Life after Trauma

Why is it important for trauma survivors to speak out?

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

Martin Luther King, Jr. 

 

I Can't Hear Your Pain

"I need to minimize my exposure to your pain," a friend told me recently, while we were discussing some of the traumatic events we've both experienced in our lives. Sadly, this isn't the first time I've heard those words. Another friend told me that "it makes her stomach hurt," to hear about my past experiences. The friend who I met for coffee last week, happens to be the father of the daughter I relinquished for adoption: aka my ex. The original intention of our reunion was to discuss and heal from the experiences of the past. Now, he's decided that he doesn't have room in his life for me anymore and he doesn't want to hear anymore about my grief. What he had to say hurt, but I had seen it coming for a long time and I wasn't surprised. 

The Loneliness of Trauma

Processing trauma can get very lonely at times. Therapist Dr. Kathleen Young refers to this as trauma stigma and her take on what silencing can mean to trauma survivors is worth reading.  I am a trauma survivor with complex PTSD and complicated grief recovering from and processing multiple traumas that took place over 20 years of my life - ages 17 to 37. That doesn't mean that I talk about trauma all the time. Far from it. I would get exhausted. However, there are times when I want to share how I'm feeling with friends, family and - in the case of my ex and my husband - those who have gone through traumatic experiences with me. I  have several wonderful friends who are not afraid of my pain. They can let me feel what I feel and be who I am. This is not a small gift. Others - even people I love - behave as if trauma is contagious and the less said about it the better. I like to give them the benefit of the doubt and think that they can't really understand what it means to be silenced. Sometimes, however, this is no longer possible. It is not healthy to be silenced. The problem isn't that I MUST always speak about my pain. The problem is that the traumas I experienced are a part of me and, even though I am working on healing, the pain may never be entirely gone. And so, I have to limit my exposure to people who want to silence me. 

Speaking Up

My ex followed up our talk with a hurtful email that said, amongst other things, that being reunited with our daughter should make up for any trauma that I experienced in the past and that he wasn't interested in holding my hand while I continued to grieve. If it were only that simple. My relationship with my daughter is a tenuous thing and she hasn't spoken to me in over a year, while my ex sees her and talks to her regularly. Both my ex and my daughter imply that "if only you would change and let go of the past everything would be great." That might be true. But it is hard for me to believe. Telling people that "if only you change, I'll love you," rarely seems to work, at least in my experience. My therapist has often told me not to disown that part of myself that experienced the trauma. I also know that if I tried to silence that part of me, not only wouldn't it work, but I would have to erase a large part of myself and I can't do that. It reminds me of the hikers we met along the West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island. There was a large dead seal near where they had pitched their tent They had simply thrown some dirt over the seal and moved their tent 20 feet. Both black bears and mountain lions frequent that stretch of the trail and neither animal would be the least bit fooled by dirt. Trying to cover up trauma and grief can be that way: only the person burying it thinks it's hidden.  To get back to my ex, I responded to his email with one of my own. Amongst other things, I said that "I am tired of your anger and your inability to accept me for who I am."  And that's what it comes down to: acceptance or silencing. I have silenced myself for many years and now that I am learning to speak out, I can't stop. I have a voice and I need to use it. That doesn't mean I have to speak out at inappropriate times and places. All I know is that I don't want to be silenced again. And after I sent the email, I felt a burden lift from my heart. Below, Dr. Maya Angelou reads her poem "And Still I Rise," Her poem evokes the beautiful resiliency of the human spirit under difficult circumstances. It is a poem that resonates with me. 

 

 

Has anyone ever silenced you when you were sharing your feelings about past traumas or your grief? What did you do?

This is the first in a series of posts on trauma within communities and why trauma survivors need to speak out in order to heal.  

The Healing Power of the Blues - Part 1

Blues a healer, all over the world, all over the world.

It healed me, it can heal you.

                    John Lee Hooker 

John Lee Hooker, 1978

Labor Day Weekend, 1972. It's been about a month since my boyfriend and I broke up. Sorrow is sitting deep inside me, in a place I never go. Instead, I drink and take drugs and I'm not careful about keeping myself safe. But this weekend I'm with a new boyfriend, Pete, who is the best friend of my best friend's husband and so, at least for now I'm with someone I know I can trust. 

Pete also happens to be a musician, which is perfect because we both love music. The two of us are sitting on the grassy field dedicated to deceased musician Otis Spann, blissing out on the blues. We're at the 1972 Ann Arbor Jazz and Blue's Festival and the line-up is stellar. Miles Davis, Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, Bonnie Raitt and Sippie Wallace, Luther Allison, Sun Ra and his Arkestra, Junior Walker and the All Stars and many more. Pete and I are drinking Wild Turkey and the mood is mellow. I drink and listen to the blues and the blues reaches into my heart and eases my pain and gives me enough strength to go on living for a while. The blues saved my life. The blues has that power.

