Acknowledging Trauma is the Only way You Grow

I wrote this yesterday, after a fearful and wild night before.


Trauma makes us sometimes unable to recognize what someone means to us. Sometimes I forget how much my daughter means to me. I see her as a nuisance at times, and hard to take care of. Last night I let myself rest and did not pressure myself to put her to bed, I just took time to be happy. We sang and played. Then I put her to sleep in my arms. She watched me carefully as I held her, relaxed. She trusted me and closed me eyes sleepily. I began to cry at the outpouring of love I felt for her. At how happy our bond made me. At how much regret I felt for her painful traumatic birth, which made her not trust me fully. She watched me with a small smile, and I caught her eye. I did not look away, and pushed all my love into my gaze at her. She cried a tiny bit, and I cried more. She shifted a bit, and I got tired. I felt anxiety that our moment was over, so I turned away. She suddenly sputtered and spit up all the milk she drank. I grabbed her and apologized, and quickly went to change my soiled pajamas. She shrieked, betrayed of me leaving, and hugged her and said sorry. She needed me so much, I felt it. I knew that she was very fragile in trust of me because of the violent birth, and felt that this would be something we'd work on for a while. I prayed through tears that she survive it in tact, knowing that I love her. I truly do not know what the future has in store, and it is terrifying, but I can only pray that she will be intact in the end. For my daughter who is so dear to me, I never wished for anything more in the entire world. I prayed that we fall asleep, and we did.

When I woke up a couple hours later suddenly, I felt sickly and lightheaded. I suddenly had a gripping fear of death, and a stronger than ever knowing that life is a gift and cannot be taken for granted. I shook in fear as I realized that nothing is guaranteed, and my moments of feeling good about my actions where not that great, and embarrassing, too, compared to my struggles and fumbles. Like how I self righteously scream at my mother, or husband for not being there for me. I realize what a sick joke it all was, the fact that we think life has to be good or else it is the end. No, every single one of our actions count, and does make a difference. Such a simple smile, or the greeting I gave in-laws at a party. I do not know how it affected them, and everyone goes through hell, even if they don't show it, so why am I overly concerned about my impression? It  an awesome moment, one that I couldn't help wishing that I and others had more. I suddenly knew what I had to do, to make my mark on the world and mend my own soul and free it from shackles, and I was ready. Nothing mattered once I knew my abilities. But as usual, it gets covered by the brightness of the day, and all significance of who I am is lost to expectations of husband, and anger at injustice. I try to hold onto one last passion, but it, too, dies it's excitement. I am just an ordinary, struggling with identity-problems and anger, woman in the world. 

I did uncover that I cannot expect my husband to be everything for me when he cannot be there for even himself, and that we both have unrealistic expectations of each other. He thinks I will be there for him no matter if he slacks off and ignores me, and I think he'll see me and take pride in all my accomplishments. When I get lazy, I expect more from him, just as my mother used to expect from all of us. She always criticized us, no matter what we did, there was always a question in her mind about our success. That is why it is so important to first feel pride in yourself, so that you can judge others well, too. If you don't feel good inside, no one else will meet your expectations of good. That is why I am glad to be knowing my flaws constantly, so I keep accomplishing. I hope I never feel "good enough" to stop searching.