Reclaiming Your Power

There comes a moment in every healing journey when you realize you are no longer surviving. You are rising.

That moment doesn’t always look like a grand breakthrough. Sometimes, it looks like getting out of bed on a day when everything hurts. Sometimes, it looks like saying no when your old self would’ve folded. And sometimes, it’s simply choosing yourself—even when it feels like the hardest thing to do.

For a long time, I didn’t feel powerful. I felt broken. Controlled. Silenced. My life felt like it belonged to everyone else but me. I let fear lead. I let shame hush my voice. And I handed over pieces of myself trying to be enough for people who never saw my worth.

But piece by piece, I started taking myself back. In the quiet moments. In the brave ones. In the messy middle. That’s what reclaiming your power looks like. It’s not about never falling—it’s about rising every single time you do.

Reclaiming your power is saying:

I am not what happened to me.
I am what I choose to become.

It’s setting boundaries that protect your peace. It’s speaking your truth even when your voice shakes. It’s healing out loud. Loving yourself fiercely. And walking away from anything that asks you to dim your light.

One of the most powerful ways I reclaim my own power is by speaking on the Survivors Against Violence panels for domestic and sexual violence. As a survivor of both, I use my voice to speak directly to offenders, something that surprises a lot of people. They say, "I don’t know how you do that. I could never do that, you are so strong. That’s got to be so hard." And yes, it is hard. But it’s also deeply therapeutic.

When I walk into that room, I know I’ll likely never see those people again. And that gives me the freedom to speak my raw, unfiltered truth. I tell them everything, what happened to me, how it changed me, how it shattered parts of my life. I don’t hold back. I don’t worry about sparing their feelings. I want them to see my pain. I want them to feel the weight of it.

And they do. You can see it on their faces. You can read it in the comment cards. You can feel it in the stillness of the room when grown men are crying. Speaking to offenders has become a way of bringing something good out of something that was once so terrible. It is power. It is healing. It is transformation.

If you’re still in the thick of it, know this—your power is not lost. It’s still inside you. Maybe buried. Maybe bruised. But never gone.

Take it back.

One decision at a time.
One truth at a time.
One breath at a time.

You’ve survived long enough.
Now it’s time to rise.

If you are a survivor of domestic violence or sexual violence and feel called to share your voice, I invite you to reach out. We are always looking for more brave souls to join us on these panels. If you're interested in becoming a speaker, I’ll gladly connect you with our director. Your story has power. Your voice matters. And someone out there needs to hear it.

With love,
Christina

Embracing Your Uniqueness

We spend so much of our lives trying to fit in—trying to meet expectations, blend in, or mold ourselves into what we think others want us to be. But the truth is, the most powerful thing you can ever be is yourself.

I spent years shrinking myself to make other people comfortable. Hiding parts of my story, toning down my opinions, quieting my fire. I thought if I could just be "less," I’d finally be accepted. But all it did was leave me feeling unseen, unheard, and unfulfilled.

True freedom came when I stopped apologizing for who I am. My scars, my past, my voice—they all tell a story that no one else can tell. And the same is true for you.

Your uniqueness is not something to be hidden—it’s your superpower. The way you see the world, the things you’ve survived, the dreams you carry, those are the things that make you who you are.

Your past doesn’t disqualify you. It prepares you. Everything you’ve been through adds depth to your strength. Every heartbreak, every trauma, every comeback—those layers build your wisdom and resilience. So many people walk around pretending they haven't been broken, when the truth is, our cracks are what let the light in. I no longer see my past as something to be ashamed of. I see it as my foundation.

Comparison is a thief. It steals our joy and our power. When we measure our worth against someone else’s highlight reel, we lose sight of our own brilliance. I’ve done this too many times to count—watching someone else live boldly and wondering if I’m falling short. But the reality is, no one else has lived your life. No one else carries your voice, your spirit, or your fight. And that’s your magic.

The right people will love the real you. When you stop pretending, you create space for genuine connection. I used to think I had to earn love by being agreeable or easy. But real love, real friendship—it shows up when you are your fullest, messiest, truest self. The people who are meant for you won’t be scared off by your strength or your softness. They’ll celebrate it.

