Trauma + Healing Stories
Empowerment + Validation + Support for Trauma Survivors, one story at a time.
I've never really had "lunch table" anxiety over who to sit with or worried who would like me. In fact, as soon as I began to realize in 9th grade what drama would occur in those situations, I would skip my lunch period to draw / write in an empty classroom or go to visit my favorite English teacher to talk about books, life, and girl things.
I've never bought into classes being more or less than. Instead I watched humans act out in full panic, embarrassment, shame, fear, insecurities, anger, revenge, deceit and other unregulated ---> god awful feelings.
I watched bullies cry hard in the bathroom and realized hurt people hurt people.
I watched popular girls pick apart their closest friends and judge wardrobes while panicking about their own.
I watched closeted gay students act out in defiance or bullying or resort to bashing the gay community out of shame they could not join it.
I watched kids with abusive parents pass as normal at school, even though I was one of them and whole heartedly knew how "not fine" we were.
I watched people call one another sluts for the way they dress, but had sexually abusive partners or were being peer pressured to have sex by their partner.
I watched boys eager to date, so eager they would stomp on friendships just to conquer the girl like a notch on a belt and then toss her to the side for the next conquest.
I watched friendships dissolve over rumors that were started within their own inner circle.
Growing up in trauma made me see the world differently. I spotted out so much abuse and bullying that I could not bare to be around it and I felt extra terrible every time I became involved in it.
When someone bullied me, I thought of how hard they must have had it.
When someone peer pressured or teased me I thought about how badly they wanted to fit in or how bad they wanted to escape the same labels they teased me with.
Hyper-vigilance and empathy were like paint brushes and jars of colors, allowing me to paint the world around me in order to understand it better.
I spent my time absorbing the scenes and then recreating the marks each moment left on others' into the words I now write so easily.
My flow and passion come from a life long observation of human development and painfully creative truths.
J.S. Jaded Savior
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Louder I follow the beat, one tick at a time with slow breathes to calm my chest.
I am not calm yet but I am now centered.
It is 11:11 and the third panic attack of the morning has set in. But here I am, ankles crossed and legs bare on the bathroom tile.
Leaning my weight against the wall, nestled in the nook between shower and door.
This is my place of solitude, here in the bathing room -----> where my thoughts bounce around and come to a halt as they ricochet off mattress walls to ease my anxiety down.
My trauma does not reach me here very often, so this is where I go to find peace.
I never did do well with meditation music or counselors voices.
Between the irritating tones and sound waves of relaxation that everyone else seems to enjoy, I would hear nails to a chalkboard and a condescending tone.
PTSD makes it hard for me to remember things in order.
My mind is often like a jigsaw and I have to unscramble the 4000 plum pieces to decipher where my feelings come from.
I could get lost in a 3 hour roam around target, not for the pretty dresses or cutlery sets ----> but the way my mind loses track of time all together in wide open spaces.
Nothing brought more chaos and pleasure than walking aimlessly around malls when I had deep anxiety and depression.
The fact that I had no real direction or thing to drive home with felt synonymous with my swinging moods.
And the sea of strangers that scattered about made me feel like I was not alone, while at the same time providing no single intimate moment where I would have to dig up a boundary or conquer a trigger.
Time was a weird thing.
Perhaps because I was never allowed to own time, being told where to be indefinitely ---> and that was usually my room.
It could have been minutes or hours, or months, of solitude from evening til morning every day that kept me blinded to the clock.
Lack of play dates or outings unless I was locked out on purpose.
And in those times when I fell into the wind, I had everywhere and nowhere to be til whatever time.
How much does time really matter when your personality is stifled down by trauma?
When day after day after year, you only know that the abuse is timely?
The one consistent tick is the utter dissatisfaction your parent has with your existence...
When you have PTSD you evade time in ways others just don't understand.
In one moment, you are there just staring beyond the dinner plate ---> and in the next blink, you are a 10 year old with nails tightly gripping your thighs and tears streaming down your face as the THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Of the stomping feet and the furniture crashing down to the ground startle you.
And in the next, you hear a voice that is no longer familiar but very much real. Telling you that you are ungrateful and unworthy of the things that you have. That you did nothing to earn them and you should have it all taken away.
