We Are Not Broken: My Journey With Trauma and Healing Through Real Life

A reflection for PTSD Awareness Month — and an invitation to those walking this path

Before I ever imagined running a trauma-informed home management business, I pictured a very different life.

When I was 18, I was preparing to join the army — driven, determined, and searching for a path with purpose. But life had other plans.

A horror car accident left me with a fractured spine, a shattered right femur, and several ribs completely disconnected. It was my first deep encounter with trauma that I remember. (I’ve come to understand there was earlier trauma, but this was the one that forced me to face it head-on.)

Since then, life has taken me through many seasons. I’m 36 now (birthday this weekend) — a mother, a partner, a woman still walking her healing path every single day.

And this year — just a few months ago — I almost didn’t make it here.

In January, I tried to take my own life. It wasn’t the first time; there have been many. But this time, a stranger caught me mid-act and jumped to save me. I will never forget that moment.

I spent a week in the Mater — and big shoutout to them for giving me space to breathe. When I got out, I told myself I would take my time to heal. But life doesn’t stop — it keeps coming.

I lost my job road-tripping in trucks up and down the coast. With no other option, I started picking up Airtasker jobs just to cover rent. And that brings us to April — when I started Home and Soul. This little business wasn’t just about paying the bills — it became my purpose. A way to help others while helping myself.

An On-and-off Dance with Alcohol

I’ve had an on-and-off relationship with alcohol for years. For me — like so many of us with trauma — alcohol became a coping mechanism.

What I’m learning about CPTSD is that in childhood, when trauma happens and you have no way to cope, your body stores that pain. My suicidal tendencies came early — before I had any tools. Once I found alcohol, that became the tool. It numbed everything.

But the bigger the trauma, the more I drank. I can’t remember a solid portion of my life. It’s just… gone.

There were:

• Car accidents

• Being crushed by doors

• Not one, not two, but three abusive relationships

• Countless broken bones

• Countless deaths: My father, my first love, my ex-fiancé among them

  
  

And through it all — no space to stop and heal.

Life Doesn’t Stop: We Heal in the Middle of It

Here’s the truth I’ve come to live: life doesn’t stop for healing.

The fact that I lost my job this year proves that. I couldn’t just check out of life to recover — I had to figure out how to keep going. That’s why Home and Soul matters to me so deeply — it’s a business that lets me heal while helping others who are walking the same road.

And as I do this work, I’m uncovering memories along the way. Memories I thought were buried. Parts of myself I had forgotten or pushed aside.

Healing happens in the middle of life — not after it’s all perfect and tidy. That’s the message I want to share.

If any part of this resonates with you — or if you know someone it might help — I hope you’ll share this post or your own story. The more we speak, the less alone we feel. The more light we can bring into the dark corners.

The Brotherhood and Sisterhood of Trauma

Many of my closest friends are veterans who live with PTSD. We gravitate towards each other for a reason.

We are the brotherhood and sisterhood of trauma. We are the ones who’ve seen too much. Felt too much. We carry the unseen weight of life.

And we help each other. Because we know that strength in numbers isn’t just a saying — it’s truth. When we stand together, when we share our stories, when we remind each other that we are not broken — that’s where healing begins.

Why I Created Home and Soul

I didn’t start this business to “fix” homes. I started it to support lives.

I know what it’s like to be drowning in the mess — both inside and outside your house. I know what it’s like to live with CPTSD and still need to cook dinner, do laundry, try to raise myself enough to raise a child, show up to work.

My daughter is everything to me. She is one of the biggest reasons I’ve chosen change. She reminds me every day why I keep going.

When I walk into a client’s home, I’m not judging the dishes or the piles. I’m seeing the person behind them. I’m seeing the invisible weight they’re carrying — because I carry it too.

This is slow work. Human work. Real work. It’s about putting some soul back into life, one step at a time.

For Those Carrying the Unseen Weight

If you feel like you are walking through life with an unseen weight — you are not alone.

You are not broken.

The very fact that you are still here — still trying, still loving, still seeking light — is extraordinary.

I see you. I understand you.

And through Home and Soul — and through this little space on the internet — I hope to remind you that you belong. That there is healing in community. That even when life feels relentless, you are worth the time and care it takes to heal.

What’s one thing you’ve learned about healing in the middle of life? I’d love to hear from you — we’re stronger when we share.

To my brothers and sisters in trauma: we are not broken. We are human. And together, we are stronger than we know.

About Sarah Merrett

I’m Sarah Merrett — founder of Home and Soul: Trauma-Informed Home Management.

For 20 years, I worked in front-facing hospitality in the Hunter Valley — from family restaurants and resorts to B&Bs and high-end dining. I’ve been on the management teams at top restaurants and finished my hospitality career at one of the Hunter’s best.

More recently, I spent time slinging fruit and veg from Port to Woy Woy, on the road with the truckers like my brother. Like my dad u in his day.

And now — here we are.

I created Home and Soul to support overwhelmed lives, not just homes. I bring my lived experience of trauma, my deep understanding of how life and healing intertwine, and my practical, grounded work ethic into everything I do.

If you’re seeking support that sees beyond the surface — welcome. We are not broken. And we don’t have this walk this path alone.

With love,

Sarah