You don’t need permission. To speak. To shine. To be fully, unapologetically YOU. You don’t need to wait until you’re healed or perfect or more polished. Your power is in showing up just as you are. The world doesn’t need another carbon copy. It needs your fire, your heart, your story.

And let me tell you—learning to love yourself is one of the most powerful things you can do. I didn’t always love myself. In fact, it took me a long time to even like myself. But embracing who I truly am meant also learning to love all of me: the loud parts, the broken parts, the bold parts, the quiet ones, too. Because you can’t fully love anyone else until you learn to love yourself. And no one can truly love you if you don’t even believe you’re worthy of love. Self-love isn’t selfish—it’s foundational.

It’s okay if not everyone understands your journey. It’s okay if some people walk away when you stop dimming your light. You were never meant to be for everyone—you were meant to be for yourself.

So own your story. Wear your weird. Speak your truth. And never, ever apologize for being too much for the people who were never enough for you.

You are rare. You are radiant. You are real.

With love,
Christina

Building a Support System: You Don’t Have to Do It Alone

We live in a culture that often glorifies independence, praising those who seemingly handle life's burdens alone. While strength and self-reliance are admirable, I've learned firsthand that true strength also lies in recognizing when we need support.

After my car accident, I faced an overwhelming journey of recovery, both physically and emotionally. Initially, I didn't have the luxury of choosing independence—I literally couldn't manage on my own. I had to rely on help, something incredibly difficult for me. There was no proving my strength alone because my circumstances forced me to depend on others. Accepting this help was hard, yet crucial.

It wasn't until I truly embraced the support of friends, family, and professionals, that deeper healing began. Allowing myself to accept help didn't make me weak; it made me stronger. It taught me humility, vulnerability, and the beauty of authentic connection.

One of the greatest sources of my strength and support has been my husband. He is the most wonderful man, my biggest cheerleader, and my unwavering advocate. It took me nearly 33 years to find him, despite having known him much earlier. He supports me in every single thing that I do and backs me in every possible way. He is genuinely the most supportive person I have ever met in my life.

He sees and recognizes the toxic behaviors in my life, especially from my children's father, and how these behaviors have influenced my son through learned behavior. Having him stand by my side through these challenges is invaluable. Finding a supportive partner can be crucial to healing, especially if you choose to be in a relationship. While it's not necessary to have a partner to heal, if you are in a relationship, having that partner be supportive is absolutely essential.

I'm naturally a very independent person, and it is incredibly hard for me to rely on someone else because, to me, it often feels like a weakness. This independence stems from my past traumas—I never want to feel dependent, even when I genuinely need support. Recognizing and overcoming this internal barrier has been a significant part of my healing journey.

Another foundational supporter in my life is my mom. She is one of the strongest people I know and has faced some of life's harshest trials, yet remains the most caring and compassionate person. After my accident, she was fully prepared to care for me in her home to prevent me from having to go into a nursing home. She took care of me for years because I wasn't able to survive alone. Having her unwavering support and love has been absolutely incredible.

Building a support system isn't always easy. It requires courage—the courage to be vulnerable, the courage to trust others, and the courage to ask for help. But once you take those first brave steps, you'll find a community ready and willing to lift you up.

Here’s how you can begin:

1. Reach Out. Even if it's hard. Even if it's uncomfortable. Let someone know you're struggling.

2. Choose Wisely. Surround yourself with people who genuinely support you—those who build you up, encourage your growth, and stand by you during tough times.

3. Be Honest. Share your truth openly and authentically. People can't fully support you unless they truly understand what you're facing.

4. Embrace Professional Help. Therapists, support groups, and coaches are incredible resources. There's no shame in seeking guidance from those trained to provide it. You can even schedule a session with me. CLICK HERE TO DO SO

5. Reciprocate the Support. Building a strong support system is a mutual journey. Offer your support to others in their times of need.

Remember, asking for help isn't a sign of failure; it's a powerful act of courage. You don’t have to navigate your journey alone. We heal better together, we grow stronger together, and we rise together.

With love,
Christina

Power of Forgiveness

We often think forgiveness is about excusing someone else's actions—making it seem as though what they did was okay. But forgiveness isn't for the offender; it's for ourselves.

