Trauma Doesn’t Want Me Healing and Messing with It
It was an overcast Sunday, and I was low on my 90,000-step goal for the week. Pair that with the desire for a special walk that I’d wanted to do across a river, and you had the recipe for a day of adventure.
The “airplane friend” and I decided to tackle at least half of the big walk, and we set out through a more industrial part of the industrial area where I now live. The objective? To make it across a bridge with a walking area that traverses a major river. Even before moving here, I’d been scoping out ways to walk across the water!
After reaching the other side of the river in just over an hour, we discussed what we’d do next. We decided to visit a new restaurant for drinks and a snack. Everything there was amazing. We then went to a familiar dive bar for a few more cheap drinks before happy hour ended.
We then went back-and-forth on calling an Uber to save us the hour-long walk back. We each thought the other one was up for walking, so we didn’t get an Uber. Instead, we crossed the bridge once again, taking photos all along the way. The earlier overcast sky had given itself over to sun, amazing clouds, and a full-on Chamber of Commerce photo opportunity.
Reaching my home side of the river, we enjoyed a BBQ rib dinner at an outdoor venue that I’d never visited previously.
Following great ribs, we set out on foot for the last few blocks to return to my place. In that brief walk, a pickup driver made a slow turn behind us, stuck his head out the window, and asked, how a woman like her was with a guy like me? I responded, “Exactly,” because it’s unlikely (at least to me) that someone as pretty and vivacious as her would be hanging out with someone like me.
Back at the apartment, the day’s closeness and fun continued before she had to head home. This Sunday had turned into a nearly 8-hour, perfect day.
Trauma’s Revenge
In the middle of the night, I awoke to a major anxiety attack filled with familiar themes:
You are a horrible person. How can you be so close to someone when you were married for so long?
You aren’t allowed to have fun. Nobody wants to be with you.
Your business is failing. You can’t do what you do any longer. You were wasting time when you should have been working.
You should have stayed married. What were you thinking?
It had been weeks since I’d had an anxiety attack like that. It was challenging to get back to sleep, so I started praying fervently and trying to fight back the self-hate messages.
The next morning, I remained shaken and emotional from the middle-of-the night experience.
As I was looking through an old prayer book, I found a piece of paper from the previous summer. One side contained a list of things that I’d tried and that my wife rejected for doing things together. The other included a list of what I knew about emotional abuse from our relationship.
Seeing those two lists, the reason behind the previous night’s anxiety attack clearly emerged: I’d truly had a perfect 24-hours filled with everything that I believed that I couldn’t or wouldn’t ever be able to do again. Yet, I’d done all of them and enjoyed myself.
I realized that the anxiety attack was trauma’s revenge. Trauma didn’t want me to know that it didn’t have a hold on me. Trauma was trying to hide the fact that it hadn’t truly eradicated possibilities for me. I could have hope and happiness ahead.
Trauma didn’t want me messing with it. Trauma doesn’t want me to heal.
Fuck you, Trauma.
You don’t own me anymore.
