Sometimes Trauma Looks Like a Tube of Red Lipstick

This morning started out like a good one.

I had my coffee. I recorded and posted my Morning Coffee with Aunt Susie video. I watched it back, smiled a little, and then did what so many of us do... I started scrolling through Facebook.

That's when I came across a video from another survivor sharing a childhood memory.

Within seconds, I wasn't just watching someone else's story anymore.

I was back in one of my own.

I remember standing in the makeup aisle looking at the flavored lip glosses that were so popular back then. That's what I wanted.

But this wasn't about what I wanted.

Even as a little girl, I remember thinking that bright red lipstick was for grown women. It didn't feel like something that belonged to me. I wanted the flavored lip gloss instead.

Like most children, I believed grown-ups made good decisions. I couldn't understand why what I wanted didn't matter.

I only knew that I was leaving the store with something I never wanted in the first place.

That moment didn't stay in the makeup aisle.

For years, every time I saw bright red lipstick, a part of me was taken right back there.

I won't share every detail because this story isn't really about what happened that day.

It's about what stayed.

People sometimes think trauma only exists inside the memories themselves.

But that's not how it works.

Trauma has a way of attaching itself to ordinary things.

A certain song.

A particular perfume.

The smell of chlorine.

A department store.

A date on the calendar.

Or a tube of bright red lipstick.

To someone else, those things don't mean anything.

To a survivor, they can open a door that was closed just moments before.

This morning, I wasn't thinking about my childhood.

I wasn't trying to revisit painful memories.

I was simply scrolling through Facebook after what had been a productive, ordinary morning.

Then, without warning, I was standing in that makeup aisle again.

That's one of the hardest parts about trauma.

It never asks permission.

It doesn't wait until you're ready.

It doesn't care whether you're having a good day or a difficult one.

Sometimes it appears without warning and reminds you that your brain learned to connect an ordinary object with an extraordinary amount of pain.

For years, I wondered why I disliked red lipstick so much.

I think it looks beautiful on other women.

But I've never wanted to wear it myself.

Now I understand why.

The lipstick was never really the issue.

It was the memory attached to it.

One of the biggest misconceptions about healing is that people think you'll eventually forget.

Many of us don't.

Instead, we learn to understand ourselves better.

We learn that certain reactions aren't irrational or dramatic.

They're the result of a brain that did exactly what it had to do to survive.

Understanding that has helped me replace shame with compassion.

If you're reading this and you have your own version of "red lipstick," I hope you'll know you're not strange.

You're not weak.

And you're certainly not alone.

Sometimes trauma doesn't announce itself with nightmares or panic attacks.

Sometimes trauma looks like avoiding a song.

Or a street.

Or a holiday.

Or a color.

Or a tube of red lipstick.

Healing isn't always about reclaiming every single thing trauma took from you.

Sometimes healing is simply recognizing why something still hurts... understanding where that pain comes from... and offering yourself the same kindness you'd offer someone else.