For The Ones Who Have Survived Emotional Trauma
I can feel it in the oxygen that enters and leaves my lungs with ease. I can feel it in the deepest part of my chest, which no longer feels like it's full of stones and broken glass.
“The worst is over,” she told me with urgency and a fire in her eyes.
She barely knew me, barely knew my story, barely knew my pain and the losses that had altered me. But she somehow knew that I needed to know – needed to be reminded of my blossoming strength and the stepping stone my suffering had become.
And I had to agree with her. Every enlightened part of my soul and every throbbing piece of my heart had to agree.
The worst is over.
I can see it in my eyes when I look in the mirror, the ghostly stare of suppressed pain no longer staring back at me. I can see it in the way the sunlight peeks through my blinds, reminding me that a new day is waiting to be faced, even if I feel minimally prepared to face it. I can see it in the smiling faces of the people who make up my support system. I can see it in the roads I long to travel and the views I long to admire. I can see it in the clock that reads 11:11 at the exact, unsuspecting moment I glance in its direction, reminding me that I’m in a safe place – a good place. I can see it in my to-do lists and the ink marks that proudly obscure each and every item. I can see it in the words that fill empty pages and the look on my face when a new and promising idea sets my creativity into motion.
The worst is over.
I can hear it in the sound of my therapist’s voice. I can hear it in the uplifting music that pours through my earbuds as I lose myself in the lyrics. I can hear it in other people’s stories of strength and survival. I can hear it in the way my laughter sounds lively and genuine instead of small and forced. I can hear it in the way my voice sounds full of life instead of robotic and stilted.
The worst is over.
I can smell it in the spritz of perfume I put on before heading out to start a new chapter. I can smell it in the burning incense that inspires comfort and mindfulness. I can smell it in the smoke of my friend’s cigarette as she rides shotgun, listening to my grievances and sharing a few of her own. I can smell it in the first batch of cookies I’ve baked since picking myself up off the floor and finding my way around the kitchen. I can smell it in the fresh air of a new day and the aftermath of rain that has finally stopped pouring.
The worst is over.
I can taste it in my mouth, which is no longer blistered and bleeding as a result of a nervous habit gone haywire. I can taste it in the simple pleasure of an early morning cup of coffee and the smooth chill of ice cream after a long day. I can taste it in the home cooked, wholesome meal my grandmother went out of her way to make for me. I can taste it in the free hashbrowns I get at the job that keeps me out of my head – and the way my favorite employee cares enough to always make sure I eat them while they’re hot. I can taste it in every meal I put in my body instead of in the trash.
The worst is over.
I can feel it in the oxygen that enters and leaves my lungs with ease. I can feel it in the deepest part of my chest, which no longer feels like it’s full of stones and broken glass. I can feel it in the wind that blows through my hair and brings a grateful smile to my lips. I can feel it in the regularity of my heartbeat. I can feel it in the warmth of my dog’s body resting peacefully next to mine. I can feel it in my fingertips as I learn how to type words and flip pages again. I can feel it in my bones, in my soul, and in my body.
And I can feel it in the embrace of the woman who reminded me that the worst is finally over. 
