I Almost Forgot
Sometimes we need each other to remember who we are.
It’s okay to read, but don't forget to listen… between the lines.
Have you heard the latest? I almost forgot. It's about forgetting… but as I say that, I remember a lot of things I thought I had forgotten.
I hate to say it… but forgetting is not always what it’s cracked up to be. Some think of it as something we’re born with that makes your brain different. Others say it's a sign of old age, and that it’s the beginning of the end—sadly for some… one day not even remembering the person they see in the mirror.
When I think about forgetting, the first thing that comes to my mind is trauma, not just the big T kind that’s hard to forget, but the relational kind, where the things that typically help us remember didn’t happen as much as we needed.
I tend to talk about the latter quite a bit. It’s what the light of invisibility is all about.
Yeah, it‘s like we learn to survive but it’s at the expense of our Core Self… and having access to it. Don‘t worry, it’s still intact, but we don’t remember a lot of the little things that make us feel loved. Then the things that happen or don’t happen… leave us feeling alone and abandoned.
And the aloneness can be unbearable… to say the least.
That’s pretty heavy… and we might even remember a brother or a sister, or some unnamed person we never really knew. For me, it was my older brother, Ken. Sometimes I would wonder whether he was the real one, as he could treat me so lovingly one moment… and then, be so cruel the next.
Sometimes I would call him the “Fake Kenny”… my way of protecting myself from being hurt by someone I didn't want him to be. I guess we were both being fake in our own way to stop the pain.
When I became a father, the story changed to a scary one like you might hear at camp by your counselor around a campfire—or even on Halloween. It was about my long-lost brother, Jerry, who was shipped off to a special institution for the criminally insane—the worst of the worst.
The story always ends with Jerry chasing me, and when he finally catches me, I look at him in the eyes… and feel the pain inside—my own and his. Just when I think I’m done for, he reaches out and touches my heart… smiling and saying, “Tag, you‘re it.”
As you see, this story held a lot of the fear and love I didn't know how to talk about back then. Fortunately, I learned what that story meant and try to teach others about dealing with fear in a family where you don't feel heard… even when you scream for help.
Is there any wonder why some of us have a hard time remembering the little things that make us feel loved? I call it trauma brain, and truth be told… backed by tons of research, it doesn’t have to be a permanent condition.
Nowadays, my wife and I spend a lot of our time helping people see the little things and why they’re important—not just to others but to ourselves. We both do that a little different.
When I realized she was the real deal, I knew I could trust her. She was a keeper... and I was hers.
If you’ve hung out with me a while, you might have a sense of my particular style. If not, just slow things down a bit… and go inside. Ask yourself what you’re noticing within and between that helps you feel loved and alive… your own keeper—the healing power inside yourself. It’s just another way I think about the Core Self.
After you do that a while with someone who sees you, you start to develop a new internal working model. I don't actually think it’s new. It’s just remembering who you’ve always been… having access to your Core Self.
You could say, you start to remember things that are important to remember. I just say, “It’s in the bag.”
If you’re curious about what my wife does, that’s her thing. She doesn’t teach school anymore, truly a gift to so many over the years. But she makes things—her “little projects”—that help us remember. It’s really pretty amazing. Once you feel it, you never forget. Thank God my mom could feel her love in the end.
One of the things she creates is a special bag of a wonderful fabric to hold the gifts we give—the outside matching the treasures inside... just like all of us.
The person doesn't just receive the gift that was chosen just for them, but now has a bag to keep them in—all the gifts we receive that remind us of who we are… and that we can give, too.
Some of us like to fill these bags with things we don’t want to lose, or give them to those we hold close to our hearts… with more treasures for them to discover inside and out. They’re just little things, but they’re the glue that helps us remember.
… Or never forget what we mean to ourselves and others. That’s the biggest gift of all. Yeah… and I hope you don’t forget that, even if there comes a time when I do.
That’s Nana’s gift that now becomes our own—definitely worth remembering. Hard to forget. It sticks to your heart in a good way.
Take a moment to remember what’s in your bag, and imagine sharing it with someone you love… or you think needs some, too.
This is my 100th piece. I guess you could say, “It’s in the bag… along with the ones that came before it. “Wow, pretty good for a little kid… Just getting started.
And no one can ever take that away, especially if you know what that is, and you feel assured someone else does too.
I almost forgot… there’s still time for you… and for all of us. Sometimes we need to remind each other in our own special way, along with the little ones inside… just to make it real.
Take a moment and look at yourself in the mirror… and notice what you see.
Tag, you’re it… “We only got a hundred years to live.”
Sorry if I didn’t include one of your songs here. But this one’s for all of us—100 Years… beyond words.
Happy Birthday… I almost forgot. There’s still time for me—and you.
Dedication: To all those on this journey of heart, moving from room to room, remembering themselves—and who we are together. Each of us remembering who we were always meant to be.
Gratitude: With appreciation for those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine in return.
Confidentiality note: This piece was inspired by someone close to my heart, but is a composite of many people I know—inside and outside of therapy. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? You’re welcome to reach me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close… or long to be closer to.
About me: Besides being a writer, Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model called Core Self Integration Therapy (CSIT)—grounded in our capacity for adaptive change—to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma. Some refer to it as Elephant Work—standing solidly in the healing power of accompaniment.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.
Stay tuned for more—as this living model continues to grow—with self-compassion leading the way around the world… and back home.