My story says that I need to heal so I won’t cut others. And that’s noble, but it’s also not strictly necessary. I will never be trauma free. I will never be the bright, shiny human I once (theoretically) was. I will never be perfect. And, and this is REALLY important, so pay attention, I am still a complete human being who does their best every day not to hurt other people. I am a brilliant, beautiful, caring, compassionate, empathetic, emotional, multi-faceted, funny, lovely human.

Yes, I make mistakes. Yes, I have a ton of maladaptive coping skills. Yes, frequently it feels like “everything is bears” and I get frightened and overwhelmed. Yes, I need more support and care than the average neuro-conforming person.

Over my five decades, I’ve gained a bunch of tools in my toolbox. But they were the wrong ones. So now it feels like I’m the oldest kindergartener ever, if that kindergartener had an unnaturally lengthy trauma history. I’m actually a bunch of kindergarteners in a trench coat. Pretending to be an adult. And weirdly, that sort of worked (if everyone else squinted enough, or if they were too wrapped up in their own shit to notice), until it didn’t work.

But here’s the thing about that tower of tots. They are giving it their all. They deflected attention using whatever skills they had. They have protected us, and cared for us, no matter how many ice-packs and band-aids they needed for all the cuts, bumps, bruises, and breaks they sustained.