Childhood Trauma Memory Loss: Why I Can't Remember My Abuse (And Why That's Okay)
What if your memories were fragmented?
What if the abuse you endured was so severe that your mind packed it away, deep into the recesses of your consciousness, locked behind a steel door you can't fully open?
What if you only remember bits and pieces - flashes of images, sensations, emotions - but never the complete picture?
I know what this feels like because I live it.
When I try to peek into the space where my childhood trauma lives, I can see dark images. I can see myself as a young child. I can see her crying. Screaming. I can feel her sadness. Her doubts. Her fear. Her uncertainty with the world.
And then - like a vault slamming shut - the steel door closes. I can no longer access these memories. I cannot reach in and comfort the little girl I was and tell her it's going to be okay.
I don't even know fully what I'm protecting her from, because I cannot see the memories clearly before the door closes again.
The Search for What's Hidden
For years, I've tried to unlock these memories. I've done everything I could think of to access what's behind that steel door:
Ayahuasca retreats. Sitting in ceremony, asking the plant medicine to show me what I cannot see.
Hypnosis sessions. Deep trances where I tried to bypass the protector part of myself.
Chakra work and energy healing. Attempting to release what's stored in my body.
Past life regressions. Trying to understand why I would choose this life, this pain, this experience.
Summoning my ancestors and spirit guides. Asking them to help me remember.
Reconnecting with my mother's spirit after her death, seeking understanding and answers.
Inner child work. Trying to build a bridge to the little girl locked behind the door.
Still, only a few memories unlock at a time. Piece by piece. The same reel replays over and over again in my head. Never getting past a certain point. Never getting past the steel door.
The Truth About Protection
Here's what I've come to understand: There was a part of me that didn't want to go as deep. I didn't want to face the whole truth.
My body, in her infinite wisdom, has been protecting me. The fragmented memories, the locked vault, the steel door - these aren't failures of my healing journey. They're evidence of my mind's incredible capacity to keep me safe from something too violent, too impossible to fully process all at once.
Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.
Maybe I'm not meant to remember everything right now. Maybe the body knows what the mind cannot handle. Maybe the protector part of myself is still doing her job - shielding me from a lived reality that was too much for a small child to bear.
The older I get, the more I want to reach in and help that little girl who is screaming back at me. I want to remember and see what she sees.
But even though I can't fully access those memories, I can still love her. I can still honor her.
What I Tell Her Now
Each day, I speak to the little girl behind the steel door:
"I am proud of you."
I tell my body: "I am proud of you, too."
For your resilience. For your strength. For being strong when no one around you showed you grace or honored you. For enduring so that one day you could tell your story and help others navigate out of the darkness.
For surviving something so profound that I still don't fully understand. That I may never fully remember.
And that's okay.
Because healing doesn't require perfect memory, healing doesn't demand that you unlock every vault or open every steel door. Sometimes healing looks like honoring what your body is protecting you from, even if you can't see it clearly.
Gathering the Pieces
Even if I cannot clearly see all the pieces of my trauma, they are still there to be gathered up, nurtured, and reintegrated.
I am here to help other women do the same - to reclaim the fragments, nurture them, hold them gently, and remember themselves underneath it all.
Underneath trauma so profound that we don't fully understand.
Underneath memories we cannot access.
Underneath the steel door that won't fully open.
You are still whole. Even fragmented, you are complete.
You're Not Alone in This
If you're navigating fragmented memories, if you've tried everything to access what feels locked away, if you're frustrated that the healing isn't linear or complete - please know you're not alone.
Your body's protection isn't a failure. The steel door isn't evidence that you're broken or not trying hard enough.
It's evidence that you survived something that required extreme measures to keep you safe.
The Medicine I've Created From This Journey
Even though I cannot fully access all my memories, I've learned ways to connect with and heal the fragmented pieces of myself. Ways to speak to the little girl behind the steel door. Ways to honor what my body carries, even when my mind cannot remember.
I've created guided meditations specifically for inner child healing - meditations that help you connect with the younger versions of yourself who are still waiting to be seen, heard, and loved. You can find these on Insight Timer, where I hold space for women navigating this exact journey.
I also work with the buffalo drum for chakra healing - using the ancient, tribal rhythm to help release what's stored in your body, even when you cannot access it through memory. The drum speaks to places words cannot reach. It vibrates through the steel door and touches the little girl on the other side. Click here to explore these free resources on Insight Timer.
These practices don't force you to remember. They simply create space for whatever wants to come through - and they honor what needs to stay protected.
In the Soft Hearts Society™, we hold space for exactly this - the messy, non-linear, fragmented reality of healing from childhood trauma and abuse. We don't expect you to remember everything or have it all figured out. We don't push you to open doors your body isn't ready to unlock.
We simply hold you while you gather the pieces you can see. While you love the little girl behind the door, even if you can't fully reach her yet. While you honor your body's wisdom in protecting you.
You'll find:
Weekly livestreams where we process trauma without toxic positivity or pressure to "heal faster."
Sacred space to witness and be witnessed in your fragmented journey
Rituals for honoring what you cannot remember but still carry
A sisterhood that understands the steel door and doesn't ask you to force it open
My full medicine - Reiki, sound healing, ancestral work, somatic practices
You don't need a perfect memory to deserve healing. You don't need to unlock every door to be worthy of love and support.
Come sit with us. Let us hold space for all the pieces - the ones you can see and the ones still hidden behind the steel door.
With love and softness,
Allonia
