The House With Too Many Alarms 🚨
The House with Too Many Alarms
There’s a house I live in — not made of wood or brick, but one that sits quietly inside my mind.
At a glance, it looks ordinary. But step through the door, and you’ll find a fortress.
Walls behind walls.
Everything engineered for one thing: survival.
What Happened to Me
I didn’t build this house because I was smart.
I built it because I was scared.
While some kids played freely, I was learning how to stay invisible.
How to avoid being hit.
How to breathe without making noise.
How to read a room in two seconds flat.
That kind of childhood doesn’t teach your brain how to thrive — it teaches it how to scan, assess, avoid, defend.
That’s not a defect. That’s design.
Why My Brain Works the Way It Does
My brain stores memories like landmines.
Some I remember too well. Some I can’t access at all.
I forget what I was saying mid-sentence. I lose track of days.
I feel exhausted from thinking about thinking.
But not because I’m lazy —
Because my brain was wired to detect threat, not joy.
Even now, I walk through daily life like I’m still dodging something —
because the house I live in remembers everything.
Even when I don’t.
What I Did to Survive
I became highly functional.
I took notes. Built systems.
Offloaded memory to devices and people and structure.
If I couldn’t feel safe, I could at least stay organized.
It helped. A lot.
But underneath it all was still the same blueprint:
- Stay alert.
- Don’t trust too fast.
- Keep people happy.
- Never let your guard down.
The Truth
Most people think trauma is chaos.
But sometimes, trauma looks like hyper-control.
Like not being able to relax even when everything’s fine.
Like feeling dumb when you forget things, even though your brain has been running 24/7 threat assessments since childhood.
This is what complex trauma does.
It builds you into a survivor —
but not always into a person who feels free.
And Then… the Miracle
Here’s what I never expected:
There was Someone who saw the house I built — and walked right in anyway.
He didn’t criticize the walls.
He didn’t shame me for the alarms.
He didn’t demand I tear anything down before He came close.
He just came in. Quietly. Gently. With authority and love.
And over time, He began switching off the alarms.
One by one.
With care.
With compassion.
With power I had never seen before.
Not because I deserved it.
Not because I earned it.
But because He loved me —
and He always had.
That’s who did it.
Jesus — the real one, the only one —
He didn’t just heal my pain.
He made me whole.
He took the haunted, locked-up rooms of my mind and breathed life into them.
He made my memory safe again.
He made me safe again.
Not just functionally okay —
but spiritually free.
Not because I’m good.
But because He is.
And that’s the miracle.
And that’s the miracle. Jesus didn’t just walk into my house full of alarms — He stayed. He brought peace where there had only been survival. And as He healed me, I started building something new.
That’s how Corry’s Homework came to be.
I didn’t create this company to get rich or be like other contractors. I built it because I needed a way to work that felt safe — for my mind, my energy, and my heart. I couldn’t function in chaos anymore. I needed structure, truth, and clear boundaries. I needed to be able to say, “Here’s how we work. Here’s what’s fair. Here’s what’s not.”
So I built a system: One day at a time. Pay at the end of each day. No upfront charges. No pressure. No lies. I built a way of doing business that lets people breathe — whether they’re the customer or the worker. That system wasn’t just for them. It was for me. Because I know what it’s like to feel trapped, and I won’t let anyone else feel that way on my watch.
Jesus gave me a second chance. This company is how I live in that chance. It’s how I build peace — in homes, in hearts, and in myself. One repair at a time. One day at a time.
If you’re reading this and something inside you feels like it’s breaking open — maybe it’s because Jesus is standing at the door of your house too. I’m living proof that He walks into the mess without hesitation. You don’t have to clean it up first. Just open the door. Let Him in. He’s the only one who can quiet the alarms — and He will. All you have to do is say yes.
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