I remember reading Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe in the Spring of 2018. I was a senior in college, and I had just gone through trauma that turned my world upside down. The novel illustrates the consequences of colonialism–specifically devastating and hurting the Igbo people – a tribe in Southern Nigeria. Achebe mastered the art of brutality regarding the effects of colonialism and the soceioeconomic power-play of imperialism. I was so intrigued by the novel–because at the time, I had never read anything like it–I recommended it to my friends and had a deep conversation with a colleague who studied Philosophy.

Maybe it’s the suffering that I was going through that made me relate to the book on a deeper level. PTSD was so intense that I couldn’t even look at my professor and avoided eye contact at all cost (although she did nothing wrong). Even when I had some things to say during class discussions, I avoided eye contact with classmates, stuttered my words, and felt this shadow hovering over me. In the novel, things fell apart as colonialists occupied native people’s land; in my own personal life, I felt like I was falling apart because of trauma.

It’s been seven years since that awful phase of my life. Thankfully, I had and have the resources to process my experience and the memories that I still live with today. Trauma is like having shattered pieces of pottery. The broken, irreplaceable, painful, agonizing yet delicate, attractive, adrenaline-inducing and addictive pieces around you. Trying to glue the pieces together is daunting, frustrating, and oftentimes, ugly. Whenever I see movies where survivors “redeem” themselves as these new characters who are much braver, stronger, and wiser, I roll my eyes. Why? Because trauma is not a “cause & effect” kind of experience–but a living experience of unprecedented replay of memories and resurfacing of painful responses to them. And trying to heal from trauma(s) is another experience in itself.

So when things fall apart, it’s also easy to fall into the trap of doubt, fear, anger, grief, loneliness, and disillusionment–all of which are very valid and natural. This cliché notion of “overcoming adversity” like a hero is unrealistic and toxic. It’s okay to feel upset. It’s okay to be repulsed by the past. It’s okay to doubt where you stand. It’s okay to be confused. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be in the wrong at times. It’s okay to be angry. One of my therapists said it well: “There is also healthy anger.” Indeed there is.

Should we overcome trauma? Or, more realistically, do we live with trauma?

I would be lying if I said that I am doing “okay.” The truth is, I am not. I feel like things are falling apart again. And the paradox of this “rise and fall” nature is that there is life and death, terrible and beautiful, and tension and peace. I just hope to go through the in-between lines with more clarity and faith.