Guest Post: The Trauma Egg

Guest Post: The Trauma Egg
by Kimberly Bryant

The Trauma Egg is Created

Years ago, I found myself in a crumpled heap on the floor in the hallway of my house, weeping as though all the wretchedness of the world lay at my feet in the form of a puddle of white latex paint. I scrubbed frantically and ineffectually as the paint soaked into the beige carpet, the nylon fibers greedily absorbing the goo. My kids waited nearby, helpless to console me, anxious to leave for school yet unable to coax me to my feet. Eventually, I gave up and left the ruined paint-soaked towel in a pink floral heap, taking my kids and myself to school; knowing that by the time I got home the paint would be a hardened shell about which I could do nothing. For years, I lived with that white paint stain on the floor in our hallway; our finances didn’t allow for replacing the carpet and it became mostly invisible. But never totally out of my mind.

The paint stain reminded me of a greasy mayonnaise stain in front of the refrigerator in my childhood home. Our kitchen was floored in hideous 1970s nylon kitchen carpet, a design trend that I find inexplicable. Who in their right mind conceived that raising a family would be better with carpet in the kitchen? At the tender age of nine, I dropped a full jar of mayonnaise while preparing a sandwich. It fell in slow motion to the floor, glass shattering into millions of shards while globs of the eggy, greasy condiment seeped into the gold and brown synthetic loops, the pungent smell filling the air in the tiny kitchen.


My father was not happy with me, this day became one of the rare ones when his temper found a ready target in me. Of course, I know now that there was much, much more going on in his world than a food stain. And he knew it was an honest accident. But he was, nonetheless, angry. That stain never did go away. Even when we had the house listed for sale, prospective buyers noted the giant dark circle standing sentinel before the refrigerator. The stain reminded me of my own careless klutziness, it reminded me of disappointing my dad, and it reminded me that our family was too poor to have the stain cleaned or the carpet replaced.

On the day the white paint ruined my hall carpet, I was that little girl again.

What is a Trauma Egg?

My trauma had once again chased me into adulthood, sniffing and snapping at my heels like a rabid dog who just refused to let go. My childhood trauma did that a lot (so did my husband’s), and it had made my marriage an uphill climb. In a period of particular strife and struggle in our relationship, my husband and I each attended, separately, retreats with counselors whose mission it was to find sources of dysfunction and shine light on them, enabling their clients to return to their homes equipped with a clearer understanding of their own trauma and the tools with which embark on the perilous journey to wellness.

The foundational exercise that was the crux of the weekend, the one that every bit of healing was meant to be drawn from, was the creation of a “trauma egg,” a visual metaphor for the birth of our brokenness. The preparation for the work began the night before when we were required to enter into silence. We awakened in rooms devoid of the usual chatter heard in a house full of women, our breakfast was eaten in a hush as we began to turn inward.

Trauma Egg

And then backward. In the hours-long exercise, the staff coaxed memories and snippets of conversations long forgotten as we sketched our lives in Crayola markers, discovering the seeds, roots, and nuclei of all the hurt we carried with us. Dust motes floated in the autumn sunshine that spilled through the windows, glowing like fairy dust settling on the trembling shoulders of the women who cried in turns. Sniffles, gasps, sobs, and sighs filled my ears as the souls around me bared their anguish in shared privacy. Our therapists’ philosophy was that by acknowledging all of the pains of the past, by drawing them forth out of shadow and into light, our understanding of ourselves would increase and our forgiveness for our own shortcomings would be enabled. This work is where resilience begins.

The mayonnaise incident belonged in that egg. It was the real source of my heartbreak when a can of paint ruined the carpet in the house I had tried so hard to make beautiful for my family after the ratty, dirty, poverty of my own childhood. The filth and chaos of my childhood home are why my spirit now requires order and cleanliness. My family, who loves me, now understands that and they try to honor my need.

Moving On

There are those who like to berate people for being “triggered,” who deride when someone responds to a current situation with all the hurt of a past one. What I know is that we must acknowledge those old hurts. I don’t mean we clutch them tightly and wear them on our sleeves, touching them like tender bruises over and over, inflicting our own pain and setting traps for others to hurt us, whether intentionally or not. But those hurts are part of who we are. All of us have them. Some of us have hurts where the trauma is genuinely significant.

For us to be truly resilient, we must bring those wounds out of the shadows, expose them to the light of truth, and cleanse them with love from our own selves and from those we trust to love us. Just as importantly, we must honor those wounds in others. Compassion for ourselves can only flourish in soil that is abundant with compassion for the hurts of others, even if they are wounds we don’t understand. I believe that healing is not a me-first-then-you proposition; it is a simultaneous process where my love and grace for others only serves to increase my love and grace for myself. Blessings upon us all.

dandelion 2

Helpful Links

If you’re interested in learning more about the trauma egg and its role in healing from trauma, here’s an organization that does this work. If you’re suffering from childhood trauma, I urge you to reach out. You don’t have to walk alone.

