We Do Therapy: What Do We Do With Memories?

Therapy Lesson #9: Reframing old Memories and Making New Ones

In the introductory posts to this weekly, We Do Therapy series (available to paid subscribers). Scott and I shared both the struggles and triumphs of two young adults who believed they had found someone who would care for them. Our intent in the initial posts and this series of Therapy Lessons is not to offer marriage advice. We are not licensed therapists. We are survivors who hope that what we share about our journey together will help others to be curious about how trauma might be impacting their marriage. Hopefully, far sooner than we did! (Please read the statement at the end of this post.)

couple with baggage covered in travel stickers

Therapy Lesson #9: Reframing old Memories and Making New Ones

Scott and I were wandering down memory lane when we realized we were lost.

“Where did we live when that happened?” I asked.

This is the standard way that we remember the narrative of our marriage. Without the 30 moves of my life, my own memories would be in a hopeless tangle. Scott lived in the same house from when he was five until shortly before we married. It is harder for him.

A few years ago, we realized that there was a period of time during our marriage that neither of us could coherently track. It honestly felt like maybe a good third of our marriage, but when we sat down and unwound the jumbled memories, we realized they all occurred in a one-year timespan.

It was a truly awful year and the memories had seeped outward to overtake many other years that were actually quite normal. This is pretty common for those who have experienced trauma. Our minds naturally focus on the traumatic memories and many good memories simply get lost. If you aren’t aware of it happening, you can find yourself saying, “My entire life sucked.” It is possible, but not likely.

When Scott and I began to understand all the maladaptive ways we had survived together, it overwhelmed us and made us forget that for the most part, we had been functional spouses and parents. We were certainly impacted by our trauma and would have done many things differently if we had understood and been able to heal, but there was so much we did right. There were many years filled with good memories.

Healing together meant we had an opportunity to reclaim the goodness of our marriage. One way we did that was to create this family wall when we moved into the cottage. Even though there are some hidden painful memories connected to some of the pictures—which we acknowledged while putting together the collage—the wall as a whole reminds us that it has been a good life.

This wall was a triumph in many ways. Accomplishing it without too much strife was one of those ways. The Colorado license plate—who puts a license plate on a wall?—is symbolic of our journey of healing which began in Colorado Springs. The thing about the wall is that it can adapt as new memories are added.