11 Principles Pty Ltd

Winter is a great time to catch up on rest and recuperation, healing and looking after yourself. Why not book in for a massage, a Reiki session or a beautiful mix of both $80 for an hour - book in June.

Declutter. More books to gift. Please comment under the photo if you would like any of them.

It's time for a declutter to make more physical, mental and emotional space. Big things are coming and I want to be ready to respond and change to expand consciousness.
Gifting books. Please comment under the photo if you would like any. More to come soon.

Have you heard of METHYLENE BLUE? for the older ones, you might remember it as Reckitt's Blue, an additive to the weekly wash. But used as a pharmaceutical grade supplement, it assists the mitochondria (the powerhouse of the human cell), to make more energy through increased levels of oxygen.
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It is an affordable way to help your body function at a more optimal level. PM me for the research.
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This will be an interesting read for the survivors of abuse and those whom have friends or colleagues for whom early life was plagued with that trauma and that continues still. Many of my clients have suffered greatly at the hands of others, those whom were supposed to love and cherish them but didn't! Healing is a long journey but energetically clearing the cellular imprints goes work. It makes space for positivity, hope and progress to seep in. Blessings to all those going through whatever stage you are in. 🥰

I imagine Cassie Harte as a little girl tugging at her mother’s sleeve, whispering, “I did tell. I did.” Of the abuse by ‘uncle.’ I did. Over and over, she says it. But the world does not stop. Her mother did not care. The plates clatter. Laughter continues. She is invisible. The world forgets her. And that forgetting, that dismissal, becomes a wound that will not fully close.

Reading this book is like stepping into that wound and feeling its pulse. Harte writes with a precision that slices, a tenderness that burns. She does not dwell in the horror for shock; I think she allows it to breathe so that you cannot look away. You see the fear. You see the isolation. You see the way a child’s voice, once brave enough to speak, can echo for decades unanswered.

1. Speaking is survival, not always salvation
There is a weight that lives in the bones of every survivor — the knowledge that speaking will not always save you. That no matter how loud or urgent the words, they may vanish into silence. That truth, raw and piercing, can be folded away, ignored, left to reverberate in an empty room.

Harte teaches us that speaking is not a promise of rescue; it is a claim of existence. When she repeats, “I did tell. I did,” it is not pleading — it is insisting, asserting herself in a world that refuses to see her. Every whispered protest, every trembling confession, becomes an act of courage. Even when no one answers, even when the room remains quiet, the truth persists. And in that persistence, survival quietly takes root.

2. Dismissal leaves marks deeper than the original wound
The cruelty of disbelief is not abstract. It lives in the marrow, in the muscle memory of a child who learns that invisibility is safer than being seen. Harte shows us that the world’s failure to protect, to acknowledge, to care, leaves scars as deep as the original abuse.

Yet within that wound lies a paradox: the same silence that diminishes can also teach resilience. Recognizing the marks left by dismissal is not just an act of remembrance — it is the first step toward understanding the quiet, tenacious strength that emerges from enduring a world that would rather look away.

3. Trauma is both burden and testimony
Trauma is often thought of as a weight — a chain dragging us backward. But Harte reminds us it is also a story waiting to be reclaimed, a testimony insisting on recognition. In I Did Tell, I Did, survival becomes alchemy: she transforms pain into language, fear into witness, isolation into testament.

Every sentence hums with urgency, with a refusal to vanish. Each recollection is not only proof of suffering but proof of presence, of a self that insists on being seen, heard, and remembered. Trauma becomes both a burden carried and a voice lifted — a declaration that no darkness can erase her truth.

Reading this memoir is like holding a candle in the dark. The darkness presses in, suffocating and relentless, but the light, the small, trembling, unshakable light of her voice, refuses to go out. That is the brilliance of the book: its refusal to let injustice remain invisible. Its insistence that memory, no matter how painful, is sacred. Its assertion that the child who screamed, I did tell, was never wrong.

By the end, you are left raw. Shaken. Perhaps even haunted. And yet, you are also changed. Harte’s story is not just her own; it is the story of every person who has ever been dismissed, disbelieved, or ignored. It is a reminder that speaking, even into silence, can be the first act of survival. That courage does not mean perfection; it means showing up anyway.

Like "A Child Called It," this is another memoir that will burn in your chest long after the last page. Cassie Harte did not only tell her story, she lit a fire for all of us who are still learning how to speak, how to survive, and how to refuse to be erased.

BOOK: https://amzn.to/484U1Dq