I wore it like a badge

Usually because it’s become part of who you are. A story you’ve carried long enough stops being something that happened and starts being an identity, and letting go of it can feel like losing yourself rather than losing the weight. It’s also familiar, and familiar suffering is more comfortable than an unknown alternative.

I carried the things that happened to me like a badge of honour.

Nobody could see it. That was somehow the point.

I knew for a long time that I was holding onto things from my past that were doing nothing useful for me. I knew it and I kept hold of them anyway, because at some level I’d decided that who I was depended on it. Take that away and what exactly is left.

So I kept the badge. Invisible to everyone. Polished daily, and the whole time it wasn’t just slowing me down, it was doing something worse than that.

I had built a cell and locked myself in it, and I had the only key.

Because it’s not really the past you’re holding onto. It’s who you’ve become around it.

If something happened to you, and it shaped how you move through rooms, who you trust, what you expect from people, then it’s not an event anymore. It’s architecture. Nobody dismantles their own architecture on a Tuesday afternoon because a blog post suggested it.

There’s a second reason and it’s less flattering.

It’s comfortable.

We think holding onto it is somehow beneficial. It’s familiar. It might be suffering, we might even know it’s destructive, but it’s what we know. Against the alternative, which is change, and the unknown, and no guarantee of anything better, familiar suffering starts to look like the safer option.

That’s not weakness. That’s a completely rational preference for a known quantity. It’s just an expensive one.

Here’s the brutal truth, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to see it.

I’d been wearing what happened to me in a way that made me feel entitled to something. Special treatment. Extra consideration. A bit more slack than the next person, because of what I’d been through.

Which is completely ridiculous, when you say it out loud, for two reasons.

The first is that nobody else knew. The badge was invisible. I was walking around presenting an invoice that nobody could read, to people who had no idea they were being billed.

The second is bigger. Everyone else has been through their own equivalent, or worse.

I’d been treating my story as though it were rarer than it was. As though carrying something made me unusual, but the thing that actually makes me like everybody else is that I’m carrying something. That’s the common condition, not the exception.

Once that landed, the whole thing inverted.

Not a claim. A capacity.

If I’ve been through something, that should make me better at meeting somebody else where they are. It should buy compassion, patience and the ability to sit with someone without flinching. It shouldn’t buy me a discount.

My experience makes up who I am. It doesn’t have to define me.

That distinction is the entire post, so here’s the crux: What happened to you is yours and nobody gets to minimise it. The worst trauma is your trauma. But there’s a difference between a story that shapes you and a story that runs you, and the difference is whether you’re still choosing.

We’re all a bit damaged. Most of us are still carrying something that hurts. Some of us are carrying things that are almost unbearable. That’s not something to hide. Honestly, it’s something to be quietly proud of, because the fact that you’re still standing isn’t nothing. It’s proof of your resilience and you didn’t come this far to just come this far.

This is the practical version, and it’s where the shift actually shows up in daily life.

Somebody says something and you feel it land. Heat in the chest, the jaw setting, the response already forming.

The question worth asking in that half second is: “was that an attack, or was that a trigger?”

An attack is aimed at you. It happens, and it deserves a response.

A trigger is something in the present making contact with something old. The person in front of you may have had no idea. Frequently they meant nothing by it at all. Most of the time they don’t even realise they’ve hit something sensitive.

These reactions feel identical from the inside, but they deserve completely different responses.

I still get it wrong, but reflecting inwardly is what changed the outcome more than anything else I tried, because it puts a gap between the feeling and the reaction, and the feeling was never the problem.

My emotions can’t hurt me or anyone else. My reactions can.

There’s a version of this post that does damage and I’ve read plenty of them.

If what happened to you was serious, and it’s still acute, and the story is the only thing currently keeping you upright, then this isn’t the week to start pulling at it. Some things need proper support before they need insight, and doing this alone can make it worse rather than better.

That’s not a failure. It’s a sequencing question. Structure first, then the work on the details.

If that’s where you’re, the useful next step is a GP, or a counsellor, or someone who does this properly, rather than a blog. There’s no version of this where you have to work it out on your own.

Not by letting go or “getting over it” those instructions have never helped anybody.

You start by going towards the thing you’ve been arranging your life to avoid. Small, deliberately, on purpose; with support.

Here’s the version I wrote for myself, and I’ve not improved on it since.

“I fear being alone, therefore I must spend time alone.

I fear abandonment, therefore I must exist in a space where it feels like that has happened.

I fear inflicting pain on others, therefore I must accept that I’ve caused pain.

I fear feeling pain myself, therefore I must understand that pain.

None of this will kill me. All of this is necessary.”

That’s the whole method. Find what you’re organising around, and then walk towards it in the smallest available increment. Not to prove anything. Not to be tough about it. Just to find out that the thing you’ve been avoiding for fifteen years is survivable, which you won’t learn any other way.

Simple, not easy.

The badge comes off eventually. Not because you forced it, and not because you forgave anyone, and not because it stopped mattering.

It comes off because at some point you stop needing it to explain who you are.

• Write down what you’re still carrying. Not to solve it. Just to look at it outside your own head, where it’s been getting bigger remaining unchallenged.

• Ask what it’s currently doing for you. Every badge is worn for a reason. Identity, protection, an explanation, a claim. Naming the reason honestly is what makes it optional.

• Run the trigger question for a week. Next time something lands hard, ask whether that was an attack or a trigger before you respond. Just ask. You don’t have to get the answer right.

• Write your own version of the litany. “I fear X, therefore I must do X.” Two or three lines. It will be uncomfortable to write, which is how you know it’s probably accurate.

• Take the smallest possible step towards one of them. Not the whole thing. The smallest version that still counts.

This week: write two lines. I fear something, therefore I must do the thing that puts me near it. Then do the smallest possible version. Seek help as a priority. If you need it, it’s always available.

Usually because it’s stopped being an event and become part of your identity. Releasing it can feel like losing yourself rather than losing the weight. Familiarity also plays a part, since known suffering often feels safer than an unknown alternative.

No. Your experience is part of who you are and nobody gets to minimise it. The distinction worth watching is between a story that shapes you and a story that owns you. You get a choice.

An attack is aimed at you and deserves a response. A trigger is something in the present making contact with something old, often without the other person intending anything. They feel identical from the inside and require completely different responses.

No. Forgiveness is a separate question and it’s entirely yours to decide on. Reducing the weight something carries in your daily life doesn’t require you to excuse anyone or to be in contact with them.

In the smallest increment available, deliberately, rather than all at once. The purpose of the first step isn’t resolution. It’s finding out that going near the thing is survivable, which can’t be learned any other way.

If it’s still acute, if it affects your sleep, work or relationships, or if the story is the main thing holding you together at the moment, support should come before insight. A GP is a reasonable first conversation and costs you one appointment.

Solid Foundations Counselling is not a crisis service. If you need support right now, Lifeline is available 24 hours on 13 11 14, and 1800RESPECT on 1800 737 732 for family and domestic violence. In an emergency, call 000.

If you’ve been carrying something for a long time and you’re ready to look at it with somebody, I offer a free introductory call. No cost, no pressure, no obligation. Click the banner above or get in touch on 0422967392.

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