So, let me start off by saying…TRAUMA SUCKS!
It’s one of those things people don’t like to bring up because well…it’s traumatic.
Trauma has a funny way of shaping how we view people and the world around us.
For the most part, no one wakes up in the morning thinking, “Well, today’s the day I’m going to experience a situation that will negatively impact the rest of my life!”
It just happens.
Appropriately enough, trauma derives from the Greek word traǔma, meaning “wound.”
But as a Christian, how do you overcome things that’ve happened in the past — and even the future?
Coming up, my mom taught me the difference between good secrets and bad secrets, as well as good touch and bad touch.
But despite her cautionary efforts, the bad secrets and touches happened anyway.
From second until about fifth grade, I was sexually abused by multiple family members.
Angrily I remember telling God, “This isn’t fair! I asked for none of this. I’ve literally been going to counseling for half of my life over things that aren’t my fault!”
The crazy thing about it all, I still didn’t realize what was happening to me was that bad.
All I understood was that I didn’t like the situations I was put in.
The abuser in movies and books is often a creepy old man.
But for me, that was never the case.
My first abuser was just five years older than me.
And he wasn’t a person I was afraid of.
In fact, he was someone I looked up to.
We were blood.
The brain has an interesting way of protecting us subconsciously.
In response to distressing situations, the brain can experience situation-specific amnesia, or repress memories as though they never happened.
But my seventh grade sex-education class taught me what sexual abuse was.
“Was that what happened to me?”
I was so confused.
I came to the conclusion that the only way I could get peace was through confronting my abuser.
I needed to know why he did what he did to me.
A couple of months later, the opportune time presented itself at our aunt’s birthday party.
I pulled him aside.
“Do you remember a few summers ago when I used to come over your house and —”
Before I could finish my sentence, he suggested we go speak in private.
When we were out of earshot of the rest of the party, he heard me out and immediately apologized.
I forgave him.
It wasn’t until later, however, I realized forgiveness isn’t a one-and-done thing.
It’s a continual process.
Since then, and with each new stage of life, I’ve had to learn to forgive my abusers again and again.
And after that conversation, I didn’t leave my bed for days.
I just sobbed, and sobbed.
There were countless nights I’d sit in my room replaying memories to the point it was debilitating.
So I sought counseling.
My parents were supportive of me going, but at the time had no idea why I wanted to go.
I was surprised, yet grateful about how supportive they were.
The first time I sought counseling was at 12 years old.
Fast forward 12 years later, I’m still in therapy dealing with the trauma of my past.
I was mad at the people who willingly decided to violate me.
And I was mad at God — mostly God.
But growing up, I thought Christians weren’t allowed to be mad at God.
I was taught that questioning God was out of place and could result in being smited.
So I suppressed my anger and used sports, boys, and self harm to cope.
Last year, more of my trauma resurfaced.
I had flashbacks.
I avoided people, places, and things that reminded me of any traumatic experiences.
I was in a constant state of alarm.
I distorted my perception of my loved ones and friends.
“Have you ever explored the possibility of you having PTSD?” my therapist asked me during a session.
It had been a fleeting thought, but I thought PTSD only happened to people who went to war or witnessed someone die.
She eventually diagnosed me with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD).
C-PTSD is a form of post traumatic stress that occurs when an individual is placed in a traumatic setting for a span of time or experiences trauma repeatedly.
The diagnosis took me a while to digest.
Angrily I remember telling God, “This isn’t fair! I asked for none of this. I’ve literally been going to counseling for half of my life over things that aren’t my fault!”
People would try to encourage me with scriptures like Matthew 18:6 — “If any of you causes one of these little ones – those who believe in me – to stumble, it would be better for them to tie a millstone around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.”
But that didn’t help.
The people who inflicted the pain were family.
And even though they did hurt me, I still loved them and struggled with the thought of God invoking His vengeance on them.
To be honest, I couldn’t find a scripture for years that provided me piece of mind — until I wrote this piece.
“He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain…Surely He took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered Him punished by God, stricken by Him, and afflicted. The punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed…He was oppressed and afflicted, yet He did not open His mouth; He was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so He did not open His mouth…He was assigned a grave with the wicked, and with the rich in in His death, though He had done no violence, nor was any deceit in His mouth.” {Isaiah 53:3-9}
It’s about Jesus and how He was set to die on the cross for our sins.
But I think we often fail to recognize Jesus’ death was a traumatic experience.
He lived a hard life and was eventually murdered — all while living an innocent life.
Jesus was no stranger to pain, oppression, or suffering.
The pain of my past still affects me and I still see my therapist regularly.
But it helps to know I have a God that can relate.
I am grateful Jesus’ wounds have the power to heal my own.
He can heal yours too. 
E
BABL 