I am not fully healed from the trauma I endured. (And why should I be?) Or perhaps I should say, I have not been freed from the effects of my trauma.

I kind of hate saying “my trauma”. Why is it mine? Why do I have to hold it? I didn’t want it to be mine. I don’t want it to be mine.

I don’t have flashbacks and shake and cry and have debilitating body memories….well, not as much as when I was in college, at least.

But things can subtly affect you, you know? Sneak into your thoughts and your actions and your decisions and your reactions and your choices without you even realizing because you just think that’s you and your personality and your preference. But maybe it’s not.

How do you untwine it and pull it apart and cut the right threads?

How do you know what’s you and what’s not?

I feel like a teenager every time I write or talk about this all.

It’s almost harder now, in that it’s not simply (it wasn’t simple) speaking the words and being released and moving on. It’s smaller and more intricate and less obvious now but it’s there. 

Just because you’ve “healed” doesn’t mean you’re healed. Doesn’t mean it’s gone. Doesn’t mean just because you talked about it once, you’re fine.

When things are happening and before you’ve talked about it, everyone is in full support to listen. But once the story has been told, the secrets have been released, it isn’t over. Sometimes you want to, you have to, say it again, over and over. But you feel dumb and silly. Sometimes people even say, “You know you’ve told me this before, right?” And you know, but you need to keep talking about it. You need to go through it again. You need to set it free again and again.

We replay and discuss our happy memories all the time so why not the hard ones?