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I know it’s unfair that I don’t name my trauma. I’ve never explicitly written about it. There are approximately 40 people in the whole world who know what I’m referencing when I speak of my trauma. But I also know that won’t always be the case. Whether people agree with it or not I am writing about and including my trauma in my PhD dissertation with the support of my advisor. It feels odd to be writing about my trauma in a dissertation about how textile crafters can teach archaeologists about cultural preservation and creation but it’s my truth. And honestly its good.

I am an archaeologist, an anthropological archaeologist at that, who has spent their entire career thinking about community, writing about it, and trying my best to be a part of it. I have failed a lot. I have failed myself and my community members, and I think that’s really normal. I think we all fail each other everyday. I also think most of us get back up and try again. Hopefully we try in a new way. I want to be honest about myself so that people can understand the context for my thoughts. I can’t write about community and ignore how I have been continuously abandoned by people who’s job it was to help me or that near strangers gave me the strength to keep going. It all matters. And I believe I owe everyone everything and I think we should all strive to decenter ourselves in our search for community.*

I’ve been sharing a fair bit recently. I’m trying my best to push past my own comfort zone and challenge my wrongfully held belief that what I have to say isn’t worth sharing. I’m a product of my upbringing, of the 90s, of a childhood centered around thinness and an ease of being I have never possessed. I was loud when I was supposed to be quiet, quiet when I was supposed to speak up. I scribbled on my jeans with permanent marker, smoked behind the tennis courts, attended ballet and church camps, spoke back to teachers, never did the assigned reading, read all my brother’s books, got my babysitter certification, wanted that cool maxi skirt my older cousins got at the Gap. As an anthropologist I don’t think any one of these things or even the combination of them are even remotely unique. I had an experience many now 38 year old white women had if they grew up middle class in an American suburb. I even know that the medical and systemic trauma I faced during the first 3+ years of my daughters’ lives is sadly not a unique experience.

During that trauma I’ve talked to a lot of people and done a lot of reading and I have to say my biggest take away has been that all I have is right now. There’s ‘The Power of Now’ by Eckhart Tolle which I listened to while taking longwalks. (Tolle’s narration is quite good). ‘Wherever You Go, There You Are: Mindfulness Meditation in Everyday Life’ by Jon Kabat-Zinn (this is a common thrift store find). ‘You are Here: Personal Geographies and Other Maps of the Imagination’ by Katharine Harmon. All these books and so much more keep drawing me back to a single truth. I am here right now and I am me. It’s actually something I’ve known for a long time because my high school yearbook quote was “All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” – Bob Dylan. Now twenty years later I can unequivocally say 18 year old me was right and I think I was right about a lot of things that I somehow let go of as I got swept up in the world. It’s sad but getting older can divorce you from your own personal truths. For me time muddied my sense of being.

Post-marriage, and becoming a mother, and now in a “post-trauma” state I’m 38 and trying to get back to those truths that once sustained my being. But I’m here and I think there is a way to honor the girl who spent a lot of time crying alone and daydreaming in class without wallowing in the past. I do believe we can find ourselves at any time. I began pursuing a professional art career while I was actively undergoing trauma and that was one of the smartest decisions I have ever made.

I definitely thought life “post-trauma” was going to look a fuck ton different then it does. I knew it would be hard because trauma doesn’t just end or go away and it sure as hell isn’t erased but I think while I was in the midst of the storm I lied to myself that things would quiet down. It actually feels like the world got louder. More expectations, more demands, more deadlines, just more. I feel like I’m floundering most days and like many women my age I constantly feel like I’m not enough. I’ve been fighting with myself over my incessant thought that my best is just not good enough.

Based on my website statistics I dont get many people scrolling these pages but I do know the majority of people that do take the time to sit and allow my thoughts to mix with theirs are mostly women. And I care deeply that I can share my own life and experiences in a way that helps others see themselves as part of a community. Feeling less alone can sometimes be the only thing keeping someone afloat in the storm of life. Whether you know me or not I am always interested in listening, in hearing what’s happening in your life, and letting you know things might suck but we’re here right now and that’s what matters.

* I want to be very clear about one thing. If there is anyone in your life who is treating you as less than, who is making you question your reality, or double guess things you know to be true and right. Seek help. Leave. Find safety. Doing your best for those around you should never be at the expense of your own sanity.