The two days I loathe the most are coming and I can’t do anything to stop them.
Ten days ago, braced for impact, I forced myself to stare at a fresh calendar page. I was pushing back against one of my triggers. Since that horrible day in 2016, seeing the word “May” kicks off a racing heart and sweaty palms. Hours later, it can bring on intrusive memories that pierce my sleep, startling me awake over and over again. But this time around, I’m not feeling the same panic. I’m not feeling the dread. A whisper of a shiver through my body? Yes. A heart a bit too heavy? Sure. But now, most of the time, instead of flattened, I am simply resigned.
The word still has the power to trigger me when I’m not expecting it. Not too long ago, I was looking through contracts at work and the date of the crime—year and all—screamed out at me from the page. Shock buzzed like electricity just under my skin. A pit settled in my stomach. Uninvited memories threatened to overtake my brain. The month of May hasn’t completely lost the upper hand. It can still buckle my knees—especially if accompanied by one of the two days branded on my brain. But at four years in, its weight is waning.
In case you’re wondering—this is what progress looks like. And I’m going to keep reminding myself of that as this week unfolds.
It’s no secret that I process my feelings through writing. Last weekend, I decided to rewind my state of mind in one-year increments by rereading my prior anniversary posts. Wow, talk about a reminder of how far I’ve come and a clue about which symptoms are still holding tight as I mark year four.
This morning, in my own quiet Mother’s Day celebration (Mr. C is sleeping in very late these days…) I relaxed on the sofa sipping a cup of coffee and looking through some old photo books of the day trips we took to New York City when we lived Upstate. I take a lot of pictures and, because I don’t want them stuffed away in an old shoe box—even an electronic version—I make things with them, like photo books. Ok, ok, people, I’ll confess—I’ve made a freaking library’s worth of photo books over the years.
When I put together a book, I sometimes write something on the final page that isn’t so much about the contents of that book as a mini-blog post about whatever it was I was doing or thinking as I put the book together. Sometimes, since I often create a book months or years after the event, I date those musings so I know when I wrote them. Today, the first book I opened ended with one of these writings—an homage to the city and why it makes me happy. As I read the words, I noticed the date at the bottom of the page—May 15, 2016—the day before the crime. I think it must have been the last thing I wrote before my life imploded.
Holy freaking hell…
Seeing that date in years past would have been enough to derail my plans for the day. Today, it captivated me. Sure, I felt the familiar full-body shock and even shed a few tears. But reading this short love letter to my favorite city reconnected me with the person I was before the betrayal, the horror, and the fear settled into my bones—before I fought back and dragged myself out of the abyss. Combined with the posts I reread last weekend, today’s reading allowed me to grasp my evolution, timeline style.
I don’t know what’s coming for me this week, but I do know that I’m ready. It may pass with only minor disruptions. If so, then you’d better believe I’m going to find a way to mark my progress and celebrate everything I’ve accomplished in these past four years. But if things get ugly, I have a plan. After this much progress, I know what to do. I’m going to cut myself some slack. I will give myself the space and time to grieve, to rage, to shake, to scream. I won’t feel embarrassed if I startle for some ridiculous reason or other. I won’t worry about what it means if I can’t make the memories stop or shut down the hypervigilance for even a moment. I will not be ashamed to cry. I will recognize that these are temporary setbacks and that I can still manage to do the important things that have to get done. I’ll do my work, put food on the table, and make sure we have clean clothes. Then I’ll hug my child and snuggle my pets until I’m ready to pull back the curtains and, once again, let in the light.
Damn. I’ve come a long way.
If you would like to check out my trauma anniversary posts, follow the links below:
2018 – Milk carton best buy dates
Today’s photos are all from that same April day in 2013 that I revisited this morning. Mr. C was so little! We went to see the Scream by Edvard Munch, on its very last day at MOMA. *Sigh.* I would seriously give anything to spend a day there… Although, right about now, I’d take a day trip anywhere… like ANYWHERE. Hell, right now I simply want to hug someone besides Mr. C again—and I’m not even a hugger!
Happy Mother’s Day, my friends!
I hope you’re still holding up okay!
I am, thank you. It means a lot that you ask. How are you doing?
You and C are always in my thoughts daily! I’m so sorry that during these times of the c-virus I won’t be able to be with you both to give you a hug! Know that I’m thinking of you both.
I love you!
Dad
You were so smart to go back and review all the progress you’ve made. You’ve reclaimed your power and come a long way baby. So happy for you!
So funny, I said that exact thing – You’ve come a long way, baby! – to myself while I was writing the post!
Love you with all my heart! Your courage and determination to share your insights with others heals you and the world one person at a time dear one. Your photos heal us all as well. They are spectacular!