It’s my birthday—and instead of sharing cake, I’m sharing my hip dysplasia to healing journey
Because honestly? This year, I looked in the mirror and thought: “Damn. I survived all that. I’m still here. I’m my own f**ing hero.”
So today, I’m telling my story. The raw version. No sugarcoating, no filters—just real talk about growing up with childhood surgical trauma, chasing chaos, and clawing my way back to wholeness. If you’ve ever felt like your scars told the whole story—let me show you what healing really looks like.
Spoiler: it’s messy, magical, and absolutely worth it.
When Healing Isn’t Just Physical
It all started when I was a kid with a pair of dodgy clicky hips. I ended up in the hospital for what was, at the time, a pioneering hip dysplasia surgery. I’m talking nearly a year in the hospital, upside-down on a rack-esque contraption while they tried to pull my hips back into place. Eventually, they cracked me open, broke both my legs, and pinned everything back together with safety pins the same size as my arm.
I was in a kids’ ward with amazing nurses and surprisingly happy memories. But no one warned me about the kind of trauma that can sneak in when you’re tiny, scared, and powerless. I got out of that hospital “healed,” sure—but no one mentioned the emotional wreckage of childhood surgical trauma. It silently festered and waited under the surface until puberty opened the floodgates.
The Hidden Cost of Silence
Here’s the thing: I had a good outcome. I could run, I looked “normal,” and on paper, everything was fine. But inside? I was falling apart. I didn’t feel grateful. I didn’t feel strong. I felt broken. And guilty for feeling broken. Because I should’ve been thankful. I should’ve been celebrating. But all I could do was feel rage, uncontrollable and unrelenting. It was like walking around like a volcano, the lava festering under my skin, making me feel chaotic, edgy, and out of control. Intrusive thoughts fueled reckless behaviour. I loved the destruction; it made me feel alive, it expressed the anger trapped inside, and exercised the fire demon I felt I carried.
So, for years, I went full chaos mode. Intense exercise. Crash diets. Perfectionist body goals. Drinking, drugs, distraction. Loud on the outside, absolute mess on the inside. I thought if I looked fine, acted fine, partied like I was fine—maybe I would be fine. I should highlight here that ‘fine’ was the perception I chased from my mates, my parents were a different ball game.
The Blame Game
My mum had noticed I internalised emotions and wouldn’t talk about them when I’d left the hospital at 4, but unfortunately, didn’t share this with me or know of the risk of childhood surgical trauma and pediatric medical traumatic stress (PMTS). So she just did her best. But I didn’t see it that way; my parents were public enemy no. 1, and I was going to do everything and anything to prove I didn’t need them and was nothing like them. I was so full of a rage I couldn’t explain; I just knew it was their fault.
Rewiring My Brain One Pause At A Time
Needless to say, over the years, a reduced risk perception and a love of chaos sent me back to the hospital several times. I unknowingly gravitated back to my childhood trauma state, stacking more events on my already unresolved traumatised brain. After landing in hospital for the umpteenth time (not for hip stuff—just, y’know, the consequences of self-destruction), I finally had a moment. I woke up, stared at the ceiling, and thought, “Surely I cannot be this f***ing unlucky.” That was the switch. The first time I stopped blaming the world, my parents, and God and started listening to myself.
And let me tell you—healing didn’t look like a glow-up montage, more like the D-Day landing with CPTSD. It took teeny tiny baby steps. Which, if I’m honest, wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been hit by a truck, and forced to slow down, so silver linings. Thanks, Universe.
It took slowing down. Learning to pause. Getting honest with myself in a way I never had before. Rewiring my brain one decision at a time.
Healing After Childhood Surgical Trauma: What No One Told Me
One of the biggest tools in my belt now? The pause. That glorious moment where I stop and ask: “Do I really need to do this reckless thing right now, or am I just running from something again?” Sometimes I still want to do the thing. Often, I do, but I choose differently, being more aware of the risks, and why I’m pulled to take them. And that’s growth, baby.
I also had to get radically honest. About the lies I’d been telling myself. About the shame I was carrying. About how I’d built my whole identity around being a badass survivor, living life on her own terms—but forgot how to actually love living as me.
Turns out, trauma doesn’t just affect how you feel—it warps how you see yourself. I spent years trying to prove I wasn’t different, when deep down, I felt like I started life on the back foot. School in plaster. Swimming in boardshorts to cover scars. Always trying to shrink or hustle or hide. Never wanting anyone to think I needed “extra help.”
But you know what? I did. And that’s okay.
Learning How To Love Yourself
Over time, working with other women and hearing their stories has helped me unpack mine. I have rebuilt a connection with my body, and more importantly—with myself. I even had a moment, on a long silent road trip, where I imagined my younger self sitting beside me. For the first time, we weren’t fighting. We were holding hands.
That moment? That was everything. I think it was the first time I felt truly whole.
Why I Do This Work (And Who It’s For)
My journey is the driver for all the work I’m doing now. I don’t want any other young woman to miss out on life because of how her surgery has rewired her brain and shifted her perspectives of herself and the world around her. It’s not fair. Surgery is no one’s fault. No one deserves to have lingering mental health issues because of it. That’s why I created a course to help young women reconnect with themselves the way I wish I’d done a decade ago. To help them stop hating on the part of them that survived—and start loving the part of them that’s still here, still trying, still worthy of joy.
Excited For A Future Feeling Whole
These days, my life looks a lot different. My relationships are real. I’ve swapped chaos for connection. I don’t crave escapism anymore. I crave peace. (And snacks. Always snacks.)
Most of all, I feel proud of who I am. I know who I am. And if my story can help just one woman feel less alone, more worthy, and ready to take back her power?
Then every scar, every stumble, every messy chapter was worth it.
If any of this story resonates with you, and you think you may know someone who is suffering with trauma after surgery, say something! You may just save a life.
Read more about childhood medical trauma here.
