Glitter in the Corners

When the light hit just right, I could see it.
A piece of silver glitter on the corner of my right eye.
A stowaway from making decorations with my students for their winter party.

Despite numerous showers and exfoliating my face repeatedly, that piece of silver glitter hung around for weeks. 
I would think it was gone and then I would catch it shimmer.
I would find pieces of glitter in my purse or on my clothes months later.
I remember at the time thinking it was doing what glitter does—lingering.
Refusing to leave, long after the party was over. 

At some point though, it stopped being a funny joke and started being a nuisance. 

Every single time I cleaned my classroom, I would find glitter in the corners. 
Stuck to the floors.
Wedged into the carpet fibers.
Like a shiny reminder that fun existed here once.
That it ended.

Life might have moved on, but the glitter was still there.
Still shouting, “We made something beautiful here.”

It was like the glitter refused to fade. To become just a memory.
Maybe it was afraid the joy it created would be forgotten.
Or that we wouldn’t be ready for our next project without it. 

So it stubbornly stayed around. 
Making its presence known when I least expected it. 

My friends and family started to make comments about the glitter.
Haven’t you gotten rid of that yet?!?! 
Why are you still cleaning glitter up? It was months ago!
Have you tried using tape?
How big of a mess did you let your students make?

Their judgment was annoying.
So was their blame.
It didn’t make anything better.
It didn’t make the glitter go away.
It just made me feel like a failure.
Like I did something wrong.

It took me years to realize trauma behaves a lot like glitter. 

It settles in places I didn’t expect.
It clings.
It shimmers when the light hits it.
And even after I’ve scrubbed everything down in therapy—
I still find it in the corners.

Trauma got tucked into the recesses of my mind. 
Sometimes messing with my thoughts.
My beliefs. 
My view of the world.

The trauma didn’t go away when I faced what hurt me.
Not really.

It hid in other things.
Like my anxieties.
The ways I self-sabotage.
The masks I wear.
The armor I carry.
My negative self-talk. 
My people-pleasing.
My self-erasure.

All pieces of trauma’s glitter.

And just like the glitter in the classroom, trauma leaves little reminders of the pain.
As though it’s still shouting, “Someone hurt me.”

Trauma refuses to let go. To just be a memory.
Like I might forget the hurt. 
Or I won’t be ready to withstand future pain without it. 

So trauma sticks around.
Making itself known.
Sometimes in a predictable pattern.
Sometimes in a completely unexpected way.

Friends and family start to make comments. 
Aren’t you over that yet?!?! 
Why are you still going on about that? It happened years ago?
Have you tried not thinking about it as much?
How big of a mess did this person make exactly

They think they’re being helpful.
That their judgment is going to make a difference.
But it doesn’t make anything better.
It doesn’t make the trauma go away.
It just makes me feel like a failure.
Like I did something wrong.
And it makes me feel alone.

Trauma’s glitter doesn’t lie.
It doesn’t exaggerate the mess.
It just shimmers quietly, showing me the places where damage has been done.
The places I still need to repair.

And like glitter in a first grade classroom, my trauma will likely never disappear.
I will never be fully free of it. Fully clean.

But, unlike glitter, trauma doesn’t glimmer.
It doesn’t delight.
It doesn’t bring joy.
It doesn’t make me laugh when it shows up unexpectedly.

It’s weight, not wonder.
A residue I didn’t ask for.
A reminder I never wanted.

But if I let myself see it—
not as failure,
but as proof that something hurt…
then maybe I can stop scrubbing so hard.
Maybe I can stop trying to remove any trace of the pain.

Not to glorify the glitter or keep it as a souvenir of my struggle,
But to remember I survived it.
That I’m still here.
Still fighting for myself.

Maybe I can even leave the corners be.
Knowing some glitter will always remain.
Knowing it doesn’t have to be spotless to still be sacred.

So if you’ve still got glitter in your corners too, I just want you to know—
You’re not a mess.
You’re a masterpiece in the middle of mending.