Trauma

I used to associate the word "trauma" with a rush of emergency responders ushering in a bleeding person in to the emergency room...
  Now, for me, trauma is more closely related to a phone conversation, in my room, in my house, where I was supposed to be safe.
  Trauma, for me, involves a long, drawn out, back and forth exchange, with my husband, who I had trusted completely.
 No first responders. No emergency room. Just me. On my bedroom floor. And my children, in the hall, outside my bedroom door, trying to hear. After I hung up the phone, I stared at the wall from the vantage point of the floor, too shocked to even cry.
  Time slowed. It stopped. Nothing made sense. I couldn't sleep. Or eat. Or think.
After that, more trauma followed. Further revelations.  At my in-law's house. In my husband's car. Walking down the street behind the kids as they trick or treated. My phone pinging incoming text messages with horrifying information I had to sift through to discover the extent of the betrayal. Trauma, in the doctor's office, having my blood drawn, to see what sort of STI my husband had given me. Trauma, speaking with the detective about the investigation... my baby daughter... molested... most likely will not remember.... answering the door and being served with divorce papers... told to sell the house... moving... court... custody hearing... trauma. I keep thinking "This is the worst it will ever get" and it isn't....
   Now, eleven months later, my vision is beginning to clear. Now, the hard part begins. Now is when I have to figure out how to make sense of what happened.
   This blog is my attempt to make sense of what happened to me. Trauma left me feeling powerless... without a voice. I was screaming, screaming, screaming inside and no one heard me. Some days I'm still screaming. And some days, I see beautiful growth. I want to talk about both. And I really want to know that someone is listening.