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Trauma Healing Quotes

Browse 141 quotes about Trauma Healing.

Trauma Healing Quotes

“More important than the words or silence is my inner stance of making room for what is stirring within him, becoming alertly still enough inside that his inner world senses safety, the precursor to him opening into vulnerability.”

“This shift from intellectual to embodied compassion is at the heart of deep forgiveness, or what we call compassionate release that gives us the gift of not needing to fend off the ones who hurt us anymore. It is a letting go at a different depth.”

“...while I sometimes resist the work of writing I resist my own psychic suffering more, and writing has become for me a primary means of digesting and integrating my experiences and thereby reducing the pains of living. Or if not, at least making them useful to myself and to others. There is no pain in my life that has not been given value by the alchemy of creative attention.”

“Sand tray can be an embodied conversation between our inner world and outer awareness, held and witnessed by another. Because of the tactile experiences of the sand and minatures and the symbolic nature of the figures, we have the opportunity to make contact with implicit memories that have no words. We follow our body's guidance in arranging the sand and allowing the minatures to choose us. It is a right-centric process that allows us to let go of meaning-making in favor of following our felt sense and behavioral impulse. Meaning may arrive later, but we at least begin, as best we can, without expectation to give our inner world the most freedom we can.”

“What happens when you hit your daughter. First, she will bond to you out of fear, mistakenly thinking she has done something wrong, and if she can just manage to not do it again or somehow please you, you might not hit her or anyone else anymore. She will even think you will love her properly if she can earn your approval. She won't realize this is impossible. Then she will either do that with every man she comes within 100 feet of for the rest of her life or until she learns not to - this will take much doing - or she will despise them with such vehemence that she can barely stomach one around. Sometimes she will do a combination of both of those things, working herself into a pattern of push and pull - I love you, I hate you, I need you, I don't need anyone - that will drive her a little crazy. She won't understand at first, if ever, why she only attracts other masochists. Whatever numbing agent she's picked for herself - she will probably try drugs, drink too much alcohol, starve herself or binge and purge, maybe cut herself, act out sexually - in fact, she may do all of those things - that continues to help kill her spirit and dulls her enough to keep her participating in living like a maniac will be consumed to varying degrees depending on need. She will be more likely to commit suicide than if you hadn't abused her. She will give herself away and will mistake admiration and infatuation and sometimes even abuse for love.”

“We may find ourselves in a role similar to that of a gardener as we cultivate a space in which healing can naturally unfold. In terms of neurobiology, this stance encourages us to lean into the reassuring awareness that our systems already contain seeds awaiting our attention. For some examples, we humans are always seeking the warmest possible attachments we can imagine (Cozolino, Siegel), our brains are continuously yearning for the arrival of a co-organizing other (Badenoch, Cozolino, Schore), emotional regulation flows naturally from being in the presence of someone we trust (Beckes & Coan) and even our nervous systems have a preference for the social engagement circuitry that sustains connection (Porges). With this kind of support from the biology inherent in both practitioner and patient, our bodies may begin to open into a welcoming state as others come towards us, with a sense of partnership being established rather than someone doing something to us. However this also means letting go of the potential certainty that comes from feeling we are in charge.”

“Once a toxic thought pattern has been recognized, applying the Word of God comes next. Looking at the thoughts that batter your brain through the eyes of Scripture will lead to hope in a way that therapy alone is found wanting.”

“Through mirror neurons and resonance circuitry, we are taking in each other's bodily state, feelings and intention in each emerging moment (Iacoboni, 2009). This gives us an approximate empathic sense of what is happening in the other person, but it is important to be aware that the information is also being filtered through our implicit lens. This filtering colors our perceptions and pretty much guarantees there will be ruptures that invite repairs, as our offers of empathy will sometimes not reflect what the other person is experiencing.”

“What’d you mean when you said it would never be enough?” The sudden change in topics made me nauseous. “It’s…nothing,” I lied. “You can tell me,” he urged. “I…I just…” Gods, those damn brown eyes made it hard to think straight. “I have a lot of blood on my hands.” He frowned. “I have this…this power to heal…but I keep…I keep hurting people. I don’t know…I don’t know if I can heal enough…to make up for it.” “Are you keeping score?” he asked, but not in a mocking way. He studied my face, his brow furrowed as though he wanted to understand. “No. I don’t know. I just…I want to…I need to balance the scales.” “What scales?” “The…scales.” I gestured vaguely with one hand, my face heating. “Do you feel responsible every time you can’t heal someone?” “I've watched so many people die," I whispered. "People I could've saved with my powers."”

“Mother ache healing matters because it restores the foundation of our lives. It returns us to the place where love first faltered, so that we may learn to love in a new way, this time with awareness. It makes possible a new lineage, one that passes down presence and truth, rather than our inherited survival adaptations. When we heal the mother ache within ourselves, we heal forward and backward in time. We change the stories that shape our lives, our families, our communities, and Mother Earth who holds us all.”

