Week 4 — The Real Side of Traum

Let’s talk about the part nobody posts about, the B-side of healing. The one Jimmy Palmer from NCIS was right about. Everyone loves to share the highlight reel, but this… this is the raw track that plays when the lights go out and the house is quiet.

This week knocked me on my ass.  Starting on Halloween, when I found out about the kidney stone, it’s been five days of back-and-forth ER visits. Vaginal cuff bleeding, a stent that moved into my urethra, days of bladder leakage, silver nitrate sticks and catheters, it’s been chaos wrapped in hospital gowns and exhaustion. Every time I think I’m okay to move, the bleeding starts again. My body is screaming slow down in a language I can’t ignore.

“Sometimes healing means doing absolutely nothing — and that’s the hardest work of all.”

I’m frustrated. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. I just want to feel like myself again, and there are days I’m scared I never will. The lightheadedness, dizziness, and constant pain have replaced my quick thinking and my get-it-done energy. I want to enjoy my short ten-minute walks, but even standing hurts. I try to read, write, and be creative, but the brain fog makes it feel impossible. So I cry. A lot. And that’s okay because crying is not only a part of recovery it’s oddly keeping me sane.

Sometimes I wonder if depression is setting in. I missed celebrating Cris’s birthday, and now it looks like I’ll be down for Madeline’s too. People keep saying, “Once you’re healed, you’ll feel so much better.” And while I know they mean well, there’s a part of me that wants to yell, “How do you know that? Tomorrow isn’t promised.” Because right now, I can’t see the forest for the trees. I can only see today and today hurts.

“Healing isn’t the highlight reel. It’s the B-side the tears, the silence, the surrender.”

So I’m choosing patience — not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary. I remind myself that this is temporary, even if it feels endless. I breathe through the dizziness, sip water like it’s medicine, and let myself rest without guilt. My body has been through trauma. My job now is to honor that, not rush it.

This isn’t a comeback story yet. It’s the in-between, the messy beautiful middle where healing is still learning how to trust me again.

“This is the B-side of recovery and I’m learning to play it loud.”

💭 What I’m Learning

• Healing isn’t linear or pretty — it’s raw, slow, and full of detours.
• People mean well, but only I know what my body feels like.
• Rest isn’t weakness; it’s rebellion against everything that told me to keep going.

🧺 What’s Helping Right Now

• Deep breaths before every movement
• Gentle music when silence feels too heavy
• Letting myself cry without shame
• Small sips of water all day long
• Writing these words instead of pretending I’m fine