Healing from trauma is, honestly, the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do.

The emotional toll it takes to really examine these wounds and try to process through the pain, is enormous. More too because I know the people who have hurt me the most don’t care now and didn’t care then. I think that’s the hardest part: healing from shit that the people responsible couldn’t care less about.

But what’s the alternative? I can’t change what has already happened. I can’t make them care about the harm they caused. I can’t make them acknowledge it or apologize for it. Moving forward, I really only have two choices: harbor resentment and anger towards them, or choose to let go.

I wrote before about how I really hope I can forgive them eventually. Not because they deserve my forgiveness, but because I don’t want to live my life actively hoping for terrible things to happen to them. That’s not who I am, and it’s not the kind of energy I want to carry in my body. Moreover, even beyond the emotional damage, trauma also impacts the body. And since my miscarriages, I have put my body through so much shit. Healing from trauma will be good for me physically, as well as emotionally. Because while I will always be angry over these things, I do not want to harm myself by ignoring the wounds and letting them fester.

The more I heal, the more I see myself change, grow, and let go of unhealthy habits. The more I heal, the more I’m able to discern what I need emotionally, physically, and spiritually. The more I heal, the more I feel worthy of love, acceptance, forgiveness, and space to be my own human. Too many people throughout my life have made me wonder what’s wrong with me that I can be so easily tossed away.

I know now there’s nothing wrong with me. Just with them. Because only people who dislike themselves lash out and try to make others feel like shit. It’s a lesson my mom taught me when I was in grade school and I was being bullied. I didn’t understand what she meant then, but I understand now. Bullies/abusers lash out because it’s the only “power” they think they have. It allows them to counter the insecurity and self-hatred they carry. And usually, the people they’re able to maintain friendships with are those who can’t/won’t push back and enforce boundaries.

I try to hold emotional space for that. It doesn’t excuse the ways they treated me, but it does help me understand that it wasn’t actually anything I did. A breakthrough I had in therapy last week was that I could have done everything the way they said they wanted, and there still would have been something else that made them lash out. It’s what insecurity does when left unchecked.

Because here is what I’ve learned in the last two years: being insecure/having insecurities is to be human. We all have them. We all experience moments when we don’t feel good enough. But not all of us expect other people to alleviate those insecurities. Not all of us use our insecurities as a reason to mistreat and control other people. And not all of us manipulate those around us to make us feel more in control of our lives. That’s the difference.

I have a lot of insecurities, and my partner hold space for them. But I cannot and will not – I outright refuse – to hold him hostage to the horrible things other people have done to me. He hasn’t caused my insecurities, in fact he’s done more to help me manage them than anyone other than my current therapist, so I don’t want him to feel as though he’s suffering the consequences of other people’s choices. And it’s the same with my mental health. I have anxiety. I have depression. I’m on medication. I’m in therapy. These are good things. But I also need to make sure that 1) I’m communicating my needs so that he doesn’t have to guess at how I’m doing, and 2) having mental illness is not an excuse to take my own frustrations out on others.

Basically, erring on the side of accountability is the way to go.

To do that while I’m healing from all this shit, means that I have to learn not to give so much of a fuck about what these people might think, say, do behind my back. Because there’s still a big part of me that misses how I felt when I was around them, and that alone is a bad, bad sign. It’s called codependency. Wanting back those feelings would mean sacrificing my own wellbeing for the sake of just a feeling of belonging, not the actual existence of belonging. Real, true belonging and acceptance happens over time and maintains mutual boundaries and respect. Sacrificing my needs so that I don’t lose my place in their lives (which is exactly what I did) is pretty much the textbook definition of codependency. I chose that then.

I’m not going to choose it again. I’m worthy of better.

So, as I’m waiting on my morning donut delivery and watching our new corgi puppy sleep, I’m choosing not to give a fuck.