 Here’s a direct link to the original blog: 

About The Author:

My life has been a series of sure steps…and steps that were decidedly less so. I grew up in the suburbs of Dallas, Texas, known as the buckle of the “Bible Belt,” a metroplex known even now for the evangelical conservatism that coexists with rampant materialism and Texas snobbery. My mom was a Christian drug addict, so I carried lots of baggage into adulthood: toxic parenting skills, damaged spirituality, and Right-Wing Conservative values. 

But I was, deep down, an artist and a dreamer, an introvert with a tender and quiet heart. I married my Prince Charming and set about building a new family- one of my own making that mirrored everything I had ever seen on afternoon reruns of Leave It to Beaver and Bewitched – and it nearly worked. Except I had a temper and my husband had an addiction.

Through a successful, award-winning theatre teaching career, I managed to soothe my spirit, save my marriage, set my faith free, and sow seeds of life magic. I have raised three kids, earned a Master of Arts degree in Theatre from the University of Houston, lost the physical ability to speak, had surgery to regain it, and then rediscovered my voice and power as I turned that dreaded, hair-raising, spine-tingling age of fifty. 

Still in Texas, I now find myself in management for the largest Renaissance Festival in the country. I work among the creative. My days are filled with incense and art, attendance projection graphs and marketing campaigns.


Instagram: @peaceblossompathways

Twitter: @Kim Bryant 

Medium: @kimbobryant

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    24 thoughts on “Guest Post: The Trauma Egg

    1. OMG this is SUCH and amazing story! I wish this would have been around when I was doing outpatient therapy, but I am so glad I am seeing it now. I would love to use this article as a way to illustrate trauma for some of my clients. And, on a personal note, this helped normalize my own traumas. I have an experience from my early 20s that when I am triggered, takes days or weeks sometimes to return to the present and realize that its over, and that I don’t live there. At age 50, it still impacts me at times. Thanks for sharing this – it is wonderful.


      1. Thank you for your comment! Usually I leave responding to the author of my guest posts but since you mentioned trauma I wanted to let you know about my Trauma project here on this site. It’s called Diary of a Trauma Survivor and made up of several articles talking about trauma development and recovery. All using my personal story.


      2. Thank you so much for reading, mad props to you for hanging in there and returning to the present, even if it takes a while. It still happens to me too, thankfully with less frequency and less duration. I think one of the greatest things is realizing that you’re not alone, that others share similar experiences. It helps, somehow. I wish you all the best.


      1. Thank you for reading and replying- it’s a really cool tool! When I got back from the retreat, I folded it up and tucked it on a shelf in my closet, peeking out from behind shoe boxes, and when I saw that folded sheet of paper, I knew I had the strength and grace needed for the day. After a few years, I felt safe enough to throw it away.


    2. Thank you for sharing your story.
      It is amazing how much we suffer in life because of some event that happen…
      There is cure for everything we just have to look for it and be open.


      1. Thank you for reading! Yes, I don’t know if the egg is widely known. I kept mine for years, folded up in a corner, it gave me a lot of courage to know I had rooted deep and survived. Once I felt strong enough, I threw it away, it felt very much like a simple ceremony of letting go.


    3. Wow what a great story! Thank you so much for sharing something so personal to you. I had never heard of trauma egg before but it sounds like it is a really great resourcing when dealing with pain of that depth


    4. If trauma egg could lessen the aches and pains of a person’s traumatic life experience, then I’m all for it. Good read 🙂 – Dan “Jay” Reyes


    5. Beautiful, honest read. I love the author’s vulnerability and ownership of her past. We carry our past pains with us and, hopefully, move forward in spite of them. Thank you for sharing.


    6. Thank you for this post. I haven’t heard of the trauma egg technique before. I know that realizing and naming what haunts us is always
      a good way to free ourselves from it.


      1. Hi! This is beautiful! The whole process is both heartbreaking and satisfying. Remembering this story will help me understand others who are in the same situation. Thanks for this!


      2. Thank you for reading. You are so right, naming a thing is such a vital step in healing from it. Even if we only name it in our own spirits. I didn’t write about the next step in the process, we all shared our eggs. Ten women, describing each sketch. It took hours, it was soul-wringing work. But it was freeing, for sure.


      3. Thank you for reading. You are so right, naming a thing is such a vital step in healing from it. Even if we only name it in our own spirits. I didn’t write about the next step in the process, we all shared our eggs. Ten women, describing each sketch. It took hours, it was soul-wringing work. But it was freeing, for sure.


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