Breathing in Hope as I Navigate Rough Waters
The past few years have been filled with so many challenges that it’s difficult to even begin to describe everything I’ve been through. I was talking with my therapist recently, and she often asks me, “What would you tell your client?” For me, answering that is easy:
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Beauty is always in the ashes.
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You are worthy.
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This too shall pass (like a kidney stone).
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You are enough.
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The trauma that you have stored in your TNT box needs to be talked about and processed in order for you to heal. Then, it will just be a crappy memory that doesn’t trigger strong emotions like depression or anxiety.
She often asks me why I don’t listen to my own advice.
Trauma
Trauma is a word I don’t use lightly. In therapy, we talk about little ‘t’ trauma and big ‘T’ trauma, but honestly, it all hurts. Without the tools to process what’s happened, you’re left struggling with depression (where you can’t control the past) or anxiety (where you can’t control the future). In either case, you can’t live fully in the present.
Today, my supervisor asked me to think about a triangle: your thoughts dictate your emotions, which in turn affect your behavior.
For me, what I’ve been through doesn’t feel like trauma. I hear trauma stories all day, and they break my heart. There are days when all I want to do is rock a client and bake them cookies, letting them know they’re seen, heard, validated, and loved. But when I told my therapist I didn’t think trauma was part of my story, she laughed at me. “These are just things that have happened,” I said. “Do I deal with them well? No.”
This Last Round of Gross
This season has tipped me to the edge of my sanity. I’ve dealt with severe depression, moderate depression, anxiety, or a combination of both, but this time it’s been mostly depression. One hit after another—some significant, some minor, and others so tiny they’re the straw that broke the camel’s back.
During this season, I’ve been quiet. I deleted my social media, removed numbers from my phone, screened calls, and withdrew into myself. I never meant to isolate, but I’m so depressed that I don’t want to “infect” anyone else with my heaviness.
Life Keeps Moving
I still do all the things—work, cook, clean, be a grandparent, manage the home, etc. It all gets done. My sister left me a voicemail recently, saying she’d been asking my mom about me and giving me space, but now enough was enough. She told me to call, text, or answer the phone at least twice a week, and that we weren’t going to talk about my hurt unless I wanted to. We were just going to touch base.
In my sadness, I didn’t even realize people noticed. My daughter made some comments about my silence, but I didn’t fully understand what she meant because I rarely go a day without talking to her. A friend at church apologized for not reaching out. I told her I was fine (lie), but she said, “I know how you get when you go quiet.”
Those Statements Made Me Realize
Though I feel alone, I’ve been reminded that there are people who love me and would listen if I called to cry or vent. I just don’t want to impose or make people feel like they have to fix what’s going on in my world. No one can fix it. What’s broken is beyond repair. But their love and support give me hope. Hope that one day, things will be okay. Hope that I am loved and not alone. I have hope that there is a tomorrow. Hope that I have people who are willing to hold me up when I can’t stand on my own.
Hope is a powerful thing. Today, I am hopeful. Yesterday, I was not, and tomorrow is still a mystery. Mentally and emotionally, I am still not okay. There’s a lot on my heart and mind. Decisions need to be made, conversations need to happen, and the things troubling me are still there.
But here I am, still breathing and holding onto hope. Understanding that trauma is different for everyone, but it does not have to dictate my life. It’s simply a crimson thread woven throughout my tapestry. We all carry some trauma, but when processed properly, it can just be a blip on the radar—not a tsunami of epic proportions.
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