TRAUMA

Something, or rather, someone beautiful can emerge from the worst of traumas

Trauma is beautiful. Not the part before the healing but the part after the healing. Not the action that leads to the trauma but how you emerge on the other side after healing from the trauma.

What most trauma victims don’t understand is that your trauma immediately differentiates you from those who’ve not known your trauma or know your trauma nonetheless because the event may be similar but the effect always varies. Your trauma is not supposed to make you normal. It’s supposed to make you different. It’s supposed to make you see things differently. It’s supposed to make you wiser. You are supposed to grow from it.I read a book once that said, pain is the key to change, the key to growth.

Trauma brings a kind of pain that cannot be explained to the few that haven’t experienced it. Trauma breaks you to your core and numbing yourself only prolongs the breaking and reforming process into who the new you is supposed to be. Trauma kills your previous version and you have to stop mourning that version of you because it is literally stunting the growth of the new version of you that’s supposed to be growing and thriving.

It is hard to say the least but growing up isn’t easy either. You have to learn what pain is by falling or getting hit, you have to learn how to walk by constantly falling, you have to learn how to work hard by constantly failing and getting humiliated. For the success to come, pain has to follow in short pursuit. It is the process of growth, of rejuvenation or better yet, the process of being reborn but not into the same person that you were, rather, into a better version of you.

It’s unfortunate that whatever happened, happened but how you let the aftermath play out determines where you end up. A victim or a survivor. Trauma isn’t picky and it’s not a matter of who deserves it and who doesn’t. Trauma goes against all odds of entitlement. Trauma strives to teach. A lesson no book can teach. No parent can shield you from. Trauma sets you aside and leaves you in the middle of nowhere and lets you find your way. If you decide to stay lost, then trauma leaves you there. If you decide to start your journey to a better place then your trauma might end up being the best thing that ever happened to you.

Trauma gives you a purpose. Look at all these privileged people trying to find purpose or rather a fancy name for a lesson learnt via pain. We cannot escape the reality of knowing that our pain is what ultimately brings us to a state of who we are supposed to be or exist as.

Rise above the trauma. It’ll be worth it. Trust the process.

Article by;

Vanessa_Beyonce

If Bad Luck Was A Person

“The world in the whisky bottle was as real as it got for me. It was as happy as it got for me.It was as serine as it got for me. It was as far away as I got from this horrible and treacherous world.

So after a few milliliters into the whisky bottle, it didn’t hurt to be unemployed anymore. The fact that everyone around me seemed to be on a highway to success, I couldn’t help but feel like I hadn’t left the starting position yet. My humiliation turned to bravery and invincibility became my ultimate reality at that point. I suddenly had brilliant ideas of how to make money so that sober me wouldn’t have to feel so poor. All this though, was all dependent on how many bottles of whisky I’d taken.

I felt like a success after a few milliliters into the whisky bottle. The pain from my failing marriage didn’t seem as painful anymore. I only lived in the moments when we were happy. I healed over the memories of the days she loved me. I remembered the peace that settled on my heart when she’d call my name and it was automatic that I’d smile immediately. Now, there’s only disgust, disrespect, hate and regret when she calls my name and with each and every call, she shutters my heart further. So that night I drank because I felt loved after a few milliliters into the whisky bottle.

I felt like the world’s greatest father after a few milliliters into the whisky bottle. I existed in the memories of when my children loved me, respected me and identified me as their father. Now, even my precious daughter cannot look me in the eye and she has to work while in school to provide for herself because I can’t. Now, even my sons cannot listen to a word I have to say and they even talk back to me because they have zero respect for me as a man and as a father. So that night I drank because when I was a few milliliters into the whisky bottle, I didn’t feel so shameful.

That night as I drowned myself further in the whisky bottle, I felt happier. As I drowned myself further in the whisky bottle, the more I felt like a man and the more I felt like I deserved to live. I hadn’t realised that it was getting dark but I really had to get home because I didn’t want to add infidelity suspicions into the list of horrible things my wife accuses me of. I got in my car and drove.

Within the blink of an eye, he was in front of the car and I didn’t have enough time to hit the brakes. It was dark and he stood there in front of the car like he wanted me to hit him. By the time the car stopped, I’d already hit him. However as honestly as I testify, over and over again, no one will believe me because the breathalyzer rendered me a liar during my first arrest and continues to render me a liar today, as I look at your faces as you listen to me testify. I am a good man. All I did was drink and drive and as I drove home, I encountered a suicidal man. I was sober enough to know that I am telling the truth.

Thank you for your time and I hope before giving the verdict, consider the possibility that this could really be the truth because it is.”

