Adena M'lynn's Voice

 By Adena M’lynn 2025 A window is my boundary, a transparent wall between what is seen and what is hidden. A barrier that invites light but does not let the wind through. I look out, and the world moves past me—people, moments, stories unfolding like silent plays behind glass. Eyes are windows too, but they don’t hold the same silence. They tell secrets, even when lips stay still. They flash with anger, soften with sorrow, widen with fear. I have seen truth slip from eyes that mouths dared not speak. I have seen lies sit behind pupils too empty to reflect their weight. Some windows are clean, revealing everything beyond them. Others are fogged, smeared with the past, blurring what lies ahead. Some are shattered, jagged edges catching light in sharp, broken ways. Some eyes are the same—clear, clouded, cracked. A window opens, and air rushes in. A change. A shift. A moment of escape. An eye meets another, and a story is exchanged. A memory. A plea. A truth that does not need to be...

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I am a survivor of childhood sexual trauma, and I live with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). My journey has been long, painful, and filled with hard work to heal wounds that were kept hidden and denied. Yet, despite everything I have endured, I have had people—friends, even family—minimize my trauma and the impact it has had on my life.  I have been told, “You’ve been in therapy all these years, you should be over it.” As if healing has a deadline. As if the pain of childhood violations can simply expire with time. I have been accused by family of using my trauma as an excuse, “You are just using that as an excuse to keep doing bad things.” As if I enjoy reliving the past to explain why I do odd things, things that are illegal, and lie.  And I have heard other words meant to silence me, blame me, and dismiss what I live with every day. But I refuse to be silent anymore. Trauma doesn’t work on a timeline. DID is not a choice. Healing is not linear, and it certainly doesn...

While I don’t share Alice Johnson’s political leaning for all the MAGA’s ideas, I do have a lot of admiration for her, she’s a woman of integrity, wisdom, and unwavering faith. While we served prison time together, we were not close friends, but we shared mutual respect through our involvement in the chapel and education departments.  Alice was known for her commitment to peaceful solutions, personal growth, and fostering a positive environment for those around her. She appeared reflective and a deeply honest individual whose faith guided her responses. Alice was never one to create problems; instead, she sought ways to bring peace and understanding to difficult situations with individuals. Her presence was a source of encouragement to many, and her resilience in the face of adversity is truly inspiring. Since her release, Alice has become a dedicated advocate for criminal justice reform, using her personal experiences to champion the rights of others. She has been called by God to...

Coping with my childhood trauma feels like I’m locked in a chess match I never agreed to play. My opponent—the memories, the pain, the fear—sits across from me, always patient, always ready to pounce on my missteps. The board is a battlefield of my life, and every piece I move feels heavy, like it carries the weight of the choices I’ve made just to survive. Sometimes, I can see a clear path forward—a bold move that might give me an advantage—but just as often, I feel trapped, backed into a corner by thoughts I can’t seem to shake. My pawns are my small victories: getting out of bed, reaching out for help, choosing to forgive myself for things that were never my fault. They move slowly, and sometimes it feels like they don’t matter, but I know they’re my foundation. The knights are my coping mechanisms, the unexpected ways I maneuver around the pain—music, writing, or just breathing through another hard day. The bishop is my intuition, guiding me diagonally through the fog, even when I ...

When death steps into our lives and whispers its inevitability, the world seems to shift. The ground beneath us feels unsteady, the air heavy with unspoken questions. Knowing that the end is near can be both a burden and a strange kind of gift. It drives us, pulling us toward reflection, forcing us to confront what truly matters, and awakening us to the beauty of each passing moment. Some days, the light seems brighter. Hope floods our hearts, reminding us that the time we have is precious, not meant to be squandered. These are the days when laughter feels more vibrant, when the touch of a loved one lingers like a blessing. We find ourselves grateful for the small things—the warmth of the sun, the rhythm of our breath, the sound of birds in the morning. But not every day carries such grace. There are darker days, where the weight of death presses upon the spirit. Grief, fear, and uncertainty creep in, pulling us into the shadows of our thoughts. On these days, it’s hard to find the l...