Life After Trauma: Between Peaks & Valleys
On an ordinary Wednesday, our 6yo son Theo came home from school with a stomach ache. We thought maybe it was a virus or something he ate that didn’t agree with him. I did all the things you do at home to treat an upset stomach — bland diet, rest, lots of checking in. Theo went to bed feeling okay, but the stomach ache persisted. It woke him in the night, and in the morning it was worse.
His stomach hurt more and now he had a fever, was hunching over, the right side of his belly was tender, and it seemed increasingly tough for him to walk and use the bathroom. Luckily, my husband Sam knew early on that something wasn’t right and wondered about his appendix. We took him to Urgent Care, who then referred us to a pediatric ER, and before we knew it, we found ourselves in the same children’s hospital where Theo had surgery to put in ear tubes almost three years earlier during one of the most challenging times in our life.
We watched helplessly through an ultrasound, IV insertion, blood work, and MRI as our little boy grew pale and struggled in pain without understanding what was happening to him.
It all felt too familiar.
The Version of Me Forged in Hardship
Almost two years ago, I shared our story of resilience — the story of managing our son being chronically ill for several months, discovering that mold in our home had been slowly poisoning us for who-knows-how-long, of forging a new holistic path for our family, throwing away most of our belongings, and leaving our home for a summer while we detoxed, remediated, and healed.
To survive a season of trauma like that, I built walls. I put on armor. I closed myself off and focused on overcoming the next hard thing, and no further. Looking too far ahead could pull me down into the abyss and drown me. I became a hard shell of myself, one built to survive.
As you look back, you can begin to marvel at your own strength, how you’ve grown, and how you wouldn’t be who you are today without those dark times.
In that season of trauma, I took one hard thing at a time. One choice at a time. One hour or, sometimes, one moment at a time. And slowly, painfully so, I found my way through. Eventually, our kiddos got better, we made our home safe again, and we began to rebuild our life.
For a long time after, I lived in a state of constant paranoia and PTSD — seeing your child constantly ill and screaming through night terrors every night for months, having to throw out most of your belongings and leave your home not knowing if you’ll ever return will do that to a person.
For a while, every sniffle or cough felt like a signal that we may be on the brink of collapse yet again. But eventually things got better, and stayed better. The kids were healthy most of the time, we were safe in our home again, and our life seemed to find a healthy reliable rhythm.
Finding Softness After Struggle
That strong armored version of myself was the reason I made it through the most difficult days of my life, and I’ll forever be grateful to her, but I realized I wasn’t meant to be her forever. I couldn’t stay closed off from the world. I couldn’t live my life on the edge, waiting to plunge into darkness again. What carried me through that season of trauma wasn’t always meant to sustain me. So slowly, I began to soften and, piece by piece, I began to shed my armor and open up to life and hope and new possibilities again.
I don’t regret our season of struggle. I wouldn’t be who I am today without it. Those years of hardship armed me with the tools to stay strong and not panic with every twist and turn of testing while our Theo was in the ER this time — to focus on the step at hand and not look any further. Our life after the mold prepared me to hold steady but soft, to trust that we would find our way through again just as we had before.
And we did.
Theo was diagnosed with an appendicitis, which the doctors suspected had ruptured. I built my walls around us, this time to shelter us in the moment and I felt grounded. There was no point in thinking ahead or playing out scenarios we had no control of. We just took it one second at a time, being there together, doing our best to be strong for our little boy, and helping Theo get through one of his own hardest times. We spent a very long night telling our sweet boy how brave and strong he is, and that everything would get better in the morning.
We just had to make it through the night.
And we did.
Theo had surgery the following morning to remove his appendix and thankfully the operation went well. Since his appendix had ruptured after all, we had to stay in the hospital an additional few days, but in my mind that was actually the easy part. Of course it wasn’t actually easy (sleeping in hospitals and healing from surgery never is), but from then on I knew everything would be okay and we could handle things from there.
This time, I found that my armor was lighter, more flexible than before. And Theo was well enough and we were finally allowed to come home, it was much easier to remove this time. And once again, I saw all the same old things with brand new eyes. And as time passes and he continues to heal, I’ve never been so happy to see my little boy walk or laugh or run without pain — all the little things I took for granted before. Now I have a whole new appreciation for his sweet silly self that I wouldn’t have without the struggle.
The Treasure Hiding in Trauma
It all comes back to my favorite quote from author Rebecca Campbell.
“I believe that your tragedies, your losses, your sorrows, your hurt happened for you, not to you. And I bless the thing that broke you down and cracked you open because the world needs you open.”
Our life is one giant tapestry of struggle and strength, beauty and hardship, darkness and light. And we wouldn’t appreciate the simple joys and beautiful moments without the painful ones. I’ve heard life compared to musical composition on a piano before, and that we need the low notes as well as the high ones to craft the most compelling, moving songs.
I know that not every day will be a good one, but I also know that not all of them are bad. The important thing is to be gentle with ourselves between the peaks and valleys, between the traumas and the triumphs. As you look back, you can begin to marvel at your own strength, how you’ve grown, and how you wouldn’t be who you are today without those dark times.
I would never wish a season of struggle on anyone, but I also know that not all our days will be easy ones. I can tell you that it takes time, but the hard stuff can lead to some of the best times. Sometimes you just need to make it through the night, and trust things will eventually get better on the other side. And that you’ll be better for it.
Thank you to all of our family and friends who have shown up, held space, delivered gifts and food, and wrapped us in love, light, and prayer in our darkest hours. It means more than you know ♥