When I was thirteen, I faced a moment that forever altered my path. Unexpectedly, I encountered the man who had molested me when I was just three years old. Seeing him again could have plunged me into rage, bitterness, or despair. Instead, in that profound moment, I chose forgiveness.

I wrote him a letter—a letter he would never receive, but one that allowed me to unburden my heart. In choosing to forgive him, I reclaimed my power. I refused to let my trauma define me or dictate my future. This forgiveness wasn't a pardon; it was liberation.

Forgiveness allowed me to acknowledge my pain without being consumed by it. It helped me understand that holding onto anger was only hurting me. Letting go didn't mean forgetting—it meant accepting the past and choosing not to let it control my present or future.

The journey to forgiveness was not easy. There were moments of doubt, moments of anger, and moments when forgiveness felt impossible. But with each step forward, I felt lighter, stronger, and freer. Forgiveness created a path for healing, allowing me to reconnect with myself and reclaim my story.

However, forgiveness isn't always straightforward or easy. Although I was strong enough to forgive that man from my past, I still struggle deeply to forgive my children's father. This isn't because of what he's done to me personally, but because of the ways he's hurt our children. He's impacted their lives in ways that will affect them forever, molding their perspectives and influencing who they become and how they affect others.

Lately, I’ve been sitting with some really heavy emotions. And if I’m being honest—hate has been one of them. Not the petty kind. The kind that comes from deep, relentless hurt. The kind that builds when someone you once trusted turns every interaction into manipulation. When co-parenting becomes a battleground. When your kids are stuck in the middle. And when you carry the weight of doing what’s right alone, while being blamed for everything that goes wrong.

For a long time, I thought if I just ignored it, stayed strong, or “took the high road,” it would all get better. But lately, I’ve realized: I don’t want to live with this hate anymore. It’s heavy. It’s exhausting. And the truth is—it’s not helping me heal. It’s still giving him space in my heart and my head.

So, I’m learning how to let it go. Not for him, but for me.

Here’s what I’m going to start doing:

1. Letting myself feel the hard stuff. Without shame. Without guilt. I’ve earned my emotions. I’m allowed to feel them without letting them control me.

2. Turning pain into purpose. By continuing to speak out, share my story, and hold space for others who are going through it, too.

3. Taking my power back. I’m reminding myself of the truth: I am strong. I am grounded. I am not what he tried to make me believe I was.

4. Releasing it from my body. Whether it’s crying, writing, screaming into a pillow, dancing in my living room—whatever it takes. I won’t carry this feeling anymore!

5. Creating a ritual of release. I’m going to write it all down—the hurt, the betrayal, the anger. And then I’ll burn it. Bury it. Rip it up. Because I deserve to feel light again.

I don’t have it all figured out. I’m still in it. Still working through it. But I know this: I deserve peace. My kids deserve peace. And I’m fighting for that, one day at a time.

Forgiveness doesn't erase pain. It doesn't justify wrongdoing. But it does something far more powerful—it sets you free.

If you're holding onto pain or anger from your past, consider forgiving—not for them, but for you. Your heart deserves peace, your spirit deserves freedom, and you deserve to heal.

Remember, forgiveness is the gift you give yourself.

With love,
Christina

Breaking Free from Fear

We talk a lot about overcoming fear, about pushing past it, but we don't talk enough about how to break free from it. Fear isn't just something we fight—it’s something we need to learn to release.

For so long, fear was a constant presence in my life. It wasn’t just the fear of physical pain from my accident—it was the fear of losing control, of being manipulated, of not being good enough. Fear crept into every part of my life. Fear told me that I couldn’t stand up for myself. Fear told me I didn’t deserve happiness.

And for a long time, I listened.

There was a time when the fear was overwhelming—when I felt like it was suffocating me. It wasn’t just the fear of what had happened, but the fear of what could happen next. The fear that I would never truly be free from the control of my past.

But here's what I learned: The first step in breaking free from fear is acknowledging it. You can’t conquer something you refuse to face.

I remember, after my accident, there was this deep, gnawing fear that I would never get back to who I was—fear that I would never walk again, never feel like myself again. But there was another kind of fear, too—the fear of what it meant to move forward. What did a new version of me look like? Would I still be worthy of love? Of connection? Of happiness?

