Love, Luggage, and Learning to Reroute
Trauma is a bitch. Pardon my French, but seriously. First, I endure the awful thing (or things), and then, as if that’s not enough, I get to deal with its brain-altering aftermath for the rest of my life. Busgusting. But hey, maybe I can at least fill my life with beautiful relationships to soften the blow? Haha, nope, not so fast. Relationship turmoil is practically a hallmark of a traumatized brain. It doesn’t mean it’s impossible, though. It just means I have to reroute some of those synapses and maybe change a few tires along the way. (Thankfully I have these massive biceps to help me get the job done.)
Today, I’m sharing my personal journey of navigating trauma in a relationship, in hopes that my trial and error (and trust me, there’s been a lot of error) might save you some gas.
Let’s start here: “yOu CaN’t LoVe SoMeOnE eLsE UnTiL yOu LoVe yOuRsElF.”
Listen, I appreciate the sentiment, but I personally think that’s mostly BS. That’s like saying you can’t enjoy a chocolate chip cookie until you’ve mastered the art of baking from scratch. If we wait until we’ve got it all figured out to enter a relationship, we will simply be waiting forever. I firmly believe you can enter a relationship while acknowledging that there are parts of you that are still healing. In fact, love can be a place where some of that healing happens. It’s a process of learning, unlearning, and re-learning together. That’s how I’ve found it to be, anyway.
To be clear—when trauma shows up in a relationship, it doesn’t come with a polite knock. It barges in, stinky feet on the coffee table, and demands all of our attention. Or perhaps like a fussy newborn baby – you swear she’s fed, changed, and rested, but she’s still screaming in her crib. What the hell! (Can you tell I love an analogy?)
In my case, that looks like shutting down when my partner gets too close emotionally, or spiraling into overthinking when something feels even slightly off. I’m not just reacting to the present moment—I’m reacting to every past hurt that has left its mark on me. Ugh. I cringe even thinking about the misplaced guilt and shame I’ve projected onto my past relationships. Sorry y’all. I’m just a baby.
If you’ve experienced trauma and you’re anything like me, your adult life has probably been a wild ride of healing. I’ve read every self-development book (book recs in the P.S.), been in and out of therapy, researched every attachment style, and sifted through every item in the junk drawer that is my traumatized brain. I like to believe I’ve got a handle on these things. So when something comes up in a relationship and all of the old wounds and feelings come flooding back, I kick myself for not applying what I already know.
The hardest lesson I’ve had to learn is that healing is not linear. Being in a relationship while dealing with trauma means I’m constantly negotiating with two different realities—the one in front of me, and the one that my trauma is distorting. Learning to separate the two is like trying to solve a puzzle with pieces that keep changing shape. It’s exhausting, but it’s necessary work.
For me, the turning point was letting go of hyper-independence. This wasn’t, and still isn’t, easy. Sometimes, when we go through enough trauma at the hands of other people, it feels like it makes more sense to keep everyone else out of it. It feels like the logical response—you put your hand on a hot stove and it burns, so you don’t put your hand on the hot stove again. Unfortunately, being human is not so black and white. While my partner can’t undo the past, they can support me in my journey, hold space for my growth, and love me through the messiness.
You’ve probably also heard that communication is key in a relationship. Add trauma into the mix, and communication isn’t just key—it’s the whole lock, door, and security system. I learned the hard way that bottling things up never works. If something triggers me, I say it. If I’m feeling overwhelmed, I say it. I’ve had to teach myself (and I’m still teaching myself) that it’s okay to be vulnerable, and to let someone else in on the mess happening in my head.
If I don’t communicate that my feelings in the moment may have more to do with my past or the stories I’m telling myself, my partner may internalize my feelings as their perpetual failure. And that is definitely the last thing I want to do to the person I love the most. Cultivating a space where we can talk openly about how we’re feeling, how we’re doing, and whether any past baggage has crept up that week has been the best way to support our relationship. It’s not always easy—I mean, who really enjoys talking about their fears and insecurities? But it’s important.
Another tough lesson has been going easy on myself—it’s okay if I’m not perfect. No one is. Relationships aren’t about being flawlessly healed, trauma-free individuals. They’re about growth, partnership, and figuring things out together. In fact, I’d argue that the beauty of love lies in its imperfection.
When you’re dealing with trauma, every small victory feels huge. Maybe you finally communicate a boundary you’ve been scared to voice. Maybe you stop yourself from spiraling into worst-case scenarios for the first time. Celebrate those moments. They’re proof that you’re healing, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
For any of this to work at all, I have one more imperative caveat: Choosing a partner who genuinely wants to be on this journey with you is crucial. Sometimes healing is pretty, but it can also be messy and frustrating. You need someone who understands that healing from trauma is a long road and still chooses to walk it with you. It’s not about finding someone to fix you or to complete your healing, but about finding a partner who can hold space for your process, and who’s willing to stick around through the good and the tough moments. This means they show up with compassion and patience, and you both remain committed to growing together. Someone who is in it for the long haul won’t be scared off by your baggage—they’ll help you carry it when it gets heavy.
Loving shoutout to my bb because I’m feeling sentimental writing this: You show up, day in and day out, with love, patience, and understanding, even when things get tough. You listen when I talk, hold me when I need it, and give me space when I’m overwhelmed. Your support, even when I may not always know how to ask for it, means everything. Thank you for staying, for choosing to be on this journey with me, and for being the steady hand to hold as I heal. I forking love you so much I could scream.
Final thoughts (and some gas money) – If you’re navigating trauma while in a relationship, know that it’s okay to be a work in progress. You don’t have to have it all figured out. It’s messy, it’s hard, and frustrating as hell. But love, in all its forms, is worth it. Healing doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in connection—with yourself, with your partner, and with the world around you.
So yeah, trauma is a bitch. But it doesn't get to dictate our ability to love or be loved. We’ll reroute those synapses, one day at a time. Safe travels, my friend. You’ve got this.
With my whole heart,
Your Maddy
P.S. Here are my gas money book recommendations. This ain’t no regular gas either — this that premium quality octane. 89 on the gas thingy at least.
How to Be an Adult in Relationships: The Five Keys to Mindful Loving, David Richo
More Beautiful Than Before: How Suffering Transforms Us, Steve Leder
All About Love: New Visions, Bell Hooks
The Four Agreements, Miguel Ruiz
