I found myself needing to talk, cry, and tell my story again. I also wanted to listen to the stories of others affected by this day. I am always surprised at the power of anniversaries, as if a divot is made in time where we can fall into old thoughts and feelings so easily. The trauma waves surged and moved around and through me until I came again to the shore of myself, tired and depleted, but ready to go on once more.
It was a good reminder that some things continue to live inside of us, even after their resolution, that grief is a perennial flower that crops up at intervals. I pulled out my old tools: kleenex, smudge, epsom salts for a cleansing soak after the storm. I am grateful that there is life after PTSD for all of us, for hope and for healing.
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