“It’s all right if you can’t remember. Our subconscious is spectacularly agile. Sometimes it knows when to take us away, as a kind of protection.” ~Kathleen Glasgow
On a bright summer afternoon, the sight of a children’s birthday celebration—balloons floating, families chatting in the shade, and toddlers laughing in Hawaiian skirts—brought an unexpected wave of grief. As the scene unfolded, a simple question arose: what were those childhood birthdays like? In that instant, memory went blank. The absence itself felt like a wall—evidence of dissociation often seen in childhood trauma, cPTSD, and repressed memories. Tears came quickly, not only for the lost recollections but for the child who learned to survive by forgetting.
This moment became a case study in how trauma recovery can unfold in everyday life. Rather than suppressing emotion, the choice was made to acknowledge pain as data—evidence of a nervous system doing its best to protect. This stance aligns with compassionate principles shared across dharmic traditions: ahimsa (non-violence) toward oneself in Jainism, mindful witnessing in Buddhism, bhakti-inspired self-acceptance in Hinduism, and the Sikh practice of remembrance and presence (simran). Together, these perspectives encourage patient, non-judgmental care for the inner world.
First, the pain was acknowledged. Instead of bypassing tears, the emotion was validated with gentle, inner-child language: the child self did not deserve harm, the grief made sense, and the feelings could be held with care. Research on trauma and memory supports this response; emotional validation lowers defensive activation and enables integration over time. In practical terms, this means allowing sadness and grief to move through the body without self-criticism.
Second, the body was soothed and regulated. Slow diaphragmatic breathing, soft self-touch along the arms, rubbing the palms together, and walking quietly helped reduce arousal and panic. Simple grounding techniques like these support nervous system regulation, complementing mindfulness practice from Buddhist traditions and yogic breathwork approaches. Gentle humming can also aid regulation for some people by encouraging vagal tone, though responses vary.
Third, attention returned to the present moment. Orientation to safety—naming what is good and secure now, noticing the support available, and consciously contrasting past and present—helped interrupt the pull of traumatic time. If current circumstances are not yet safe, the next wise step is to seek community support and create practical safety. Across Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism, the shared emphasis on awareness, compassion, and ethical care can guide this process of returning to presence.
Fourth, plans were made for the future to restore agency. Rather than dwelling on what was lost, intention shifted toward what can now be created: meaningful celebrations, photo-taking to anchor new memories, more rest, stronger social connection, or self-validation rituals that honor the inner child. It is never too late to provide the care that was missing. This forward orientation reframes memory loss from a deficit to an invitation for renewal.
Fifth, the experience was shared with a trusted person. In healthy relationships, co-regulation becomes possible: loved ones can offer space, a hug, practical help, and enthusiasm for building new, joyful memories. Sharing context also reduces misunderstandings when someone seems “off.” In communities shaped by dharmic values, mutual care and compassionate listening strengthen resilience and belonging.
These steps—acknowledge, regulate, return to the present, plan forward, and share—offer a simple framework for moments when repressed memories or dissociation surface. They do not force remembering; instead, they cultivate safety, agency, and compassion. In this way, even a painful trigger can become a turning point for healing. Through steady mindfulness, self-compassion, and community support, it becomes possible to fill the blanks with new, beautiful, and happy memories—written deliberately, here and now.
Inspired by this post on Tiny Buddha.
