TW: mention of GBV/abuse
When I look back at pictures of myself from before I experienced gender-based violence, I sometimes have a hard time identifying with the person I see. There are things I loved about myself, like my ability to always see the best in people, that I had to lose in order to survive what I was put through. Even though I have empathy for the ways I have had to change, I still sometimes find myself grieving the version of myself that I lost.
In addition to losing parts of who we were, experiencing trauma can lead to the loss of other things like relationships or jobs. For me, my abuser forced me to isolate myself from my friends for the good part of a year. When I was able to get out of the abusive relationship, I found myself very alone. Thankfully, many of my important relationships were able to heal, but some of them weren't. Although getting out of my abusive relationship was the best thing I have ever done, facing the lasting effects of trauma often felt no better than experiencing it the first time. Soon after leaving the relationship, I was offered my dream job in New York City, but was forced to turn it down because my trauma had left me struggling to function. I moved back in with my parents and struggled to keep up with a minimum wage job for over a year.
Let me be honest with you- I GRIEVED. I think I spent more of that year crying than not. I cycled through every stage of grief and then I did it all over again. Denial. Bargaining. Acceptance. Depression. Bargaining. Anger. Depression. ANGER. ANGER. ANGER. I hated the world and then I missed feeling like a part of it. Some days all I wanted was to pretend like none of it had happened and to move on with my life. Even as someone who works in psychology and knows that we have to allow ourselves to feel, I did my best to shove it all down. But, it never stayed down. And I felt all of it. I felt all of it and I grieved and I reflected until I began to see the new version of myself emerging. She isn't quite so quick to laughter and her cup is often half empty. She doesn't like the same things in bed and she can't stand the sound of guitar playing. But she's strong, and she's kind, and she appreciates kindness from others in a way that only she can. Grieving the loss of who I was has allowed me to embrace who I have become.
TW: mention of GBV/domestic abuse icabuse iabuse abuse buse use se e past version of myself like an old friend. It took me a long time to stop comparing myself to her. It took a long time for me to stop blaming her for what was to come in her life. Neither one of us is better or worse than the other, only different. I know she would be proud of domestic