The real turning point came when I finally said, "I have to let go of the fear. I have to stop allowing it to control me."

And that wasn’t easy. It took time. But each day, I made the decision to face fear head-on.

For me, breaking free from fear meant standing up to the man who had controlled me for so long. It meant setting boundaries—ones I had avoided because I was scared of the backlash. I learned that I didn’t need to tolerate the manipulation anymore. It wasn’t easy, but it was the only way to regain control of my life.

And here's the truth: Freedom comes when you stop letting fear decide your worth. It comes when you decide that you’re worth fighting for—even when it feels impossible.

There were moments when I doubted myself, when fear crept back in and whispered, “You’re not strong enough to do this.” But each time I chose to move forward anyway, I grew stronger. And now, I see that the real strength isn't in avoiding fear—it's in embracing it, facing it, and continuing to move through it.

If you're struggling with fear right now, know that you’re not alone. It might feel like it’s too big to overcome, but I promise you, every small step you take is a victory. You don't have to do it all at once. But take one step today. And then another.

You are capable of breaking free from fear, and when you do, you’ll see how much strength you’ve been holding inside all along.

With love,
Christina

A Survivor's Voice

For years, I stayed quiet. Not just because I was afraid—but because society conditions survivors to feel like our pain is a burden. We're taught not to make people uncomfortable. We're told to move on, stay strong, don't make a scene. And when we do speak out, we're often met with judgment, doubt, or blame. Not because I didn’t have anything to say—but because I was taught that silence was safer.

After the abuse. After the trauma. After the accident. I carried so many stories in my chest that I could barely breathe.

And when I did try to speak, people got uncomfortable. Or they minimized it. Or they changed the subject. I remember once, years back, I was on my way home from a work function in the Springs. I decided to stop by the bar where my brother worked just to say hi. What I didn’t know was that while I was there, my drink had been drugged. I left intending to head home, but the next thing I remember, I was on the rooftop of a high-rise building with three men. I knew something terrible was about to happen—and I genuinely believed I might not survive that night.

When I was finally able to escape the horrifying situation—hours upon hours later, after surviving things I can barely bring myself to comprehend—I went home and collapsed in the bottom of the shower, sobbing uncontrollably.I stayed there for what felt like hours, trying to scrub off the guilt and fear and shame. I blamed myself for stopping there at all. I felt stupid, broken, and terrified.

Months later, when I finally found the courage to confide in someone I thought was a friend, their response was, essentially, "Well, it sounds like you put yourself in that situation." I can’t remember the exact words, but I remember thinking, That sounds like something a rapist would say. That moment silenced me all over again—and I never really talked to that person much after that. I started to believe that maybe my pain was too much. That I was too much.

But here's what I've learned: Silence might feel safe… but it's not the same as healing.

Healing happened when I finally started using my voice. When I stepped on stages and into rooms full of strangers. When I stopped whispering my story and started owning it.

It happened when I looked someone in the eye and said, "Me too," and they didn't flinch.

It happened when I said, "This happened to me," without shrinking.

Now I speak on panels across Colorado and at conferences nationwide. I talk about domestic violence, sexual violence, trauma bonding, grief, and healing. Trauma bonding, in particular, is something many people don’t understand. It’s when your brain confuses abuse for love—when the same person who hurts you is also the one who comforts you afterward. You start to cling to the highs because the lows are so unbearable. It’s emotional manipulation at its most dangerous, and it's so subtle that many victims don’t even realize it’s happening. I've lived that. I’ve made excuses for people who hurt me because I was addicted to the moments they made me feel loved. Recognizing that pattern was one of the first steps in breaking it.

Not because it’s easy—but because I know what it's like to feel alone in your story. And I want to be the voice I needed when I was silent.

Speaking out gave me my power back. Not because it erased the pain—but because it reminded me I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

So if you're holding your story in your chest, wondering if it's too heavy to share— Know this:

Your voice is medicine. Not just for you, but for the next person who hears it and finally feels less alone.

You don’t have to tell it all today. But when you’re ready—I hope you share it.

Because your voice matters. And the world needs your truth.

