One Year Post-Traumatic: Looking Back and Looking Forward

This day last year, my life changed for the worst at the hands of event that rocked my world and destroyed my relationship with my body. From that day, I'd come to spend the next year unlocking the racial trauma, betrayals, emotional abusiveness , dehumanizing behavior that had taken place over the course the previous year and ultimately led to this CPTSD diagnosis . Most days, it takes a lot of strength to manage the disorder. Sites, smells, movie titles, musicians, random days with traumatic memories attached, January 28th weekend, July 28th, are all triggers to manage. Traumatic events weaken the body and can cause a host of autoimmune issues. Muscle aches, monthly doctor's visits, trips to hospitals, EKGS, CAT scans, Lupus tests all find spots on my calendar to call home this year. It's been hard journey reaching this kind of milestone, getting to one year post-traumatic. I recognize the progress made, some nights able to attain rest without nightmare or anxiety brewing in my chest. Some days are lovely and lighter and it's almost as if the tiny CPTSD monster isn't there. But healing is nowhere near linear. I even go back and forth thinking about whether one can heal from physcological disorders. In some ways, I think it's a thing you learn to manage, something that sticks with you but something you learn to mind less and less.

If I'm honest, even with all these tools to manage and EMDR, and somatic therapy, yoga for trauma, a year later I'd hoped I'd be further along. My worst panic episode came a few weeks ago during a Julia Jacklin concert. I'd seen the person who was the cause of everything and my body panicked. I'd stood there frozen in the crowd, unable to move or speak. I texted my therapist and called my mom, muttering few words. My therapist had sent me a text reminding me "It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You deserve to be there". But my body was simultaneously thinking "Run. This is unsafe". My brother, who my mom had called,and a friend had to come pick me up. Props to the lady who gave us all free ice cream after. Black women are superheros. And so it's hard knowing that even when you've felt like you've come a long way, one thing, one face can set you into the worst states you've ever been in.

CPTSD is dissonance. There's the way your body responds and the way you want it to. There are clear signals of safety surrounding a body that floods with panic and fear. A brain that is unable to function because it is so hyperactive with thought, trying to process constantly. In my most severe panic states, it's like my brain is a web browser with 20 tabs open all trying to play video at the same time. And in this state, I can't move or speak more than one or two words per few seconds. I am almost catatonic. It's been shocking and strange to witness these physical changes in me and to experience the world and life so much differently than I'd experienced before. I'm still adjusting to it. I'm still coping. I'm still on whatever journey this is and even with the setbacks, flashbacks, nightmares and panic attacks (apologies I love a rhyme scheme) I'm here. I'm still here.

If this year has taught me anything, it's that there's a lot of love around me, a lot of people helping me and holding space. Lex and Anne and Bailey in nature, Kris letting me cry on the floor, St. Lucy, Christ probably, my support group, and even the green-haired girl who did something not great but had also watched me sob for 10 minutes after the boygenius concert. But all of these people remind me of something that my body needs to feel - that I'm a human being, worthy of respect and love and kindness. And that one important reminder reminds me to provide those things for myself and everyone I encounter. So borrow this reminder and take time. Breathe in. Write down. Stretch out. Cry often. And live as best as you can.

Today, I know how far I've come and I'm going to try not to mourn what happened. Instead, I'm in my favorite place, Beacon, NY, trying to cultivate a corrective experience and create better memories for this day. So far we've got donuts, kayaking with the dog, and a drum circle.

As a heads up, I've written a few pieces from my place in the world. This year I've thought a lot about what it's like to be a woman, a black woman, a sister, a first gen, formerly low-income daughter from a single mother, a survivor, a person with CPTSD. As I prep to send out Mom Doesn't Like Dogs for submission, I'm taking some time to finalize these more personal reflections and pieces. But that is for you world and that is for tomorrow. Today is for the dog and sweets and rhythym and peace.

Sending love to you, Dear Reader.

Thanks for keeping tabs.