“Shadow work then becomes the act of diving into the depths of who you are to discover which messages have been begging for your attention. When you become aware of these things, you can then alchemize them for your betterment instead of your demise.”

“It can help us keep our balance to distinguish between the living people who were hurtful and the internalized ones who are now part of our neurobiology. Those who harmed us may never change, but once they become part of us, they seem to partake in our impulse towards healing.”

“When we experience a break in connection followed by repeated attempts at repair until the bond is restored, we build implicit pathways of resilience. We come to know in a visceral way that when things break down interpersonally, someone will return to help us come back into relationship. That wired-in optimism and expectation makes it much more likely that we will form relationships that have this quality. Most of the people who come to us haven't had this experience consistently in their lives, so when they encounter it with us, it is often surprising to the point of tears. As we accept and then rejoice in our humanness, we offer this vital gift of rupture and repair to those around us.”

“We were holding this together, and our joined windows of tolerance seemed able to contain the physical and emotional intensity. Witnessing and empathizing at the same time, it seemed we were able to bring some ventral presence to this world.”

“I intend to replace all the bad memories with good ones, mo chreach bheag.” He places the softest kiss on my lips. “All the pain your piece of shit husband put you through will be replaced by me. With pleasure, but also with pain. Because from now on, my dear Lucy, I’m the only one who gets to hurt you. And I will only do it in order to make you feel good. Because you are my little brute. You’re my girl.”

“She hadn’t always been obsessed with babies. There was a time she believed she would change the world, lead a movement, follow Dolores Huerta and Sylvia Mendez, Ellen Ochoa and Sonia Sotomayor. Where her bisabuela had picked pecans and oranges in the orchards, climbing the tallest trees with her small girlbody, dropping the fruit to the baskets below where her tías and tíos and primos stooped to pick those that had fallen on the ground, where her abuela had sewn in the garment district in downtown Los Angeles with her bisabuela, both women taking the bus each morning and evening, making the beautiful dresses to be sold in Beverly Hills and maybe worn by a movie star, and where her mother had cared for the ill, had gone to their crumbling homes, those diabetic elderly dying in the heat in the Valley—Bianca would grow and tend to the broken world, would find where it ached and heal it, would locate its source of ugliness and make it beautiful. Only, since she’d met Gabe and become La Llorona, she’d been growing the ugliness inside her. She could sense it warping the roots from within. The cactus flower had dropped from her when she should have been having a quinceañera, blooming across the dance floor in a bright, sequined dress, not spending the night at her boyfriend’s nana’s across town so that her mama wouldn’t know what she’d done, not taking a Tylenol for the cramping and eating the caldo de rez they’d made for her. They’d taken such good care of her. Had they done it for her? Or for their son’s chance at a football scholarship? She’d never know. What she did know: She was blessed with a safe procedure. She was blessed with women to check her for bleeding. She was blessed with choice. Only, she hadn’t chosen for herself. She hadn’t. Awareness must come. And it did. Too late. If she’d chosen for herself, she would have chosen the cactus spines. She would’ve chosen the one night a year the night-blooming cereus uncoils its moon-white skirt, opens its opalescent throat, and allows the bats who’ve flown hundreds of miles with their young clutching to their fur as they swim through the air, half-starved from waiting, to drink their fill and feed their next generation of creatures who can see through the dark. She’d have been a Queen of the Night and taught her daughter to give her body to no Gabe. She knew that, deep inside. Where Anzaldúa and Castillo dwelled, where she fed on the nectar of their toughest blossoms. These truths would moonstone in her palm and she would grasp her hand shut, hold it tight to her heart, and try to carry it with her toward the front door, out onto the walkway, into the world. Until Gabe would bend her over. And call her gordita or cochina. Chubby girl. Dirty girl. She’d open her palm, and the stone had turned to dust. She swept it away on her jeans. A daughter doesn’t solve anything; she needed her mama to tell her this. But she makes the world a lot less lonely. A lot less ugly.”

“While Humans of Cannabis in a Renaissance of Hope is filled with stories of hope, it is also a reminder of the work that remains. Thousands of people remain incarcerated in the United States for cannabis-related offenses, even as legalization sweeps across the country. The fight for justice and equity is far from over. My hope is that this book inspires readers to see cannabis not as a divisive issue but as a unifying force. Whether you are passionate about medical miracles, criminal justice reform, or community healing, these stories demonstrate the profound impact of this plant.”

“I believe facing the darkness is one of the most powerful ways to overcome the pain. Healing begins when you can finally name what hurts, and stop running from the darkness inside you.”

“Someone else’s idea of what constitutes a good life or “happily ever after” is not a one-size-fits-all. You can be someone for whom relationships are too complicated. You can be going through something in your life, processing trauma you may have denied for too long, or you can be going through physical changes in your body. Either way, you might not have the desires other people expect you to have. Maybe all you want right now is a friend. Friendship is the best foundation, anyway, for whatever may evolve beyond that. It boils down to this: Not everyone wants the same thing, and that’s okay.”