what is your 'school bus'?

Something happened a couple months ago that I never told anyone about—not because I was hiding it, but because it felt personal, but also only impactful to me. The more time passes, though, the more I feel called to share it.

As a middle schooler, my son Kaleb had the opportunity to participate in something called Outdoor Education with his school. Outdoor Ed is just what it sounds like—school outside.

Kind of.

The middle school loads up with teachers and chaperones and heads out to a campsite where they spend several days learning about God’s great creation.

They do get to sleep in cabins, but this trip still really isn’t my thing.

I’ll take a homework pass on photographing bugs, watching for snakes, learning to tie knots, axe-throwing, and getting bit by unidentified Texas insects.

But you know who does love this kind of thing?

My husband. No homework pass needed for him. And actually from the sounds of it, he could teach some of the classes out there.

But as fun as it is to talk about Outdoor Ed, that’s not actually why I’m writing this.

This is more about me.

So, raise your hand if you knew I’m an alum of the school Kaleb attends now.

If you didn’t raise your hand, it’s true. I went to that very school from Pre-K through 8th grade. And ironically, it's also where I teach currently.

Now, raise your hand if you knew that when I was in 5th grade at that same school, I was in a school bus accident that resulted in the loss of my right arm.

If you didn’t raise your hand, well… that’s true, too.

The 5th and 6th grade classes were involved in a traumatic school bus accident. It changed my life in a matter of seconds. That was over 31 years ago.(31 years, 8 months, and 6 days ago to be exact—thanks, ChatGPT. It likes to be precise.)

ANYHOW. Back to the story about Outdoor Ed & me.

Kaleb and Russell were all packed up, ready to embrace Texas humidity and make s’mores with mosquitoes. The middle schoolers and adults gathered in front of the school, joined in prayer, and began loading up the buses. I stood there smiling as I watched them toss their trash bag luggage into the seats.

What an amazing opportunity for these kids I thought, to step out of the classroom, into nature, and make memories they’ll carry for life.

I had “love tears,” as Kaleb would say, for the prayers Jesus had answered in our lives, especially the one where we prayed for a dad and husband for all those years. What a beautiful moment: a father and son heading off on a trip like this together.

I stood there watching the bus pull away with peace and joy in my heart. I could see the kids through the windows, already laughing and being their carefree, God-designed selves. My heart was full.

I went about my day teaching and checking my phone for updates from my boys. Eventually, Russell sent a message about how humid it was and how many boys were bunked in their cabin. Ha! But it wasn’t until that evening—home alone, soaking up the silence—that I realized what had happened.

Or more accurately… what didn’t happen.

That morning, when I watched that yellow school bus pull away carrying my son, and all his trashbag …luggage, I didn’t freak out. I didn’t panic. I didn’t spiral. I didn’t flash back.

I smiled—with love tears.

So this is why I hadn’t shared the story until now. Because I assume people would think, “Okay…good for you? What’s the big deal?”

Here’s the big deal: When you’ve experienced deep trauma, trauma you remember second by second, your brain has this way of carrying it with you.

Everywhere. Everyday. And there are so many moments that can act as triggers - small ones, big ones, random ones, that send your body into fight-or-flight mode. Even if no one can see it happening, your heart races. Your mind spirals. Your memory whispers, “Hey...remember what happened last time?” And just like that, you’re back in the moment you’ve worked so hard to move forward from.

Over the years I have become a professional at masking the anxiety....and I mean dealing with it's impact as well. But there are times you don't see it coming, and you have to keep moving with your day.

The significance of this moment wasn’t me allowing Kaleb to ride a school bus, because this wasn’t his first time. It was that this was MY first time to watch him leave on a school bus without the feeling something terrible was going to happen, or in the least, I needed to follow the bus until I saw with my own two eyes, he was safe.

The other eye opener for me was that it never even crossed my mind to spiral. Like at all. I went about my entire day without the weight of worry on my shoulders. Without the low-key panic of all the what-if’s. Without my brain automatically triggering my memory and shouting – HEY SAMANTHA, terrible things happen on a school bus!

Not even a glimpse.

I didn’t picture the worst-case scenario. I didn’t feel the weight of panic pressing on my chest. I didn’t feel the sweaty palms.

I felt peace. And joy! Actual joy seeing my guys embark on something I knew would be great for the.

And that, after 31 years, 8 months, and 6 days, is a healing I didn’t even know I was waiting on.

I didn’t share this story right away because I wasn’t sure anyone else would see it as a big deal. But for me, it was everything. So, in that case, it's worth dusting off the old blog and documenting a milestone in my healing.

I don't want to romanticize the process of healing, though. It was and is the result of hours upon hours of EMDR therapy and counseling—the deep, hard work of untangling trauma that was pressed deep into my everyday life. It was Jesus meeting me in those sessions, sitting beside me while my mind revealed scary memories, And it was Jesus who continued to walk with me, outside of the counselors office, reminding me I was safe in His arms, always.

That evening, when it had dawned on me that I didn't panic, I realized, this isn't just what healing looks like, this is what restoration feels like.

Did it come with fireworks? Not really. Did it come in a shiny box you could physically see? No.

It came as peace where there used to be spiraling. It came as joy, where there used to be sorrow. It came with a silence where there used to be whispers of panic.

Healing doesn’t always announce itself. Actually, it will probably never announce itself. You'll just know it's there. In the times you least expect it.

So, ultimately, I share this for the person who wonders if healing is still possible, even decades later.

For the mom who has to override fear just to say yes.

For the girl inside me who never thought she'd watch a school bus drive away and smile.

God is still mending things. Constantly.

That's the thing about Him. He never gives up on us. He wants our ashes to be turned to beauty. He wants us to be restored in Him.

Keep going, you. You too, can smile at your school bus.