 Luther Allison performed that weekend and I'm pretty sure that I didn't let myself remember the first time I saw him because that would have been too painful. It was 1970 and my ex-boyfriend and I were jammed into a tiny venue located down an alley in Ann Arbor. We sat on folding chairs in that shoestring venue, waiting. I can still remember the moment that Luther took the stage and began blasting the blues out into the packed room. My boyfriend and I caught fire. (Maybe that's why some call the Blues the devil's music.) And even though I didn't let myself think about that moment in 1972, I think about it now and I am both sad and thankful. Sad that my boyfriend and I lost so much and broke each other's hearts. Thankful because he and I heard the blues for the first time together. 

 The First Time I Met the Blues by Buddy Guy. 

Mighty Mo Rodgers performing, They Took Away the Drum and Blues is My Wailin' Wall. 

 

 

What saved your life and kept you going during hard times with grief or trauma?

 

Restorative Yoga

For those wounded . . . yoga is the most healing salve.

                        Terri Guillemets

   Temple Bells, Thailand

An Evening of Yoga

Two nights ago, a friend and I went to a Restorative Yoga class together. About 15 people of all ages gathered in a soft-lit carpeted room. Music was playing softly from somewhere. Soothing, slow music without a melody, simply the periodic sounding of bells. Without speaking, everyone got their class stuff, bolsters, pads, and blankets, and chose a spot. After a few minutes, a slim woman dressed in black whose presence exuded peace, began the class.

We began with the legs against the wall pose and held it for a long time. The only sounds to be heard in the peaceful room were those of breathing and the quiet shifting of bodies. The instructor circulated quietly around the room, helping people adjust their poses. She stopped by my side and, because I'd mentioned a neck injury to her before class, made sure that my neck was supported. Then she moved on to help other people.  From legs up the wall, we shifted into a series of slow, gentle poses, each held for a long time. The only sounds were breathing, the occasional voice of the instructor, and the occasional sound of temple bells. I could feel my mind and body softening, soaking up peace like a sponge. 

Body work of various sorts can be very beneficial for those with PTSD. Meditation hasn't worked for me, because only looking into the mind can be frightening for some people with PTSD. Thankfully, yoga and tai chi, which I can do, also help reconnect the body with the mind, repairing the disconnection caused by trauma. Better yet, both practices feel good. Really good. After my second session of restorative yoga, I realized that my body craved more of this kind of making peace with my body, the way thirsty people crave water. 

All too soon, the class ended and my friend and I got up and put our bolsters and pads away. Some people sipped the mysterious herbal tea that no one had been able to identify. The instructor went to the back and returned and said it appeared to be an unusual blend of roiboos, mint, chocolate, and chai!  No wonder no one recognized it. Afterwards my friend and I drove down the street and went into a bakery and had tea and cookies. It was a good night.

Other Types of Body Work for Healing PTSD and Grief

• Tai chi
• Singing
• Walking
• Walking meditation
• Qi gong
• Other types of yoga

Here is a fascinating article about using yoga to heal PTSD. 

The Wounds of War

 Don't have a yoga studio in your community?  Take a look at this youtube clip or consider purchasing one of the resources listed below. 

 

YogaNap

 A book on the subject for those of you who prefer reading about a topic.

Restorative Yoga Practice

A great follow-along DVD for those who cannot find a restorative yoga practitioner. 

What body work do you do to help heal either PTSD or grief? 

 

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

 

 

The symptoms of PTSD are not "in someone's head" . . . Rather they are the aftereffects of an event or series of events severe enough to profoundly alter a person's thinking, feelings, and physical reactions.

                Aphrodite Matsakis

I've brought together two videos that discuss Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). One is from the point of view of a pyschologist. The other is from the point of view of someone who experienced trauma, and was later diagnosed with PTSD.  The differences in the way the two women talk about trauma are quite fascinating. I've included both because the psychologist provides a good general overview. Lisa French puts a human face on something that can seem frightening and abstract.

I generally don't like labels. However, in my own life, receiving a diagnosis of PTSD was the first step on my healing path. I was diagnosed with complex PTSD in approximately 2005. Complex PTSD means that instead of encountering a single traumatic event, I experienced multiple traumas, beginning when I was 17 and not ending for many years. Unfortunately, by the time that PTSD began to enter the psychological vocabulary, I was living in northern Canada and had no access to counselling. Years later, I moved to Vancouver and had the good luck to see a doctor who specialized in PTSD.  Although she normally works with combat and peacekeeping veterans, she became my lifeline. When she talked to me about PTSD and what it meant to be a trauma survivor, a light went off in my head.  "Aha," I remember thinking, "so that's what's been going on for so many years." In future posts, I will write more about what it means to have PTSD and why, in the past two years, my need to grieve and process the hurts of the past has become stronger. "It's time," my inner voice is telling me and I am finally ready to listen.

