A Gentle Guide for Life After Trauma
Trauma doesn’t just break your heart. It steals your orientation.
You wake up one morning and nothing makes sense…not the world, not your body, not the way the light hits the floor. You’re floating, untethered, inside a version of your life that no longer fits.
And if that’s where you are, welcome. You’re not alone.
I’ve lived here too.
1. Begin at the beginning. Even if the beginning is breath.
You don’t need a plan. You don’t need clarity. You don’t need a 10-step recovery program or a breakthrough moment.
You just need to start exactly where you are.
If standing feels impossible, sit. If sitting feels impossible, just breathe.
After my trauma in late 2021, there were days when brushing my teeth felt like climbing Everest. So I sat. And I cried. And I let the day pass without doing much else.
Start small. Start scared. Just start.
Progress is a strange shape. You won’t see it in the mirror right away, but it’s there, I promise.
2. Find someone who holds space without asking you to explain it all.
Healing is heavy. Trying to carry it alone is too much.
Reach for a friend, a sibling, a stranger in a support group. Send one word. One emoji. A link to this post with no context. Just…reach.
And if you can, find a therapist.
EMDR saved my life. It took me six therapists to find the right one. I cried in offices, ghosted appointments, and hated every intake form. But I kept trying. And eventually, someone saw me.
Don’t give up. You are worth the effort it takes to be understood.
Resources:
Dial 988 (U.S. Suicide & Crisis Lifeline)
BetterHelp (Online therapy)
Local trauma survivor support groups
ChatGPT, honestly…I’ve used it more than once to vent and it’s there 24/7
3. Make a soft space, even if it’s a closet.
Right after the trauma, I hid in mine.
I was thirty years old and had built a pillow fort inside a tiny closet…pillows, blankets, the whole deal. It was the only place I felt safe. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t Instagram-worthy. But it let me breathe.
Now, my whole home is soft. Slowly, I built a sanctuary.
Start with a corner. A blanket. A scent you like. You don’t need to explain it to anyone.
Safety doesn’t always look like safety to others. That’s okay.
4. The basics are boring, but they matter.
I know. Everyone says this. But it’s true.
Sleep: If you can’t sleep, try to rest. Try the chalkboard trick: counting backwards from 100 and visualizing each number in your hand, slowly. It helped me on nights when I couldn’t close my eyes without shaking.
Food: After my trauma, people said, “Eat anything you can.” I did. I gained 30 pounds and felt worse. Now I know…what you eat becomes your brain chemistry. Choose food that supports you. Not punishes. Not distracts. Supports.
Water: This one’s weird, but…I talk to my water. I thank it. There’s research on water memory, but even if it’s just placebo, I like to pour gratitude into what I drink.
Movement: Just stretch. Move your neck side to side. Shake your wrists. Dance badly in the kitchen. It counts.
Do what you can. That is always enough.
5. Let the pain come out as art. Or noise. Or nonsense.
Trauma has a way of locking up your throat.
Writing helped me unlock mine. Songs poured out. Poetry I never meant to share. I even hired a singer on Fiverr to record one of my pieces…and for a moment, it felt like reclaiming something.
You don’t have to be good. You just have to get it out.
Journal three messy feelings
Doodle the chaos
Scream-sing into your pillow
Write a letter you’ll never send
Expression is exorcism.
6. Boundaries are how you survive.
After my trauma, a doctor encouraged me to post about it. “You’ll inspire others,” they said.
I believed them. I made my story public.
And then strangers told me I should kill myself. Some blamed me for what happened. Others said I deserved it.
I wish I had protected myself instead of trying to help too soon.
You don’t owe anyone your story. You don’t owe the internet your vulnerability.
Turn off your notifications. Log out. Say no. It’s not cold…it’s sacred.
7. Joy doesn’t cancel pain. But it reminds you light exists.
The first time I laughed after my trauma, I felt guilty.
Then I realized: I wasn’t betraying my grief. I was honoring my humanity.
Joy isn’t a betrayal, it’s a lifeline.
We’re not looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. We’re learning the shape of the tunnel we’re in. Touching the walls. Understanding its length. That’s enough for now.
8. Be ridiculously kind to yourself.
You wouldn’t yell at a friend who was grieving. Don’t yell at you.
If you brushed your teeth today, great. If you didn’t, okay. If you watched a dumb TV show just to numb your thoughts…that’s fine too.
You are rebuilding from scratch. Of course it’s messy. Be gentle.
Say this with me:
I am not lazy. I am healing. I am not broken. I am rebuilding.
9. The future is a fog, but keep walking.
You don’t have to know where you’re going. Just that you’re going.
One day you’ll wake up and realize the pain isn’t the first thing you feel. It won’t be gone. But it will be quieter.
You’ll laugh more. Sleep deeper. Love again…yourself, others, life.
You don’t have to get there today.
But know this:
You’re already on the way.
If you’re here, if you’re reading this, you’re already healing.
You’re already trying.
And I’m proud of you for that.
You are not behind.
You are not alone.
You are enough…even now. Especially now.
And in case no one has told you yet today:
You’re doing an amazing job.
I’m so proud of you.