If you're not ready to share your story with the world, that's okay. But know that you never have to carry it alone.

If you need a safe space to be heard—raw, unfiltered, and without judgment—I'm here.

You can book a one-on-one session with me through Real Talk with Christina. It's not therapy. It's connection. It's a space where your truth is safe.

Visit www.ChristinaRanee.com/realtalkwithchristina to book your session.

With love,
Christina

Beauty in the Breakdown

We talk a lot about rising. Rebuilding. Becoming. But not enough about the moment before that—the breakdown.

The truth is, I didn't become strong in spite of my breakdowns. I became strong because of them.

There was a time in my life where I lost everything I thought made me "me". My body, after the accident. My independence. My confidence. My ability to walk. And for a moment—my will to live.

I had a breakdown in every sense of the word. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually.

But here's the thing they don't tell you: The breakdown is where the rebuilding begins.

In those dark, messy, ugly moments where everything feels shattered—that's where the truth starts to surface. That's where I found clarity. That's where I realized what I was really made of.

I stopped performing strength and started living it. I stopped pretending to be "fine" and started getting real.

There is beauty in the breakdown when you let it crack you open, not crush you. When you allow yourself to unravel, cry, scream, fall apart—and still choose to get up the next day.

One breakdown I remember vividly happened several years after my accident. It was after my second thoracic spinal fusion. I was lying in bed in more pain than I ever thought was possible. The medication they gave me wasn't helping—in fact, it seemed to make things worse. I was so malnourished I could barely eat, and I was deteriorating more and more with every passing day.

I remember laying there, crying so hard I could barely breathe, screaming at God. "Why did you save me from that car accident, just to make me suffer like this?" I felt completely abandoned. It was one of the lowest moments of my life—a total breakdown. One that rocked me to my core.

But I got through it. And I know now that it made me stronger.

Sometimes healing doesn’t look graceful. Sometimes it looks like surviving one minute at a time.

If you're in a breakdown right now, you're not broken. You're in a sacred pause before the rise.

You don’t have to rush your comeback. But don’t underestimate it either. Your breakdown isn’t the end of your story.

It might just be the beginning of your most powerful chapter.

With love,
Christina

Motherhood, Guilt & Grace

Motherhood is beautiful, messy, sacred, and so damn complicated.

We carry children in our arms, in our hearts, and sometimes only in our memories. We carry love, but we also carry guilt. Guilt for what we couldn’t do. For what we didn’t know. For the versions of ourselves we were while trying to survive.

I became a mother young. I loved my daughter deeply, and at the time, I thought giving her to her father’s family to raise was what was best for her. It hurt. Still hurts. But I made that choice from a place of love, not abandonment. And yet—the guilt never quite leaves.

Then came more motherhood. More lessons. Two amazing kids I get to raise and pour into every day. And now, I’m in the process of adopting my niece—my sister’s youngest child—after losing my sister in a car accident.

My motherhood journey isn’t traditional. It’s layered. It’s raw. It’s covered in battle scars and grace.

I’ve mothered through grief, through healing, through pain I didn’t think I could survive. And the one thing I’ve learned over and over again is this:

There is no perfect mother. There is only a present one.

I used to drown in the guilt of what I didn’t do, what I couldn’t fix, and the ways I fell short. But the truth is, I was doing the best I could with what I had—and most of us are.

So this week, I’m giving myself a little more grace. Maybe you need to, too.

Grace for the days you yelled. Grace for the tears you hid. Grace for the love you gave while you were still trying to learn how to love yourself.

To all the mothers out there—the biological, the adoptive, the bonus moms, the grieving, the hopeful, and the healing:

You are enough.

Not because you did it all perfectly, but because you never stopped loving.

This Mother’s Day, I hope you remind yourself: You are allowed to be both the storm and the calm. The nurturer and the one still healing.

You are not alone.

And you are never too far gone to rise again.

With love,
Christina

My Scars Don’t Shame Me—They Crown Me

When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted to be was a model.

Not because I craved attention—
but because something deep in me wanted to feel seen. Beautiful. Worthy.

But as I got older, life chipped away at that dream.
Insecure relationships, self-doubt, trauma...
I let it all convince me that I wasn’t enough.