 

Starting my journey

I have a cat who sometimes seems more like a human than a cat. She isn't very big and she has short little legs, medium-length fur and an adorable face. Sometimes she's adorable and sometimes she isn't. But when she wants something, she definitely lets me know. First she meows, then she meows louder, then she comes and stands beside me and reaches up with one of her paws and nudges me on the arm, just like a person would. And then, if all else fails, she reaches up even further and takes a little nip. (Well, maybe not exactly little.)

 

What does any of this have to do with sorrow? Well, lately the sorrows I've been carrying around for a long time are getting like Goldie. First they started meowing, now they've graduated to nipping - maybe even biting.  It's time to listen.  I've been meaning to take time for grieving for a long time. I have experienced several major traumas in my life and a number of smaller traumas. I have been sad at times, even terribly sad; however, as my doctor and therapist like to say being sad is important, but if you don't know why you're being sad, it won't help you recover from trauma.  Most of the authors I've read, along with my therapist and doctor, all agree that you have to understand something of why you're grieving before the grief can help you to live with trauma. I don't use the word "heal" from trauma because these same people agree that once you hve experienced major trauma, you will never "get over it" in the way we may think of getting over a cold.  Rather, you can learn to be aware of how trauma has changed your life and how becoming aware of both your trauma and the sorrow related to it, can help you get on with life. In other words, sorrow grows hope and learning to be mindful of both the trauma living inside and the sorrow connected with it, is no small thing.

Sitting with sorrow is a journey that takes courage and time. Focusing on the sorrow in my life, befriending it, cannot be done in between working long hours, caring for children, or whatever demands fill up my days. As my doctor said, "healing is a process not a race."  Or as poet Mary Oliver put it, in her beautiful poem "The Journey," "One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice- though the whole house began to tremble. . . " I don't know if my whole house is going to tremble, but my inner voice is telling me that now is the time to sit with my sorrow. This time I'm going to listen.

The Journey

This blog will be the story of my healing journey. There won't be any gimmicks, other than getting through each day, one day at a time. Hopefully, some of what I learn and think about and do along the way will resonate with those of you that have also experienced trauma, have gone through - or are going through - grief or are just dealing with the many stresses of midlife.

Take a minute to listen to this beautiful song.

Lay Down in Sorrow

What about you?   What are some of the things that get in the way of grieving?

 

Let's walk this path together

If you put your soul against this oar with me, the power that made the universe will enter your sinew from a source not outside your limbs, but from a holy realm that lives in us.

Rumi

Song of the Day

 One Day I Will Walk

 Sometimes, those of us who have experienced trauma or who are struggling with grief, can feel very alone. I know that I often feel alone.  Sometimes, I also feel like I inhabit a different world than other people because the things I have experienced are so different from the sorts of things my friends have experienced. And, really that is the definition of trauma, "Something outside of the normal human experience." (I will talk more about my experiences in future posts.) But, we don't have to be alone. We can join a support group or join an online community. I haven't had much luck in finding an appropriate support group where I live. And that's why I've started this blog, to find others like myself, others who know that life can be unexpected and frightening. As Buddhist author, Pema Chodron said, "We breathe in knowing that our pain is shared; there are people all over the earth feeling just as we do right now."  That thought eases my loneliness.

 

Some days we walk in flowers . . . 

Here is one of the flowers that I encountered today.  I walked up to the coffee shop near where I live. Once there, I ordered a latte, which came with a beautiful foam heart. I carried my coffee to an empty table, sat down and spent an hour reading and writing. Then I walked home again and on my way I met a man with a baby. I can rarely resist babies. This one was particularly beautiful. I asked the man how old the baby was. Four months, he said. What's his name, I asked. Novak, he said. Hi, Novak, I said and smiled at the baby until I got a smile back in return. A beautiful smile, the kind of smile only babies of a certain age can give, a smile of complete innocence and joy.

Some days we walk on stones

I'm not sure yet all of the stones I will encounter today. By noon, there have already been several and I know there will be more before the day is over. I checked my email this morning and, like all mornings during the past year, there wasn't an email from the daughter who isn't speaking to me. And, even though I realize there probably won't be an email from her today, it still hurts. I don't completely understand why she won't communicate with me (More on that later).  But it is a rare day that I don't feel her absence.

Second stone - I spoke to my parents on the phone. They are in their late 70s and live 2,000 miles away and my mother hasn't been well. We talked for a while about how she's doing and then she said five little words that always wring my heart: "I wish you were here."  I know my parents face many challenges and my sisters who live closer help them with those challenges and I can't. Not right now.

Third stone - my husband is not comfortable talking about grief and other "dark" emotions. He hasn't gone through the kind of trauma I have. He has grief, as who doesn't who has reached the age of 50? But he rarely speaks of his griefs and when I try to talk to him about my own grief and trauma, it sometimes seems like I am speaking a foreign language and then I feel very alone.

What flowers or stones have you encountered today?