Do Not Become Your Trauma

This is the story of a little girl who was curious about everything and loved everyone. She would go around the neighborhood, talking to her neighbors, young and old. She asked questions, shared whatever she had, and loved learning about their lives and listening to their stories. If other kids couldn’t leave their porches, she’d come to where they were allowed to play, sometimes getting into trouble because her parents didn’t know where she was. Anything she had she was willing to share with others, even though sometimes the kids she shared with stole things from her. She gave her trust without condition until she learned that people lied to her about almost everything. Until she learned that people were willing to harm her for their own amusement. Until she learned that some people were dangerous, and she needed to protect herself from them.

When the older people picked on her, she learned she was a target. When the older boys sexually assaulted her, she learned she was just prey. When the white kids called her names and made fun of her looks, she learned she was just a tool, a whipping post for their frustrations. When no one challenged or punished the way anyone treated her, she learned she was expendable. The only people who she could count hon were her parents, and with her dad, that protection was conditional because fighting back put the entire family at risk.

She learned that the world wasn’t safe. People weren’t safe. She needed to guard herself at all costs because very few people were going to do it for her. She spoke less, asked fewer questions, worked to mute all the ways she stood out. She packed herself into a small box and tried to fit in the place that society told her she belonged. And then spent years learning that no matter how small she made herself, it wasn’t small enough because her existence is tolerated for her usefulness and her refusal of that role makes her an enemy of the state.

I don’t remember the first time I got into a physical fight as a child, but I know it happened numerous times, usually with the boys in my neighborhood. It goes a bit against my nature to physically fight people, but often, that was the only way to curb the bullies. It was the only effective way to maintain my autonomy.

I never wanted to be a fighter, but I have learned that fighting is the only way I’m able to have enough space to be me. It’s a me that was forged by my environment, someone who learned to be hard because people think my soft parts are delicious. I appreciate the fighter that I am, but I also hate her because that is not who I would have been if I hadn’t been forced into the role.

Survival is more than just having food to eat and clean water to drink. It’s more than shelter, clothing, and education. It’s also emotional and physical safety and I grew up in an environment where that was a luxury. Very few people were safe, and I learned through experience. Often traumatizing experiences that I am still processing 30 years later.

My adulthood has been me having to incrementally challenge all the things I’ve thought about myself, questioning what parts of me are me and what are things I’ve been taught to believe about myself. It’s been me rejecting the belief that I am too big, too loud, too much. It’s been learning to trust my judgment, even while questioning the information that’s been presented. It’s been me learning that I deserve more than most people will have me believe. I’m still working through so much of this because we live in a society that exploits almost everyone and tries to convince us that we are the cause instead of the various layered systems they developed expressly to exploit us. Entire billion-dollar industries are built around monetizing our survival needs but somehow, it’s still our fault when we die.

It’s me remembering that my emotions are always valid, but do not always need to be acted on. It is me accepting that I am not too much or overreacting, I am just reaction. It is giving myself the space to be, to love, to accept, to fight, to thrive, and to walk away when I need space. It is me learning to prioritize my humanity and make choices that honor me, instead of appeasing everyone else. Being myself is gonna make people uncomfortable. Just like I have to deal with constant trauma, they’ll deal with the product of it, namely me.

This is why when people say, “do not become your trauma,” I wonder what the fuck they’re talking about. I do not know a life where trauma did not shape me. I do not know what it is to be supported and encouraged without authority figures actively deterring me. I do not know a life without physical and emotional threats and violence as part of it. I’ve curated a space where there is less violence but regardless, as soon as I turn on the television, leave the house, go to work, I interact with agents of capitalist, patriarchal white supremacy and that is inherently violent to fat Black womxn.

I don’t know who I am without my trauma, but I do know who I fight to be in spite of it. I am both warrior and wounded, predator and prey. I am all the identities in between, around, over, and under those, I just listed, all at the same time and I have complicated, multi-faceted relationships with myself because of my awareness of this. This is part of what it means to be human.

My trauma may not define me, but it does shape me. It is not the all of me, but it is a significant part. My goal now is to love myself as I come to terms with that and to continue to thrive in spite of it.

I’m only human and that’s not a bad thing.

If you appreciate or learned from this essay, please feel free to compensate me by contributing to my Paypal or CashApp. You can contribute any amount you want at any time:

Paypal: https://www.paypal.me/TaLynnKel

Cash App: $TalynnKel

Originally published at https://talynnkel.com on November 19, 2019.