Unfiltered Debbie

I’m Finally Saying It: The Things I Was Told to Keep Quiet

Reader Discretion: I don’t sugarcoat things. Candid stories, strong language, and truths that may make some uncomfortable. This post is raw and honest. It discusses mental health, trauma, burnout, and personal struggle. If you need immediate help, call or text 988 (US Suicide & Crisis Lifeline) or the Childrenhelp National Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-422-4453. For confidential support from our foundation, visit www.debbiemurphyfoundation.com/appointments

I stopped waiting for permission to get better. Here’s what I changed, why it mattered, and the exact, practical steps and resources that helped - no fluff, no platitudes.

Hola!

Let me start off by saying: I’m not here to make anyone comfortable. Yes, there might be grammar errors I ignored or was clueless about, but that’s not what you’re here for, is it? You’re here to know me - the founder of this foundation - who I am, what I do, what I believe, how I think and maybe how I process things lol. I’m a lot to handle. I know this about myself. I say things when maybe I shouldn’t, and I couldn’t care less about titles, positions or ranks. You are just a person to me. Not a title or salary. Just a little ol’ human being, like me and everyone else in this world. I more often than not embarrass myself, husband, kids and others around me. I honestly don’t know how anybody is my friend, much less, my lover. Seriously though, I am a lot. But if you can get through my walls, I AM WORTH IT. I know that too. So let’s begin.

I’m here to tell the truth about what it took to change myself for the better - the ugly parts, the small wins, and the stubborn, everyday work that actually moves the needle. If you want sugarcoating, this isn’t your post or person. If you want real, actionable (and sometimes questionable) steps from someone who’s been dragged through the muck and came back out the other side, read on.

The moment I decided to change

Ever since I can remember, I felt wrong - different, broken, like I didn’t fit. I couldn’t explain it; I just felt it. I’d rage at myself: “What is wrong with you?” Why can’t you change? Why can’t you just be normal?” The frustration was real. I made excuses - maybe I wasn’t aware I was making them - because it was all I’d seen growing up.

Then one night, during a blowup with my then-boyfriend, now-husband (someone I adored and was terrified of losing), I fell to my knees and screamed to God. I don’t remember the exact words. I just remembered needing help. That small, persistent voice people call the Holy Spirit (those that know me know I am spiritual but not necessarily religious) pushed me to reach out to the bishop at my church - a man I’d never met and hadn’t had attended church within years. I texted him: “Hey bishop, I don’t know you and I don’t know why, but I felt the need to reach out to you and ask for a meeting to meet with you. My name is Debbie, can we meet?” And holy crap - that meeting changed everything.

I immediately broke down. Just by walking into the door. “How embarrassing”, I thought. I spilled my guts. Here was a complete rando in front of me, who I did not know, someone who I don’t trust, and know nothing about. He listened. He didn't judge. He referred me to an intensive trauma therapy group the church ran. I hated groups. I hated people. I don’t trust them. People had hurt me. People are liars and abusers - that was my story. But I tried the group because I wanted to be “normal”.

What I learned there, the first week, I was guarded, extremely, watching and waiting, untrusting. By week two, everything hit me. I was not alone. I was not the only “not normal” person. I didn’t realize how much trauma had been running my life. The pieces finally made sense. I thought I was unbreakable; I thought no one could hurt me. But it had broken me. All of “it” had broken “all” of me. It’d rewritten me into a walking bundle of trauma and red flags everyone else seemed to see but me. Walking around like everyone else was crazy, not me. And I had no fucking clue.

Everything I’d shrugged off was real and had consequences. That’s when the real work began: naming what happened, feeling it, and learning new ways to exist in the world without collapsing under old patterns.

What actually changed me

• saying yes to help even when I didn’t trust it (I still majorly struggle with this)

  • I will say though, when I sense that I am being fucked or crossed, I am done. 100%

• talking about my mess out loud, instead of hiding it.

  • I am so tired of being told what I can and cannot speak about. It is my story. It affected me. It hurt me. It broke me. I suffered. ME. All alone. No support, no one to be able to speak to, nowhere to hide, nowhere to cry. Just me, myself and I. Therefore, it is up to me on whether I speak about it or not, to whom or when and where I choose to, and how I do it. Curse words and all. People have taken my agency for far too long. I am not going to allow for it to continue.

• Learning boundaries - tiny, steady practice of “no” and self-care (man, did this take a while! And it was the hardest part too!)

• Choosing systems over motivation: little rituals that outlast motivation. I literally cannot live without them. Don’t know how I ever did.

• Getting into therapy and peer groups and keeping myself accountable to people who weren’t trying to fix me - they just showed up.

  • This is something that is a MAJOR need

  • I will never forget the moment my therapist said “you will probably be in therapy forever”. I don’t think she’s wrong

  • I also want to say, I believe it is extremely important to find the right person for you (therapy wise, you whore). Someone who you feel understands you and is able to call you out on your bullshit. Someone who is not scared to stand up to you. Someone who doesn’t scare off easily and who will continue to show up regardless if hands are thrown the previous session (lol JK. Please do not get physical with anybody. Much less your therapist. Their job is to try to keep you out of jail lol. But you know what I mean)

  • FIND GOD!!!!! Read The Bible, The Book of Mormon and the Book of Revelations!

The truth? I’ll tell you straight up. You don’t get healed by pretending you’re fine. You get healed by naming the things you were told to keep quiet, by asking for help, and by doing the slow, boring work every day. Change isn’t dramatic in the long run - it’s boring and steady and sometimes humiliating. Very humiliating. But it is real.

If you want to start, don’t wait for permission. Pick one micro-habit. Tell one person. Make one appointment. When you fall, don’t make it the end of the story - make it the reason you call someone.

This is only the beginning. I’ll keep being blunt, messy, and real here. If that makes you uncomfortable - okay. If it help you - tell me what landed. If you want practical starters, say the word and I’ll post what helps me.

- shiftmomunfiltered

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“He thinks he’s just my husband…..but he’s the love I get to grow old with, the teammate I get to raise a family with, and the man I silently admire in a thousand everyday moments. He’s the warmth in our home, the laughter in our hallways, and the reassurance that no matter how hard life gets, we’ll face it together. He has no idea how deeply he is loved.” - unknown