I did a session of brainspotting with my therapist this morning. By 11 am, I was on my way to return home. And while I’m sitting here, posting, at 6:22 pm, this is what the aftermath can look like.

I don’t share this picture for pity. The impact of trauma has been lifelong for me. My therapist asked me questions about my younger self. Grade school and my older self, when trauma really hit hard. I feel sad for my grade school self. She had no idea what was coming her way. My middle school self started feeling it after Dianne died and the depression diagnosis. My high school self just felt abandoned and angry. So the idea that anyone loved her? Sure, yeah.

I’m 49 and I’m unpacking decades of trauma. The impact is brutal.

After my last two posts, I want to make sure to reiterate in positive. There is a positive beyond the tears.

It is scary, opening the storage compartment of all those years ago. In my head. It’s been locked by trauma and my memories are fractured. I’m not saying that the work is harder than it should be. Life is fucking hard. Am I worth it?

Yes. I am. I want to celebrate my 50th birthday knowing that I have less damage, mentally, from my past. That I have a future. And I’m deserving of good things to come. And if you’re reading this and you know trauma, you’re not alone. And the work can be worth it if you allow yourself to invest in yourself.

Don’t be embarrassed by your tears. Embrace them. Make them part of your story. As Eric Draven said so poiniently: ” It can’t rain all the time.”