The Connection Between Trauma, Healing, and Storytelling Through Art

Last night, like many nights before it, held a moment I didn’t expect — and couldn’t escape. Evenings can be especially hard for parents. At the end of a long day, when my body is heavy with fatigue and my mind is begging for quiet, my 11-year-old son is often still full of life — curious, playful, sometimes restless.

And I AM not always my best self in those moments.

Last night, as bedtime routines slowly unfolded, I lost my temper. I raised my voice. I wasn’t gentle.

And immediately afterward, I felt it — that wave of guilt. That deep ache that only comes when we hurt someone we love, even unintentionally.

I could feel that my son, too, is walking through a world of changes — adjusting to a life in a new country, carrying emotions he can’t yet name. We are both in transition, each in our own way, unraveling and becoming on so many tender, invisible levels.

Tears came quickly. My breath grew shallow. My chest ached with sadness.

In the silence that followed, old voices started to rise. Harsh inner critics, questioning my worth as a mother. Judging my patience, my presence, my choices. Reminding me of every moment I thought I had failed.

My son went to bed.But I stayed behind, wrapped in the softness of tears and the sharpness of shame.

The Mother and the Girl

Somewhere inside that pain, I found another part of me. A quieter voice. A younger one.

The little girl I once was — the one who also longed to be comforted, to be seen, to be forgiven. And I realized: last night, I wasn’t just a tired mother. I was also a hurting daughter. Layers of old narratives surfaced — childhood wounds, inherited beliefs, lonely memories. Judgments that had lived in me for a long.

Narratives of unworthiness, of not being "good enough".

These inner stories are not new. But when we’re vulnerable, they speak louder.

Eventually, sleep took me. But when I woke, I still carried that tender weight.

So I did the only thing that made sense in that moment: I made art.

What I Couldn't Say, I Painted

I hugged my son tightly.And then I turned to paint, paper, and silence.

I didn’t try to make anything “beautiful.” Instead, I let my fingers speak in dry pigments in working on already existing paintings and creating new ones. I let shapes, textures, and colors hold the things I couldn’t quite name: my fierce love, my fear, my laughter.

With every stroke, I softened. With every color, I exhaled. With every smudge, I began to return to myself.

I remembered something I always knew, but sometimes forget —there is a sacred connection between healing and art.

As explored in the paper “Storytelling and Complex Trauma Healing: The Power of Narrative in Recovery”, "Artistic storytelling can also provide a sense of distance and safety, as survivors can explore their trauma through characters, symbols, or metaphors. This allows them to engage with their trauma in a way that feels manageable and empowering, often leading to new insights and emotional breakthroughs." (Center for Trauma and Embodiment, 2025)

Creative expression allows us to approach our wounds with tenderness. Through metaphor, character, and color, we can explore pain in ways that feel safe — even empowering.

We don’t just tell our stories.We reshape them. We reclaim them. We transform them.

Not Perfect, Just Profoundly Human

What I’ve learned — through nights like these and the days that follow — is that healing is not linear. It spirals. It pauses. It revisits. But it asks something steady of us: consistency in self-expression.

To keep telling the truth. To keep showing up for our stories. To keep creating.

Even when we feel lost . Especially then.

Parenting, transition, trauma, joy — they all live side by side. And sometimes, the only way through is to soften. To create. To love — ourselves and others — not because we are perfect, but because we are profoundly human.

And that, truly, is enough.

References:

Center for Trauma and Embodiment (2025) Storytelling and Complex Trauma Healing: The Power of Narrative in Recovery. Available at: https://www.healwithcfte.org/blog/storytelling-and-healing (Accessed: 3 June 2025)