Dear Darling Ones,

I’ve been thinking a lot about trauma lately.

This might come as a total surprise as I’m such a magnanimous, even-keeled, generous spirit, but I can be pretty judgmental. Thankfully, I’ve matured enough to (mostly) go ahead and shut the fuck up about most of my judgements. Because, who and I to judge, and most of the things I like to judge are none of my damn business. Nobody cares that I get the icks from attractive young couples who have 8 children and do family dances before church to post on Instagram, and yet. . .

When it comes to trauma I also have a tendency to judge. I feel like I should put trauma in quotes because a lot of things people call traumatic just aren’t, but then calling it “trauma” is shitty. Damnit, being magnanimous is hard.

Part of the problem is that we’ve watered down the meaning of the word traumatic by using it for comedic exaggeration. I’m guilty of this. Being funny is fun. But there are some people who describe things that have happened to them as traumatic and again, they just aren’t. Or at least I’m not sure they are.

It’ kind of like people who claim OCD because they like things neat and organized. I particularly hate when people use that term so cavalierly. I have family afflicted with OCD and it’s awful. PTSD is another one I’ve been guilty of using unfairly again for comedic purposes, but it’s not funny. I’m learning to do better and working on removing a lot of the therapy-speak we love to toss around from my own vocabulary.

Which brings me back to why I’ve been thinking about trauma. Specifically, I was kind of marveling at how not traumatic my stroke and its repercussions have been. Make no mistake, this all sucks a bunch. I’m slowly accepting my disability is permanent and not short-term. I’m trying to come to terms with being “disabled enough” to call myself disabled, but we’ll talk about that later.

I subscribe to Bessel van der Kolk’s, author of “The Body Keeps the Score,” theory on what trauma is. If you got 7 minutes, watch this. It’s good.

He talks about the difference between stress and trauma, how the body remembers trauma, and how what might be traumatic to you might not be traumatic to me. He says, “one of the largest mitigating factors against getting traumatized is who is there for you at that particular time.”

And it’s that last bit that made me realize I need to cool it with the trauma judging. The epiphany came when I was rehashing the diet talk I had with my neurologist. I’m still irked about it, and last night I realized, it’s the trauma, dummy.

The two most traumatic aspects of my life have been growing up in poverty and being fat. In both those situations I had no support or safety net. Like most fat kids in the 80s, the bullying came from inside the house as well as from school, the media, etc. There was no support for being fat, and only constant shaming from doctors and my parents. The summer I was 12 a well-meaning aunt offered to give me $1 for every pound I lost. I could give you a million examples, but you get it.

I’m 52 and writing about or discussing my weight is fraught and brings up so many feelings. I can rarely do it without crying. I’d say the body-shame is even worse than the poverty-shame, because growing up poor wasn’t my fault, but everyone thinks being fat is my fault.

With the stroke I’ve had endless support — financially (thanks your readers who recently sent money, I appreciate it so much), emotionally, in all the ways people can show up for you. And it’s all the people — friends, family, Darling Ones, strangers on the Internet — who have showed up.

The stroke’s repercussions will definitely be more far-reaching and life-changing than being fat for growing up poor, but I don’t think it will have as much emotional baggage. At least that’s what it feels like right now. That could change.

In other news, I learned to make sticky buns yesterday because they are delicious and the name makes laugh.

Butts & Boners forever,
Jodi