After the Breaking: How Trauma,Neurodivergence and Art Shape a Black Woman’s Journey

I grew up on a diet of hope and horror. From age eight to thirty I was bullied, molested, sexually assaulted and largely raised by a world that did not know how to care for children, let alone a sensitive Black girl who would become an artist. Abuse and neglect were constants, and the chaos of survival left little room to develop the executive skills that our culture assumes are basic: planning, self‑regulation and initiating tasks. I often misplace keys, procrastinate on deadlines and struggle to keep my home in order. For years I mistook these issues for laziness or character flaws, only to learn that they are common sequelae of unresolved trauma and neurodevelopmental disorders.

On July 28, 2025, I received the clinical diagnoses of complex and compound PTSD and adult ADHD. Something my art and research has been pointing to for years was finally echoed back to me in the most intimate way. My therapist looked at me and said: “You are a walking miracle. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to unpack all of it, but you will heal.” That sentence both broke me and freed me. It named the weight I’ve carried, and it affirmed the possibility that I can move forward lighter.

For me, as a high-producing creative and strategist, this moment wasn’t about labels more than it was about liberation. For the first time, I felt safe enough to begin removing the mask I had worn for decades. The truth is, trauma rewired me on a cellular level. For more than twenty years, I carried wounds no one could see, while pushing myself to deliver, to perform, to excel. And for just as long, I internalized the lie that maybe I was “crazy,” or maybe I was “lazy.”

The diagnosis didn’t define me. It freed me. It affirmed that what I lived through mattered, that my body kept the score, and that my resilience was never a question. I am not broken. I am not lazy. I am not crazy. I am healing. And healing is not only possible: it’s mine.

Researchers have connected childhood maltreatment with long‑term changes in the brain. A study on “cumulative childhood maltreatment” found that higher levels of abuse predicted poorer executive functioning in adulthood (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). These deficits were not explained away by depression or anxiety, meaning trauma itself can disrupt processes like working memory, inhibition and mental flexibility (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). This science gave language to my daily battles. My difficulty planning isn’t a lack of discipline; it is the result of a prefrontal cortex shaped by chronic stress. Neurodivergent traits like ADHD layer on top of trauma, while people with ADHD often experience “time blindness” — a persistent inability to gauge the passage of time and manage tasks — because the prefrontal cortex struggles to coordinate internal clocks (ucihealth.org), and adults with ADHD routinely miscalculate how long tasks will take and feel perpetually behind (chadd.org). But as a business owner, time blindness isn’t cute. It is missed opportunities, frayed relationships and shame.

The shame deepens when you are a Black woman.

An estimated eight out of ten Black women will experience a traumatic event in their lifetime (pbs.org). Psychologist Inger Burnett‑Zeigler reminds us that trauma leaves an imprint on genes and can be passed down across generations (pbs.org). Black women are more likely to face childhood abuse, intimate partner violence and sexual assault (pbs.org), yet we are less likely to receive mental health care (sph.umich.edu). Structural factors—poverty, chronic stress, racism and limited access to culturally competent care—make us more vulnerable to developing post‑traumatic stress disorder (pbs.org). These disparities are not accidents; they are symptoms of a society that devalues Black bodies and dismisses our pain.

Living with complex trauma is like carrying a broken compass. You know where you want to go but cannot orient your steps.

I spent years mismanaging money, staying in toxic relationships and oversharing with anyone who would listen. My entrepreneurial journey was riddled with inconsistent schedules, cluttered spaces and missed deadlines. Some of this chaos is my ADHD, which makes time slippery (psychologytoday.com). But trauma added layers: hypervigilance keeps my nervous system in fight‑or‑flight; dissociation steals time; and chronic shame whispers that I don’t deserve stability. Without treatment, these patterns look like laziness or self‑sabotage. They are in fact untreated disorders. Healing, however, is not just about medication or talk therapy. As an artist I have found that creation is its own medicine.

Art‑making engages sensory systems that integrate emotion, memory and cognition (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). Neuroscience shows that the brain remains plastic—capable of forming new connections—and that synaptic plasticity underlies our ability to adapt (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). In mental health disorders such as anxiety, depression and PTSD, neuroplasticity is impaired (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). Yet creativity and artistic training produce neuroplastic changes in frontal, emotional and sensory circuits (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov).

If trauma and depression are linked to dysfunctional plasticity, then engaging in art could, quite literally, rewire our brains towards healing.

CROWN - Our Creative Wellness installation at Museum of Science x PureSpark

Art therapy researchers caution against overhyping neuroscience, but they acknowledge that understanding neural mechanisms can improve treatments and help people make sense of how art heals (pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). In my practice I use what I call brand therapy: a process that helps clients untangle their personal narratives and infuse authenticity into their work. I see parallels between this and art therapy’s emphasis on integrating perception, emotion and cognition.

When survivors create, we reclaim control over our stories.

We map our past, express our emotions through color and texture, and share our narratives with communities. Creativity becomes both mirror and medicine. For Black artists, it is also a form of resistance, declaring that our stories deserve to be told, our visions to be funded and our healing to be prioritized.

The next time you see a colleague who is late to meetings or seems disorganized, consider the unseen load they might be carrying. Unresolved trauma and neurodivergence can erode the executive functions that capitalism demands. Rather than pathologizing individuals, we should build systems that honor healing. That means funding community mental health programs, increasing access to culturally competent care and integrating art and creative therapies into treatment plans. It means recognising that generational trauma is real and providing resources to break cycles. And it means supporting Black women and artists not just with applause but with investment and flexibility.

I am still healing. I still misplace my keys and overbook my calendar. But I now understand that these struggles are not moral failings. They are the scars of trauma and the wiring of a neurodivergent brain. Through therapy, medication and art, I am forging a future where my gifts are not buried under shame. In sharing my story, I hope other survivors see theirs reflected and know that what feels impossible is often an untreated injury. Healing is messy, but with understanding and creative tools it is within reach.