Your Trauma Talks. Are You Listening?

I can handle this. 

I’m strong. 

I’m tough as hell. 

This is fine. 

Everything is fine. 

Everything is fine…until it’s very clearly not. 

Sometimes it takes being drunk as fuck, blood running down your leg onto the floor from a few (intentional) missteps with a razor blade, hazily looking into the horrified eyes of your lover, to realize…everything is NOT fine. You are NOT fine. This…this is not fine. This is trauma taken over. 

Empaths are trauma collectors. Not only do many of us have storied pasts filled with pain and abuse, but we also collect the trauma from others. Trauma seems to cozy itself right into the curves of our bodies and the cracks in our minds. We inherit it from our grandmothers, and their grandmothers before that. Our natural openness and compassion, plus the influence (or lack thereof) of boundaries, make us the perfect candidates to be energetic unloading zones. 

We learn how to carry the trauma. We adjust to it. We become trauma management systems rather than trauma clearing systems. Usually, this way of living is learned very early on, and by the time we’re adults, we often don’t realize how much trauma we’re actually carrying. 

...until you are so subconsciously loaded with trauma, that a simple trigger could initiate a terrifying domino effect in your psyche that carries you to an involuntary breaking point. And if you’re anything like me, your breaking point can become very dangerous very quickly. 

You might be thinking, “How could this witch woman who comes off as so fierce and so strong ever reach a point of self-harm or insanity?” 

And the truth is…none of us can be strong all the time.

None of us can have our shit together at all times. The times when I’ve been able to show up as a strong and fierce woman have been times when I’ve respected my mind and body and spirit, and respected where and when my trauma presented itself. 

But when I keep pushing past traumatic or stressful events, when I keep telling myself that it will all pass as long as I keep going and hustling past it, the trauma slowly builds up in my system. And while in that forced strength mindset, I often find myself in situations or places that I know are triggering for me, but I think, Oh, I’m strong. I can handle this. This is fine. 

But it’s not fine. It’s not fine to push ourselves past our limits of self-respect. It’s not fine to shove our trauma down, thinking that we’ll be able to pull it out in small pieces, intentionally, when we’re ready. Trauma doesn’t work that way.

If you disrespect your trauma, it will swallow you whole, I promise you that.

When I disrespect my trauma, it rises up with a vengeance. I fall into old programming that I was brainwashed with in a past abusive relationship, and it quickly leads me to make unsafe decisions. My manic depression roars and I find myself looking at the world through eyes that I no longer recognize as my own. I am filled with a frantic urge to leave this planet that I love. All because I couldn’t listen to my intuition, listen to my trauma, about what I needed. 

It took reaching a terrible breaking point for me to hear what it was saying: 

Slow down. 

Get away. 

Rest. 

Process your recent experiences in a neutral environment. 

Limit your information input and output. 

Be in nature.

Let yourself grieve. 

Let yourself breathe. Alone. 

The less we listen to what our trauma needs to heal, the more likely we are to unintentionally re-traumatize ourselves, sending us into unhealthy and dangerous cycles of behavior and thought patterns. Our stubbornness to be fierce and powerful goddesses all the time can end up hurting us if we’re not taking the steps to stop and listen and heal. 

It’s okay to avoid situations that you know are triggering for you. It’s okay to avoid places or people or activities that could potentially re-traumatize you. Forcing yourself into a stressful or traumatizing situation is not strength, it’s disrespect. 

You don’t have to prove to yourself or anyone else what you can handle.

You don’t have to prove to yourself or anyone else that you’re an indestructible force of nature.

You don’t have to prove to yourself or anyone else that you are one tough bitch for ‘overcoming’ your trauma.

(I don’t believe that we ‘overcome’ our trauma. I don’t believe that we ‘triumph’ over our trauma. It exists for a reason, and I believe that we develop a relationship with it, and a loving understanding of it, and then it plays less and less of a role in our lives as a result.) 

What you do have to prove, is that you can love and honor yourself, wherever you’re at.

What is your trauma saying?

