The other day, my dad asked me a simple question, ‘do you want to keep these boots?’
My first response was no, they don’t fit, but inside I was angry. I looked at the boots with such anger in fact that in that short moment of time, I wanted to grab them, rip them apart and burn them. Dramatic, I know.
You are probably thinking, are you ok? I know, I was too. My dad went on though and asked me to try the boots on. In his calm and loving tone, he simply wanted to understand why a good pair of Ugg boots that seemed to be fairly new were being thrown out.
Again, completely fair and a very normal response. My response however, far from ‘normal’. I glared at him, raised my voice and said ‘I don’t want those F*&%&ING boots.’ Fine, one might say this is still a normal response- in some world’s maybe this is. And that’s fine. You do you. In my little world, we had just finished a lovely meal, my pup was dancing around my feet happily. My mum and I chatting away, whilst washing up and cleaning. But, in that split moment, my tummy turned over, my skin went clammy and tears rushed to my eyes.
Why, why why?! It was all because these boots were a memory. A bad, bad memory. These boots were a present from satan’s son (my violent ex) and I had worn these boots one of those nights when his rage took over. I remember vividly grabbing these boots trying to run out of his apartment. Down the fire escape. They weren’t easy to put on and I remember in that moment thinking ‘F*%& these F*£&£^ING boots.’. I mean of all the things to be reminded of from that night, I didn’t think this would be it. But hey, the trauma memory loves a bizarre and wonderful reminder, right?
For those who have experienced and survived trauma, you will know this all too well. These memories are engrained in our brains. So vivid at times, that I can feel, touch, smell and hear everything that went on, still to this very day. This means that if the memory of the boots is that vivid in my head… anything I can physically touch, well that’s going to throw me right back when.
My dad, sadly, didn’t understand this. And that’s not his fault, but educating our loved ones on trauma triggers or any little thing that can help us overcome trauma is so very important. For reference, in that moment, I needed the conversation of the boots to be dropped, so hard and fast that it was like it was never mentioned. Someone could have even thrown a piece of cake in my face and that would have made me very happy. Anything to distract in that instance from that god awful memory, would have been fab.
Now, my dad being my dad (got to love him!) went as far as saying it was ’silly, it’s just a pair of boots.’ To him, it is. But again, this. Pushed. Me. Over. The. Edge. I excused myself and kissed them goodbye. Went into the car and cried. So much. So much so, that I hyperventilated and called my partner whilst messaging my safe space friends, AKA, SSF (more about this in my next post).
Once calm, I went home. I lay on my bed and cried some more. The memories now shooting through my head like a movie on replay. I couldn’t put myself in the present moment and spiralled a bit. Ok, a lot. This is ok. ’Those F*&^$ING boots’ I kept saying to myself.
The next day, I voice noted a friend. At the end of one of her many 3 minute 26 second voice notes, she said the words I needed to hear ‘F&$^ the boots’.
Exactly! I thought. She got it. And she got it, because she’s been there, done that, got the boots (!!) and the one thing I can say is, when life is tough, don’t make it harder. When memories are present you don’t want, do the best you can in whatever way that is, by erasing reminders. And when you feel like you are crazy, irrational and ’silly’. You are not. You are bloody damn strong and have made it this far with so much ahead of you. You definitely don’t need those boots. So always remember ‘F&^% the boots’ and you will live in a little more harmony, like you deserve.
