The Ghosts That Brush Past Us
How Old Wounds Whisper Through Our Everyday Life
There are days when I find myself reacting to something small…an offhand comment, a forgotten text, a certain look—and suddenly, I’m no longer in the present. I’m in a memory I didn’t know was still inflamed.
A wound I thought I’d moved on from rises quietly, unexpectedly.
Sometimes, they drift into our days quietly.
A certain tone of voice that reminds us of being dismissed.
The silence after asking for help.
The fear of being “too much,” or not quite enough.
Even joy can feel dangerous when we’ve learned that good things don’t last.
They show up in how we shrink ourselves to keep the peace.
How we reread a text three times, wondering if we said too much.
In that moment, we apologize for crying or for needing anything at all.
In how we brace for disappointment before it even arrives.
In our urge to control, perfect, or predict every outcome so we won’t be blindsided again.
They also show up in our bodies: tight shoulders, clenched jaws, stomachs that knot without warning.
Old wounds don’t just live in our memories—they live in our habits, our reflexes, our expectations.
These moments don’t mean we’re broken.
They mean we’re human.
They mean we’ve lived.
Wounds can become part of our nervous system’s language. We flinch, brace, or pull back, not because we’re dramatic or sensitive, but because our body remembers. Before our brain can reason with it, our heart has already skipped.
But what if we saw these flare-ups as invitations?
Not to rehash the past…
But to tend to the part of us that’s still carrying it.
When that ghost of rejection or abandonment passes by, what if we paused? Took a breath. Placed a hand on our heart. Whispered:
“I see you. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
Because healing doesn’t always look like never being triggered again.
Sometimes it looks like recognizing the pattern and choosing something softer.
It starts with noticing.
When you feel a disproportionate reaction rise up, ask yourself:
What is this really about?
Not to judge. Just to listen. To track the echo.
Sometimes it sounds like:
“I knew they’d leave.”
“They never really saw me.”
“I always mess things up.”
Old wounds often speak in absolutes.
Always. Never.
And when we hear those words in our head, it’s a clue we might be time-traveling.
To come back to the present, I’ve found it helps to come back to the body.
Press your feet into the floor.
Name five things you see.
Place a hand on your heart or belly.
Whisper: Here I am. Right now. This is different.
The more we learn to notice these inner echoes, the less power they have to shape our choices.
And the more we can respond with truth instead of reflex, with presence instead of protection.
Some wounds may never fully vanish.
But they can lose their sharp edges.
We learn to live alongside them, not in fear, but in understanding.
And in that, we begin to feel free.
Love today,
Heather 🌸