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Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death
Learning to Fear No Evil in Trauma Recovery
I have always thought I was brave.
Some people have to face difficult things early on, and those things shape them. When I was little, my mother was mentally unstable, and my father was always somewhere else. I learned that I could depend on neither to keep me safe, attend to my needs, or teach me how to survive. It wasn’t until much later that I deciphered the tremendous impact of such toxic programming. I ventured out into the world seeking a similar dynamic so that it would be familiar, and I would have an opportunity to fix these dysregulated, maladapted partners and thus repair all of the broken bits from my own life. I spent a lifetime trying to resurrect the dead and heal the sick. But I failed every time. Three times, in fact. And each time, I attempted to collect the remnants of myself and put on a brave face and carry on.
And then I met him. . . the one who changed everything.
There are two significant dates in my life that were both transformative and annihilating. February 12, 1983, will…