And then came the accident.
Waking up from a coma, I was covered in 250 staples, wrapped in tubes, and surrounded by unfamiliar faces.
My body had been shattered and stitched back together.
When I finally saw the scars… I broke.

One of the very first thoughts I had was,
“Well, so much for ever becoming a model. Who would want to look at this?”

Fast forward five years later—
I was finally in the most healthy, supportive relationship I had ever known.
And one day, I got invited to a casting call.
My gut reaction? “No way. Not me. Not this body.”

But something in me whispered,

“What if the worst they can say is no?”

So I went.

I showed up to that room filled with flawless, airbrushed beauty—feeling like I didn’t belong.
And then they asked us to strip down to our bra and panties.

I was shaking. My scars were visible. My fear was louder than my heartbeat.

But when it came time to walk that runway…
I owned it.

I walked with my chin high, my spine straight, and every single scar on display.

And to my surprise, they didn’t look away.
They clapped. They cheered. They cried.

That moment—owning my story in front of strangers—changed everything.

Since then, my modeling career has taken off.
Not because I’m flawless, but because I’m real.
Because I represent something raw and untouchable: survival.

Now I model not to be seen, but to show others what can be seen.

So if you're hiding your scars—whether they're on your skin or in your heart—
I want you to know:

Your scars are not your shame.
They are your crown.
They mean you survived.
They mean you’re still here.
And they are more beautiful than perfection ever will be.

– Christina

Mindset Saved My Life: Why Your Thoughts Matter More Than You Think

There’s a lot I don’t remember from the night of my accident.
But there’s one memory that will never leave me:
Standing on the side of the highway, crying harder than anyone could imagine—looking down at my own body lying there.
I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t even scared.
I was gone… and yet somehow still fighting.
Fighting to stay.
Fighting not to go.

It was a total out-of-body experience—one final decision before everything went black.

When I woke up, the odds weren’t in my favor.
Doctors told my family to prepare for the worst.
They gave me a 7% chance of ever walking again, and warned that I might never even think again—that I would likely live the rest of my life in a nursing home.

And if I’m being honest, there were moments I wanted to believe them.
Moments when giving up would have been easier than hoping for a life I wasn’t sure I could reach.

But somewhere inside me, something stronger refused to quit.
A voice that whispered:

“You’re not finished yet.”

Mindset isn’t about pretending everything’s fine.
It’s not about forcing toxic positivity over real pain.
It’s about what you choose to believe in the moments that break you.

• I chose to believe healing was possible, even when everything felt shattered.

• I chose to see my scars as proof of survival, not shame.

• I chose to fight for a life I couldn’t yet see.

Was it easy?
Hell no.

Was it worth it?
Absolutely.

You are not your trauma.
You are not your diagnosis.
You are not your worst day.

You are what you decide to build next.

If my story teaches you anything, I hope it’s this:

Your mindset can save your life—if you let it.

And if you’re standing in the middle of your own wreckage right now,
I hope you hear this in your heart:

You’re not finished yet either.

– Christina

This Is Me: Why I’m Finally Sharing My Story

I’ve started and stopped this blog post more times than I can count.
Not because I don’t know what to say—but because for so long, I didn’t believe anyone would care to hear it.

But something shifted.

I’ve lived through more than most people could imagine—childhood trauma, sexual abuse, abusive relationships, a car accident that nearly took my life, and 22 surgeries that followed. I was clinically dead, told I’d never walk again, likely brain dead, and would need to live in a nursing home.

But I did walk again. I rebuilt myself. And today, I live with a fierce purpose.

I used to think my story made me “too much.”
Too intense. Too scarred. Too broken.
Now I know—my story makes me powerful. It makes me real.

This blog is where I finally stop hiding and start speaking loud.
It’s where I’ll share my journey—the healing, the hell, the hard truths and the high moments.
It’s for every person who’s ever felt like they weren’t enough, like their pain was too big to carry, or like they had to keep quiet to survive.

You don’t.

I hope my words help you breathe deeper, stand taller, and maybe even fight harder.
Because you were never meant to just survive either.
You were meant to rise.

This is just the beginning.
Thanks for being here with me.

– Christina

#Survivor #Mindset #Healing #ChristinaRanee