Trauma is a difficult thing. It affects everyone differently. I’ve tried very hard to be open about my experience, but I need to reiterate that my fall was a traumatic experience. It was traumatic for me, for my friends who witnessed it, and for those who are closest to me. We are all still processing that in different ways. I’ve been incredibly open about my experience, but there are details I’ve chosen to withhold from the internet.
I have that right.
Sometimes people don’t think about that when they talk to me. This past week has been full of great reunions with people I love who I haven’t seen face to face in years, but it has also given rise to many, many questions about my experience. I’m very willing to share most things. However, there are still some details that are mine, and, to be honest, there are some details that aren’t even mine to share.
When people ask me questions, it’s usually coming from a good place – usually (I’ve had a few creepers who ask weird stuff for gross reasons). I’m always willing to give the benefit of the doubt that someone has a good reason for whatever questions they ask which is why I always try to give an honest and candid answer. That doesn’t mean that your questions don’t trigger deep emotional responses from me. I don’t cry much in public; I don’t cry much at all, actually. In fact, this often leads to me coming across as heartless and emotionally barren.
But I just finished a good long cry grieving parts of my experience here in the states post-trauma. Don’t you dare tell me to cheer up. I need to grieve. I understand joy deeply – frankly, more deeply than most of you can imagine. I need to have this moment of grief.
I had some incredible moments of happiness and laughter this past week with good friends, and I cherish those. I also had some incredibly low moments of weakness and brokenness, and I cherish the One who carries me through because my feet still don’t work perfectly.
Romans 12:15 says, “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” It doesn’t say make those in mourning find something to rejoice about. I beg you, don’t patronize me with platitudes about coming joy. I have joy; it is deeper than this emotion. I need you to mourn with me at this point in my journey. For those of you who want to mourn with me and maybe are at a loss for words that wouldn’t be appropriate, please send me the words of Elie Wiesel: “Think higher and feel deeper.” I have a lot of context with that quote, but rest assured that’s the best thing you can say to me right now to demonstrate your solidarity with me. Sit with me in this rather than foolishly opening your mouth like Job’s friends.
Think higher and feel deeper.
