Happiness After Trauma

Beyond "Just Get Over It": Happiness After Trauma Isn't a Switch, It's a Path

Listen, I’m not proud of everything I did back in the day. I’ve got blood on my hands, and I’ve seen things that’d make a saint vomit. But here’s what I learned after 15 years clean, after watching kids in East LA who feel like they’re already dead walking into my youth center: happiness after trauma isn’t about flipping a switch. It’s about learning to walk again with a broken leg. And that “just get over it” crap? It’s not just wrong—it’s dangerous. It’s the same lie that got me locked up for five years, thinking I could just stop being angry, stop feeling like the world owed me something. Spoiler: I couldn’t. And neither can you.

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The Lie We All Hear (And Why It Hurts)

I remember this kid, Mateo, 16 years old, sitting in my office after his mom got deported. He’d been quiet for weeks, then just blurted out, "I’m not supposed to feel sad, right? My abuela says 'just be strong'." His eyes were hollow. That’s the lie in action. "Just be strong." "Just be happy." As if trauma is a bad habit you can quit like smoking. As if your pain is a choice.

I’ve heard it from well-meaning pastors, from teachers, from my own family after my brother got shot. "Francisco, you gotta move on. It’s been two years." Move on? My brother was dead. My body still jumped at sirens for three years. My nervous system was wired for war. Trying to "move on" felt like trying to run a marathon with a shattered ankle. It wasn’t weakness—it was biology. Trauma doesn’t just happen to you. It changes you. It rewires your brain, your heart, the way you see the world. And demanding you "just be happy" after that? It’s like asking a burn victim to ignore the pain while you scrub the scars off their skin.

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Why "Getting Over It" Is a Trap (My Story, Not a Theory)

Let me be real with you. When I was 19, I got jumped by a rival gang. They left me bleeding in an alley, my ribs cracked. The next day, my old man—my own father—said, "You need to stop crying. Be a man. Get over it." I tried. I tried to be the tough guy I thought he wanted. I started a fight at a party, got arrested, and spent six months in county. Why? Because I thought happiness meant not feeling the pain. I thought strength meant erasing the trauma. I was wrong. So wrong.

Trauma isn’t a sadness you can "get over." It’s a scar that changes how you feel the sun on your face. It’s the way your heart races when a car backfires. It’s the way you flinch when someone raises their voice. And pretending it’s not there? That’s how you end up back in the streets, chasing a feeling that’s never going to come. I know. I’ve been there. I’ve lived it.

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Building Well-Being Alongside the Pain (Not Replacing It)

So what does work? It’s not about "getting over it." It’s about building something new with the pain. Like when I was teaching at that community center, I had a girl named Sofia. Her dad was in prison, her mom was addicted. She’d say, "I’m not happy. I’m just… here." And I’d say, "Yeah. You’re here. And that’s enough for today." We didn’t try to erase her pain. We built around it.

Here’s how it works, step by step:

1. Acknowledge the wound, don’t erase it.

  Don’t say: "You’re so strong for getting over that."  
  Say instead: "That was awful. I’m sorry you had to carry that."  
  Why it works: It validates the pain, not the person. Sofia started trusting me when I stopped saying "You’ll be fine" and started saying "I see how hard this is."

2. Find tiny moments of not pain.

  Not "happiness," just not pain. Like when Sofia finally laughed at a joke I made. Or when I sat with Mateo and just listened while he cried about his mom. That’s not "happiness." It’s relief. And relief is the first step toward building something new.

3. Build a "well-being toolkit."

  Not a magic fix. Just small things you can do when the pain hits:  
  - Breathe: 4 seconds in, 6 seconds out. (I do this when I smell gunpowder now—old habit, but it works.)  
  - Name one thing that’s not broken: "My coffee is hot." "The sun is out."  
  - Reach out: Text one person who doesn’t ask you to "be happy." (I text my wife when I’m struggling. She just says, "I’m here.")

This isn’t about being "positive." It’s about surviving the pain, then building something on top of it. Like how I started my youth program after I got clean. The pain of my past didn’t disappear. But I built something with it.

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The Stoic Wisdom, Made Street-Smart

I used to think Stoicism was just "be tough." Then I read Marcus Aurelius: "You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength." That’s not about ignoring pain. It’s about not letting pain control your choices. Like when I was in the gang, I thought my pain made me violent. But Stoicism taught me: My pain doesn’t get to decide how I act. I could choose to walk away from a fight, even when my body screamed to fight back. That’s not "being happy." It’s choosing to not let trauma own you.

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Common Mistakes That Make It Worse

I see these all the time in my work. And they’re not just "bad advice"—they’re harmful:

- "Just focus on the good!"

 Why it’s bad: It invalidates the pain. If you’ve been abused, saying "Focus on the good!" feels like saying "Your pain doesn’t matter."  
 What to do instead: "This is hard. I see you carrying it. What’s one small thing you can do today to feel safe?" (Like Sofia’s coffee moment.)

- "You’re lucky you’re alive!"

 Why it’s bad: It turns your pain into a competition. "Oh, you had a hard time? I lost a parent!"  
 What to do instead: "I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m here."

- "Healing takes time!" (Said like it’s a gift)

 Why it’s bad: It makes people feel guilty for not healing fast enough.  
 What to do instead: "Healing isn’t a race. It’s a path. Let’s walk it together, one step at a time."

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The Real Goal: Living Well, Not "Being Happy"

This isn’t about becoming a happy person. It’s about becoming a human person. Someone who can sit with pain without being destroyed by it. Someone who can find peace in a quiet moment, connection in a hug, meaning in helping someone else.

I’ve got three kids now. My oldest, Sofia (yes, that Sofia), just got her first job at a bookstore. She told me, "Dad, I’m not 'happy,' but I’m okay." And that’s it. That’s the goal. Not "happy," but okay. Not "over it," but living with it.

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You’re Not Too Far Gone (Because I Was There)

I’ve been where you’re at. I’ve sat in that dark place, thinking I was too broken to ever feel light again. I’ve heard the "just get over it" lies. I’ve believed them. But here’s the truth: You’re not too far gone. You’re not broken. You’re human. And humanity isn’t about being perfect. It’s about choosing to keep going, even when the pain is loud.

So when someone says "Just be happy," don’t believe them. And when you feel that urge to say it to someone else? Pause. Ask yourself: "What’s this person really carrying?" Then say: "I see you. I’m here."

Because happiness after trauma isn’t about flipping a switch. It’s about building a new path, one step at a time. And I’ve walked that path. I’m still walking it. And so are you.

— Francisco Meyer, walking a different path