Trauma is a Roadmap to Successful Writing
Remembering that scared little girl and how my trauma translates to writing.
Kneeling down at the brick planter outside of our house, I cringe as the yelling gets louder. My face between my hands, I am praying to a God that I am not sure I believe in.
“Dear God, please help me. I’m scared! Please get me out of here!”
The screaming was vibrating every ounce of my being and the tears streamed down my face.
I thought, “If there is a God, why is this happening to me?”
I went to a Christian school and prayed every day. Also, I was 6 years old so I didn’t fully understand “adult stuff” at this point in my life.
As the years went on, the abuse and chaos got heavier and the prayer was less frequent. Why would I keep praying if nothing good was happening in my life?
So, I took to journaling. I needed an outlet because I couldn’t tell my friends or anyone else about what was going on at home. I spoke out loud to my dolls as a coping mechanism.
The height of the abuse for me was between the ages of 9–11. All the bad memories from this time and my life are easy to remember, but I only have small slivers of other memories.
From the time that my mother smashed my head into the fridge, to her beating up my 1-year-old brother, to her pushing my stepdad down the stairs and punching walls are the most vivid memories that I wish I could erase.
I’ve held onto these memories all my life, trying to block them out, but they always come back. I’ve tried every type of therapy. While I am in acceptance of the trauma, my brain can’t delete the recordings that play on repeat.
I thought EMDR would help but it just made the memories clear and more frequent, which is not what I was looking for. It has helped to speak about past experiences in therapy but I still had unresolved anger toward my mother.
When will my mind quit!? I wasn’t sure if it ever would but I was certain I had PTSD.
When I was reminded of the trauma, all the chaos would quickly fill my head and bring me right back to that scared little girl on her knees, listening to the screaming inside the house.
The fear that followed me into adulthood felt like cement inside my head. So, I turned to alcohol to cope and quiet the noise. The flashbacks and dreams subsided as my drinking got worse.
This went on for years. The drinking was followed by periods of sobriety, where I would seek therapy for my unresolved childhood trauma. After trying many different anti-depressants (that never worked) and an array of therapists, I would always go back to the drink. It was the only coping mechanism that helped.
Until it didn’t.
Drinking created a facade and the worse the drinking got, the harder it was being a fraud. My foggy brain, full of chaotic memories, sent me into a downward spiral of depression. I couldn’t think straight and I started internally blaming my mother for my pathetic existence. She wasn’t even in my life anymore, but I was still blaming her.
Following through was a foreign concept. I would get even more depressed when I realized I’ve haven’t completed anything since high school.
Trying to constantly quiet the noise was debilitating.
I always wondered what it felt like to microdose mushrooms but in a moment of clarity, I thought it might be like this. I envisioned something different, with less noise and I knew it was possible. I was floating on a happy cloud. At that moment I chose to live, quit drinking, and started healing. I could see death knocking at my door, but I slammed that sucker shut!
Reading about sobriety became my new hobby. All I wanted to do was read, anywhere I was. I was a giant sponge just sucking it all up.
When I finished my 38th book of the year, I knew I was ready to start writing. In my favorite memoir, a scared little girl that turned into an addict, ultimately got sober to become a full-time writer. She is so successful, has written books, started a podcast, and was a guest of many others. I’ve been inspired since I finished the book.
You know that feeling when you are submerged in a book, and after you can’t stop thinking about it? I have a lasting impression in my mind and I can remember the entire story. This doesn’t happen often and usually, I just remember bits and pieces of a book.
Since I started writing, I’ve noticed how alive I feel. I had to courage, finally, to stand up to my mother. I told her that I won’t talk to her until she gets sober, but I don’t have my hopes up. She’s deep in her addiction and I’m not sure she can escape. She’s never had a life without it.
Sincerely, I wish her the best and I hope she finds freedom. I’ve been writing so much about her lately and I know this is allowing me to let go.
Writing comes in like a spackle, patching up the bad memories so that I can move on. I have a hard time expressing my thoughts verbally, so I know this is the way.
Writing saved me from the chaos in my mind, it helped me forgive and move on, and it’s forced me to process all of the emotions associated with my trauma.
If you were that scared little girl, too, that didn’t believe in anything or anyone, I strongly urge you to give writing a chance. Even if no one is ever going to read it, just getting it all out on paper lifts a mountain off your back!
Plus, it’s free, simple, and always available.
❤
