This Is Not Your Trauma, It Just Feels That Way

Even though traumatic events are individual experiences, the feelings they evoke are often universal. Shouldn’t that be the part of the journey we share, and not just the bloody details?

I have always struggled with how to tell my story. Self-doubt, a lifetime of emotional scars, and physical trauma have made it difficult for me to recognize anything of value in that story. To see any value in myself. When you spend your life surrounded by those who compare you to others and always find you coming up short in one way or another, it’s easy to believe that nothing about you matters. Writing has always been my way of processing what I have gone through. Sharing it has allowed me to reach out beyond those whose perceptions have kept me silent. The relative anonymity of this space is the only thing that has made this possible. It is still a work in progress, but even sharing a little bit has given me more strength to speak out about this mess of trauma that surrounds me.

The thing is, the details are still, at times, too much for me to face. But the effect they have on me is somehow easier. And isn’t that what’s truly relatable?

Trauma is the same as any other pain or feeling — unique to the person experiencing it. How things affect us is tied to who we are at a primal level. One person may pass out at the sight of blood, but another will be motivated to heal the wound that caused it. What is intolerable and paralyzing to me may seem insignificant to you. It’s not about the experience itself, but its impact on the individual, and how they navigate it. I avoid divulging specific details about my personal trauma because of this separation between cause and effect.

In truth, it’s also a matter of self-preservation. The fear of being judged and ridiculed. Years of being told I’m over dramatic and too sensitive have made me hesitant to share the most intimate parts of myself. I am the most introverted of introverts, shy beyond reason. Writing about how I feel without including all the gory details has allowed me a certain level of protection. You can’t tell me it’s my fault if I don’t share exactly what happened. You can’t say that it’s just all in my head. You can’t use my trauma against me.

Another reason is that I hate grandstanding. I hate attention for attention’s sake. (Okay, to be fair, I hate attention for any reason…) I’ve always avoided social media because my life isn’t entertainment (or very entertaining), and my worth shouldn’t be measured by how many people “like” it or not. Sensationalism existed long before the internet, but social media’s rise has taken it to new heights. Now, a person’s worst days and most devastating experiences are instantly visible, not only to be picked apart and judged by millions but to be commoditized. The more ugly and painful, the bigger the payout. The devastating incident is often all people care about, and the aftermath is rarely addressed. It makes you wonder how many people just read the back cover of a book — get the dirty highlights and move on. Who cares about the conclusion?

Throughout my life, I have dealt with issues that have deeply affected my mental health and personal identity. The last decade alone has been filled with death and loss. I have been forced to face truths about my past and family that have profoundly affected how I see myself and the world around me. Writing has helped me make sense of it. It’s a process I’m still working through, and those truths are not always fully formed in my mind. How they make me feel — that is something that is more easily described. And isn’t that what is easier to relate to? Two people can go through the exact same loss and yet have very different reactions to it.

There has been a lot of trauma in my life, and that’s been the focus of my writing thus far. Light, love, and beauty have also been present. I am also eager to share those stories with you, and I hope they can touch even more hearts than those filled with darkness.