It always amazes me how certain events and experiences stay in the body. My marriage, which has been over now for over one year, is constantly with me. Like a shadow. And I know that a big reason why this happens is because my marriage was traumatizing for years on end and trauma really is stored in our bodies, but what’s really amazing to me is how this trauma doesn’t just sit in my body. It moves. It grows and shrinks and evolves and sometimes I can’t find it and other times I can’t escape it. And this makes sense; I’m always changing, always growing, always trying to heal from the traumas I’ve been through, so of course one of the traumas I’m trying to heal from would always be changing, too.

But it is always there. As are my miscarriages and other losses and traumas I’ve faced over the course of my life. They are never not there. Sometimes they’re just quieter than usual and other times they’re blasting themselves as loudly as they can. And I know that healing takes time, that I may never live in a body without some residue of these traumas attached, but what’s on my mind right now is how trauma leaves a more noticeable mark on the mind and body than beautiful experiences do.

I’ve been with my boyfriend since June and in that time, I’ve been given more love and affection than my ex gave me in the last three years of our marriage combined. I see him every day. I hear and see and feel and know that I am loved and cherished every day. We’re painting and rearranging his condo to make more room for the two of us. I’m slowly moving my things from my parents place into my new home. This is the happiest and the healthiest I’ve been in years and still I think about my ex and about all the ways he hurt me almost every day.

I guess this is part of the healing process, but it’s one that I don’t understand. On the surface it makes sense that pain would carry more impact than pleasure, but long term I assumed that the longer I was away from my ex and from others who have hurt me, the more they would all fade into the background. And it’s true that these wounds don’t hurt the way they used to. The pain has lessened significantly and for that I’m grateful. But the memories haven’t faded.

Maybe it’s that I feel the injustices of all that happened. Maybe it’s that I want to have these hurts recognized. Maybe it’s that we’re wired to pay attention to the pain and hurt we receive from others more than we are to pay attention to the love we’re given. I don’t know. I’m not a neurobiologist or a psychologist. And maybe my mistake is in thinking I can understand these things at all. Maybe it’s enough to know that I am loved and cared for by the right people. Maybe, if I try to focus on the love and beauty in my life, the memories of trauma will start to fade. I don’t think I’ll ever be free of them entirely, but maybe I can learn to deal with them when they arise, give them the space they need, and then work to shift my thinking towards the positive. Maybe.

All I can do is my best. And thank the universe that I have poetry to guide me through it all.