Trauma Fades, Rebellion Stays

Emotionally charged memories lose their sharp edge over time, but have you noticed how they linger even long after the feeling is gone?
The nervous system holds on to unfinished energy, and trauma is not restored simply as a bad memory. It imprints the entire system, usually very sneakily.

Up until this year, I had no idea I was suffering from PTSD.
My unprocessed emotions belonged to a memory that I carried quietly. Then one day, they found their way back to me during a course on Trauma-Focused CBT for PTSD. While I imitated a client practising “reliving” with their therapist, suddenly it was as if I was back in that doctor’s room, hearing the words:

“There isn’t a way out of this.”

My heart sped up, my muscles turned to stone, and suddenly I was drowning again in the same despair of believing this would be my life.
When a flashback arrives, what isn’t healed gets replayed. Suddenly, everything turns black; colours that once felt like home disappear.

When I was traumatised, I couldn't fight or flee. So, my body froze the emotions it couldn't release.
I realised my trauma had captivated me.

If you been there, sadly you’d know that re-experiencing trauma feels like the air moving far away from where you stand. Your body squeezes tight and you start to shake.
In that instant you vanish; trauma drives the wheel, robbing you of any other choices you might have got.

That frozen energy lingered, showing up as dissociation that separated me from my reality.
I thought escape was never possible because the trauma in me is double-sided: one side is what happened, the other is the knowing that it will happen again. I couldn't help but feel despair, knowing that it will never disappear.

Even so, what came for my rescue was the same hopelessness. It freed me from any expectations that could appear, sparing me from further disappointments.

2023 ended up being the worst and best year of my life. The year I hit rock bottom; the year I returned better than ever.

It changed how I see my greatest fears. I realised that only when you are forced to face them do you use every ounce of strength, and in the end, you become your own saviour.

When it was all over, I didn’t allow myself to process after my recovery either.
I forced it into the shadows, hoping my body would forget what my heart could not. Yet, it remained a black stain on my soul; pressing my heart, weighing me down when the faintest reminder appeared.

I choose to see it differently now because I am aware. I accept that processing takes time and I know I have to be fair.
I wasn't even able to talk about it for a while then suddenly I found myself pouring my heart out on a piece of paper.

I faced my reflection, realising that if I stopped judging what I've been through, I won’t see it in other people's eyes. Writing gave me the courage to speak up and now, I do everything I can to normalise.

Today, I realised there was another wound my nervous system hadn’t forgotten; just as I was about to leave my 26th year behind.
I’ve mentioned my sisters many times in my essays so I believe most of you are familiar of their influence in my life. There were times it felt like a blessing, and times it brought the biggest curse.

For all my life, I had mistaken my first trauma given by my sisters for the burden of being the youngest sibling and kept saying “It must be the age gap”.
Deep down I knew, it was never that simple.

This morning, when I told one of them I felt resentful that she hadn’t read my last essay —or any other that I've written—, she attacked me in a way that knotted my throat, started the shaking, and left me breathless again.

It was disruptive but also constructive, reminding me of the roles I was assigned at birth and the ones I took on along the way.
I realised, I carried so much garbage that I ended up giving my rights away.

I'm done, I choose to walk away. I no longer have the intention of being the bean bag for those closest to my heart.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedLife,
has been different
for a while now.

At first I questioned,
now I see.

There is someone at the door.
The bells of rebellion —
that’s what’s ringing.

No earplugs.
No escape.

In less than a month
I will step into a new age.
Not just another year,
but a threshold,
a bridge for crossing,
I see it ahead.

It appeared long ago,
yet, I was not set.

To honour my life
by just being.
And in that being,
what truly serves me
will turn into devotion,
naturally in its rhythm.

From what no longer belongs to me,
I choose to walk away.
The weight I’ve carried too long,
I let it fade away.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life and so it will be for the days to come.

“If these words touched you, let them travel further 🖤

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