Nonjudgmental witnessing is not passive. It is not an agreement. It is not indulgence. It is the disciplined act of staying present with what is real, without trying to correct, minimize, fix, or control it. When I say witnessing, I mean something specific. I mean, holding steady eye contact while someone tells the truth they have never said out loud. I mea,n noticing the tremor in their hands and not rushing to stop it. I mean recognizing that the body is discharging something that once had nowhere to go. I mean staying regulated enough that their pain does not become your emergency. For many trauma survivors, what injured them was not only what happened. It was what happened in the absence of a witness. Violence without intervention. Shame without defense. Grief without acknowledgment. Fear without protection. The nervous system organizes around those absences. It learns that intense emotion must be managed alone. It learns that visibility is dangerous. It learns that...
Well, it has been since July since I last checked in. A lot has taken place. More than I ever could have imagined. I cracked open in ways I didn’t see coming and healed pieces of myself I didn’t even know were still hurting. I definitely didn’t expect any of it to happen the way it did. We moved back to Delaware from South Carolina. Honestly, I’m grateful we did. On the drive home, something in me broke loose. I cried and cried until I had no tears left. Somewhere on that highway, I touched a root fear that had been buried so deep I didn’t even know it still ruled me. The fear of abandoning my son the way my father abandoned me. That realization hit me hard. It shook my entire system. But something surprising followed. After the tears came relief. A softening. A release. It was like I had reached into the bottom of an old wound and finally cleared out the debris. I could see clearly that I am not my father. I never was. That was the fear that kept circling me for years, and in t...