“Trauma” is a word that can sometimes be carelessly overused. For many of us, our wounds can seem awfully insignificant compared to those of people who have fled wars, been abused, or suffered indescribable terror or loss. I don’t think it’s necessarily helpful to rate and compare suffering, however, since trauma (whether big or small) can cause a physiological response in our bodies and the better we can understand that response, the more equipped we will be to handle and carry it.

As last week came to a close, I was struggling and feeling very anxious.

I took some time to check in with my body and noticed some things: I felt sick to my stomach, and had a decreased appetite. I felt foggy, like I was walking through waist-high molasses. Little tasks felt overwhelming, like it was all just too much. And the little patch of psoriasis I hadn’t seen in years had started to expand in an itchy circle on the bottom of my foot. I hadn’t felt this way since I watched Steve get blown up and burned in the farm accident. And that’s when it clicked for me. So much of what was hard about that season was the uncertainty (Would he ever look normal again? Would he regain use of his hands and be able to work? What would the future look like?) and the fear that all of those questions had super bad answers…and how I felt then is how I am feeling now.

It’s trauma.

It felt good to be able to name it, and then to give myself the grace and compassion to sit with that knowing. I have felt better since then. It’s like the trauma just needed to be acknowledged, saying, “I’m here,” and I creaked open the door to my heart and then held the trauma there: looking at it, seeing it, knowing it, without judgement or trying to push it away.

I know there may be scary days ahead: death tolls rising, feeling a looming threat draw closer. But there are still so many moments of light and hope and presence.

I heart you all.