When the kids were little they used to play “backwards day”. Everything meant the opposite of what was said. If they said up it meant down. If they said stay it meant go.  Even clothes went on backwards. 

I have now been through three solid years of intensive trauma therapy. I now accept much of the abuse and craziness of my family. And, I have come to realize that I am a miracle, an overcomer and survivor.

There is something heady about being a survivor. There is a pride and strength from being a member of that sorority. But, since three years ago when an emotional tsunami unexpectedly roiled my life into chaos, churning my present into the past, it has been like backwards day.  For the past three years instead of carrying pride at being a survivor I have been forced to admit that I was a victim. Instead of encouraging others to be free of unhealthy relationships and hopeless situations, I have had to acknowledge that some pieces of my soul are still captive. My optimistic focus of being one who rose above was buried by the reality of one who was just trying to survive the flashbacks, nightmares, anxiety and depression that my severe Complex PTSD carries with it.

Looking back into my life as some sort of landfill needing excavation seems to fly in the face of my “look for the sunrise” philosophy. I wish I knew which choice was right. Look back or look forward? History or hope?