Recovering orphans are adult survivors of battleground childhoods—
intimate with truths that take root only in deprived soils.
They carry the weight of others’ sins in quiet defiance,
hearts stitched together with threads of shame that isn’t theirs.
They learned early how to read silence,
how to measure danger in the flicker of an eye,
how to become small enough to survive
but wide enough to absorb the ache of a house that never felt like home.
Love, to them, is not a language but a translation—
one they must painstakingly decode,
often through trial, error, and the raw courage of staying open
even after being broken.
And yet, they bloom.
Not like roses in tended gardens,
but like wildflowers through cracks in concrete—
defiant, vivid, and impossibly alive.
2 thoughts on “Deprived Soils”
Painful and hopeful simultaneously. The word images created in this blog are so evocative and speak the genuine soul-cry that can only come from someone who has experienced these kinds of childhood pains. Keep writing and capturing the heart of the orphan as someone who has experienced the pain of childhood trauma.
Thanks for the encouraging words brother.