ROSEANNE MALFUCCI
Healing From a Queer, Trauma-Informed Lens
As a queer, neurodivergent kid growing up in the 80s, I was pretty isolated. As a child I was sexually abused by multiple men, and experienced harm in other ways. The impact of abuse cast a shadow over all aspects of my life. I became a bystander to my own experience, plodding along and numbing myself to my pain. More than anything, I felt alone.
Young Ro Thought They Knew It All
Early in adulthood I learned about generational patterns of oppression and the impact of trauma on our nervous system. Understanding the depths of suffering all around us incensed me. I became an advocate, working in a non-profit working to reduce intimate partner and family violence. Activist work became a channel for my biggest feelings. I immersed myself in books, research, media and academic learning on power and oppression, consent and neuroscience. My brain was full of data and anecdotes that helped me understand the bigger picture, but it wasn’t moving me along in a psychic sense. I had so much grief from hearing stories beyond my lived experience. I had so much rage about my own history that my advocacy became an excuse to lecture. I was having lots of aggressive, one-way conversations that weren’t changing hearts or minds.
I was stuck.
Music Makes Me Lose Control
Music was my salvation, the safe place I could make alone in my room. As a teenager in 90s Brooklyn, club music was on the radio and I secretly nursed a passion for it amongst the outsider persona I tried to project; a thrift store-shopping disciple of grunge and britpop. I started collecting records and found comfort in the hunt; digging for hours every weekend in pursuit of a new sound that could break me open.
My love of music led me to communities of other weirdos and queer people of all stripes, finding each other and figuring out how to move through our pain. I learned to DJ and would end up spending over 5,000 hours in underground spaces throughout my 20s. At first, my anxiety led me to heavily drink to consistently show up. But over time I was able to lean into what I loved; the visceral experience of letting the body lead. Nightlife taught me how to shake out my anger on a dancefloor. It was my first understanding of the power our bodies have to heal themselves.
Pivoting To Systems-Based Thinking
Years later I took a hard pivot moved into product and organizational consulting for tech companies. Being parachuted into a wide range of environments—from start-ups to non-profits to Fortune 500 companies—I had to be ready for anything. Every workplace has its own culture, and as an executive coach who was also running teams of developers, I got to see things from multiple angles. The need to quickly fit in taught me to be adaptable and think in a lean way. Being exposed to people with such varied backgrounds, I developed an affinity for the art of listening. With the focus always on how to quickly solve problems, I learned to pattern match and execute root cause analysis in short order.
2,376 of Hours of Therapy
Throughout this time, I was still nursing my wounds. I could see how my history was holding me back; sabotaging my personal and sometimes my professional life. I tried every kind of therapy and self-help discipline I could access. I owe much of my growth and healing to this work, particularly somatic and group practices. But certain parts of myself remained in survival mode. I felt sorry for myself and guilty for feeling this way. Prioritizing a pantomime of capability and achievement created distance in my relationships. Underneath the performance of the high achiever was a sad person, never slowing down enough to confront the depths of my anxiety and depression.
And A Forced Reset
In 2016 I got sick. My physical symptoms kept intervening with my demanding work schedule. After being diagnosed with a second immunological illness, I realized how far out of alignment I was with my true essence. Thanks to the support of my partner I was able to take some time off to figure out what was going on.
Restorative Justice and Genuine Healing
Around this time I started sitting in restorative justice circles for people impacted by child sexual abuse. Listening to the stories of other survivors reminded me of our collective power. Of my power. Reflecting on these stories made me feel less isolated and gave me perspective on my experience. I became a circle keeper and began to understand my thought patterns and listen to physical symptoms as my body sending me signals to take a new path. I began to stop acting like I was okay.
I eventually became less consumed by my own suffering. I began to realign my values. I felt the pull to return to social justice work, but this time with a new approach that was more creative and self-aware. I realized that so much of my pain had informed my approach to advocacy, and that my impact would be strengthened if I took care of my side of the street. I decided to invest more in myself and to document my journey —this became my personal documentary The Sum of Our Parts.
The Sum of Our Parts
These last eight years have been incredibly informative to my healing process. Watching myself on film—sometimes amidst a trigger or in the depths of relationship conflict—makes it very obvious when trauma has skewed my perception. This hindsight helps me learn about what activates my over-reactive nervous system and helps me support myself and others when I’m activated.
I have developed a sense of care and forgiveness towards myself, something that was previously outside of my grasp. This reignited my quest to heal—myself and others. That is my life’s mission.