_____________________

I will be listening to my trauma and taking a little social media break. I need to get some space in nature and work on my book about living as an empath and how to navigate the empath’s shadow. I’m real excited to bring this into the world, both for myself, and for all of my empath readers and friends. I’m not sure of the exact timeline, as I’m not sure if I’ll be self-publishing or going through the process of finding a publisher, but I will definitely keep all of you in the loop. Thank you for sharing this space with me here. 

The Lion - Just Show Up.

The Lion card from The Wild Unknown Animal Spirit Deck.

When I’m a crumpled ball on the floor, 

eyes puffy with tears, with only whimpers discernible, 

I show up. 

To the grand dramatic play of raw emotion. 

To the mirage of blame and pity and self-destruction. 

To the cutting truth of my wounded self acting out like a toddler. 

I show up. 

When I’m boldly standing on a hilltop,

my mane of fire shining gloriously,

I show up. 

To the courageous circle of stories told.

To the steps taken in equal parts fear and excitement. 

To the epic journey of the mythic fool.

I show up. 

When my bank account is drained, 

along with my mental capacity and perspective,

I show up. 

To the severe drought of self-confidence. 

To the lack mindset I’ve jumped into for the billionth time. 

To the doubt that I will ever be worthy. 

I show up. 

When the opportunity for abundance presents itself,

with its challenges to rise, rise, rise, 

I show up.

To the reckless fun of imagining a dream. 

To the old beliefs butting up against the new. 

To the creation of something beautiful and interesting.

I show up. 

When love dies, 

and reality shifts to accommodate the loss of future, 

I show up. 

To the strangeness of wondering what ever was. 

To the game of lost chances and wrongdoings. 

To the aloneness of being oneself. 

I show up. 

When new love shows up, 

with the fluttering dismay and giggling shadows,

I show up.

To the meeting of minds, hearts, bodies, and souls.

To the endless spinning web of delirious potential. 

To the unbridled joy of the senses, grounded in the sensuous touch of earth. 

I show up.

When I fear for my safety, 

and I fear for the safety of my friends and communities, 

I show up. 

To the hopelessness caused by the few in charge. 

To the terror of our most basic rights being torn away. 

To the longstanding pain and suffering we can no longer be blind to.

I show up. 

When we come together, 

united in hope, with a force that’s unstoppable, 

I show up. 

To the linked arms of everyone I’ve ever known. 

To the spectacle of millions of snowflakes creating a storm that shuts the whole goddamn thing down. 

To the victory that all can share in.

I show up. 

The lion feels like showing up. It feels like the potential for anything to happen, good or bad, and it urges us to be present. Be present for all of it. All of the joy, all of the suffering, all of ourselves. Every piece of ourselves we love, every piece of ourselves we’re ashamed of. Just show up.

This Is My Body.

There are days I wake up with golden beams of light streaming out from between my legs like the coming of the dawn. I am Goddess. I am pleasure. I am Venus hanging out in a clam shell. I am a Renaissance painting, with my seductive soft edges strewn across a fainting sofa, creating a dramatic silhouette of unspeakable glories.

“I dare you to resist me, mortals,”

I announce to no one in particular as I lift my head for the bunch of grapes that should surely be hanging above my lips that very moment. My body is a juicy, juicy peach that is positively overripe with sensuality and my curves are intoxicating. I hold endless power in my womb and the world is my playground for my strength and curiosity. I look at myself and see cups of wine, dripping honey, floral garlands, mossy earth and absolute transcendence. I have a GOOD body. My walk is an irresistible dance… my hips sway like delicate branches in the wind and the roots of my sex simmer in exotic spices. 

But this isn’t every day. 

And no matter how many times I draw a heart with lipstick around my reflection on the mirror, no matter how many times I start my day with an affirmation of “I am a beautiful magickal creature,” I still won't have juicy days every day. Some days, I just won't get there. 

On those days, I wake up inside this prison called a body. Every movement is torturous. Every thought is heavy. I can accomplish nothing. My skin is crawling and I would give anything to break out through the top of my head and escape this ugly fleshy burden. I look at myself and see abuse, eating disorders, pain and crippling fear. I have a BAD body. My spirit is restless and I cannot stand another moment trapped inside this dense mask that hides my soul. No one sees me. No one knows me. This is crushing. This hurts. 

