not there yet, you’re not failing—you’re learning how to come back to yourself. — The Purple Phoenix Collective

Hi Kristina, do you think we can ever truly recover from trauma and CPTSD?

Today my intention is to learn about myself. I’ve always studied everything—people, trauma, spirituality, meaning. I’ve had this hunger to understand, to go deeper than surface-level bullshit. But lately I’m realizing that at some point, that curiosity has to turn inward. Because the most important relationship you’ll ever have is the one with yourself. And that’s not a cute quote—it’s uncomfortable. It asks you to really look. When I do, I see someone who feels deeply. Someone empathetic, who shows up for others even when I’m struggling. I see how much I crave real, soul-level connection. I see the imaginative adventurer in me—bored by the ordinary, drawn to depth, creativity, and new experiences. I see how fiercely independent I am. I don’t do fake. I’d rather question everything than betray myself. But I also see the harder parts. The emotional intensity that turns into self-doubt. The inner critic. The part of me that gives compassion to everyone else but not always to myself. The spontaneity that makes me alive—but also a little chaotic, disorganized, overwhelmed. And that’s the work. Not fixing myself into something more acceptable, but actually understanding who I am—the passion, the mess, the contradictions. Because you can’t build a real life on a version of yourself you don’t even know. So right now, I’m turning that curiosity inward. Studying myself. Learning my patterns. Getting honest about what I need. That’s where healing gets real.

It’s spring! Lay in the grass, walk barefoot, touch tree bark and notice the details, look up at the sky for a moment, pick up a feather… Connecting with nature isn’t about doing it “right.” It’s about letting your body feel something real again. Let the sun hit your face. Feel the ground holding you up. Listen to the wind, the birds, the quiet. Even a few minutes can bring you back to yourself.