Glimmers

I recently came upon this term, glimmers, from a friend. I was instantly captivated at such a notion. A beautiful notion, at that.

If you have complex and chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, the word “trigger” is not just a word; it’s an experience. It can look like many different things connected to our senses: smell, touch, sound, sight, a taste, an emotional state—our senses are powerful mechanisms that connect the past to our present. However, sometimes these senses produce scrambled signals to our brains and if you have PTSD, you know all too well that it makes you feel the traumatic event is happening right in the here and now.

Suddenly, the musky scent of a basement makes me cringe thinking of a few family vacations where the sexual abuse I endured as a child never got a break. Or the sight of a white church steeple reminds me of the house of worship where I was spiritually abused for years and felt stuck. Sometimes, it’s the taste of grape juice that we drank during communion and then suddenly the rush of fear hit my heart and psyche as I feared I had not been able to remember any infraction on my part to repent before drinking damnation unto myself. Other times, it’s receiving a hug from a loved one that is a bit too tight and I’m suddenly feeling trapped, unable to set myself free.

If you have PTSD, you’re most often familiar with all that I shared but with your own experiences and perspective involved. With things like therapy, medication, and support, we know we can heal, and symptoms may diminish, but trauma is the past demanding a front row seat at our present performance. It can be super defeating to know that the past is unable to be altered. As an adult, you come to realize you can never save yourself, but you also learn that you are the safest place for your inner child to find safety and comfort.

With all the difficult symptoms of trauma related PTSD, hope is a precious commodity. For me, hope is truly everywhere. I’ve worked personally, through therapy, in my relationships and boundaries to create a safe life that proves hope is all around me in my healing.

I love those glimmers.

Glimmers are not the same as a trauma trigger. They are, in fact, the opposite. They “trigger” hope and feelings of healing, of wonder and amazement and immense pride in how far you have come or that things can get better.

I’ve experienced many glimmers on my journey.

They range from a bird singing in the morning that is a peaceful reminder that I got through another night of nightmares, especially early in my journey. I had a fondness for the moon and still do. A glimmer I treasure was going with my siblings who left the IFB years ago to see a special full moon on a backroad.

Glimmers like smiling to myself while driving on a packed interstate after a successful day at my then full-time job working with kids. A glimmer of the first evening sitting on the couch, with my then boyfriend (now husband) and our cats, in our little apartment. Another glimmer of waking in the middle of the night to have a safe man next to me.

Of boiling hot water for a cup of raspberry tea in a tea kettle from a dear friend who has been on my journey for 6 years as we connected as former IFB. Glimmers happen when I published my first article. Glimmers of music playing and wind blowing as you drive alone. Glimmers of dancing with my then fiancé in an Irish pub to a local band playing an oldie that was a big deal on my healing journey.

Dancing with my daddy at my wedding; I was the first of his children to dance with their father at a wedding, and we cried and cried. Glimmers of long walks in a dead quiet small town at midnight, waiting for the trains to roll by as I healed. I felt glimmers from seeing wildflowers along the edge of the backroads I grew up around. I felt glimmers with my first-ever movie theater. Glimmers of playing the piano and getting lost in the music that is spontaneous and deep within my soul.

Glimmers in handling tough situations better than I would have a year ago. Glimmers of hugs and being able to tell a child how I’m proud of them. Glimmers in hugging my nieces and nephew. Of collecting seashells on a beach. Of waking up to an ocean outside of my honeymoon suite.

Glimmers in rain puddles, dandelion wishes, pretty rocks, and tall, towering and wise old trees. Glimmers in shelter cat cuddles.

Glimmers are all around me. Some big, some small. But all remind me of how beautiful life can be and IS after trauma, especially after a cult.

Music: Canva