What Even Is Trauma, Anyway?
When people hear trauma, they often imagine the big, dramatic stuff—like natural disasters, violence, or tragic loss. But trauma isn’t about the size or shock value of the event.
It’s about how your body and mind responded in the moment. It’s about what felt overwhelming, unsafe, or just too much for you to process at the time.
Trauma is personal. What impacted you might not have fazed someone else—and that doesn’t make your experience any less valid. It’s not about comparison. It’s about truth.
So if something stayed with you, if it shaped how you show up in the world today, it matters. Full stop.
You’re Not “Too Sensitive” for Naming What Hurt
Recognizing past hurts—especially the subtle, easily dismissed ones—isn’t overreacting. It’s not self-pity. It’s self-awareness.
And naming those moments for what they were? That’s a power move.
When you acknowledge your own pain without minimizing it, you create space for healing. You stop carrying shame that was never yours to begin with. You stop asking yourself, “Was it really that bad?” and start asking, “What do I need to feel whole again?”
Let me show you what that’s looked like in my life. Maybe something will resonate.
My Sneaky Traumas
The Last Kid to Learn to Swim
Kindergarten. Pool party. Everyone’s in the deep end like little dolphins. I’m stuck in floaties—those puffy, squeaky swimmies. The only kid wearing them.
I remember the wave of embarrassment, not the water.
Maybe someone was comforting me. But I couldn’t feel anything beyond the internal panic. That one moment somehow fused with my sense of worth. And began a deep-seated belief that something is wrong with me.
Being Told to Calm Down
I grew up safe and loved. But emotions were tricky territory in my home. Crying? Not okay. I would be told to suck it up or go to my room. I learned to shrink my feelings to make others comfortable.
So I started hiding. Crying in private. Editing myself to avoid being “too much.” It took me decades to cry in front of another human. And only recently have I learned how to actually feel my feelings. On purpose.
Living in a Larger Body
Puberty hit, and suddenly I was “different.” Curvier. Rounder. The world—and my own family—had a lot to say about bodies like mine.
I got the message loud and clear: Thin was beautiful. And anything else? Unworthy. I spent years thinking I had to shrink myself—literally and emotionally—to be lovable.
Turns out, I never needed to change my body. I just needed to stop believing the world’s noise about it, which is easier said than done.
Why Naming Trauma Matters
Talking through these memories with a therapist gave me something I didn’t know I was missing—permission.
Permission to feel what I feel. Permission to say, “That really hurt,” even if it doesn’t sound dramatic to anyone else.
Naming these experiences as trauma didn’t make me fragile. It made me free.
My nervous system was just trying to keep me safe. And honestly? For a long time, it did a pretty good job.
Healing isn’t a straight line, and once you understand where the pain began, you stop blaming yourself for how it shows up.
A Quick Practice for You
Try this:
Close your eyes and picture a place from your childhood. Your bedroom. Your school cafeteria. That weird corner in your grandma’s house.
What memories show up? What tiny moments still sting and echo?
Write them down. No judgment. Just curiosity. Often, being aware of moments like these is where healing begins.
Final Thought: You Don’t Need to Justify Your Pain
If you take one thing away from this, let it be:
What hurt you, hurt you.
You don’t need a headline-worthy story. You don’t need to prove anything. If something shaped how you move through this world, it’s real.
Reflection
What’s one memory from your past that might deserve more compassion than you’ve given it?