We have been taught to weigh the worth of our physical bodies on a scale that has only two options: good or bad. If our body falls on the good side, we are made to believe that we have value, we have everything. If our body falls on the bad side, we are made to believe that we do not have value, we have nothing. We have been conditioned to swing wildly between these extremes based on fleeting emotions or comments from others.

And while most of us now know this is bullshit, we still operate from the binary thinking of being "good" or "bad." We changed and expanded the definition of "good" and what that includes, so we can all be a part of it. This is body positivity.

But how many days have I demonized my body in my efforts to shove it all into the "good" category? How many scars, folds, and marks have I cast aside as unwanted, as undesired, when I couldn't shift them into this expanded definition of "good" so easily? How many times have I hunched over, clenching my fists against my chest, willing my body to shrink and compact and disappear against the mirage of beauty that I couldn't force upon myself? How many times have I pushed my body away, disconnected from it, refused to claim it on account of its “bad”ness? How many times have I consciously connected with my body, how many times have I consciously CLAIMED my body, only when I was feeling juicy? Only when it was praised? Only when I was feeling like it was doing “good” things? 

No more. I cannot live in this dissonance, employing my self-abandonment whenever things get tough, whenever I can no longer pretend my feelings are all in the "good" category. Sometimes, the pressure to be body positive all the time is too much. 

When we say to our friends, "Ugh, I'm feeling so ugly today," the typical response is, "No, don't say that! You're beautiful!"

But why do I have to be beautiful? Why can't we acknowledge our real gritty feelings on ugliness as they arise? Why can't we guide one another into the root of our feelings, discovering that it's never really about being beautiful in the first place? Why does our body have to be one thing or another at all times? 

I just want to have my body. I just want to live and love and work and travel and just fucking have a body. Can I just have my body? 

This is not just about body positivity or body acceptance.

This is about self-ownership. 

I am not ugly. I am not beautiful.

I am beautiful. I am ugly. 

I'm everything. I have to be everything. I have to claim it all, all of the "good"ness and the "bad"ness, until it all becomes one large picture of existence that simply IS and is neither one nor the other. Chugging a superfood green smoothie doesn't make my body good, as much as indulging in pizza and ice cream doesn't make it bad. Feeling insecure in bed doesn't make my body bad, as much as feeling like an irresistible sex kitten doesn't makes it good. In every single case, it is still my body, and it still deserves to be recognized and loved without being rewarded or punished. 

I know I will have lots of feelings about my body as I embrace my wholeness. It won't be easy, but I will claim them all and break this incriminating pattern of reward vs. punishment. I'm going to have really easy days, and that's cool. I'm going to have really hard days, and that's cool too.

When my body feels ugly, I will claim it as mine.

When my body feels irresistible, I will claim it as mine.

When my body feels broken, I will claim it as mine.

When my body feels unstoppable, I will claim it as mine.

This is MY body. Every day. I own it. I am responsible for it. I make decisions for it. I will not abandon it anymore. It is neither bad nor good, and yet, it is both. And everything in between. Every day, I will claim my body and claim myself. Every day, I will be aware that my relationship with my body is just that: a relationship. An ever-evolving rollercoaster of ups and downs that requires patience, unconditional love, and constant work. 

Only by claiming my body in its entirety, can I connect with it. Only by claiming myself in my entirety, can I find liberation from the subtle oppressive forces that attempt to split me into pieces on a daily basis.

Sometimes liberation is “Fuuuuuuuuck!” screamed at the top of   your lungs, on the top of a mountain, your naked tits shaking like thunder at midnight, and watching your divine rage move the tops of the trees below. 

Sometimes liberation is a soft sigh settling into the body, in a warm quiet corner of a dark night, after a long day of exhaustive grief and self-punishment.

And I choose to claim it all. 

This is MY body. This body is MINE.

[[[as a reminder, in case there is any confusion, here is a running list of who my body does NOT belong to. And as my body does not belong to them, they can neither claim ownership of it, nor can I willingly give them ownership of it. 

• society

• politicians

• men that I know

• men that I don't know

• my parents

• my husband

• God

• my past lovers

• magazines

• my employers

• clothing companies

• women that I know

• women that I don’t know

• teachers (of any kind)

• beauty companies ]]]