Right back into sipping your water and shakily chewing your chicken, taking extra small bites as to not need seconds.
PTSD can be really subtle, this time traveling between moments and emotions.
It can present itself as calmness, being collected or just sleepy. It can look like a smirk and kind eyes, with a tight grip on the thighs under the table where no one can see.
PTSD makes it hard to wear a watch.
In fact, I always hated them.
Hated schedules and deadlines and calendars, without a clear reason why.
So I recently made a decision, against every fiber of my being, to use a gift card and buy a watch.
I consciously made the decision to step into the present.
I decided, in 2020, I want to master time.
Somehow, listening to the Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. has become therapeutic from the moment I first wrapped the silicone band around my wrist and pulled the tab off pause.
Now when I feel like my mind is about to leave, I focus on the ticks and all other noises just fall away.
Like a metronome.
I picture a heaviness in my wrist that anchors me to the present, and travels like a warmth through my veins within my entire body.
Hot lead, filling me up and telling me it is safe to stay.
J.S. Jaded Savior
I've been thinking a lot about the concept of "whole" and how unattainable it feels for someone who has been shattered by abuse.
We idolize this idea of "whole" because we think there are people out there who just "are".
Who were born into the perfect, loving family.
Who never had to struggle without money or shelter or food or provisions.
Whole means holidays of magic and celebration.
Whole means a full fridge all the time and a happy person ready to cook and serve it.
Whole means loving relationships and healthy communities that all go [not out of their way] exactly as ALL IN as they should into helping one another out.
Whole means friends who show up, call, celebrate, and encourage you.
Whole means a job you love and an environment you absolutely love showing up to.
Whole means great health and balanced diets. Strong bodies and athletic stamina.
Whole means pleasured and pleasuring and nights full of orgasmic perfection.
Whole means all time is managed and all nooks are in their crannies and all bows are perfectly symmetrical.
Whole means never having to heal from the bad.
Whole means kisses and promises dont taste like regrets.
Whole means heard.
Now a days I ask myself...
Who even is "whole"?
Who had the luxury of being raised "whole" without nightmares or anxiety or depression?
Without illusions of who they can really trust or what their reality is really like without abuse?
Probably very few.
I want to talk about our TRUTHS.
The things that keep our shards of broken emotions taped together.
"I want to shake the standard and provoke the term 'whole' because too many people are avoiding their truths thinking that facades are crazy glue.
The truths are that we are every bit made up of trauma, each and everyone one of us is in some way hurt.
And so long as we chase our tails thinking the tip of healing is the end all, we do not really see the entire value of what we are in the present.
Not being whole has taught you a whole lot about life.
Not being perfect has helped you to grow through your mistakes.
You just need a reminder daily that what you are currently is a moving mosaic.
And it is beautiful.
So sit down with it, the fragments of your being.
And tell yourself it is enough now.
You are enough right now, your valuable insight and resilient nature.
And you will never "become somebody" or "do something meaningful" once you are "whole".
You will be invaluable now if you speak your truths.
Your purpose now is to be transparent during the hard days.
So that we can all realize we are quite similar.
And finally stand together.
J.S. Jaded Savior
You cannot have a healthy life if you are busy building your house with mud.
If everything every negative person throws at you, you honor as bricks.
Your foundation is only created with honesty, transparency, and awareness.
Those are three different fundamental ingredients in building a healthy YOU.
Though linked, they serve entirely different purposes in your life.
Honesty is the tool we use to differentiate between right and wrong.
Transparency is the way we paint that truth for others to see.
Awareness is the way we paint it for ourselves.
You cannot keep picking up mud from others when they do not have a foundation to even stand on.
No amount of money can buy the ground in which I talk about standing on.
No experience in the world can fabricate it, unless you apply what truths you have discovered to your personal growth.
In the end, we are all a sum of our truths.
I decided that my truths had to be painted across my whole life.
I had to reveal to people what my struggles really are.
As someone with PTSD, I am often stuck in my own past truths.
The stories that came along with the beginning of my life.
I have only been building that foundation for 29 years, 28 of which I spent worried about what people might think.
