Why I Write About My Trauma
Thank you for all the recent support and Happy New Year!
Hi Everyone!!
As usual, my apologies for not keeping up with my newsletter, but fingers crossed I will be leaving that behind in 2020. For the longest time, I’ve known the importance of a newsletter for aspiring writers but couldn’t figure out a way to make it unique and mold the forum to my liking. But! I finally figured out that I am just going to have my newsletter be a mini-series of sharing my mental health tips and my journey towards a healthier emotional state of being.
A lot of my Medium page is about my own experiences or nuggets of knowledge I’ve picked up along the way. I write about PTSD, parenting, relationships, culture, and in general justice issues. I try my hardest to intersect those topics and mental health because while the field of mental health is inundated, it is hard to find content that resonates.
And since I recently wrote I Wrote About My Toxic Family, Then My Toxic Family Found Out , I felt there was no better way to start this newsletter series than explain why I write about my trauma.
I had an unusual childhood, teendom, and young adulthood. Of course, I can think of positives and happy memories but the majority are tainted. Even good memories were moments of escapism from the harsh realities.
And when I finally had moments of reprieve I started recognizing signs of complex PTSD. From about 16 onward I’ve struggled with chronic nightmares, finally starting to get a hold of them but it’s been a long journey filled with sleepless nights. In college, I remember months where I barely left my bed. I missed classes, canceled on friends, and stayed in the dark. I’m plagued with anxiety that mostly affects my interpersonal relationships, the slightest change in someone’s demeanor and I immediately become anxious. God forbid there’s an actual issue, half the time my body shuts down. Freezes.
And on my search for peace, I’ve tried lots of things. I’ve looked to religion and spirituality, picking up practices that suited me along the way. I’ve bought dozens of self-help books. Everything from Buy Yourself The Fucking Lilies to Attached: The New Science of Adult Attachment. I’ve spent hundreds (maybe thousands) of dollars on mindful hobbies that would help distract me from oncoming anxiety attacks. I’ve spent 8-hour car rides listening to podcasts hoping to find answers. I religiously attended my therapy sessions to seek answers.
And although I’ve found solace in many of these methods, I’ve also found myself despaired. For all the podcasts, Youtube videos, and books I’ve read…very few have resonated with me. It wasn’t that they weren’t helpful, I’m sure plenty of others have felt seen from these artist’s work but I wasn’t one of them. Whenever I did find a podcaster or writer who spoke to me, it was like a breath of fresh air.
I write about my own trauma for two reasons: to heal personally and to help be that breath of fresh air for someone else.
There is a lot of research about the power of writing and how it helps along the healing journey. Two years ago I rediscovered the power of writing I had known as a child. So I wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote. On phone notes, in countless journals, on sticky notes in bathrooms, and on corners of books. Then one day I decided to write publically on Medium, I wrote about lots of things but I also wrote about my trauma.
And that’s when I truly understood the power of writing for others. Almost every article that I wrote about regarding my personal trauma received beautiful comments. People would bare their souls in my comments and share how my article helped them feel less lonely. They shared similar experiences, their fears, and their hopes. I read them all and felt uplifted.
When I was younger I idolized Nelson Mandela, his courage touched me on a very personal level. I thought how beautiful it was that he touched and helped so many lives, people who he would never meet. And when he passed, I woke up at 5am to watch his funeral. That day, I pledged to myself that my life’s ambition would be to help people I would never meet. And while I am certainly no Nelson Mandela, I see writing as one way I can accomplish my goal.
I ultimately want people to see my writing as a place of solace. A source of brutal honesty that they can resonate with. I don’t want other people to feel the darkness and helplessness I felt in my college apartment.
So I write. I write to heal myself and discover. And then I write to help others along their healing journey. I write so that in this huge, confusing, and ever-changing world people feel a little less lonely and a little more seen.
Some Housekeeping!
Thank you for all the amazing comments I’ve received lately, you all truly inspire me and keep me going. I feel so blessed to have your support and encouragement.
Here are three stories I want to highlight:
This article explores the history of sex scenes in TV/Movie and the focus on the male gaze. Bridgerton breaks from the previous mold, creating captivating and sexy scenes for everyone to enjoy.
The holidays can be a challenging time for lots of us. This story explores some personal reasons holidays are challenging for me and a reminder to extend empathy to everyone this time of year.
“As a society, we’ve conditioned ourselves to accept fighting in marriages. We even consider these escalated arguments to be healthy, not batting an eye at frequency or intensity. The reality is your constant or not-so-constant but unhealthy arguments are traumatizing your entire household. Children are sponges and they love so deeply. You’re just teaching them to accept toxicity and to deeply want your happiness, even at their own expense.”
Thank you everyone and Happy New Year!
With Love,
Faith
P.S. If you keep finding my newsletters (or other newsletters) in random folders and want them in your main inbox, add this email to your contact list:)
Faith, what happened in college that traumatized you so much?