My first memory of physically crying took place well into my thirties. I wore that fact like a badge of honor, although a falsely perceived sign of strength, I was proud of it and remained stone faced through many dark hours to maintain that front. Even recently when faced with loss and lost battles.

It took my mom dying to finally cry, although not immediately. I threw a solo celebration first. Because that’s what I always said I’d do. Even though I knew in that moment something changed my perception of life itself.

Two decades of battles were fought to control a narrative that was affecting six of my siblings. Taking the high road while remaining engaged should come with a warning: There are no gas stations for thousands of miles. What was it all for? She’s dead now and the dead seem to always make it to the hall of fame. Regardless of history. That’s not a shot at her, but at the perceived reality of it all. I wanted a sense of normalcy for them. That’s laughable when your mom has left kids all over the globe and they’ve grown up alone caring for their father with severe brain damage. Sure, let’s have elusions of normalcy.

This doesn’t scratch the surface of the illusions I tried to protect.

To overcome is to fail.

Not in the “try and try again” kind of way. Overcoming events that are out of our control is to also face the failure of our perceived reality. Dissociation is king in a chronically traumatic environment. It’s only natural that the perceived reality carrying us through events that our conscious would rather look away from, eventually they have to be cremated and shot into space.

I don’t know about you, but I fought hard for those perceived realities. They got me through some of the most difficult events I’ve ever faced. But they needed to be shot into space. Gone. No remnants left on earth for me to cling to. And that cuts deep. Defense mechanisms and survival mode thrive on the perceived reality we create. Healing slowly changes our perceived reality and our relationship with the wounds that created it. So, in a sense, healing is to overcome. And the overcoming of it all really makes one ask, what is it all for? To overcome is to also face the grievance of the grievance. The battles that protected a false perception or goal. The effort that went into protecting a false narrative, extending the wound even deeper while holding the same knife that the author of the lies once used against you.

This is probably not my most stunning piece of kindergarten self help literature. It is what it is.

Calmly laying underneath the layers of hope and strength is a disdain for a noticeable, engrained scar. An unwelcome change exerted over me, irreversible and uncontrollable, pivotal and seemingly unremarkable when sitting quietly alone. Time invested in a perceived goal that did not align with natural outcomes, but rather made the wound deeper. This is the reality of “healing”.