Grief is not a prison, nor a chain,

it is a passage, a rite, a necessary flame,

and when it burns through, the heart remains-

not as ashes, but richer to have lived in its name.

Dawn breaks, rousing consciousness,

the world pulses to life around me,

a familiar rhythm, now a distant hum,

slipping through my fingers like water.

The heart is a gateway, capable of transforming pain into something bearable, and sometimes even beautiful. But it is one of the first things that shuts off in response to trauma.

After experiencing acute or prolonged trauma, particularly in conditions like PTSD, the brain and body become locked in survival states…

I am a ship adrift on grim, turbulent waters, where each sound is thunder, each shadow a ghost. Memories are lightning, flashing bright and searing, leaving me blind and trembling.

I am a fractured mirror, reflecting pieces of a past I can’t escape. Each shard is sharp, cutting into my present, drawing blood from old wounds. Familiar places, faces, scents—they are the sirens of my mind, luring me back to places I don’t want to return.

“Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.” - Rumi