Two dresses, a dressing room, and a 14-year healing journey
TW– domestic violence, mention of miscarriage
Those of you with c-PTSD can probably sympathize with the most recent experience I’ve had when it comes to flashbacks and how the ‘c’ of that acronym seems to kick me when I am down every single time. Though I have done A LOT of work to heal, there are just parts of me that will never operate the way I think they should. Learning to come to terms with that has been a journey in itself.
Fourteen years ago, I was 22 years old, struggling with my mental health due to young motherhood, unpredictable finances, and a miscarriage. I was also living with and engaged to someone who (I didn’t know this at the time) was struggling with his own mental health and was self-medicating in all of the wrong ways. We would be an unstoppable trainwreck, but at this snapshot in our history, it was just the beginning of our toxic life together. The violence had just started and I was still in denial about the fact that my previously low-key life had taken an unexpected turn and I’d somehow become a statistic.
On top of this development, I was also getting ready to be a bridesmaid in my best friend’s wedding. Being in a wedding in your early 20s is usually pretty fun. We’re all ‘adults’ but seriously– the adultier adults are doing all of the heavy lifting. Our duties pretty much consisted of showing up to all the pre-wedding events, helping our bride say ‘yes’ to her dress, and having the best bachelorette party ever. The only part of this to-do list that I don’t love looking back on was the alterations appointment for our bridesmaid dresses.
It’s not because I’m self-conscious about how I looked in the dress (although that’s always the case for me, too) or because I didn’t like getting together with the other girls in the wedding party (they’re all gems). The day of the dress alterations was the first day I ever lied to anyone about what was going on at home.
The night before, my fiance had had too much to drink mixed with some combination of pills and we had gotten into another argument about his behavior. The argument got heated and first he hit me across the face, but then he pushed me out of his way. I hadn’t been expecting it and when I fell hard, my left shoulder hit the doorknob of the bathroom door. The next morning, I had a slight mark on my cheek, but there was a gigantic purple bruise on my shoulder blade. Have you seen most bridesmaid’s dresses? There was no hiding this bruise in that dress fitting appointment.
As I stood in the second dress fitting room on the right of a certain bridal chain store in Plymouth Meeting, Pa, I was terrified to step out past the curtain. My best friend is a polite, quiet, supportive person. She would never put anyone in an uncomfortable position. But she’s not blind and she’s always on my side. There was no way she wasn’t going to ask about this bruise. So I stood there for what felt like an hour, willing my hair to magically grow long enough to cover it and tugging on the dress to see if there was an extra couple of inches of fabric that would somehow miraculously cover this thing up for me.
No such luck.
So I very sheepishly pulled the curtain aside and stepped out to where the seamstress, my best friend, and three other members of the bridal party were all waiting. I kept my back against the wall for as long as I could, but eventually, it was my turn to step onto the platform to get pinned and measured.
The gasp that came from my bestie still rings in my ears on a bad day. She didn’t say a word while I was in front of everyone, but as soon as my part of the fitting was done, she pulled me to the side and asked me what happened.
This was a big moment for me. I’d been trying to ask my mom for relationship advice and how to get out of this situation for about a month, but I don’t think I was asking the right questions or she wasn’t hearing me. She just kept telling me to, more or less, suck it up and deal with the bed I’d made for myself. After that kind of response from the woman who is supposed to always be in my corner, I’d become afraid to even think of mentioning my homelife to anyone else.
Should I have told my best friend the truth? Of course. But in the moment, I didn’t want to take any of the attention away from her and more importantly, I didn’t want to risk her not believing me. So– I lied. I just laughed it off and said, “You know how clumsy I am, I just got all tangled up on my own feet and slipped in the bathroom, hit my shoulder on the doorknob. It was so stupid, really.”
What concerned me most about that lie was how easy it was to do. It just rolled right off my tongue like it was something I’d been doing all of my life. Even worse, she totally bought it. I had convinced someone who knows me incredibly well that it was just a silly little mishap. It made me sick to my stomach. Though it would just be the first of many lies I would tell over the coming months as things got worse between my fiance and me.
Fast forward to fourteen years later. I am no longer in that relationship and I have spent countless hours of therapy time, journaling, breathwork, meditation, etc. to heal from that part of my history. One of the things that have been crucial to my healing is a promise I made to myself years ago: No matter how bad something is, don’t lie. Omit if it isn’t safe to be truthful with others, but ALWAYS be honest with yourself.
This new leaf, or rather the return of the original leaf, in regards to honesty has saved me way more than any lie ever has. Being able to be honest with myself and to really only allow people I trust into my life has helped me feel more peace, more safety, and more joy.
Perhaps that’s why I was so surprised at my reaction last weekend when I stood in that same dressing room– the second on the right in that same exact bridal chain store in Plymouth Meeting. It’s a different dress obviously; this time it’s for my emoji buddy’s wedding. For a moment, I felt my breath catch in my throat while I stood in that tiny dressing room. I was transported back to 2010 and all of the stress and heartache I was silently trying to manage on my own. I recalled the constant fear I lived with and how it paralyzed me in countless ways.
Then, I took a deep belly breath and closed my eyes. I remembered allllll of the ways I’ve helped myself stay safe over the last 14 years. All of the people who love me. All of the healing. It took a couple of minutes, but I regained my composure and was able to step out from behind the curtain and move forward with the dress fitting. This seemingly routine part of being in a wedding went being a part of a trauma, to a flashback, to a moment of clarity.
So for those of you in the thick of your trauma, I beg you to hold on. There is a whole world out here. Cling to your truth and speak up for yourself. You deserve to be safe and loved. Even when your brain tricks you into thinking you somehow deserved this treatment– you are worthy of safety and love. Don’t discount the importance of honesty, most especially with yourself. It will be what grounds you when the world is chaotic and there’s so much uncertainty around you.
Sending you so much love and light, my dears.