Trauma Raised Me, Awareness Saved Me

“Trauma raised me. Awareness saved me.”

That sentence has been sitting heavily on my spirit lately.

Over the years, many therapists, strangers, family members, and conversations have heard me mention a defining moment in my mother’s life. My mother lost her mother at the age of 7. She remembers watching her mother being laid to rest on her 8th birthday. And one detail stayed with her forever: “No one said happy birthday to me.”

Every time I think about that, it shifts something inside of me.

Because in one moment, grief and childhood collided.

And whether people realized it or not, that moment marked the beginning of an entirely different life for her.

A life where navigating emotionally would become a much more isolated journey.
Yes, she had siblings. Yes, she had a father. But healing has taught me something important: Presence and emotional capacity are not always the same
thing. Her father carried his own story. His own struggles. His own survival. His own trauma. Migrating from Alabama. Trying to build. Trying to endure. Trying to survive.
And honestly? He did the best he could with what he had.

That realization took me years to fully accept.

Because growing up, I was angry.

Angry that my mother could not do more. Angry that she could not always emotionally show up the way I needed. Angry that she was depleted. Angry that I felt emotionally alone sometimes. Angry that she put me first while simultaneously being too exhausted to fully be present. And honestly? When you are a child, it feels personal.
You think: “You are my mother. Why wasn’t your love enough to prevent this pain?”
I blamed her for her lack.

It had to be her fault. Because she was the closest visible source.

I remember emotionally carrying thoughts like: “I didn’t ask to be here. I know you tried your best… but your best did not feel like enough.”

That truth is painful to admit. But healing requires honesty. And honestly, some of my deepest awareness came from one of the lowest moments of my life.
Almost four years ago, I sat in a basement at work crying uncontrollably.
And when you break down deeply enough, eventually you stop only asking: “How do I get out of this moment?”

And you begin asking: “What led me here? And how do I never return emotionally?”
That question changed everything. Because over the last few years, I realized I could not only address the trauma I personally experienced. I also had to acknowledge the trauma that raised me. That distinction matters. Because trauma does not only impact individuals. It shapes environments. Communication. Emotional availability. Survival strategies. Parenting styles. Silence. Fear. Endurance.

And honestly? Awareness changed how I saw my mother.

Not as a villain. Not as a failure. Not as someone who intentionally withheld love.
But as a person. A person who learned how to survive after losing her mother during childhood. A person who kept going while emotionally carrying unresolved grief. A person who loved through depletion. A person who endured. And honestly? That changed my compassion completely. Because I now understand something important: People rarely wake up trying to make “bad decisions."

Most people are making the best choices they know how to make based on:
trauma
survival
emotional conditioning
limited awareness
fear
exhaustion
lack of support
the information available to them in the moment 

That realization softened me. Not into denial. Not into pretending pain did not exist.
But into compassion, because now I can finally see her with eyes I did not have before.
And honestly? One of the greatest lessons my mother unintentionally taught me through her trauma was endurance.

Yes, she was tired. Yes, she probably wanted another way. Yes, she likely carried silent grief for decades. But she kept going. And now that I am older, healing, rebuilding, and navigating my own struggles… I understand that kind of strength differently.
Because I have also reached moments where I wanted another way. Moments where I wanted relief. Moments where I felt emotionally exhausted. Moments where giving up would have felt easier.

And yet… I kept going too.

That is the silver lining I now recognize. Trauma was not love. I would never romanticize pain. But love showed itself through endurance. Through the decision to keep waking up. To keep trying. To keep showing up imperfectly. To keep loving despite exhaustion. To keep surviving what could have easily broken someone else. And for that… I am grateful.

So today, I want to say:

Thank you, Mom.
Thank you for pushing forward blindly when life gave you every reason not to. Thank you for not abandoning me when my own unhealed pain pushed you away through sass, anger, and ungratefulness. 

Thank you for loving me from the emotional capacity you had available. And thank you for being here long enough for me to finally understand. Your mother never truly left you.
She remained present through:
your endurance
your survival
your strength
your ability to keep loving despite loss

And now her presence continues through me too. That realization feels sacred.
Because healing has taught me this: Awareness does not erase trauma. But it can transform how we carry it. And maybe that is the real gift. Not pretending pain never existed. But finally allowing compassion to exist alongside truth.

Scripture
Ephesians 4:32 “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

Romans 8:28 “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…”

Psalm 34:18 “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Call to Action
Take a moment to reflect: Have you only been evaluating your pain… or have you also considered the pain that shaped the people who raised you?

Awareness may not erase the past. But it can create compassion powerful enough to heal how we carry it.

Thank you for growing with me through The Green Rose Experience 🌹 Where healing, awareness, faith, compassion, and generational growth continue to meet