I’m Rachell Pyle – founder of Scars of Grace,
creator of the
Pick Your Seat podcast,
founder of
Advocacy Family Network, in North Alabama,
and a survivor who has spent a lifetime
learning how to feel safe in a world that often wasn’t.
Through Advocacy Family Network, I partnered with a team of dedicated advocates and law enforcement to he
I’m Rachell Pyle – founder of Scars of Grace,
creator of the
Pick Your Seat podcast,
founder of
Advocacy Family Network, in North Alabama,
and a survivor who has spent a lifetime
learning how to feel safe in a world that often wasn’t.
Through Advocacy Family Network, I partnered with a team of dedicated advocates and law enforcement to help bridge long-standing gaps in victim support. Together, we work to bring fresh hope and collaboration to a space where the work had stalled—proving that change is possible when voices come together.
Since my earliest memory at four years old - when my daddy was strangling my momma - I’ve lived in survival.
I became the girl who tried to save everyone, even when they didn’t know they needed saving.
Most of my life was shaped by a pattern of choosing men who were just a little better than the last - unavailable fathers, just like min
Since my earliest memory at four years old - when my daddy was strangling my momma - I’ve lived in survival.
I became the girl who tried to save everyone, even when they didn’t know they needed saving.
Most of my life was shaped by a pattern of choosing men who were just a little better than the last - unavailable fathers, just like mine.
Not knowing, I kept looking for love in all the wrong places.
There were so many moments I didn’t know whether to fight back or go numb. I screamed silently for someone to help - for anyone to save me - but the people around me were surviving too.
Living a life in domestic abuse brings a feeling of seeing someone dead in the mirror.
Years later, when I was sexually assaulted by a massage therapist,
There were so many moments I didn’t know whether to fight back or go numb. I screamed silently for someone to help - for anyone to save me - but the people around me were surviving too.
Living a life in domestic abuse brings a feeling of seeing someone dead in the mirror.
Years later, when I was sexually assaulted by a massage therapist, my life was catapulted back into the trauma I thought I had controlled - buried within my humanity.
It launched me into four years of trauma therapy, and eventually, into the world of advocacy.
I became a crisis counselor, a sexual assault advocate, a domestic violence responder, and eventually, the Program Coordinator for the Domestic Violence Responder Program in Huntsville, Alabama.
Six years in advocacy taught me the depth of
human pain - but also the capacity of the human heart.
I was invited into the sacred spaces of men
I became a crisis counselor, a sexual assault advocate, a domestic violence responder, and eventually, the Program Coordinator for the Domestic Violence Responder Program in Huntsville, Alabama.
Six years in advocacy taught me the depth of
human pain - but also the capacity of the human heart.
I was invited into the sacred spaces of men and women still learning how to breathe through their own survival. That journey helped shed more light as I began my path toward
giving grace to my scars.
A few things I believe...
Scars can be sacred.
Grace is louder than shame.
You can love people who hurt you.
Pain is both a learned behavior and a trauma response.
Pain, for many of us, has become a survival skill.
Silence doesn’t mean consent.
You don’t have to have it all figured out to begin.
My cursing is, at times, coping.
I have a spiritual side, but
Scars can be sacred.
Grace is louder than shame.
You can love people who hurt you.
Pain is both a learned behavior and a trauma response.
Pain, for many of us, has become a survival skill.
Silence doesn’t mean consent.
You don’t have to have it all figured out to begin.
My cursing is, at times, coping.
I have a spiritual side, but I don’t weaponize it.
I hold space for belief, doubt, grit, and grace — because healing doesn’t look the same for everyone.
I’ve learned to honor people for who they are, not what they believe.
It’s okay to not be okay.
Being authentic brings healing.
Healing is messy.
There’s safety in our scars.
I can trust others, men, and myself.
I believe faith can hold both healing and hidden pain.
Sometimes we use it to cope — and sometimes, to cover what hurts.
If you'd like to read, reflect,
or simply exhale,
I invite you to pick your seat and stay awhile.
Welcome to Scars of Grace... a journey I wish all could walk.
This is a space where pain is honored,
where your story matters,
and where grace gently meets every scar.
Here, you are seen, you are heard,
and you are invited to heal at your own
If you'd like to read, reflect,
or simply exhale,
I invite you to pick your seat and stay awhile.
Welcome to Scars of Grace... a journey I wish all could walk.
This is a space where pain is honored,
where your story matters,
and where grace gently meets every scar.
Here, you are seen, you are heard,
and you are invited to heal at your own pace.
No rush, no judgment—just the quiet strength of community and compassion.
Stay as long as you need.
