Tell your story as often as you need to. I mean that.
In the early years after Bryan died, I told the story of how he died over and over. To anyone who would listen. To my husband, to strangers on airplanes, to the woman cutting my hair. Each time it came out of my mouth, a small piece of it was released. The body needs to release the story it carries, and the voice is one of the most direct ways to release.
There is also a moment, eventually, when you no longer need to tell it. When the story becomes something that happened to you rather than something that defines you. That is real healing. But you have to tell it until you no longer need to anymore.
So if you’re still in the telling phase: tell. Find a friend, a journal, a group, a chair on a trail and tell it to the trees.
The story wants out. Let it out.