18 years

Who were you 18 years ago?

Not where or what but who — who did you believe you were back then and what happened to shape who you are now?

18 years ago today I was in surgery to remove a brain tumor, the first of three.

If you’ve been following my work and writing long enough, you’ve likely read a few of these anniversary posts. Reflecting on the passage of time helps me remember why I’m here and to make the most of it.

For past surgery anniversaries, I’ve celebrated people who were there when I needed them, raised money for brain tumor research and care for affected families, and held up brave spring blossoms as the annual remembrance of the spring I missed, in bed for most of it with unspoken worry that I might not see one again.

This year, I want to talk about trauma.

After these last two years, I’m not the only one who has experienced something that will forever shape who they are. One of the main aspects of my work is to help others see how much choice we still have, even in seemingly impossible and uncontrollable circumstances. How powerful we still are.

Today I’d like to give voice to the other side of that.

The fragile hopelessness and aching dread of things beyond our comprehension and which we have to endure, because those gigantic feelings can shape us as much, if not more, as how we rise out of them.

When I think about that day 18 years ago, I picture hospital gowns, gurneys, fluorescent lights, and holding my breath in the waiting room at 6:30am. I felt at the mercy of everything, completely and utterly powerless, from what I wore and where I was seated, to who I interacted with, when I could see loved ones, and what was done to me.

For 10 hours, strangers made major decisions about my body that I would be forced to live with.

Including that I would have to do this all over again 30 days later, and then again six days after that when something else they did beyond my control caused an infection — and with it hallucinations and writhing pain.

When you experience trauma, to your body and to your spirit from powerlessness, your chemistry changes. I grasped for control anywhere I could: smiling at nurses from the moment I woke up, even though my face was partially paralyzed, hoping they would take better care of me and see me as more than a patient. Buying special “convalescing pajamas” with tiny frogs on them for when I went home. Propelling myself into getting better, taking walks and naps with gusto and, when I felt well enough, taking on travel, career change and more.

But at the heart of these was the deepest desperate desire for “not that.” Anything and everything that wasn’t being at the mercy of others, because lack of control was too much to bear.

Or rather, the feeling of powerlessness was unbearable.

I am where I am now because I chose joy, love, living life fully, and because trauma and fear propelled me as far away as possible from what happened 18 years ago.

On this special day in this special blooming and budding season of renewal, please consider:

• What happened to shape who you are today, and what role did trauma or fear or the threat of powerlessness play?

• Where have you chosen out of curiosity and possibility, and where have you been propelled by “dear G-d anything but that, never again will I feel that way”?

It’s okay to feel this way and to make these choices. We all do. I’m proof, and so is the last two years.

These anniversaries allow me to acknowledge what I felt back then and take care of the part of myself that is still hurting.

Trauma, sadness, pain are part of me. It happened. It was terrible. I’m so sorry for the me who endured all of that with no choice, at the mercy of circumstances, clutching to her sense of self and control in the midst of things being done to her.

And I’m extra sorry that it means bad things can happen again no matter how hard I try to prevent or avoid them, and how hard you try too.

Acknowledging this gives myself more grace for the past decisions I made out of trauma, fear, seeming-powerlessness, and the times when they propel my choices now too.

I hope my anniversary allows you space for the tender parts of yourself that are still hurting, greater understanding of the past choices you made, and help choosing with self-kindness and grace now.

When you see the tiny, brave spring blooms outside, notice the ones inside of you too.

xoxo