What will people say if I tell them my present? My past?
If who I am feels empty of a sense of "home" because trauma taught me how to live life on the streets.
Always with no strings attached and ready to burn bridges.
With a paintbrush in one hand and a match in the other.
I never wanted to believe other people's bullshit and baggage ---> infact my hypervigilance made me see the mud beneath their fists, their elevated heartbeats and loud thoughts.
I grew up around people who did not know the concept of truth.
Mental illness made my parents believe in stories that never even happened while running out scenarios they never could remember.
That is what addiction does.
What schizophrenia did.
Paint pictures on the wall of mud caves and convince them it was a mansion.
I chose early on to not fall for illusions but that kept me fearful of building something for myself.
I always questioned if I was capable of making my own dreams come true ----
Or if PTSD just kept me stuck as little girl making sandcastles in the sand.
At 29, I've had an awakening.
I've woken up to realize that sand was just mud.
And all I have done is sat around squeezing it through my fingers like a stress ball to ease my anxiety.
I have come to realize, through education and healing, that those people who gave me mud were not sitting around laughing.
That would be rational.
When someone throws constant judgement and criticisms at you, tries to tell you who you are for you and dismantle your chances of happiness-----> they do not have the capability or awareness to stop. Or say sorry.
Sick people cannot apologize for misleading you.
Guess what they lack?
Mud flingers have no foundation.
How on earth do you expect them to help you create yours?
So what is the solution?
The ironic thing is we often learn the hard way.
Through struggle and awareness, we realize we did not need anyone else.
Growing up, I had very little encouragement to follow my dreams. My life was kept very sheltered and controlled.
But I grew only as big as the tank that held me every single time.
Now I know I need to stop expecting tools or encouragement from broken people.
I can be resourceful AF on my own if I'm not sitting around waiting for others, especially those surrounding me, to build my life.
I know what it takes.
Sitting with my truths. Speaking my truths.
Brick by brick.
Until I arrive at the life I love, in full cognizance of the things that made me become healthy and whole.
J.S. Jaded Savior
When you start showing up and speaking your truths, the BIG PUSH happens.
I like to call this the "big push" and I always thought it was because it was a shove at you for DOING SOMETHING WRONG -----> BUT IT IS ACTUALLY THE UNIVERSE PUSHING WHAT IS BAD AWAY FROM YOU.
The BIG PUSH happens like this:
You start to speak up about your BOUNDARIES.
You begin to
out your true feelings and
desires out into the universe.
You let your entire circle know what is UP.
The truth about your emotions, your needs, your likes, your dislikes.
The truth about your depression, your anxiety, your mental health.
The truth about what people piss you off, what wrongs have been done, what lines have been crossed.
And then, pushed out of the nest like a baby bird with fuzz on its ass still.
The universe says -------> FLY.
Some of you will FREEZE mid air, saying
Faaak faak faaak $#!T as you fall.
Some of you will look for any ledge or branch or familiar safety to GRAB desperately onto, because you did not feel ready for the gust of wind feeling like it is tunneling through your lungs and gravity that would quickly steal control from your body after leaping.
The truth though, is that it was worth that leap.
Worth the pent up anger and frustration you have had while living as "passing" in miserable situations and toxic relationships.
The big push is not in place to kill you or your self esteem.
Once I processed my feelings as I cascaded down heavily through the air of truth, I realized all I had to do to survive it was expand.
Expand my arms for the glide.
To embrace the wind as it carried me not down through lower expectations but AHEAD on nee horizons.
As a survivor of the fall, I am telling you now that I left the nest with my truths not with a fear of falling but with a clear of remaining stuck and in suspension of growth for never leaving.
For never even seeing what life would be like if I could fly.
This year, the BIG PUSH was a reward for taking that chance.
As I wrote out my truths and worked through them, I figured out more puzzle pieces as to who I am.
As I honored my BOUNDARIES, friends who did not were PUSHED OUT.
As I honored my needs, the items or things I did not need in my life were PUSHED OUT.
When I sat with myself to face my own fears and demons, the anxiety and the pain of walking daily with coal in my chest were PUSHED OUT.
THE NIGHTMARES WERE PUSHED OUT.