Article by;

Vanessa_Beyonce

I GOT MY HEART BROKEN.

I got my heart broken long before I realized that broken hearts are mostly associated with ‘boy-girl’ relationships.

I got my heart broken by rapists that left so many men, women and children powerless and victims to a hurt so deep that it forever lingers in the shadows of their existence.

I got my heart broken by murderers that left children as orphans and many parents, well, robbed of their shot at parenthood.

I got my heart broken by hospitals which often decide that treatment belongs to the rich.

I got my heart broken by teachers who were put in schools to educate and empower but all they do is kill children’s dreams, hope and joy.

I got my heart broken by leaders that did nothing but laugh at the demise of their people, as if the more their people suffered, the more entertained they became.

I got my heart broken by a system so corrupt that it put my beautiful country on its deathbed.

I got my heart broken by mothers that looked aside and let fathers do their worst to their children.

I got my heart broken by thieves who seem to think it’s okay to feed off another person’s sweat.

I got my heart broken by friends who were anything but friendly to people who dared to trust and love them.

I got my heart broken by witnesses who gave false accounts at the expense of someone else’s life.

I got my heart broken by people who make light of people’s pain, fear and worries.

Everyday I watch the news or go into the world, my heart breaks just a little more.

I got my heart broken further when I realized that people would rather watch the worst happen to them because they feel so powerless.

I got my heart broken by a religion that repeatedly told me that there was a higher power that could stop all these causes of my heart break but decides not to and it’s okay.

I emphasize, I got my heart broken long before the pain of a heartbreak was limited to just ‘boy-girl’ relationships.

Article by;

Vanessa_Beyonce

The silent letters in ‘NO’

I have always argued that the letters ‘N’ and ‘O’ in NO are silent letters but it has been impossible for people to understand. I didn’t have a satisfactory explanation for my argument but I gathered a group of women who gave me the perfect answer to this question.

“My name is Maria. At the age of 7 is when my father first touched me. I was sure my voice box let out a sound and my lips pronounced a loud ‘NO!’ but he still did it anyway. He instilled in me a pain so treacherous I called on the ancestors to receive me home but they never did and for years all he did was break a portion of my heart, bit by bit. So I began to think that the ‘N’ and the ‘O’ in NO, are silent letters.”

“My name is Asminn. At the age of 13 I became a woman. I had been told that it was a very important time for women of our culture. So like the proud woman I was happy I’d become, I went and told my mother and she was happy and she couldn’t wait to tell all my aunties and the women in the village. So later that week, one night I was asleep in my room and I felt my body suddenly get pressed down onto the bed. I couldn’t move. It was my mother and some of my aunties and village women. I asked her what was happening and told her that I couldn’t move. She just smiled then I saw her, the woman I’d known to be the last female genital mutilator in our village. I was sure my voice box let out a sound and my lips pronounced ‘NO’ but she still did it anyway. So I began to think that the ‘N’ and ‘O’ in NO, are silent letters.”

“My name is Regina. At the age of 22 I was excited because I’d got a new job. It demanded me to work late but that was a risk I was willing to take for a better and hopeful career and life that lay ahead. The best part of it all, was the random after work drinks. I lived hard for those days. After one of them, I wanted to go home and my boss offered to take me down to my uber. On our way out, he pushed me into the janitor’s locker and I was sure my voice box let out a sound and my lips pronounced a loud ‘NO’ but he still did it anyway. So I began to think the ‘N’ and ‘O’ in NO, are silent letters.”

“My name is Minny. At the age of 25 I fell in love and oh how beautifully he loved me, the way that I dressed, danced, looked at him, the fact that he seemed bewitched by my existence in his life. I had enchanted him and never for a second had I regretted being the enchantress. Other men didn’t hide their desire for me but it wasn’t something I was ever too keen about but my man, he began to let jealousy poison him. He began to accuse me of entertaining them, seducing them, amongst other forms of immorality he’d think of. One day I dared to tell him that I had become tired of the drama and that I wanted to break up. He slapped me so hard I went spiralling down on the floor. I was sure my voice box let out a sound and my lips pronounced ‘NO’ but he still beat me till I lost consciousness. So I began to think the ‘N’ and ‘O’ in NO, are silent letters.”

“My name is Melissa. At the age of 30 I finally have an explanation. I speak about the women who’ve been raped but are sure they said NO! I speak about the women who’ve been beat up but are sure with every hit, they said NO! I speak about the women who said NO to arranged marriages! The ones who said NO to Female Genital Mutilation, yet for all these women, both those mentioned here and those not, they’d agree that the ‘N’ and the ‘O’ in NO, are a silent letters.”

Vanessa_Beyonce