About the Blog

"I Said the Quiet Thing Out Loud" isn’t just a title—it’s a war cry.

This space was born from survival, shaped by trauma, and fueled by truth. It’s where we talk about what hurts, what heals, and what never should’ve happened in the first place. Here, I name names. I break silences. I rip off the bandages society slaps on wounds too deep for platitudes. Domestic violence. Sexual assault. PTSD. Spiritual deconstruction and reconstruction. Inner child work. Grief. Anger. Rebirth.

This blog is a raw, unfiltered platform for trauma survivors—especially those who were silenced, minimized, or taught to perform gratitude while bleeding out. I share my own story in brutal honesty, and I hold space for others who are still crawling through the fire. There’s no sugar-coating here. No fluff. No “love and light” unless it’s earned.

We talk about the hard shit:

What PTSD looks like when it’s not aesthetic.
How domestic violence doesn’t always leave bruises—until it does.
The complexity of healing when your body is still in survival mode.
The sacred and the spiritual when it feels like God wasn’t listening.
How to reclaim your voice, your truth, your life—on your own terms.

But we also talk about strength. Rage. Boundaries. Community. Softness. Love. This is a space where survivors are seen, supported, and fucking celebrated—not pitied. If you’re tired of the whispering, the tiptoeing, the pressure to “move on,” you’ve found your people.

Here, we don’t bury the truth. We resurrect it.

Welcome. Say the loud part with me.

Vada Maddox - My Story

Life has a way of surprising us in ways we never expected. As I sit down to share my story, I realize it is woven with threads of trauma, survival, and unwavering resilience. My hope in sharing this is to connect with anyone feeling isolated in their struggles, searching for understanding, or finding it hard to voice their battles.

I’m 32, living in Michigan, and I’ve survived more than I ever should’ve had to.

Childhood trauma.

Domestic violence and a marriage that nearly killed me.

A stillborn child.

Losing my kids to "the System".

Chronic illness - hEDS, POTs, Fibromyalgia.

Medical trauma..

You name it?

I've likely lived it.

And that's NOT a brag.

This space wasn’t born from healing—it was born from hurt. From the silence I sat in for years. From the trauma that tried to shut me down. From the way people look away when the truth gets too uncomfortable.

I write for the ones who are still stuck.The ones who don’t know how to speak yet.The ones who are tired of being told to be strong when they’re just trying to survive.

I’m that voice -

The raw one.

The real one.

The unrelenting one.

Not polished. Not passive. Not here to sugarcoat shit.

Because trauma isn’t the end-all.

Being real is.

And if you’ve been waiting for someone to say the quiet part out loud—you just found her.