Because I stopped living in my own box of fears and depression, instead taking them to paper or computer screen for awareness and validation -------> my crippling fear of not being enough got PUSHED OUT.
I SHED SO MANY UNNEEDED THINGS IN 2019.
I PUSHED EVERYTHING THAT DID NOT WORK FOR ME OUT.
I spent years holding onto friendships and acquaintances with people who did not care for me or about me in the way that I WANTED TO BE CARED FOR, because of the anxiety of letting them go.
I felt guilt to cut people out.
I thought I had to love everyone regardless of how they treated me because I was happy eating other peoples crumbs of care instead of baking my own damn pie.
This revelation is so juicy, I can strip out all the metaphors.
I can tell you I simply trusted that I could show up and be myself, tell my truths, and be worthy of love.
I then decided I could love myself through the process, even if no one else did.
So I leaped.
I write about my mental health, the abuse I have endured, the revelations I have and the thoughts that come from my soul.
I no longer GAF who holds a word count to my posts.
I no longer worry when I hit share.
I do not time or limit or pressure myself when I speak or write my truths.
I do not censor or screen myself before I share what I think and believe.
Because I no longer live under anyone else's standards but my own.
I used to think the BIG PUSH was the Universe saying "Jean, you suck."
■ WRITE TOO MUCH
■ TALK TOO MUCH
■ THINK TOO MUCH
■ PLAN TOO MUCH
■ ARE TOO MUCH
I was pretty sure I'd been born or maybe created into TOO MUCH because of being neglected or taught the wrong things since I grew up in an abusive environment.
I thought I was too much for wanting to tell people that:
■ HAVING ABUSIVE PARENTS IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY
■ HAVING A CHEATING OR LYING PARTNER IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY
■ HAVING BEEN NEGLECTED OR GAS LIT AND GHOSTED IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY
■ LIVING WITH ADDICTS IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY
■ STAYING WITH AN ABUSIVE COPARENT TO HONOR THE KIDS IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY
■ HAVING FRIENDS WHO LOVE MISERY AND NO COMPANY IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY
■ MASKING MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES WITH CODEPENDENCY, ADDICTIONS, OR OVERCOMPENSATION IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY
■ LIVING IN STRUGGLE CHRONICALLY AND NOT CHANGING HABITS/LIFESTYLE IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY
■ LIVING WITH MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES AND NOT SEEKING HELP IS NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY.
AND LASTLY, "NORMAL" IS NOT SYNONYMOUS WITH "HEALTHY".
Once I was ready to speak up about my experiences with sex, birth, abortion, abuse, domestic violence, eating disorders, neglectful and abusive family, gas lighting and ghosting lovers/friends, narcissists in my life, and the physical trauma it all caused me ---->
Such as: depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, night terrors, panic attacks, heart palpitations, shortness of breathe, foggy brain, speech slurs, stutters, indigestion, weight gain or loss, skin problems, circulation problems, stomach pains, body aches, hair loss etc.
I suddenly felt RELIEF.
Relief that I did not have to hide myself from everyone ----> from happiness.
Now that I am on the other side of Trauma, the place of recovery, I realize I only nested myself in unhappiness because joy felt foreign.
I did not believe I was able to achieve past a certain level in life because I had been stuck in trauma for so many years.
The BIG PUSH did the rest for me after I made the first move.
So now I'm telling you one vital thing.
If you want to heal, you need to tell the truth.
To your friends, your coworkers, your parents, your partner, your kids, your bestfriend.
Most importantly, yourself.
No one else is going to care if you are ever brave enough.
In fact, many people in your life count on you to stay perched in your nest.
In your discomfort.
I want you to be brave enough to leave it all behind.
And know you do not even need to think or plan or map out what is best for you.
All you have to do is honor yourself.
The rest is going to follow according to the moves you make.
Happiness is trusting the air beneath your wings will take you exactly where you want to go.
Embrace it. ♡
J.S. Jaded Savior
Love and other things we find too intimidating, so we dabble.
We dabble in hearts.
We give 10%.
We dip a toe in it.
But if it seems too cold, we retract.
