Recovery isn't a destination. It's a skillset. (And I think there are 4 of them)

I used to resent the word "recovery."

It implied I was trying to get something back. It suggested that if I just waited long enough, the "old me" would return, like a lost parcel finally delivered to the wrong address. But she wasn't coming back. And honestly? I didn't want to go back to a time before I knew how strong I was.

Recovery is an active, messy, sometimes furious process of narrative transformation

Luce addressing F-List Conference attendees in her Re-Writing Recovery workshop, 2024. Verity Milligan.

In my research—where I spent half a year writing an album to understand the aftermath of sexual violence—I realized that recovery isn't a passive waiting room. It is an active, messy, sometimes furious process of narrative transformation.

A vital note on safety: I want to be clear: I am a songwriter and researcher, not a therapist. Trauma resides in the body and nervous system, and working with it directly can be dangerous without professional support. My work focuses on the narratives—the stories we tell ourselves about what happened. We can rewrite the story, even while our bodies are still learning to feel safe.

When I looked at the data from my song writing, I realised I was practicing four specific skills to transform that story. I call this The Recovery Process Model.

1. Mindfulness (The "Noticing")

This isn't about clearing your mind. It’s the gritty work of noticing the narrative. It’s catching the victim-blaming thought or the sudden feeling of smallness and simply saying, "Oh, I see you." In my song writing, this looked like stream-of-consciousness writing—letting the mess exist on the page without trying to fix it immediately.

2. Befriending (The "Handshake")

This can be the hardest part. It’s looking at the difficult emotions and saying, "I hear you." In my song Sliding Doors, I literally debate with a voice that says "You should have fought harder." I didn't scream at the voice; I shook hands with it, understood it was trying to protect me, and then agreed to disagree.

"Shame loves silence. It thrives in the dark, convincing us that if we speak, we will be rejected."

3. Voicing (The "Exorcism")

Shame loves silence. It thrives in the dark, convincing us that if we speak, we will be rejected. Voicing is the act of deliberately externalizing the experience. Writing it down. Singing it out. Turning the invisible haunting into a visible object. When you get the story out of your head, shame loses its grip.

4. Collaborating (The "Connection")

We are often injured in isolation, so we must heal in connection. Whether it's co-writing a song or just sharing your story with a safe friend, collaboration breaks the spell of "I am the only one." It is in relation to others we form new narratives, we realise we are lovable and we don't have to suffer in silence.

I'm still recovering... I wonder if I'm just constantly becoming...

Luce performing at Tall Trees, Cambridge (2022). Please if this is your photo, contact me and I will credit you, I've just lost the name, sorry.

Why does this matter? Because if narrative recovery is a skill, it means we can get better at it. It means we aren't broken; we're just learning a new way of being. I'm still recovering - still noticing new and old unhelpful narratives, still befriending them, still exorcising them, still sharing them and re-realising: I'm still lovable. I'm still here.

Will I ever be done? I don't think so. I wonder if I'm just constantly becoming... that's my new way of being...

I am currently recording the album that proves this model works. Conversations with Myself is the sound of these four skills in action. If you believe in this research and want to hear the result, please consider supporting the production of the album:

Donate to the Crowdfunder

Alright, over and out.

Luce x