Experiences come along to highlight unresolved pain, to expose the unhealed parts of ourselves, revealing itself as emotionally triggering situations and disproportionate pain. If a seemingly incocuous situation hurts way too much, and disproportionately so, then it’s the signal of an unhealed wound; if you can’t simply shrug it off, it’s undigested pain from the past needing attention. When it hurts too much, when the emotion is bubbling over, it’s the unsupported, unresolved pain that’s reared it’s head wanting attention, an unconscious part of you that has come forth from the shadows. So pay attention: it’s the trauma that’s still screaming from somewhere buried in time, wanting you to take notice from the time capsule where it lives. The emotional trigger is communication from the wound that it needs to be witnessed. It’s then you have to stop and and think: “why do I feel like this?” and “when did I first feel like this?”.
That’s what I asked myself yesterday when I felt triggered last week, struggling with a situation which stoked the wound of worthlessness and lack of value; in turn it only served to reaffirm deep rooted trust issues of others. I was too busy to feel anything last week and the pain was muted for several days. Busy brain = unhealed. But as the busy-ness waned, the pain body floated up over the weekend, erupting on the surface of my consciousness, tugging at me: it seems there is a part of me that thinks the worst, that can’t see the good in anyone, a part which harbours a deep mistrust of people; the feeling is not only prevalent but alive and kicking. The wound tells me that people I know lie to me; that people I know who I think are close to me aren’t to be trusted; that people I know who I think I can trust place no value in me; that I’m not as important as others and bottom of the heap, ignored whilst others are attended to; that there is no one truly ‘there’ for me when I need them; that I’m unsupported and with no one to rely on but myself (which in turn triggers my anxious avoidant part); that I don’t have any real surrogate family; friends are just friends and it’s dangerous for my wellbeing to perceive them as anything more. That I’m truly on my own. That’s how it speaks to me. This is how the wound communicates. There’s no one really there for you. You’re on your own. Close your heart. That is the wound. And that’s the dysregulated child within me speaking.
This part of me is hyper-sensitive – that’s what childhood trauma does to you. Small things matter muchly and there’s a fragility, a delicateness, one that I don’t often admit to. It’s a part of me that’s easily wounded, easily hurt, easily upset but simultaeously yearns for connection, support and to know that she truly matters in others’ lives. Ironically the fragility is compensated with a frozen heart, a push-me-pull-you type of feeling. Unwittingly the part softens from time to time and allows people in, whole-heartedly, hastily, devoid of discernment, only to be painfully cast to the side. It happened within the last 5 years on two occasions where that part unwittingly opened her heart fully and unconditionally – once in 2020 to an older man who turned out to be an acidic narc who bread crumbed and used me like a ragdoll when he felt like it, and then in 2022, to someone I thought would be a friend for life only for her to kick me when I was down in 2024. The uresolved pain works in a repetitive loop that affirms and reaffirms itself. It’s now I know that I have to save her from this plight; I have to break the cycle, for her sake and mine.
Knowing what I now know, I allowed the tears to flow and the emotional pain to allow its passage. I’ve been feeling (and still am feeling) irritable and tetchy, emotionally fragile and bad tempered, sensitive and scatty. Rather than flying into a fit of rage, or overreacting and saying something I might regret later, (as much as the wound wants me to say something to justify it’s pain), I just allowed the pain the flow. The pain body had every right to feel like this in the moment – it’s valid pain that needs to be felt. But I know it’s not the situations causing that pain: it’s old, simmering and burning pain from the past. I remind myself that it’s not me, it’s part of me that feels this way. And part of me that needs re-membering and welcoming back into the fold. However what I noticed is when the tears flow and I speak to the pain body in my minds eye and witness its grief, and tell it that I see it, that I feel it, the pain subsides. So do the tears.
And then I asked myself: “when did I first feel like this?” “which part of me is feeling like this?” “what happened to make me so distrustful?” and I took myself back in time to start reprocessing the wound, to find her, the little girl, to re-parent her. Where did this pain come from? How old was I when first felt like that? What happened for me to lose part of my soul? The wound has an age. I know it’s not me; it’s a child part of me reacting, locked in a prison of time. Somatically, I know this wound very well; I just didn’t realise how deep it is until last week. It stems from a combination of sinister, wicked and cruel familial abandonment, the years of hate-fill, derisive and inhuman racial abuse, followed by years of victimisation from other sub-human types when mum and I were alone and fed to the wolves. I’ve written about this fear and broken heartedness on previous posts such as undigested pain and the babadook (both two part posts there was just too much to say) which left a shell of a girl as I’d abandonded myself completely, affirming that people in general are inherently bad – if you can’t trust your own family, then how can you trust strangers? And re-enactments over time have slowly solidified the pain, the roots getting thicker and gnarlier with each re-enactment to remind me of a wound unhealed.
There’s more than one version of her – there’s an 8 year old and a 13 year old that need reassurance, care, love, support and compassion – the support she didn’t get when she needed it. I feel the pain body in my solar plexus – it feels like a lump, a ball of pain stuck there – that must be where she lives within me. I put my hand to my chest and consoled the little girl within. I witnessed her. And here’s what I told her: I see you; I feel you; I hear you. It’s okay to feel upset, it’s totally understandable and that it’s not your fault what you went through: no child should go through that. We’re a team now, you can trust me, you’re safe now, you’re no longer there in that world and that I’ve got your back. I’m going to do everything I can to make things better for you. There are good people in this world, not everyone is out to get you; I’m the good person you can trust; I’m not going to lie to you; I’m not going to deceive you; I’m not going to abandon you or let you down and I’m going to take care of you. I see you; I feel you.
The pain needs to be seen and loved. It needs to be heard. It needs to be acknowledged. And it needs to be understood. I sat with the pain and although irritation, anger and tetchiness has tried to muscle in, I’ve kept the underlying feeling close. I want to heal this, I really do.
To help her heal, in my solace I’ll feel her to release her. I know I’ll need to revisit her again and again. And when I get triggered by this wound again, I know that it’s the little girl that needs my attention, to turn inward rather than outward, to hold space for her and myself.
Most of all I need to learn to trust, tentatively, but trust. I need to think good of people and see the good in people. I need expect the best, not the worst in people; I need to open my heart and risk getting hurt, but to know the pain is only temporary.
Love heals. Love will always heal.
But I know inner strength is slowly returning; the soft sediment is washing away and a stronger landscape of bedrock is replacing it. The narrative is changing. Un-learning. Un-becoming. And embracing that descent is the doorway to my transformation.
If baring my soul to you (and the world) has moved or touched a part of you in any way, then your support would be very welcome. To help me on this healing journey, perhaps you’d like to buy me a coffee (although mines a tea) via the link below:
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