No, no. This is not right. Too hard to try and love this. Too much effort. And too much resistance.
When we meet, befriend, or are family with someone who is cold.
And it hurts us when they are distant back.
When their game face is the same as their "I love you face."
If you are empathic or a highly loving person, this is dangerous for you.
Yet you are in awe of the snow aren't you?
Cold things have an appeal to them.
It is that stark, quiet, resilient, strong exterior.
Ever notice how you feel playful and happy with snow once you play in it?
How delicate and unusual it is, to touch and get a taste of something that is quite deceiving.
It is actually quite delicate and fragile in your hand, isn't it?
In fact, cradling the snow in your palms you can see that it just melts.
And you feel warmth inside from this beauty.
"Look what I can do."
Let's talk about the love and intimacy issues an empath has when they fall in love with snow.
When they delight in the cold things.
Like a child, filled with wonder.
Looking forward to days off, to quiet play.
Let's talk about how cold, frozen things cannot be hot. Like...ever.
There is no warmth in snow.
Yet we look out for it and we choose it.
Let's talk about how falling in love with a narcissist, for an empath, is like leaping up Christmas morning to snow fall on the ground. Running outside to play, no coat or boots.
Running and twirling, socks getting soggy in the powder.
How a beautiful thing, a cold thing is so tempting that even when their lips turn a blueish hue and their teeth begin to chatter, they say "its ok, I am not cold."
Let's talk about how they will lay right on their back in the fluff, arms and legs spread out wide. Taking the snow right in. Absorbing it. Nose wrinkled, eyes shut.
"Just a little while longer."
And now, immersed in the deep end of the yard and burried in this puffy, cool blanket they finally look around at the vast white emptiness.
And the silence kills.
The empty streets, no one around for miles. The isolation snow has. Everyone else safe and warm in their homes while the empath lays there naked and shivering.
Wondering how she got so far away from the warmth, how the feelings got drained from her limbs.
What a realization, that snow does not bless growth -- but instead feeds on all it touches, to death.
How the snow did not warm for her after all. It just melted away into nothing, that is if it did not swallow her whole and take her with it.
There comes a point in your life when you realize that enough is enough.
You are NO LONGER WILLING to be a participant in the wreckage of a love story, in the enablement of abuse, in the blood ties of parent and child that raised you up with a distorted sense of self and normalcy.
You are NO LONGER WILLING to be somebody else's
That girl who let those things occur, her time card has been BURNED.
I invite you to embrace the FLAMES.
To watch how all the false promises, deceitful reassurances, and "please don't leave me's" light up in sparks and turn into nothing but ash in the wind.
An awakening is happening and it is lighting up all of your senses... can you feel it?
Let the wave of flames take you over and the deep emotional aches become contractions of change.
It is time you walk the fire.
And only a soul who embodies the Phoenix, of transcendence, will complete the journey unscorched.
J.S. Jaded Savior
Whenever I am on the brink of something amazing, I catch the "self doubt cold".
That isolating and suffocating feeling of "you cannot do this, you do not have it in you."
But then I remind Mrs. Doubt that I can finally realize how much of a "BAD BITCH" I am.
In a reclaim the term and call it being capable kind of way.
Because I've been through some real shit.
I have seen and heard and experiences traumatic, fucked up, abusive shit.
I have been hurt in brutal ways.
I have screamed my lungs out and begged for help out of the pain.
I have been abandoned and thrown out.
I have been betrayed.
But I am still standing here.
And I refuse to lay down.
In fact, over the years my strength went from a whisper to a ROAR.
I have superficial and stupid AF fears now.
Look at me, all cozy in my normal and non
-dysfunctional life. Whimpering at the idea of doing a live video or launching self help courses.
Worried my voice might crack or I might sound nervous.
..... when I have survived nuclear war style fights in my family.
...when I survived being VERY pregnant my senior year of high school where I knew nobody and had just lost everything.
....I have survived domestic fights in the home and brutal abuse from multiple narcissistic people in my family as well as past lovers.
I have undergone so many God damned transformations and burned so many bridges just to get to here.
I KNOW when my chemicals are just out of whack and my fears are just talking out of my butt.
They are irrational.
