trauma

Am I misrepresenting? Am I misunderstanding? Am I misremembering?

It’s time we stop teaching shame and start spending more time fostering healthy sexual identities in young girls.

This felt dysfunctional. Who needs alcohol to have better sex? That’s ridiculous.

Moving can be a traumatic experience. We often forget how many remnants of the past we hold onto—whether intentionally or accidentally, just because we put a letter away in a drawer and forgot about it.

I have to remind myself of this at least once a week. I have it written in three of my notebooks, actually. I am not a tease. I am still coping with my rape.

Loving means giving up control. Releasing something to the universe. It’s not prescriptive. There is no place for black and white in love. It’s the ultimate grey.

When someone denies my personality disorder, it makes the process of identifying and challenging the thoughts and behaviors that disorder causes even more difficult. There are broken parts of me that I can’t see. I’m working very hard to uncover them and heal them in a way that improves the quality of my inner and outer life. I don’t need anyone else muddying the waters of my trauma; I do that enough all on my own.

I don’t want to spend another summer waiting for winter. It took years to realize this, and even more years to act on it. This is the work of healing that no one mentions: you have to find the wounds you didn’t know you had.