Taming Trauma :: a guest post at Cisneros Cafe {www.boldlytanya.com}

Today, I am honored to be guest posting at my friend Carolina’s place, cisneroscafe.org.

Trauma is a tricky beast, always festering and feeding, hoping to eat you alive from the inside out. You survive it, accept it, and hopefully thrive in spite of it. But you are never rid of it. It lingers like the scars it inflicts.

By eighteen years of age, I experienced seven different types of childhood trauma. I handled my trauma by pretending it wasn’t there. As each new trauma visited, I ripped off that piece and hid it away.

Abandonment.

Abuse.

Neglect.

Eventually, all seven traumas were sealed away and buried deep inside.

But trauma chafes and enflames. Although I quarantined my infected parts, they still rotted. The stench permeated my good parts, spoiling them, too. I kept hacking and concealing, but I couldn’t keep up.

Then, Satan came sniffing around. “What’s that awful smell? Why, it’s you! Your trauma is repugnant. Who would want that? Who would want you?”

Like a precision missile, that lie detonated in my weakest spot and exploited my deepest fears. From then on, I did all the work. Satan relaxed, watching me self-destruct.

First, I hid the new damage, slicing off more defiled pieces and tucking them away. Then I ran at the breakneck pace of anxiety.

What if someone knows? What if someone finds out? What if someone learns my secret: that I am infected? What if I infected them, too?

Ultimately, I would build a fortress to house my trauma. Every heartbreak, every disappointment, every stone thrown my direction, big or small, was refashioned into a rampart. Not just to keep people out, but also to keep my repulsiveness in.

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