#traumaaware

I didn’t start with a thesis. I started with a dress.

Excerpt from I Knew Before I Knew, Chapter One: The Dress

It wasn’t red. It wasn’t tight. It wasn’t even new. Gray with small black flowers that looked like ink when the light hit. High neck. Sleeves to the elbow. Hem below the knee. Not flashy. Not loud. It was everything she thought a woman could be. Elegant without apology. Class without compromise. Pearls. Just one strand.

I led with fabric because it was safe to name. I could write a neckline and a hem when I couldn’t say the rest yet. It was the part I could say out loud.

Starting with an object keeps the story in the ordinary. Office day. Keys by the door. A mirror. No spectacle. If you can see the sleeve, you can feel the choice. Wear it and pay. Or put it back and pass for a day.

It also maps belonging. Before debate, there is a small republic of self. Cut. Length. Pearls. A life chosen on purpose. When that space shrinks, you notice. The closet goes quiet first. Then the voice.

This is why the dress comes early in the book. It teaches the rules of the house in ten inches of hem. Once you see an object get policed, you can spot how a laugh gets trimmed. How a no gets sanded into maybe. How you become easy to keep the day easy.

If you have lived this, you know the audit. Will this shirt earn a speech. Did my tone sound sharp. How many words can I spend today without owing more. If you have loved someone who lived this, you have heard the double answer. “I’m fine” that is true enough for now and not true at all.

The work after is small and honest. One inch back at a time. Wear the thing. Keep the full laugh. Choose the song in the car. Practice a no that does not apologize for existing. You do not have to win a day to recognize a life.