As a coping strategy, most of us keep pieces of our story separated from each other, and for good reason. Growing up, and even into adulthood, it would be too much to see it all at once.

Separated doesn’t necessarily mean repressed or fully blocked off, though that happens, too. I think of it like keeping different parts of childhood in different compartments or boxes in the mind. My dad was physically abusive; that’s on one side. And in my house, kids weren’t allowed to express any “negative” emotions; that’s on another. Both are there, but held far apart from each other.

A piece of your story means anything related to childhood: a specific memory or image, or something broader like mom being an alcoholic, parents not being emotionally attuned, no one being allowed to express painful emotions.

There’s also a second layer of separation—between the piece of the story and your felt experience of it. We minimize so that we don’t have to connect to what it was like. We stay separated from the painful emotions, what it felt like in our body, and how we still carry it today.

What was true for me, and what I’ve seen with clients, is that there comes a point for most people when it’s time to look at your story as a whole.

There’s something powerful in doing that. It’s an acknowledgment that we can see it all now, because we’re no longer in the time of the original experience. We can recognize that at one time we had to keep both layers of separation in place, and even be grateful that we could; it’s part of what got us through. 

But we no longer need to keep things separated, because our current reality is different. We are no longer children who live in a world where we’re all alone with everything, where it’s not safe to connect, with no safe people available. For most of us on a path of healing, that’s not reality anymore. 

There’s something about letting yourself see the whole story that lets your brain and body register: I am in my current reality. I’m not back there anymore. That can be grounding, and empowering.

This is also where clarity and deeper healing come from. When you keep things separate, you can look at one moment in the kitchen with your mom and think, well, that wasn’t that big a deal. But when you look at that moment alongside a hundred other moments with your mom, alongside nobody being emotionally available to you, alongside having to be the adult in the family, alongside being incredibly lonely even while surrounded by people, alongside working so hard to make sure nobody found out what was going on because it wasn’t safe…you realize, it all was a big deal, it was hard, and you carry deep wounds from it.

Seeing it all at once is heavy. But there’s also something honoring in it: standing with your feet on the ground, in your current context, and letting it be true. Yes, my growing-up experience was really, really hard. And I can continue to heal.

Mapping your story out this way can serve as a kind of guide in your healing process. You might notice certain parts carry a lot of emotional charge; those are worth flagging to bring into therapy. You might see patterns, and you and your therapist can link them to what’s happening today. 

It can also help later, at one of those points in the journey we all reach: you’ve done a lot of hard work, and you know you’re not done, but you’re not sure what direction to go next. You can go back to this map and find what hasn’t been touched yet, or what you mentioned once but never worked on. It becomes a practical tool, not just a one-time exercise.

As you begin to look at your story as a whole, there are two things that are really important. First, timing. This isn’t something to do at the beginning of therapy. Most intake forms ask a few questions about history: check the boxes, name the type of abuse, note that your parents divorced, etc. But a full childhood trauma exploration is different. I’ve learned that it isn’t that helpful to clients early on. There’s no exact timeframe, but it’s usually after someone has done some family of origin work. They’re starting to see the pieces, pull them together, have some tolerance for the reality, and connect with some of it, so that seeing it all at once doesn’t overwhelm or flood them. 

Second, this isn’t something to do alone. Ever. You might work on it by yourself at home, but your therapist knows you’re doing it; you’re bringing it to them. You have trusted people—friends, a sponsor—who know it’s happening. You already held it alone for decades. You don’t need to hold it alone now.

If this is resonating, the natural next question is: How do you look at your story as a whole?

The answer to that question is unique to each person, but I can give you some ideas based on my own experience and work I’ve done with clients. What matters most is finding an approach that feels right to you. 

One way, done in session: take pieces of paper, torn into rough five-inch pieces, each with a short phrase written on it (standing in the kitchen with dad, mom’s shaming, whatever comes up). We lay them out on the floor, sit with them, and the client starts grouping things, noticing patterns. Often they’ll photograph it afterward and transcribe it into something more permanent. Others prefer a chronological timeline—zero to five, five to ten, and so on—or categories—like shaming or addiction—and letting specific memories surface from there. There’s no single right approach.

One more piece: since you’re looking at the whole of your story, part of that reality may include good memories, too, whether or not they involve your parents. A third-grade teacher who told you what an incredible reader you were. A good memory of camping with your dad. If those come to mind, write them down too, because they’re part of your story. We’ve been talking mostly about the heavy stuff, and that is most of what this work is—but if we’re considering the whole, we look at the whole. If there’s nothing good, that’s part of the story too, and you let that be true. 

You may not be at a place to look at your story as a whole, and it’s important to honor that. A time will come where you will be ready to take the next step.

Photo credit: Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash