A child unprotected
I am Jim. My story or book is called a child unprotrected. I am trying to get it published but I am getting much rejections. One rejection read they do not have the capacity to read this. But it needs to get out and get read. So no-one else feels as lost as I did. It’s a positive story.
It’s written from a man who has studied counselling, sat in counselling rooms, and learned to recognise the difference between surviving and living.
I am man who has carried trauma quietly for years, not because I was hiding, but because I didn’t yet have the language to name what happened to me.
Jimi is the part of me that still felt thirteen — confused, frightened, trying to make sense of danger that arrived disguised as belonging.
Debbie was the part of me that learned how healing works — slow, patient, non judgemental, grounded in presence rather than answers.
I wrote them because I needed both.
I needed a place to speak the truth without collapsing under it. I needed a voice that could hold the truth without flinching.
And now, as I step out from behind them, I can see something clearly:
My story is not finished, but it is no longer hidden.
I am not the frightened boy who didn’t understand what was happening. I am not the man who ran from job to job without knowing why. I am not the person who believed his reactions were failures rather than symptoms.
I am someone who has turned corners that once felt impossible. Someone who has faced memories that lived in the body long before they reached the mind. Someone who has learned to sit with discomfort rather than flee from it. Someone who is still walking — not backwards into fear, but forwards into understanding.
The journey isn’t over. Healing rarely is. But it is no longer a dark corridor. It is a path with light, with guidance, with meaning.
Jim will continue to speak. Debbie will continue to guide. But they are no longer carrying the story alone.