Stupid, for lack of a better term to describe how ridiculous self ridicule really is.
Now that I want to do happy and great things, my anxiety is on hyper drive.
As I try to climb out to the light---> depression begs me back in.
Tells me to stay comfortable.
Tells me I will never find a better caretaker than it.
Someone who knows me so well, that they even know my weaknesses. And will keep me safe.
I do not want to live safely.
I want to be BOLD.
And that means I have to take risks.
With no "at the risk of".
With no freaking buts.
When you are feeling low and depression is signing its signature on your back, in all honesty ---> TELL IT TO FK OFF.
You got better things to do and accomplish and you are so not ready to lay down.
J.S. Jaded Savior
Depression is a block of mine.
I bet a lot of you have it too.
The a-hole un-welcomed frenemy who loves to drop in,
unannounced, talking shit you do not want to hear.
And you try so hard to be polite....
You want to "humor it".
Hell, you even COOK IT DINNER.
You break bread with depression.
And so do I.
Today we grabbed a coffee together.
And the funniest shit happen.
It was talking, telling me the latest drama and yammering on --- when I started to have this really bitter taste in my mouth. and sore feeling in my throat.
This whole feeling took over my body like a fever.
I felt sick, sitting here in front of depression.
And it hit me.
I hate its MF company.
I hate rambles.
I hate the yammering.
F. I even swore off coffee because it tips my anxiety into unsafe levels sometimes. And I do not like feeling the heart racing pain of regret.
So I had set boundaries.
Like an old friend, someone who did not even know the ME I have become anymore, depression just kept on talking,
Looking all around and laughing its' ass off.
But not looking me in the face.
And again, between chill and nausea, it hit me.
My boundaries. My needs. My precious time.
How did I get here in this seat with this disgusting feeling in my body.
I took the call.
Now I know rationality. I love her. I do not get to see her as often, but I miss her and now try to make it a habit to call her sometimes. Or just leave her little voice memos. Just to tell her I miss her.
I feel totally compelled at this moment to put down my cheap ass, lukewarm coffee and STOP.
STOP depression in its' tracks.
I remember rationality telling me once this funny little trick.
"YOU CANNOT CONTROL EVERYTHING. YOU CANNOT PREDICT EVERYTHING. YOU CANNOT MAGICALLY CURE EVERYTHING."
And she was right. Unwelcomed friends sometimes just "drop-in."
"BUT..." rationality said..." YOU CAN CONTROL YOU."
And my mind was blown.
I set my coffee cup down and I said real calm, looking depression dead in the face.
This was not fun. In fact, I am straight up uncomfortable right now. And what I am about to tell you might be really uncomfortable for us both."
It did not really have a reaction. Just a lifeless stare. Almost through me.
"I am actually not able to sit here anymore. I gave you some time, and really I was just trying to extend myself to be kind. To go out on a limb. But I am not happy with where this is going. And I just want to be honest with you."
Depression seemed to just stand up and walk away like it was not really listening.
And I felt my body felt less tense.
I began to regain my breathe and slow my heartbeat down.. just enough to stop hearing the pounding.
"I just remembered I have somewhere to be. But I will see you around, maybe soon," it said as it avoided eye contact with me and left the room.
"yeah.. maybe" I replied.
Then I just sat with myself for a while. I sat and I thought about my feelings. I processed, I marinated, and then I was done.
I was a bit sad leaving, though I do not know why.
Sometimes seeing a familiar face is nice.
And sometimes I humor things against my own will.
Out of obligation.
Out of guilt.
Out of fear.
Sometimes I do not even know why I answer the call.
But I do know this.
I really want to tighten my inner circle of friends, to call on the ones who matter and the things that make me feel good.
I can control me.
The food, the drinks, the habits. Lifestyle choices. I can control those and do healthy things.
And I know in nature's healing there is a call for balance.
But maybe I won't need to sit with old friends if I set my boundaries to only humor the things that bring me joy.
It's been a rough week.
I have felt huge waves of emotions, a lot of doubt in who I am and what my purpose is in this life.
But something amazing has also occured.
I have found my Trauma-voice.
And have given her a secret name.
I now know when she talks to me.
