Beyond the Wounds: Reclaiming Purpose and Identity

Trauma weaves itself into the fabric of our lives, shaping us in ways both subtle and profound. Have you ever wondered how the unseen wounds of the past might still influence your present?

A couple of years ago, I spent quite a lot of time looking at a photograph of my 2-year-old self. I made it a part of my almost daily meditation and reflective practice. Gazing upon the face of my 2-year-old self, I wondered at the experiences that have shaped who, what, and how I process and respond to the world around me today. Some of those experiences have been positive, some negative, and others simply traumatic.

Some of those memories are delightful and a pleasure to recall; others not so delightful and so uncomfortable or embarrassing to recall. Other memories are so distant and have faded away into the mists of time. Then there are others, no doubt so traumatic that they have been repressed as a self-protecting mechanism.

I know that all these memories – good, bad, or traumatic, remembered, forgotten, or repressed – have influenced and shaped how my ego, body, and mind present themselves and respond to the world around me. For example, I remember, about 25 years ago, waking up from a dream in tears.

For example, I remember, about 25 years ago, waking up from a dream in tears. In the dream, I saw a small black child in a park with a white lady carer. Each time a black woman or couple walked by, the child would toddle in their direction, expecting to be picked up. But each time, the black woman or couple would pull back – of course, they didn’t know this child. Too young to comprehend, the child perceived their hesitancy as rejection. In the dream, I felt this child’s rejection so intensely that I woke up, a grown man, in tears!

The dream felt so real and had such an impact that I picked up pen and paper and wrote a letter to my dad sharing the details (letter writing was still a thing in those days!). Dad wrote back a month later, saying that my letter had triggered a memory from the 1970s. He and Mum, young students working and studying in London, had left me with my white foster nanny and her family during the week in Kent, UK. Dad recalled the nanny sharing how, when she took me for walks in the local park, I would approach every black woman I saw, thinking they might be my mum. Embarrassed and not sure how to respond, these ladies would pull back as nanny stepped in.

So it turns out I was the child in that dream. A repressed memory surfaced, explaining the root of a rejection complex I still carry in my ego-mind today. The experience was real. The emotions were real, as was the traumatic effect it had on my 2-year-old psyche. Yet the premise was based on error. Those women were not my mother. I wasn’t being rejected. But then, when has the ego ever been known to get it right? Its foundation is fear, not love. The ‘lie’ behind the 2-year-old’s processing of those encounters did not change the very ‘truthful’ imprint of a rejection complex left on me.

So what is my approach as a grown adult to both the known and unknown traumas that have shaped my “auto-responses” and sometimes continue to inform how I respond and react to the world around me?

I do not deny them.
I recognize them in me.
I acknowledge them.
But I refuse to be defined by them!

Instead, I choose to look beyond them to my identity and beginnings in God.

I look back to the little child I was, and I try to imagine what I knew of my origins before subjective experience and trauma started to erode my innocence and pure wonder at life.

How has trauma, even the hidden kind, ultimately shaped the story of my life? Was this path chosen before these experiences, knowing they would mold me for a higher purpose? Or did these wounds inadvertently set my course?

Father, I am human now. I trust you. Perhaps this was the first prayer I uttered as spirit, newly clothed in a human body. I entered this earthly existence, leaving behind my true form and awareness.

That prayer was my declaration of trust, knowing I would now experience limitation instead of the clarity and boundless freedom I once knew. As spirit, I was serenity itself. But in this human form, my awareness began to dim.

As the dimness increased, a new and strengthening alliance emerged – a fusion of ego and body-mind, filling the void my spirit left behind. This alliance, built on illusion and fear, muffled my true voice. Just as a fish gasps for air when out of water, my spirit suffocated.

Yet, hope remains. I carry the tools of the spirit: faith, hope, and love. They can shatter this illusion and lead me back to the vastness of Love, where my true home lies.

Faith grants me patience for the unknown, allowing me to navigate life’s stages even when I lack understanding. In the darkness, God guides where I cannot see. This journey, though uncertain, is the only path to true, unconditional love. Love is the goal, faith the process, and hope the enduring resolve to live amidst the unfolding mystery.

These are the enduring three: faith, hope, and love.