I Prayed for a Miracle, Now I Lock My Door Against My Son

I walked to my bedroom door.

The dent was still there.

The deadbolt gleamed like a tiny silver confession.

Tyler wasn’t home tonight.

The house was quiet.

And yet my hands still shook as I locked myself in, because trauma doesn’t care whether the danger is present. Trauma lives in your nervous system. It paces the hallway even when the hallway is empty.continue reading …