Loving My Trauma to its Death

Wound, Trauma or Badge of Honour? 

I quiet my mind and feel into this. What sounds and feels nicer?

When the word of 'trauma' is read, mentioned or said - I often consider how jarring and abrasive it sounds. Maybe its the context I've created around this or it is the context provided to me by online pop psychology and over use of this word on my social media feeds. 

To clarify, there is a differentiation between big T trauma and little t trauma, developmental and event traumas.

I don't disagree with the word at all and what it represents or means but the energy of it feels fixed, hard, like it can't transform, it's suffocating, it feels stubborn, harsh and like a label that sticks with no way to really wash it off. Trauma almost feels dirty - as if no solvent would work to rid it and it taints the human. It kind of feels like the energy behind a throw of name calling by a bully, or a point the finger and sometimes I think it gets flung around too much - like an unfortunate identity label. 

When I learned that the etymology of trauma is 'wound' - I considered how that word felt, sounded to me. Right away it was more accepted by my body. Wound felt softer, more gentle, like there was space to breath and it immediately came with the connotation that a wound will heal if you let it. We know that the body and our whole being actually has innate mechanisms to return a wound to wholeness - immediately from the moment of injury. 

Emotional, psychological and spiritual healing has its own natural alchemy to return to wholeness - our bodies know this.  Social construct, injured cultures, social engineering programs, a plethora of distractions and our untrained conditioned minds get in the way of this natural healing process. 

As our physical wounds know how to heal, I very much believe/know/trust with my whole being - so too do our emotional and spiritual wounds. Except we also experience something getting in the way of the healing process. What is this thing that gets in the way?

We have lost our way to know to heal intrinsically with our whole heart and being. We have lost the inclusion of healing traditions and ceremonies in our homes, families, cultures, societies as a part of life. We are in a wounded culture; with an abundance of emotional pollution and injuries everywhere - alongside the good, the loving, the nurturing that often isn't seen or felt as loudly as it could be through the dense noise of all the wounds and injuries. 

On a tangent here, I considered this a little while back. Tell me - can you show me your trauma? Can you present it to me in recognisable form so I can see that it does exist? As proof it happened. 

This may be controversial and I'm not dismissing that our emotional, psychological and spiritual wounds don't exist - however it does bring us something deeper to contemplate. I very much resonate with our emotional and spiritual wounds do manifest through the body and we need to bring back harmony and alignment to the psych, body/nervous system, spirit and our Soul - that is the purpose of Holistic Counselling and Human Design and many other healing modalities. 

But...

I think my question still stands - show me where your wounds are - prove it to me? I cannot show you mine and not because I don't have any wounds but because I have no physical means to put it on a platter to prove it. How is it I have trauma, yet I cannot easily prove it? 

I am aware of the mainstream and esoteric sciences to bring proof that trauma causes illness, yet I think there is more beyond what science can prove of the human existence and experience. I cannot prove to anyone my own traumas (with the caveat that 'evidence is not proof'). 

I can however tell you about my trauma - they are memories, they are stories, they are feelings, they are emotions, it lives in my nervous system, it is in the form of thoughts and beliefs - on repeat or in the way of happiness, joy, flow, contentment and harmonic resonance with the unified field. My wounds are words and feelings from the past, they are experiences from many moons, moments and lifetimes and timelines ago - but I cannot show you any of my wounds in physical form as proof or evidence right here right now. 

Note - this is not to be inconsiderate to those that actually do have physical scars and injuries from those that harmed, injured and hurt them - that is very valid and a whole other level of trauma (that is big T trauma). Yet, did their physical wounds heal with the capacity the body was able to heal to - even with physical scars? So where are the remaining wounds of that experience once the body does all it can to heal? 

Now for the Loving part...

What I realise now after all the years of healing on my own, many different types of therapy sessions, alternative healing modalities and techniques-
I haven't tried to be madly in love with my unique curation of my traumas. 

Returning back to this notion of 'love your trauma to death', I want to be clear that this is referring to loving my trauma until its death, not until my death - although that may be my fate and the fate of others as well. 

In a way this abrasive word of trauma and all that it means - as if it is a badge of honour, a medal, a scar to display to others, a virtue almost these days, a measure of significance of being hurt as something to hang on to tightly for the rest of your days - I think I want to give that a send off, put that to its death. 

I want you to do that too. A part of me feels like I can't heal until you heal. 

It's tiring - carrying these invisible wounds all the time. I want a new experience. Don't you too?

At this point, I can feel I'm beginning to feel exhausted with writing this. That's a good thing. Being exhausted of anything, I've come to conclude is it's own remedy. When I become exhausted of something I come to a place of considering surrender, a death, a giving up, a letting go, of I'm done with this experience so God/universe, it's over to you now to do what you will with me; I got what I needed thank you and I'm ready to move on, whoever and whatever can come and take it away now. 

Loving my trauma to its death - how do those words sound, feel within me? 

Hmm let me be with that for a moment. You know, it feels good, it feels freeing, it feels like my body is yearning for the celebration of being rid of the heavy cloud and dense sensations that have been so familiar for a long time. It doesn't mean I close my eyes, click my fingers and my trauma gets forgotten or shoved to a corner, but it might - once I've loved it to death. I'm ok with that. 

It is said that love conquers all. So ok, let's try that on with Ho'oponopono. 

The wounds and injuries that do remain to be healed - the childhood wounds, the attachment injuries, the being misunderstood, abandoned and unseen, imposed upon and violated, the teenage hurts and young adult heartbreaks - the list goes on - in the invisible and magical place of wherever they remain in me - I now give them a gentle and comforting, nurturing space, a loving home within me to naturally heal, to become whole again with me, with God, our and my Creator. 

I offer these wounds a loving chance to return to original form either in perfect condition or slightly skewed - that's what I want. They are not separate to me, they are me. 

With a squeeze their cheeks love, smother them in kisses love, embrace them like you are never going to see them again love. Whole body appreciation to their death of the last frayed thread hanging on for dear life love because they are all mine, yes all mine. I literally own them like treasured and valuable assets, designed just for me. No one can actually take them away from me. 

The remedy is to bring the trauma, the wounds, the hurts, the grief into my heart, not push them away as foreign unwanted objects to be discarded. 

Deeply owning them as precious gifts of big blind love from everyone (including myself) that generously, unconsciously, inadvertently contributed to me and my unique resume of wounds.
They are part of me and my Soul signature. 

I love love love them to death with every spark of my being.   

And breath...