A few weeks ago, something very hurtful was said to me. Recently, the person who hurled the words denied uttering them in the manner originally uttered. I didn’t bother to argue, but here’s the thing: trauma writes picture-perfect memories. They’re etched into the hippocampus with God-like precision, along with the minutiae surrounding the words: what I was wearing, the red light that was just about to turn green, where my hands were at on the steering wheel, the thin, sharp clouds piercing through the otherwise vibrant dusk. Those details, too, are committed to memory, to make sure the words are brought to life over and over and over again.
Keep that in mind, and choose your words with consideration.