“Sometimes in the waves of change, we find our true direction.”
— Unknown
🌍Some events don’t just shake your life—they rip it wide open.
Author and life transitions expert Bruce Feiler, in his book Life Is in the Transitions, coined the term “lifequakes”—profound, destabilizing events that split your life into before and after. But if you’ve lived through abuse, trauma, or betrayal, the word lifequake feels almost too tidy. These aren’t just disruptions. These are detonations.
You’re not just moving on.
You’re clawing your way out of wreckage while parenting, surviving, and fighting through every system that was supposed to protect you—and didn’t.
I know—because I’m living it.
I’ve been through a multi-year quake that still hasn’t fully stopped rumbling. I left an abusive marriage, but that was just the beginning.
Since then, I’ve been fighting in four different court systems:
- Family court, for parenting time, custody, and child safety—trying to protect my children while navigating systems that often enable coercive control.
- Civil court, battling over businesses, corporations, and franchises, where there has been misappropriation of funds, diversion of dividends, and property concealment.
- A criminal court where my ex has been charged with sexual assault.
- And a second criminal proceeding, currently heading toward a prejudicial trial for child abuse charges involving two of my children—charges laid against their father.
I am still dealing with safety threats, manipulation, financial devastation, and the emotional toll of trying to survive while parenting children who are also traumatized.
Although I am still standing some days I feel like a drunken fighter in the ring who keeps taking punishing blows to the head that the referee is ignoring.
💥 What Is a Lifequake?
“Trauma is not what happens to you. It’s what happens inside you as a result of what happens to you.” — Gabor Maté
A lifequake, as defined by Bruce Feiler, is a massive life disruption—something that forces you to reevaluate everything. It might arrive suddenly, like a car crash, betrayal, or diagnosis. Or it might build slowly, like grief, burnout, or years of silent suffering in an abusive relationship.
Feiler’s research found that most adults will experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. Each can last four to five years or more.
They often involve:
- A personal loss (a death, divorce, estrangement, miscarriage, or illness)
- A social rupture (leaving a religion, fleeing abuse, or surviving sexual violence)
- A reality shift (burnout, identity awakening, financial collapse)
- A dream ending (realizing the life you worked for was never really yours)
For me, the lifequake didn’t begin with one incident—it began with recognition. That I was not safe. That love wasn’t supposed to feel like fear. That the systems around me weren’t going to save me. And once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.
A lifequake doesn’t just change your life—it changes your identity, your body, your relationships, and your sense of reality.
And although it can feel like a breaking, it can also be a beginning.
😔 What You Lose in the Aftershock
“There is no grief like mourning people who are still alive but no longer yours.” — Unknown
You don’t just lose a relationship.
I lost friends—people who chose to believe his lies. I lost financial security. I lost time I can never get back. But what broke me most was the slow erosion of family: the feeling that my children were slipping from me, influenced by someone who should never have access to them. I lost precious moments of motherhood that I cannot get back. I lost in-laws. I lost the version of myself who still had hope that people would do the right thing.
These aren’t abstract wounds. They’re lived, aching, present.
“The people you lose when you stand in your truth are not your people. The ones you’re forced to lose? That grief is holy. Name it.” — Theme North
🔄 The Three Phases of a Lifequake
1. 🌫 The Long Goodbye
“Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It means you stop carrying the weight of what can never be.”
This is the quiet beginning. The invisible unraveling.
The moment when the fantasy crumbles, the mask slips, the truth clicks into place.
You mourn:
- The life you tried to hold together.
- The partner you begged to change.
- The years you gave in good faith.
- The illusion of safety, love, or family.
This phase is raw, lonely, and slow.
But it is the first act of freedom.
2. 🌀 The Messy Middle
“This is the wilderness. The cocoon. The raw becoming.”
Here is where most survivors live the longest.
You’re not who you were.
You’re not who you’re becoming.
You are the in-between.
You may be:
- In court.
- In therapy.
- In survival mode.
- In a financial hellscape.
- In grief so thick you can’t speak.
You are fighting systems and flashbacks.
Parenting through trauma.
Existing through triggers.
Breathing through betrayal.
And still—you are becoming.
3. 🌱 The New Beginning
“Growth doesn’t feel like flowers blooming. It feels like breaking open.”
You don’t arrive at peace. You crawl toward it.
At first, it’s fleeting:
- One morning where the tears don’t come.
- One laugh that surprises you.
- One moment where you feel proud instead of ashamed.
Eventually, it builds.
You begin to trust your own instincts.
To parent with clarity.
To create with joy.
To live without apology.
This isn’t a happy ending.
It’s an honest beginning.
🔁 Healing Isn’t Linear
“Healing is not a straight line. It’s a dance—sometimes a stumble—through darkness, light, and everything in between.” — Unknown
You might feel like you’re failing because the grief keeps returning.
Because triggers still knock you over.
Because a smell, a word, a memory can drag you under like a wave.
But that’s not failure.
That’s how trauma heals—in layers.
You may:
- Bounce between phases hourly.
- Relapse into anxiety or depression.
- Feel stuck, numb, or enraged all over again.
Healing isn’t a staircase.
It’s a spiral—and each time you circle back, you meet it with more wisdom, strength, and self-compassion.
The goal isn’t perfection.
The goal is presence.
🧭 Tools for Navigating Lifequakes
✍️ 1. Express the Chaos
- Write poems, journals, or even unsent letters.
- Paint, dance, scream into pillows—anything that gives the emotion somewhere to go.
🧱 2. Anchor in Ritual
- Ground yourself with daily habits: a morning walk, tea at night, the same playlist.
- Let structure replace panic.
- Let small rituals whisper, “You are safe.”
🤝 3. Find Safe People
- Even one friend who listens without judgment can save your life.
- Join survivor spaces. Speak your truth.
- Let yourself be witnessed.
🔥 4. Reclaim Your Story
- Name what happened.
- Stop apologizing for surviving.
- Write your narrative in your own voice—not your abuser’s.
✨ Lifequakes Aren’t Endings — They’re Openings
“Sometimes when things are falling apart, they may actually be falling into place.” — Unknown
Lifequakes destroy the old—but make space for the true.
You lose the false self you built to survive.
And you start to meet the one who can thrive.
You may mourn:
- The dream you once clung to.
- The people who left.
- The safety that never really was.
But you also gain:
- Boundaries.
- Courage.
- Self-trust.
- Freedom.
“You do not need to go back. You only need to go forward, with everything you’ve learned in your trembling, battered hands.”
💬 Final Thought
“You are not behind. You are not late. You are right on time for your life.” — Brianna Wiest
I am still in it.
Still grieving.
Still raging.
Still writing.
But I am also surviving.
Creating.
Mothering.
Rising.
You don’t have to be healed to be worthy.
You don’t have to be strong to be sacred.
You just have to keep going.
You are allowed to begin again.
Again. And again. And again.
“This is how you rise—not all at once, but breath by breath, boundary by boundary, truth by truth.”
