06/12/2026
I have been looking through photos today for my twins’ graduation party. It has made me feel quite contemplative.
As I look at them, I keep thinking about how each photo captures such a small segment of a much larger life.
One picture might seem small by itself. But when I put them together, my trauma therapist brain sees something much bigger.
I see networks of memory and meaning represented in those images:
Reading together.
Baking.
Doing projects.
Creating art.
Learning new skills.
Birthday parties.
Playing board games.
Competing in sports and losing.
Competing and winning.
Holidays with family.
Roughhousing with friends.
Fishing with grandparents.
Sleepovers.
Movie nights.
Pizza nights.
Costume parties.
Riding bikes and scooters.
Swimming in the pool.
Going on adventures.
Camping.
Catching lightning bugs.
Petting kittens.
Being known, enjoyed, taught, helped, celebrated, and loved.
And I find myself thinking about how every person carries an internal photo album.
Some pages are filled with connection, safety, play, learning, and love.
Some pages feel blank — places where support, attunement, protection, or delight might have been needed, but were missing.
And some pages hold painful images: moments of fear, rejection, confusion, abandonment, humiliation, violence, or grief.
In trauma work, we often talk about negative core beliefs and unprocessed distress. These are not simply “bad thoughts.” They are often deeply stored meanings connected to experiences that were never fully processed or integrated with later learning.
Our brains are designed to make meaning. Again and again, our nervous systems organize experience around questions like:
What does this say about me?
Am I safe?
Do I matter?
Can I trust?
Am I loved?
Is there room for me here?
Over time, our experiences — and sometimes our missing experiences — become part of the filter through which we see ourselves, others, and the world.
Of course, none of this is black and white.
Most people carry a mixture of things: beautiful memories, painful memories, missing pieces, adaptive resources, tender places, and deep resilience.
Looking at photos and thinking about memory in this light increases my compassion for human beings.
It reminds me to be patient when I am surprised by people’s behaviors.
Because without looking through someone’s internal photo album, it is hard to know what is there, what is not there, and what is still developing.
And the hopeful part is this: our internal photo albums are not finished.
As adults, we can still create new memories. We can still have new experiences of safety, connection, play, courage, belonging, and repair. We can still participate in shaping the networks our brains are building now.
The past matters BUT the story is still being written.
