Post Surgery Aftermath: The Shower Scene
If this were a normal day, I’d get up, soap, shave, wash my hair if it were a Wednesday or a Sunday and be done in ten minutes.
If this were a normal day, I’d get up, soap, shave, wash my hair if it were a Wednesday or a Sunday and be done in ten minutes.
Trauma response is so unpredictable. You can identify triggers. You can circle dates on the calendar. You can tell your story, write your story, own your story. But sometimes there are moments that don’t fit into those triggers. And those are the hardest.
After everything. After the birth, after the waiting in desperation for an answer, after the surgery, after I was still not ok, I said this thing. This thing that’s stuck in my brain.
I lost my grandfather a couple of weeks ago, and it’s made the holidays weird and hard and beautiful. But as I was going back through my writing from two years ago, I found this one about my grandma, who I had just lost. I’m not in the same place, but the intensity of sorrow is still there.
The first time I stepped into therapy, I thought “I know I should be here, but I don’t think I need to be.” I’m no stranger to the importance of therapy. My mother, brother, sister-in-law, and close friend are all therapists. But I very much thought that this was something I needed to work through on my own. That I would eventually strong-arm my way through it. I just needed a little time. I was very, very wrong.