Hello, trauma! It's me, Gabi.

     Hello, my dear readers!!! I am forewarning you, this blog post won't be an easy one. It wasn't easy for me to write it and for some of you that love me, it won't be easy to read it. And whatever happens, the show must go on.. so here it goes. I hope everyone had great holidays like 4th of July, Labor day, and such. I hid in my house and prayed my heart rate evened out enough for me to be able to breathe. Even this many years later, I am still affected by some things that should have normalized after 24 years in America, but nope- the body keeps a score. Having a trauma brain is a forever prison and it just helps to decorate the walls. 

  

  I am not really sure where to begin on this topic because there are many layers to be peeled back when it comes to my traumatic experiences. Trauma does not just root in the things happened, it also roots in betrayal, neglect, being an empath and many other experiences. If you have not properly worked through your traumatic events and you are still bleeding from those cuts, you will end up bleeding on people who didn't cut you. This often means projections of pain, trust or anger issues, commitment phobia, and many others ways you could inject someone else with your bullshit. See, I sit and feel my emotions now. I try to recognize my triggers, set boundaries and breathe through an event, but sometimes that is impossible. For example, 4th of July fireworks are SO fucking pretty but it scares the shit out of my trauma brain- mostly when I can't see them. I know they are only fireworks and I know they can't hurt me, but the sound triggers me and immediately puts me in fight or flight status. Sprinkle some social anxiety onto that and I am ready to jump out of my skin.

     For me and my story, it begins before the war and a little before my parents divorce when a new man or two were introduced to mine and my sister's life. Shortly after they divorced, my mother remarried one very mean and abusive man, who on some days woke up to make my life hell and no one can tell me otherwise. And when he did these things, it was always my fault. I internalized those things and made them my own. For the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me and that's why people loved me toxically and violently. Being told that he loved me most also stung like a thousand bees (still does, which is why I refuse to hear it). Fast forward to now, I am finally not so angry when it comes to him. He passed away in 2013 and I was there beside him on his death bed. Why? I am the bigger person; his trauma will not ruin me. It's taken me years of therapy and years of work on myself to get that way. I talk to him now- especially when I am walking my favorite trail around the cemetery. 

War had torn our country apart, and all for the sake of land, power and religion. After my mother remarried, we still weren't safe in Bosnia; her new last name only protected her. Being a refugee at 9 years old, having to sleep in a camp, trust strangers and make it safely across the border? I'd say that leaves a bit of a scar. We experienced a few years of normalcy while we lived with my father in Croatia, and I finally felt that I had a family I was longing for. I had friends, I loved my school-- I even had a boyfriend (we were 11 years old; it was serious- I was gonna marry him). I was learning how to ride a bike. Nightmares had stopped. Life was good. Until it wasn't again. My sister Manuela left for America with my mother in Nov '96 and I was supposed to come when I finished 8th grade, or so I thought. Papers came saying my mother had me and my brother booked for 9/29/1997. You can imagine the discontent but the promise of a better life loomed. We boarded the bus to Vienna while I watched the three most important men in my life cry as they were letting me go. We spent the night in NYC and then boarded another plane to Nashville. I stepped off the plane and SURPRISE- mom is 9 months pregnant!!! I was shook, but then my big little love was born a month later. 

Shit went down for many years after that--that's a whole other long story, but my intention in sharing a little piece of my life is to remind all of you to be kind to people. We all have lives that we have lived that have been affected by things that may still be affecting us. Please, be kind to people, be curious, ask questions and let's normalize talking about mental health and setting our boundaries so we don't get triggered and affected negatively. Let's normalize communication again, calling each other like it's the 90's and having solid friendships rather than 300 Instagram likes. PLEASE?! Human decency is dying and we are part of the problem.