The Day After
Sometimes the "day after" is when the truth appears—the pain, the tenderness, the light. May something open inside you as you read or listen to these words.
I'm not talking about a disaster movie—though sometimes it can feel like one.
I’m talking about the day after a small trauma—the kind most of us might not even call traumatic. It was just part of life, and we didn’t know any different.
Sometimes it’s not what happened—but what didn’t. That no one cared to notice.
And just because it happened often—in a flash—and we never knew how to talk about it, doesn’t mean it didn’t matter. To deny it is to deny who we are.
Our body remembers—even when we try to forget. We go from doctor to doctor to fix the pain. The medication may dull it, but it doesn’t help us understand—or to carry the wounded parts inside that hold it, who still think they live in the past.
And then one day you wake up—not usually the day after, but the day after something else has stirred an old ache inside.
It could even be the day after someone you know says something harshly or acts like they don’t care. Or it might be hearing someone on the news put down in a way you know they don’t deserve.
Even though you don’t know them, it still hurts... You can’t say anything—just like when you were growing up.
You might have sucked it up back then, but today it hits you harder—and you feel what you had to hide before.
Then, your heart beats fast, or a familiar pain rises in your body. You might even think about your beloved dog, or someone you’ve lost—someone who could truly see you and hold your heart. You feel alone. It feels unbearable.
It’s hard to hear—whether you’re a close friend or their therapist—or yourself. Either way, remember: the pain doesn’t go away by burying it. There are many layers—and a lot of pieces to this complicated puzzle.
Instead… welcome the pain. It’s actually part of the cure. By listening, by understanding, just by caring—you’re doing more than you know. Allow yourself to be present—side by side, no words needed.
Yeah, it’s a lot. Take a breath and slow it down.
You’re making space for the pain to finally be felt—and to move. Notice when it does—in yourself or the other—and hold the light steady in your heart, the light you see in theirs—who is guiding the little one home.
With tears in our eyes, we feel proud. Keep noticing your breath and remember—it’s the day after. The day after always comes. And somehow, so do we.
Life goes on—count your blessings. Look up to the stars. Tuck in the little ones, and let them know what you remember when you close your eyes at night.
I’m right here with you, as well as many others, who still live in our hearts. Feel the light of invisibility inside yourself—and the warmth. That’s your truth.
It's all in a good day’s work—a lifetime—always knowing that change is possible.
Whether you’re reading this or listening to me, soak in my light and find your own. You might try reading these words out loud to yourself. Or better yet, write some of your own. Let the light inside guide you.
As you look at the photo above, notice if you see or feel something different. Perhaps, the image of love that is always in your heart is clearer now as it shines in the light.
If it feels right, share what is happening inside with someone close to you who you feel would appreciate what you say. You’ll know it more, and they will too.
And encourage them to share themselves in a courageous way—so they can also feel their humanness.
That’s how we change and heal, no longer stuck in the past. Each ending becomes a new beginning, growing even stronger together.
It’s just the day after—and hopefully, every day.
Gratitude: In appreciation of those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Confidentiality note: Any resemblance to your own life is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.