I’m Not Just My Trauma (I’m also tattoos, TikToks, and a highly intelligent disaster with a yarn addiction)

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Look, I’ve got trauma.

Not the cute kind either — the kind that comes with emotional whiplash, a suspicious amount of dark humour, and an alphabet’s worth of diagnoses. ADHD? PMDD? CPTSD? Throw in some OCD tendencies and a side of anxiety and we’re basically playing trauma bingo.

But that’s not all I am.
Because — SURPRISE — it turns out I’m also bloody brilliant.

 Plot Twist: I’m Not Stupid

For years, I thought I was just slow.
Struggled with reading. Letters jumped. Teachers gave up.

Spoiler: I’m dyslexic.
Didn’t really learn to read properly until later in life. But guess what? That didn’t stop me. I read, I write, I create, I sell. I thrive.

I’m not stupid. I’m neurospicy.
The kind of smart that builds businesses from breakdowns and reinvents myself weekly — sometimes daily, depending on the caffeine level.

 Hair Was My First Magic

Before crochet hooks and chaos branding, I had scissors.

I was a hairdresser for over 20 years — holding more than just hair. People brought me their roots, their regrets, and their trauma. I gave them a good cut, good chat, and sometimes a life reframe.

Hairdressing taught me to read people. To hold space. To hold scissors with purpose.

I owned my own salon for a year too — short but fierce. Just like the fringe I cut on my lunch break.

 My Gloriously Chaotic CV

🎨 Illustration degree holder — I can design your logo or draw your mental breakdown. Both work.

✂️ Hairdresser of 20+ years — part stylist, part emotional support witch.

🧶 Crochet chaos queen — ADHD meets yarn stash meets fidget hooks.

📱 Social media nerd — grew my brand while forgetting why I walked into the room.

🍰 Bake when I’m anxious, burn when I dissociate. Classic.

👗 Edgy fashion enthusiast — if I’m going to unravel mentally, I might as well look good doing it.

🧡 I Didn’t Do It Alone

I didn’t bootstrap my way out of trauma.
I collected people like stitch markers — bright, weird, a bit lost under the sofa, but absolutely worth finding again.

I’ve got friends who love me in my chaos.
I found a therapist who can handle my trauma-dumping and my punchlines.
And my husband?
He didn’t expect a crash course in ADHD, PMDD, and everything in between — but he’s still here, snack in hand, YouTube tabs open, learning every damn letter with me.

That’s love. Not the filtered Instagram kind — the messy, real, “let me bring you tea and back away slowly” kind.

 Who I Actually Am

I’m a walking scrapbook of survival.
A tattooed contradiction.
Soft heart, sharp tongue. Big dreams, small attention span.
I’m not just my trauma. I’m everything I created in spite of it.

I’m the friend who sends memes instead of replying — but will drop everything if you say you’re not okay.
I love hard. I feel loud. I dress like chaos and comfort had a baby.

🎤 Final Word (With Jazz Hands and a Crochet Hook)

You’re not just what happened to you.
You’re not your worst day.
You’re not the diagnosis, the label, or the assumptions people made when you struggled.

You’re the comeback story. The plot twist. The bright-ass highlighter scribble over a page life tried to tear out.

I’m not just my trauma.
I’m tattoos, TikToks, tea, and ten thousand unfinished crochet projects.
I’m here. I’m healing. I’m thriving.
And I’m not going anywhere.

💌 For You, the Reader

Hey you,

If you’ve made it this far — thank you. You’ve just read my mess, my magic, my trauma, tattoos, tea, and ten thousand tangents. And I hope somewhere in this yarn-tangled chaos, you saw a little piece of you.

Because this wasn’t just about me.
It’s about us. The beautifully weird ones. The ones figuring it out in our own neurospicy way. The ones who have survived more than we let on.

So let me remind you of this:

✨ You are not broken.
✨ You are not too much.
✨ You are not lazy, stupid, or dramatic.
✨ You are smart, soft, strong, chaotic, healing, hilarious, and so much more than what happened to you.

You are not just your trauma.
You’re the version of you that keeps showing up — on the good days, and on the “please don’t talk to me unless you’re bringing snacks” days.
You’re trying. You’re healing. You’re surviving. That’s enough.

And if no one’s told you this lately:
I’m so proud of you.

With all the love and none of the masking,
Zoe
(aka: That ADHD crochet goblin who definitely cried while writing this)


🔗 Want more chaos, crochet, and honesty?

Come find me on TikTok, Instagram, or join the chaos coven on Discord. Let’s get weird and wonderful together. 💕


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