Diary of a Thriving Mum

Trauma? Me? Never! (Until, Well… Life Happened)

Trauma. It’s real. And trust me, I’ve lived it.

Before life humbled me, I thought trauma was just a buzzword people threw around. You know, like “self-care” (which, let’s be honest, is sometimes just eating ice cream straight from the tub while crying). I mean, I knew trauma existed, but I didn’t think it applied to me.

Backstory: My Fairytale Childhood

I grew up in a ridiculously happy home. My parents are obsessed with each other—like, full-blown teenagers in love obsessed. The kisses in the morning, laugh at jokes that weren’t funny, and call each other names so sweet they’d give you a cavity. Our home was warm, safe, and filled with so much joy that I genuinely thought love was easy.

Ofcourse, we had our fair share of issues and I had my own life situations that weren’t so pleasant but somehow, I believed in a world where people loved purely, problems had solutions, and bad things happened only in movies. Sigh. If only someone had warned me that life was coming with a plot twist.

Enter Marriage, Exit My Nervous System

Fast forward to my marital drama. Now, I won’t bore you with the full saga (because even Netflix would need multiple seasons for that), but let’s just say it was giving telenovela.

At the peak of it all, something weird started happening. My heart would race, my chest would tighten, and for the first time in my very Nigerian life, I was having PANIC ATTACKS. Yes, me. Ife. A whole black strong woman. Having panic attacks. I couldn’t believe it.

It got so bad that anytime my phone beeped, my brain went straight to, Oh Lord, what now? My heart would go from 0 to 100, my hands would shake, and suddenly, breathing felt like an extreme sport. It was horrible.

It took time, distance from my trigger, months of therapy, and a whole lot of prayer to start feeling like myself again. And just when I thought I had fully healed—plot twist! My phone beeped one day, and the sender’s name alone sent me spiraling back into that dark place.

That’s when it hit me: Trauma is real. Whether childhood traumas or traumas in adulthood or like a friend of mine said, a two-for-one combo of both. And if you don’t deal with it, it will deal with you.

Breaking the Cycle, before it starts—For Me & My Child

I had to be honest with myself: I was carrying wounds that, if left unchecked, could bleed onto my innocent sweet child. And that was not happening, not on my watch!. I knew my healing wasn’t just for me—it was for her too.

So, I did the work. And here’s what I learned:

Healing? It’s an inside job.

Another man won’t fix it (contrary to the get over one, get under another nonsense people say). Therapy? Absolutely important, but even that alone won’t do it. At the end of the day, only one person can truly heal a broken heart and the scars they leave in your soul—God.

The Bible says, God heals the brokenhearted (Psalm 147:3), but I’ve also learned that I have a role to play in my healing. I see it as a team project—me and God, fixing me together. My job is to show up, do the work, and trust Him to make it successful.

Now, Your Turn

I want you to do something for me.

• Grab a pen and paper (or your Notes app if you’re fancy).
• Write down your traumas—what caused them, how they affect you, and how they show up in your life.
• Now, read them out loud. I know, it’s not fun. But awareness is step one.

If you need to forgive yourself (like I had to) or forgive someone, do it. If you need to talk to someone or start therapy, reach out. And even if you’re not spiritual, just imagine you’re talking to the love of your life or a doctor and ask for help to heal, and my God (who wants to be your friend) is listening and would help you.

And if you need a sign to start doing the work? This is it.

You’re not alone, sis. I see you. I’m rooting for you. And if you ever need to talk, my DMs are open—@ifeoluwaaaa.

XOXO,
Ife

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