Life here is an extraordinary experience. Someone once told me that half your life is trauma and the other half is figuring out how to heal from it. I don’t know if that’s true, but if it is, I’m currently in my healing phase.

An old friend of mine once told me “hurt people hurt people.” In a lot of instances I’ve found that statement true.

My name is Aren, I’m twenty seven years old and live in Northern California. I haven’t always lived here, but this has become my home. I grew up until I was eight years old in Sallisaw, Oklahoma. I had parents who struggled with addiction issues, and being one of six children fighting for attention, it’s pretty safe to say childhood was chaos.

I think when I was a kid, and early on into my adulthood, I let this chaotic life define me to some extent. I felt as if I was alone. I never thought I could fully open up and relate to “normal” people. But I’m not defined by my experiences. We are not defined by our experiences, our wealth, or our lack of. We are defined by our souls, that live within our physical bodies.

When I turned eight-teen, I felt a breath of fresh air. I was now in control of my life, at least I thought. I didn’t realize that my wounds were so deep, and my behaviors throughout my early 20s reflected that. Sometimes you don’t realize you’re hurt, when you’ve felt this way most your life it seems normal.

I use to have this reoccurring dream. For many years I would dream I was stuck within three walls. Where the fourth wall should be, there were always waves. Big ones. These waves had one job in this dream, and it was to crash into me and push me back into the middle wall. They’ve always been powerful, and I’ve always been gasping for air. The scenery may change, once it was three white walls, once they were made out of concrete, once they were three walls of cliffs. But me and waves have always remained the same. When I met my boyfriend at the time, who is now my husband, I dreamt my final wave dream. This time it was me and my younger brother Bryce.

I’m the second youngest of six children.  My only sister is the oldest, Frankie, followed by three older brothers, Tyler, Damon, Taylor, me, then my younger brother Bryce.

Last year Damon committed suicide. Nothing has ever hurt me the way that hurt. I have felt a pluffera of strong emotions. Some I’m familiar with, many I am not. These emotions are far more powerful than I could have ever contemplated. I’ve cried more tears than I thought my body could produce. My wound that I’ve been trying to heal from childhood just had a butcher knife shoved deeper into it.

I finally realized that these waves in my dreams were made of emotions. I realized I need help. So I started buying books on how to heal from trauma. I meditate, I do yoga, I paint, and draw, and write poems. I do whatever I can to minimize the weight of these waves. I’ve bought books on parenting since I have two young boys of my own now. And I recently started seeing a psychologist.

I’m finding out that pain is just love wearing a clever disguise. Losing Damon made my heart swell with a love that was meant to be disbursed throughout a lifetime.The waves still come, this last year my waves weren’t in a dream. They were my emotions hitting me in real time. But I’m learning how to swim. I’m learning how to breathe in the deepest darkest waters. As I swim, I’ve opened my eyes, and realize there is beauty in these dark waters. Without the dark, there isn’t light. Both are important to understand and appreciate when you’re in them.

Death will always be our greatest teacher. It’s teaching me what it means to live.