Welcome,
I invite you to find a comfortable position where your body can rest with ease.
Close your eyes if you'd like and allow your breath to flow in its natural rhythm.
Inhale gently and exhale fully.
With each breath,
Soften into the present moment.
You don't need to do anything,
Just simply be here.
Notice the weight of your body on the surface beneath you.
Feel the support beneath your spine,
Your legs,
Your feet.
Imagine roots growing downward from the base of your spine,
Deep into the earth.
These roots are strong,
Steady,
Unshakeable.
Wherever we explore today,
You are rooted.
You are safe.
Now,
Gently bring to mind the word trauma.
This word carries weight,
Doesn't it?
It's not a word that we welcome easily.
Trauma means life brought something unexpected,
Something overwhelming,
Something our hearts and bodies couldn't carry at that time.
Breathe.
Allow yourself to notice if that word awakens tension,
Memories,
Or even numbness.
Whatever arises,
It's okay.
Trauma can be sharp,
Like a sudden lightning strike.
It can be steady,
Like rain that never stops falling.
And sometimes it's invisible,
Woven into the air we grew up breathing.
Some traumas wound.
Some change the way we trust.
Some leave echoes long after the moment has passed.
But trauma doesn't define the whole you.
It's a chapter,
Not the book.
Imagine now that your trauma,
Whatever shape it takes,
Rests before you as an object.
Perhaps it looks like a heavy stone.
Perhaps a tangled knot of string.
Perhaps a shadow.
Don't judge it,
Simply see it.
You might even reach your hands toward it in your imagination.
Holding it,
But not letting it consume you.
Whisper to yourself,
This is part of me,
But it's not all of me.
I survived this.
I'm still here.
Now picture the stone,
The knot,
Or the shadow slowly softening.
From within,
Something begins to emerge.
A green sprout pushing through the stone.
A thread untangling into clarity.
A light breaking open the shadow.
This is the gift you never asked for,
But still may carry.
The possibility of growth.
Not because trauma was good,
But because you are greater than what happened to you.
Because even in broken places,
Life seeks to grow.
Breathe in deeply.
Exhale slowly.
Now imagine that within your chest,
There's a hidden garden.
Every scar,
Every wound,
Every hardship has fertilized the soil.
From the soil rise trees of resilience.
Flowers of empathy.
Waters of wisdom.
This is the paradox of trauma.
Even in darkness,
New life can take root.
And as you walk through this inner garden,
Notice what grows there.
Perhaps resiliency,
Strong like oak.
Perhaps compassion,
Soft like moss.
Perhaps clarity,
Sharp and bright,
Like sunlight breaking through.
Let your breath expand as you walk through this garden path.
Repeat silently,
My wounds are real and so is my healing.
I hold both,
The pain and the growth.
I am not what only happened to me.
I am who I choose to become.
Begin to return now.
Feel again the ground beneath you.
Your roots reaching deep,
Angering you.
Bring one hand to your heart.
And take a final deep breath in.
And sigh it out.
Know this truth.
Trauma may break us open,
But healing can make us whole.
Not because the pain was good,
But because your spirit is unbreakable.
When you are ready,
Open your eyes.
Carry with you the wisdom that even from wounds,
Beauty can bloom.
Until next time.
