The Fuzzy Timeline of Healing
In the months after my crash I traveled to FrostBike, which was a bicycling industry event in Minnesota. I have very little memory about what my role was in attending, but I know at one point I was talking to a co-worker, Barbara, in the building’s lobby. I spoke at-length to her about what happened during my crash, how recovery was feeling, and what a toll the traffic case was taking on me. To share her empathy, she mentioned she had also experienced some relatable incident years ago that left her with injuries. I do not even feel certain that I can properly state what her experience was. Basically the only part of this entire conversation, evening, or trip to Minnesota that I remember with clarity is that I was stunned. My shock came from the fact that she had been through this ordeal, yet it was not something that she felt she had to discuss at regular intervals, as I clearly felt necessary for my circumstances. In those early months, my crash was all I could talk about. I couldn’t see myself becoming a Barbara with a hidden trauma that the world didn’t see.
Now I understand how Barbara must have felt. If it were not for all the time I spent writing a book about my crash and recovery, I would also very rarely have reason to talk about it. In fact, sometimes I’m annoyed at my younger self for memorializing the entire event in paperback. Had I just let it go earlier, perhaps I could have moved on to other adventures sooner.
When I look at the news, sometimes I simply see the world in terms of emotional wounds. COVID-19 is spiking and I think of the hospital nurses who have to cope with death and the family members who will have to continue on without their loved ones. I read more about Black Lives Matter and I have learned more about how generational trauma occurs. Gun violence and I recall my last lockdown situation in a school where one teacher crawled underneath the conference room table to seek support from another teacher because she was clearly experiencing PTSD.
In 2021 I think about how so many of the individuals I share space with, whether it be at the grocery store or in passing on a trail, are coming out of, or still in the midst of, trauma. Some may be more vocal in sharing their stories and others quieter. But I think we will feel their pain and fear in rooms like a toxic gas just hanging near people’s heads and hearts. My role now is simply to be like Barbara. To say that I empathize with those who found 2020 difficult and to stand tall as an example that time does cause scars to fade. We are resilient and joy can be found again.