Tomorrow marks my 51st birthday, a milestone that has me reflecting on the first half-century of my life. I think about the girl I once was—raised to believe that my worth was tied to my appearance and weight. I was taught that, as a female, I would always be lesser than a man, and that love was something to be earned through rules, obedience, and consequences. Over time, the lines between my given name, Paula, and the nickname “Porky”—bestowed upon me by my father—began to blur. That nickname became an identity I struggled to escape for nearly four decades.
As children, we are supposed to find safety within the arms of our parents and the walls of our homes. Yet, when I look back at my childhood, I realize my experience was quite the opposite. I lived in a constant state of fear and the need for protection. The sound of a sneeze or cough from the man I called “Dad” could make me flinch. Friendships were scarce throughout my childhood and high school years, leaving me socially awkward and disconnected. I didn’t understand the true meaning of connection.
What saddens me most as I look back is realizing how many of these toxic behaviors were considered “normal” back then. And what’s more heartbreaking is how many people knew the truth about my father’s abusive nature and chose to do nothing.
My healing journey didn’t truly begin until 2019. In 2015, I founded a nonprofit called Standing Courageous with the intention of helping others, but in hindsight, it was an unhealthy way for me to cope with my pain, betrayal, and anger. I wasn’t targeting just the men who had abused their power; I was projecting my hurt onto all men. My language was broad and sweeping—using words like “all,” “every,” and “none.” I was driven by my limbic system—my emotional brain—rather than the rational part of my mind, the prefrontal cortex.
It took time for me to realize how deeply those wounds ran. By 2019, I had reached my breaking point. The trauma I had collected throughout my life was like a tightly packed snowball, and as I grew, it only accumulated more pain as it rolled downhill. By the time I reached adulthood, that snowball was massive—so overwhelming that it completely engulfed me.
Between 2006 and early 2019, I saw over 50 different doctors, but my health continued to decline. I became chronically ill, unable to work as a paramedic. My driving privileges were restricted, and my list of medications had grown to nearly two dozen prescriptions. My dysfunctional view of relationships left me without a support system. I was told that I’d be on disability for the rest of my life and likely wouldn’t live to see 50. I hit rock bottom, losing all hope. I even contemplated suicide.
Yet, in the darkness, there was a glimmer of light. That glimmer came in 2017 at a conference in Wisconsin. A doctor suggested that much of my medical chaos might be rooted in a brain injury from a near-fatal strangulation I suffered in 2006. It was a revelation that stuck with me, even as my health continued to spiral downward.
In 2019, I decided to take action. I was no longer willing to stay stuck in the “pity parking lot.” I began researching brain injuries and their potential connection to my health issues. My doctors weren’t receptive to this new direction, so I turned to social media and found a community—my brain injury tribe. People just like me, caught in a web of medical confusion and searching for answers.
It was through this community that I connected with a woman who shared many of my symptoms. She had found relief working with functional neurologists, so I reached out to her. After contacting the clinic, they believed they could help me. For the first time in years, I felt a surge of hope.
That hope led me to visit a functional neurology clinic, and it changed everything. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I learned things that should have been explained to me long ago. The countless ER visits, ICU stays, medical tests, and procedures that had left me both physically and financially bankrupt suddenly began to make sense. The debt from those years of medical struggles had forced me into bankruptcy, but now I had a clear path forward.
The week of therapy with the functional neurologists didn’t just change my health; it changed my entire outlook on life. I hadn’t realized how sick I was until I finally had the chance to feel well. I left that clinic with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, determined to understand how trauma had impacted my brain, body, and mind. This newfound passion drives me today.
I am not the same person I was five years ago. Since then, I’ve focused on improving all areas of wellness—physical, emotional, mental, spiritual, social, environmental, occupational, and financial. I’ve found joy in reading physical books and listening to podcasts that expand my understanding of overall well-being. I’ve also deliberately secluded myself to focus on rewiring the beliefs I was conditioned to accept for so long.
As I approach this next chapter of my life, I feel an intense calling to share what I’ve learned through my journey. I wasn’t supposed to make it past 50, yet here I am. Over the past few years, I’ve experienced a profound spiritual awakening, and I believe that every challenge in my life has prepared me for my calling.
As I’ve traveled and spoken to others, I’ve noticed a few recurring themes. First, there are so many people who, like I once did, fail to understand how unresolved trauma can impact their overall wellness. Second, the traditional medical system often fails to address the long-term effects of trauma on health. Finally, many people believe they can’t afford functional or holistic health care, a barrier I also faced.
This is where my calling lies. Tomorrow is the first day of the next 50 years, and I can’t wait to share with you what I have planned.
Paula
