My Story about Being "Less-Active"

Do you think your body remembers trauma?

I do. I think it remembers.

I broke my left wrist trying to do a flip on the trampoline in sixth grade, and my right wrist falling while playing basketball the following one. I think my body remembers those. If I took an x-ray I would probably have bone scars or whatever.  My body remembers what it is like to be pregnant because I hear about a woman who is in her first trimester and I get shadows of nausea. 

Does it remember emotional trauma, too?

It happened as many things in life do... with friends. Throughout my life, I have had the happy luxury of making friends with people at every stage of life. My life in Sidney was no different. Moving from Albuquerque to Nebraska was difficult in many ways, but not because I didn't have friends. I had a great group of friends. We ran together, signing up for races that involved eating at a restaurant, and having our husbands watch the children. We had play dates with our children together, planned Christmas parties and birthday gatherings together. Friendship had never been so convenient.  I didn't even look for other friends. These ones met all my needs.

Details won't be included as to why the friendships changed, but there was a very sudden shift in dynamics, and I found myself in a different space. I had gone from being cocooned in friendship, to feeling desperately alone. In addition to the social strain, I was recovering from a severe depressive episode.

As I processed this loss, my place in it, and how to move forward, I was also spending hours doing self-care activities so I could recover from the aforementioned depressive episode. During this time I was a solid "less-active" Mormon. After the initial shock event, my counselor, my husband, and my bishop all agreed that it was a good idea for my mental health to take a month away from church. Instead of church attendance, I would go on long walks. I would listen to a General Conference talk or two, and clean my kitchen while hearing healing music.

Before long, my month was up, and I told myself it was time to go back. In preparation for my return, I ordered a green dress from eShakti to wear for my first Sunday back. The green was to remind me I could grow. I said a mantra that my counselor gave me,"What other people think about me is none of my business." I repeated it time and time again, building confidence in my strength to care for myself and make good decisions. Optimistic that I would be able to navigate this new landscape, I went back. I sat in my pew and held my hymnbook, and tried to comfort my children through sacrament meeting.

My ability to return quickly to the congregation was not quick. As much as I desired my heart to forgive, it wasn't happening. The very place I wanted solace in, brought pain.

In the hallways between meetings, I would stand behind my husband, holding onto his shirt like a child. He wove me through crowds, so I wouldn't have to stop and talk to anyone. On Saturday nights in my bedroom, I would have panic attacks thinking about going to church the next morning, falling asleep sobbing into my pillow. Sometimes, I would get dressed in my green dress for growth, and put on red lipstick for happiness, and get in the car and getting all the way to the parking lot, and then I would walk home. I would walk home crying. Crying, because I felt like failure for not being a better person- for not just getting over it, and moving on.

I've been back at church for almost a year-not quite. Most Sundays I am fine. I take roll in primary. I assign talks. I help out in the nursery with the babies when I can. I feel OK. But, this Sunday, I wasn't OK.

I feel it in the weather-as it changes from freezing to perfect within a day.  I feel it in the hollow place in my stomach when I say the word "friends." I feel it when I see one of the women I call "sister," and I pull back. I think it is because my body remembers.

If I had an ultrasound of my heart, the scar would show up. "Yep, two years ago you faced severe heartache. It looks like it is still healing."

Will it ever forget? Will it ever forgive? Will it? Will it? Will it?