And when the voice starts talking, it sounds a little like this:
"I am not able to get through today. It is too hard."
"I cannot have another day like this."
"I don't know how I am going to survive this."
"I don't have it in me to argue or prove myself. I am just going to be quiet."
I developed a relationship with my inner voice when I was a child.
I have trusted her for so long, not knowing she was separate from who I POTENTIALLY am.
Not knowing that present me often argues with something inside my head that is not even "me".
It is just a ball of energy and smoke, a spirit filled with fears and flashbacks from the hardest times in my life.
Though the emotions within it were once very real, they are all a thing of the past.
I am no longer caught in a war zone.
I no longer get abused by my parents or manipulated and hurt by my exs.
I am safe.
I am present, so long as I separate myself from that voice.
Trauma is NOT me.
She was wounded repeatedly by emotional abuse and horrible physical assaults. She was scarred by unstable relationships and unpredictable moods.
I think for quite some time now, I have known that this voice MUST be separate from "me" because everytime I hit my low points or I am put in a triggering situation ----> I fight my way past it.
This week, in the midst of chaotic kids and a horrible stomach virus, this voice was so loud and it screamed for me to just drop everything. To stop trying. To ignore the world. To sleep.
"But for how long?" I begged to know.
"Who cares"...it whispered.
And in an instant, like waking out of a dream in a cold sweat, I realized the separation from her and I. In fact, I severed it. And I spoke to it with some heavy truths.
"I am so capable. I am able to do whatever I want to do. I am on the right path. I can feel it. I trust it."
Trust in myself ----> that was the blade that cut me free.
I know I will keep hearing this inner voice. This shadow of doubt. I know she is scared and defenseless.
Someone long ago created her.
And in a way, that was a gift.
I have been protected from some potentially deadly situations because I did not take the risk.
I have been able to stay alert, hypervigilant, and scan the people around me in order to draw out potential abusers.
But it has not been a fail proof system.
Her fears let me know it is flawed.
I still took some risks and chances, but always dancing around the safety line.
I have feared growing bigger because of her.
I have told myself before that sharing my story is dangerous.
That I am just creating a road map with tourist stops and pleasure hotels for abusers to reside in <------------
She is still scared of being hurt again and thinks that growth = exposure.
But I want exposure.
I am tired of walking around with these stories burrowed deep into my body.
Making my back ache, my neck sore, my shoulders tense, my knees weak.
I am tired of the fears and pain surging through my veins, keeping me up at night and fencing me in from potential growth --------> I know growth also means healing.
Trauma has been telling me all along that it is not safe to even begin to heal.
She had it all wrong.
In order for me to heal, I need to walk through the belly of the beast.
I need to be brave, vulnerable and trusting with myself that I can take the journey back through my timeline and correct the end result of who I am to become.
Healing = Transcendence
She will never be ready for that, and now that I know this I can do what I do best.
I can silence her in love and I can push myself forward.
Life is all about choices.
My Trauma and PTSD have damaged pieces of me that were not even aware they became dormant.
I have disassociated with the most painful of recollections and that has held me back from seeking out the highest platforms of my potential.
I am ready to step outside of all of the former fears, because the truth is nothing can possibly be scary if I have not even tried it yet.
In fact, scary does not even exist.
It is simply the unknown that I seek.
I will have triggers to tackle -- like loathing and despair, irrationality, and complacency. All of them not speaking but tapping on my heart.
And it will require more rough days ahead.
But the fight is worth it.
J.S. Jaded Savior
JADED SAVIOR: Speak your truths
J.S. Trauma + Healing Stories
A collective of stories about Trauma + Healing, to promote awareness, validation and support for Trauma Survivors.
Content mention of Rape, Abuse, Neglect, Addictions, Mental Illness, Kidnap, Molestation, Child abuse, Teen Pregnancy, Abortion, birth, body image, gender/identity dysphoria, sexuality, personal trauma, domestic violence and other extremely personal stories. Please practice caution. I am not a licensed physician or mental health professional. No medical prescribing is provided on this site, Only personal insights, experience stories, and advice; All stories published have had prior authorization. Questions? Contact Jean at: firstname.lastname@example.org
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