Some traumas, I learned, refuse to remain in the past, wreaking havoc in the form of triggers and flashbacks, nightmares and fits of rage, until they’ve been processed and given their proper place. This helped me understand why the horror of my cancer did not end on my final day of treatment but surged in its aftermath: The haunting feeling that something terrible could happen again at any moment. The nightmares that tore me from sleep. The panic attacks that left me gulping for air on scraped knees. The resistance I felt to forging real intimacy.
