I recently had a conversation with a dear friend who is facing trauma. She said to me, “It just feels like nothing is good and nothing will be good ever again.”
I know this feeling. Not just a “feeling low” feeling, and not just a trying chapter. It’s the feeling of utter devastation. The feeling of being entirely unsure how people are walking around smiling & blissfully licking their ice cream cones while you’re being washed away in what feels like an endless riptide of sorrow. The feeling of being absolutely stubbornly certain you will never belly laugh ever again. I know it. You know it.
But as certainly as we know this feeling, we know the joy that grabs hold of us on the flip side of the coin, too.
The other night, amidst bottle washing and dinner making, Luke cranked up “Matilda” by Harry Belafonte. The most uncoordinated family dance break ensued. Clinging James to me, pulling him back to watch him light up with laughter at Luke, spinning & spinning, I felt it. The absolute certainty that things are good, things have been good, and things always will be good in time. I promised myself to tuck this memory in my back pocket for safe keeping. Whenever the inevitable ache of trauma knocks on the door again, I’ll pull this memory out of the file of Proof That Things Will Be Good Again.
We can spiral into the certainty that things aren’t good and won’t be good again when trauma enters center stage of our story. We all likely have. We can carry around a file of Proof That Things Aren’t Good, and wave it around when things start to get too heavy. But we all have the Proof That Things Will Be Good Again file, too.
If you’re braving a chapter of darkness, as near impossible as it may seem, I pray as you rifle through the bad file, your fingers fumble upon the good file, too. And when it gets too hard? I pray you have loved ones who will sit with you in the heavy, until it’s time to pull out the good file and remind you that one day, kitchen dance breaks & belly laughs will ensue once again. 2020 & and all 🤍