Within a single year—between the ages of eight and nine—my entire world changed.
My parents split up.
My mom moved me out of province.
She gave away our family dog without warning me.
We were homeless for a week.
We moved again.
And my 19-year-old brother died by suicide.
Whoa, right?
Talk about trauma.
My little mind didn’t know what to do with all of that except hide—tuck it away somewhere far out of reach just to survive.
And that’s the thing about trauma and memory: it’s not random, and there is nothing “wrong” with you. It’s your brain trying to protect you.
When trauma hits, the brain can become overwhelmed or even less active in certain areas. Memories don’t always get stored properly. Instead, you’re left with gaps, blurry recollections, and timelines that don’t quite make sense.
Rather than storing full, clear memories, your brain holds onto pieces—threat, emotion, sensory details. Sounds. Smells. Feelings.
So you might remember how something felt… but not exactly what happened.
Or you might recall random details with no emotional context at all.
Trauma memories can show up as flashbacks, isolated images, or sudden emotional reactions that seem to come out of nowhere. Sometimes it looks like dissociation—mentally checking out. Sometimes it’s entire chunks of time that feel like they’ve just… disappeared.
It can feel like whole parts of your life are missing.
Why does the brain do this?
Protection.
It’s your mind saying, this is too much right now—I still need to function.
For me, it wasn’t until I started my sobriety and healing journey that I began remembering anything from before that year. Even now, I don’t remember much—but what I do remember tends to be the good moments. The normal-ish, fun childhood memories.
But even those come with a layer of something else.
A quiet heaviness.
Like there’s something underneath the surface that isn’t ready to be seen.
So I’ve learned to hold onto the good memories when they come. And when that eerie feeling starts to creep in, I let them go.
I’m not saying this is the “right” way. It’s just my way.
Right now, I choose to focus on the good, because that’s what helps me keep moving forward.
If you’re someone who struggles with missing memories, please know—you’re not broken. There’s a reason for it.
And you’re not alone in this.
Much love,
Wild Wings 🕊️
