We are all trauma survivors. There we are, safe and secure in the womb, all slick and amniotic, when we’re rudely squeezed into a birth canal and spasmed into a world of others.
Old pain is buried pain—pain we haven’t dealt with. When the hurt happened, we didn’t know what to do, so we put it in the basement. It howls and rages down there. All it wants is the lights on, clear seeing, our thoughtless attention, the silent fortitude of love.