Steven LaChance Blog

It’s in the quiet times of the morning when my mind wanders back to the past. There’s a lot of hurt there, and it would be very easy to wrap myself in it and disappear for a while. Someone once asked me about my ex. I told them I stepped away from that situation to protect my family. That was enough. What is harder is watching people not see what you saw. But I’ve learned over time you’re not here to change minds. Most people have to learn their own lessons, and most of the time it’s better to say nothing.

A psychologist once told me I had PTSD from it all, but that I was high functioning. I didn’t feel very high functioning at the time. It took years to understand what he meant. Bad things happened. They left scars. But I was still able to carry it and keep moving forward. Most of the time, I can. It turns out high functioning can be a good thing.

Then there are mornings like this, when it slips back in and sits with me, haunting my thoughts for a while.

When I’m feeling like this, I can almost feel my father’s hand on my shoulder. He used to tell me, “Don’t stay too long with what hurts.” It’s as if he knows I’m back there again, sitting in the dark, going over the damage left behind.

The memory of his voice, that simple touch, always seems to bring me back.

Emotional pain is something you carry on your own. No one really prepares you for that. Knowing what I know now, I would have done a lot of things differently. I didn’t understand what I was living with at the time. Some people move through the world behind a version of themselves that’s easier for others to accept. Most people never see beyond that. The rest stays hidden. That’s the part you end up knowing.

Unless, of course, there’s nothing left to hide. And when that happens, the mask drops… and you realize you never really knew them at all.

So why even talk about it? There are times you feel like screaming it to the world. I know that’s not realistic, and most people will misunderstand it. They’ll see it as a need for sympathy. That was never it. People who know me know that. I didn’t need it then, and I don’t need it now.

Sometimes I just need to put it out into the world. Pushing it away from me is a form of continual healing and protection. It’s my version of a written exorcism. A way of clearing it from my soul.

And along the way, I’ve realized there are other people carrying things like this too. Maybe it helps someone to know they’re not alone. That you can grieve what happened and still stand strong in the life you have now. That you can survive what was thrown your way.

I don’t know. Maybe.

Or maybe, like my father used to say, I’ve stayed with it long enough… and it’s time to close that door again and turn toward what’s in front of me.