Twenty years: Give or take a few, that’s how long it usually takes me to recover from trauma. A couple examples:
Being coerced (1991) into my first sexual experience (by someone my own age) before either of us even knew what sex was. This tied-in with religious guilt and shame over my sexuality, so it really took even longer than 20 years to unpack.
Having a toxic friendship blow up in my face (2005). The 20-year mark is just now approaching, and while it no longer weighs on my mind like it once did, the lingering effects can be felt in my lack of self-confidence and sense of worth.
Recovering from the year that tried to end me not once, but twice. In 2022, my husband Rich and I were involved in a rollover accident. A couple months later, my appendix burst. The stressful hospital stay (being made to wait 24 hours in a packed hallway with an unrestrained sundowner’s patient, drug addicts in withdrawal, and other assorted people in various states of pain) did me no favors. Nor did the weeks of insomnia and mania that temporarily transformed my personality, followed by months of feeling like a fraud over not being the “new and improved” version of myself I plastered all over the internet. Time will tell, but I feel like I’ll be working on this one for a little while.
Distancing myself (2016) from my homophobic, xenophobic, racist, Trump-loving parents, and eventually going full no-contact (2021). I’ve documented my story thoroughly both here and on TikTok, and I encourage you to check them out when you have the time.
Cutting ties with my parents and healing from the trauma they caused has and will continue to be integral to my overall healing journey, and I expect it to take a full 20 years, if not the rest of my life, as unexpected reminders pop up from time to time.
Last Saturday, Rich and I had an appointment with our hair stylist, Eileen (name changed for the sake of anonymity). I’ve known Eileen since 1998, when my mom and I started getting haircuts from her. In addition to never leaving a tip, my mom always took issue with the way Eileen styled her hair. She stopped going about 20 years ago, but aside from a few years I let my hair grow unchecked, I remained a loyal customer and friend.
While cutting my hair on Saturday, Eileen asked, “You’ll never guess who I saw?” I froze and uttered, “Oh, noooo.” Yes, indeed. My mom, Debbie Downer herself, returned. Eileen revealed that, not only did it not look like she hadn’t had a haircut in 20 years (that checks), she also hadn’t aged (that also checks). Even more surprising: She brought my dad, who had never gone to Eileen, and he left a tip (whereas my mom didn’t - they’re both equally cheap).
Other than that, Eileen described a routine experience. My parents didn’t once address the elephant in the room (me), and Eileen, who is fiercely protective, divulged no information and treated them like normal clients. Everything my mom does is coded, so I can only wonder what she was hoping to accomplish - especially by involving my dad. If they were looking for dirt, they got none. Their anniversary falls in early September, so it’s also possible they were getting ready to celebrate.
It’s only natural for my parents to come up in conversation, but little by little, I’ve been trying to cut back on being the one to introduce the topic as part of my healing process. So, to hear somebody I know bring up a visit by them out of the blue threw me for a loop, if only briefly. But thanks to years of therapy, a strong support network, and being able to openly discuss past trauma online, I feel better equipped to handle small setbacks like this.
All this to say, everybody heals from trauma at a different rate. Some people can immediately bounce back in the face of a life-altering experience. Others may take years and require counseling or therapy. There really is no one right or wrong way to experience the healing journey, so long as, overall, there is forward momentum.
Comments