each other

From my very first post here, I’ve written about how trauma has shaped my life.

Since before my first breath, I suffered the effects of violence from within my mother’s womb. This wired my nervous system in very particular ways even before I endured my first direct bodily blow.

I don’t write much about many of the specific blows I experienced. Most the specifics are lost to my thinking memory, stored instead in muscle, bone, and implicit memory.

Because most the specifics are lost to my thinking memory, I can be triggered–catapulted back in time, so that I’m confused about whether I’m in relatively choice-filled 2020 or choiceless 1988–without knowing why. Without knowing what sent me back.

A couple of days ago, my sister Rachael wrote “Meringue Pie & PTSD.” Continue reading “each other”

My sister’s drawings

In my last post, I mentioned that I was coloring my sister’s drawings. I included a copy of one drawing I hadn’t yet colored.

Here’s what it looks like as I (eventually) colored it:

Here is where you can discover what’s inspiring her to draw these,

as well as hints of why I feel drawn to coloring them.

Us, ever so much littler

When I am done with words

Every weekday morning, I get dressed up for work. 

I’m not going to any office, right now. I’m not going anywhere where anyone but my husband and kids can see me.

A few weeks back, in “To walk through,” I wrote about the importance of boundaries as a many-trauma survivor in the era of COVID-19. For me, clothing¬†is a boundary:

Dressing for work helps me distinguish between work and not-work time, when all these times are now spent at home. Continue reading “When I am done with words”