04/30/2026
Returning to the Hospital
I did something that required every tool, every skill, and every bit of courage I’ve been building. After group, I rested, and then my friend L came over. We talked for a while, and I realized I felt strong enough to visit my friend J in the ICU after his heart surgery. This meant going back to the hospital where so much of my trauma lives — a place my body still reacts to instantly.
When we arrived at the main entrance, I froze. Panic hit fast and hard. I cried. L stayed beside me and offered her hand, and the moment I took it, I felt myself come back into my body. That grounding let me take the next step.
Inside the foyer, everything in me was firing at once — fight, flight, and freeze. I paused and used the tools I’ve practiced: breathing, humming, orienting to the environment, putting my thoughts on trial, and letting Linda distract and support me. We moved slowly, letting my system adjust instead of forcing it.
Walking down the hall, I noticed how much had changed since I was last there. The hallway felt long and dizzying, so we stopped again. I leaned against the wall and reminded my body that I was safe.
When we reached J’s ICU room, we sat quietly until I felt settled enough to open my eyes. Seeing him sitting up, looking strong, made me cry with relief. We talked for an hour. My symptoms stayed active — tremors, rocking, stuttering, nausea — but I stayed present. I stayed in the room. I stayed with him.
When we left, something in me wanted to go further. I asked to walk to the OR doors. L held my hand the whole way. I squeezed hard, and she squeezed back. Hearing the names of people I love — N and K— gave me the push I needed.
Inside the OR area, I saw them both. The shock, joy, and love on their faces hit me deeply. We hugged, we talked, and for a moment I felt like I had stepped back into a part of my life I’ve been grieving. My body eventually started to shut down, and I knew it was time to go.
Walking out of the hospital, hand in hand with someone safe, I felt relief wash over me. My system finally began to calm.
And then something important became clear:
I am not ready to work in a hospital environment yet.
Not emotionally, not neurologically, not physically. Being there showed me how much activation still lives in my body, how quickly my system overloads, and how much support I still need to stay regulated in that setting.
This wasn’t discouraging — it was honest. It helped me see the gap between where I am and where I want to be. I realized I have a long road ahead before I can function safely and sustainably in the hospital I love. There is still a lot of work to do: rebuilding tolerance, practicing exposure in small steps, strengthening my regulation skills, and continuing trauma work.
But this day also showed me something equally true:
I can face the places that hurt me without abandoning myself.
I can use my tools. I can honor my limits. I can let safe people support me. I didn’t erase the fear — I walked with it. And that is real progress.
