Picking Up The Pieces
by Teresia Smith
There’s a quiet frustration that comes with a stubborn puzzle piece. You know, the one that almost fits but you know it’s not in the right place. You turn it once, maybe twice, convince yourself the colors line up just enough, and then press it into place anyway. Sometimes you force it. Sometimes, in a moment of impatience, you even imagine shaving down the edges just to make it belong where it clearly does not.
It’s a small act. Harmless. Until you realize how often we do the same thing with parts of our lives that are anything but small.
For many survivors of sexual violence, the instinct to “make it fit” can become a way of coping. Trauma rarely arrives in neat, easily interlocking shapes.
It is jagged, disorienting, and really hard to make sense of.
Yet the world around us, our friends, workplaces, even our own expectations, quietly pressures you to have it all figured out with advice such as be okay., put it behind you and move forward, make sense of it.
So, some survivors try, without acknowledging the pain, confusion, and emotions.
When this happens, survivors squeeze their experience into stories that feel more acceptable or easier to carry.
They minimize what happened, convincing themselves it “wasn’t that bad.”
They shift blame inward, reshaping the story so it aligns with a sense of control:
If it was my fault, then maybe I can prevent it next time.
Others carve away at their own emotional responses such as numbing their anger, muting their fear, and silencing their grief, until what remains feels manageable, even if it is no longer whole.
Like shaving down the edges of a puzzle piece, these adjustments can create the illusion of completion.
From the outside, everything appears to fit. Life goes on. The picture looks intact. But inside, something has been altered.
The cost of forcing trauma into a shape it does not naturally take is often paid quietly, over time.
The pieces that were trimmed, their trust, self-worth, and their sense of safety, do not simply disappear.
They linger, unresolved, influencing how a person sees themselves and the world around them. And deep down, it never quite feels right, no matter how you try to hide it.
This is not a failure of survivors. It is a reflection of how poorly we, as a society, make room for messy truths.
We celebrate resilience, but often misunderstand what it requires. Real healing is less like forcing a puzzle together and more like sitting with the unfinished image, allowing the pieces to remain scattered until they can be placed without distortion.
Just like completing a puzzle takes time, healing does too. Healing is not quick.
It demands patience, support, and, above all, permission: permission to acknowledge the full weight of what happened without reshaping it to meet someone else’s comfort.
When we create environments where survivors do not feel pressured to “make it fit,” something important shifts.
The need to force, to shave the edges, or to distort the truth begins to loosen its grip.
In its place comes the possibility of assembling something honest. Not something perfect, not seamless, but something real.
And perhaps that is the better metaphor for healing.
Not a completed puzzle presented neatly on a table, but a work in progress.
Pieces examined carefully.
Edges left intact. Nothing forced and no edges shaved away. Just a picture emerging slowly, truthfully, in its own time.
If you are a survivor of assault, you don’t have to go thru it alone. Crisis Services of North Alabama offers you free and confidential services at our Jackson County office.
Call 256.574.5826 for an appointment today. You are not alone.
