It seems like everywhere you turn these days someone is talking about trauma. And I think that’s a good thing because trauma really is something we will all deal with, sooner or later.

I grew up in a chaotic household. My parents split up when I was only 2 and my first memory is of my mother sleeping on a mattress in the corner of my room. Even at that tender age, I knew something was wrong. She remarried when I was 6 and things were good but eventually there were financial problems and my mom’s drinking became problematic. I was cared for and fed, I had a nice house and pretty clothes, but there was a level of uncertainty to my day-to-day life that has had a lasting effect on me. There were big emotional events, like the time my stepfather threw my brother through a window and the police came or the time my mother and I got in a car accident when she was driving after drinking too much. There were also daily events, like fights that lead to tears or stony silences, dinners that went uneaten because someone said the wrong thing, and early bedtimes to escape the tension in the room. In other words, I never quite knew what to expect and I walked on eggshells. A lot. The uncertainty of what was about to happen, the anxious feeling of always waiting for the other shoe to drop, impacted my view of the world immensely. The trauma of my childhood experiences has been long lasting and is something I work constantly to understand and overcome.

I’ve also had trauma in my adult life, like the time my husband got hit by a car while he was mowing our lawn. I’m so grateful that when that happened, I was already under the care of a therapist and we immediately worked on how I was processing the experience. And when I say immediately, I mean that I had a phone call with her the same day as the accident. And I talked with her daily for several days afterwards. I still had panic attacks and incredible anxiety but we dealt with it quickly and the lasting impact of that trauma has been fairly mild.

I shared with my therapist recently this analogy: dealing with trauma is like dealing with weeds. If you get to it quickly, before the roots have gotten deep and had a chance to really take hold, you can get rid of it. If you don’t get to it quickly and it’s allowed to grow and spread inside of you, it’s much harder to remove. Those roots can be so deep and incredibly difficult to eradicate completely and sometimes, even when you yank one hard enough to pull it up, it multiples into a bunch of new (smaller) things that you have to deal with instead. That’s what dealing with childhood trauma has been like for me. Deep roots. Widespread damage. Problematic regrowth.

And yet, there are times when I feel like the weeds of trauma are gone and I’m flourishing like a beautiful garden. That the weeds that are left have shallow roots. That maybe this consistent digging and yanking we’ve been doing is actually working.

And I’m filled with the hope that one day the flowers will outnumber the weeds for good.

As part of my treatment for my autoimmune/inflammatory arthritis, I have to have blood drawn regularly. The first time I had this done, they took vials and vials of blood, I think it was around 8 because they were testing for lots and lots of things. As you can imagine, it took a while. Nowadays when I go to the lab, they only take one or two vials, and it’s a much faster procedure. But still . . . every time I get blood drawn I have the same physical reaction: I get hot and nauseous and light headed.

The first time this happened, I was around 15. I had lost a lot of weight, everyone was convinced I was anorexic (I wasn’t) and they were testing me for all kinds of things, including TB. I remember feeling nauseous and seeing spots and my vision just sort of . . . narrowing . . . and then I was out cold. Ever since then, when I have blood dawn, I tell them I need to lie down so that I don’t pass out. When I get to the lab and they gesture to the chair and say have a seat, I instead gesture to the bed and say that I need to lie down. And I am embarrassed about it every single time.

So here I am, 56 years old and getting blood drawn regularly. And my thinking is, now that I’m doing this frequently, I will get used to it and not be squeamish about it. I will sit in the chair like everyone else. I won’t need special consideration or attention. I will, finally be a grown up about the whole thing.

Last Thursday I went to the lab for a blood draw. I mentioned to the phlebotomist that I usually need to lie down but I want to try sitting in the chair this time. And she looks at me and asks, do you lie down because you feel lightheaded? And I say yes, but I’m trying to make myself get over that and not be a baby about getting blood taken. And she says . . . completely nonplussed . . . oh, that’s a vasovagal response. You can’t get over that, it’s the way your body responds to this situation. You aren’t a baby for asking to lie down, you are being proactive and taking care of yourself.

Hunh. How about that.

For nearly 40 years I thought it was a character flaw. That I was childish and silly and I needed to get over it. But nope. It’s a thing and it has a name and it doesn’t mean I need to fix myself. It just means I need to ask to lie down when I’m getting blood drawn. Pretty simple, really.

I carried so much shame about this. And now I know I don’t need to do that. And it has me thinking about all the other stories we tell ourselves about who we are. That we are flawed or unlovable. That we don’t like movement or sports. That we need to cover up our bodies so we don’t make others uncomfortable. That we aren’t good at math or science. That we are bad if we eat ice cream but good if we eat a salad.

Those are just some of the things that run through my head on a regular basis and I bet you have the same sort of thing happen to you. The stories you tell yourself might be different but the end result . . . limiting what you think you can do . . . is probably the same.

So let’s stop. Let’s not carry shame about the things we can’t change. Let’s love ourselves for the amazing things we can do and let’s remember that we are all perfect just the way we are. And if we need to lie down when we get blood drawn, let’s remember that it’s not shameful. It’s just who we are.

There’s nothing like the Monday after the Thanksgiving weekend to induce the Sunday Scaries. You know about that term, right? It refers to the anxiety that sets in on Sunday when we think about going back to work or school on Monday. It’s not something I experience frequently (I did more a few years ago) but it’s a real thing that impacts many people.

I don’t necessarily have any great advice on how to deal with the Sunday Scaries other than my advice for any difficult feelings: acknowledge how you feel, think about why you might feel that way, and then do your best to let it go. In an effort to do that, and to get some of my tasks for the week out of the way, I went to the nursery yesterday and got wreaths and bows for the house. One big wreath for the side of the house (we’re on a corner and I like to hang a wreath on the side that faces the main road, a wreath for the front door, and a wreath for the side door. We didn’t hang them yet but we did get the Christmas decorations down from the attic and (mostly) got everything set up. Not the tree yet . . . I have the Kitten Scaries when I think about that . . . but everything else is done.

And now it’s Monday morning and it’s time to get ready for work and deal with the tasks that need to be handled. Good thing I like my job even if I would rather be home.