Somewhere in Paris

I don’t know much about other people’s trauma, or upper case Trauma, but I’m learning, and I’ve got my own life I’ve lived experiences… Traumas and traumas. I’m starting to learn about the difference between re-living and healing though.

Cracking open the chest plate for a deeper examination isn’t where the change seems to happen. Revealing that there is hurt isn’t how to stop the pain. Re-living those events—as warped, distorted, and amplified as they might have become after years of self-imposed chest cracking—only gets us so far. Eventually the pins need to set, the scabs need to form, heal, and the stitches removed. Sometimes this happens with the help of others, sometimes not.

There, acceptance is supposed to be the reward, even if what remains seems unacceptable. Sometimes this is healing. Sometimes this is peace.