Crying at McNally Jackson Bookstore

I picked up the Body Keeps Score and sat on bench. I thumbed through the book, stopping to read certain sections. In those short sections, I couldn’t get through the book without losing my shit.

I held my tears mainly because of embarrassment. 

But today, I cried as I remember the words of the author and her summaries of studies.

It makes me cry to read that book because for the first time, someone constructed sentences that accurately described the burdens I’ve held, the reactions I’ve gave. It’s like she knew me and my shadows. It’s as if she was there in the background of my life watching me in school and social settings and taking notes knowing “of course, Kaila does that...” 

When my father walked in the room, I looked to notice he was here but I never ran to him or waved him to sit next to me. Like other traumatized children, I know I froze. And she knows this.

I’ve dealt and not felt for most of my life. 

I reach for the stars, the brightness, the light because if I don’t have that to cling onto I’m convinced I’ll fall to the darkness by default. 

I picked up The Body Keeps Score and I’ve never felt so seen.

It goes against the talk track I replay in my head that I am on a leveled playing field with anyone else, regardless of upbringing. I have the same career opportunities, chance to make close friends, and ability to create deep relationships as much as anyone else. I don’t dare lower myself for what I’ve went through.

But then this book, scientifically describes otherwise. It highlights everything that I know I had in my bones.

I’m scared to read it because I don’t want to think I had it worse than anyone else. Just because my father’s face didn’t light up when he saw me doesn’t me I’m not lovable.

My struggle is my gift. 

I chose the story of my childhood that empowers me.