Somehow we survive and tenderness, frustrated, does not wither
Dennis Brutus
Summer, Ann Arbor (photo: Ryan Hyde, flickr creative commons)
Summer is a glorious time of the year. Our summer here on the West Coast got off to a slow start this year (unlike for those of you in the inferno of last week's heat wave). Last week, the rains stopped, the sun came out, and everyone is going around with a smile on their face. Most of the time, I love summer too. I love to go for walks on the beach, eat ice cream cones, and enjoy the long summer days. Summer also has its dark side, when I feel as though a meteor is going to fall out of the sky and land on me. That's because my summer is crammed with the anniversaries of traumatic events.
June 5, 1991 Miscarriage
July 25, 1971 Birth and loss of my first child
mid-August, 1971 Official relinquishment of my daughter for adoption
August, 1972 Break-up with my high school sweetheart
Summer 1973 Two sexual assaults
Summer 1983 Separation from my husband
July 25, 2010 Last time I spoke to my daughter
Just reading that list makes me tired. You might think that after all of these years the anniversaries of these events, no matter how horrible they might have been, would no longer intrude on my life. Sadly, that's not how it works. The intrusive emotions associated with PTSD anniversaries soften; however, they never completely go away. Here is a wonderful post from counselor John C. Flanagan on Anniversary Reactions. How does our brain do that anyway? How does it "remember" when particular anniversaries happen? I know it has something to do with day length, seasonal changes, and specific dates. The beginning of July is often a big trigger for me. I'm sure there are other signals reaching my brain that say: look out! I also know that we need the part of our brain that does this to keep doing it because it is connected to the larger function of keeping us safe. So, much as I might want the anniversary effect, as one author calls it, to go away, I need that part of my brain to do its job. Here's more on the anniversary effect.
Still, I wish that there weren't so many anniversaries bunched up during the summer. It makes me think of a poem by Kay Ryan, called Home to Roost.
Chicken (flickr creative commons)
Home to Roost
The chickens
are circling and
blotting out the
day. The sun is bright,
but the
chickens are in
the way. Yes,
the sky is dark
with chickens,
dense with them.
They turn and
then they turn
again.
These
are the chickens
you let loose
one at a time
and small -
various breeds.
Now they have
come home
to roost - all
the same kind
at the same speed.
And sometimes I feel a bit like Wile E. Coyote dodging the many obstacles he faces in every episode.
Because it's summer, I 'm going to be writing shorter posts and will post every two or three days.
What are your PTSD anniversaries? How do you cope with them?
The methods you can use to cope with PTSD flashbacks and triggers depend on the type of flashback you're having and how intense it is.
Intense Flashbacks
Sometimes, the emotions and memories associated with flashbacks can be so intense that you may want to hurt yourself or even contemplate suicide. If that's the case, seek help immediately.
Phone your doctor or therapist
Phone a close friend or family member
Do not stay alone, unless you must.
If you are feeling truly suicidal, phone 9-1-1 or go to the closest emergency room.
Holding hands (photo: Bruce McKay, flickr creative commons
Some other methods
1. Hold onto a special object, put your feet on the ground, touch something around you, or hold someone's hand to bring yourself back into the here and now.
2. Remind yourself that you're safe now; the traumatic event isn't happening again.
3. Listen to soothing music.
4. Write in your journal.
5. One of my favorites: get your partner (if you have one) to lie beside you and hold your hand or massage your neck or back. 6. Go for a walk.
7. Do an easy and repetitive activity. Some suggestions include playing solitaire, knitting, doing crossword puzzles: basically anything that provides a distraction.
8. Practice deep breathing. Breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, making whatever noise feels good on the exhale.
9. Cry.
10. Give yourself permission to feel terrible. Struggling only makes things worse.
When I have strong flashbacks or encounter a disturbing or unexpected trigger, I turn to The PTSD Workbook. I particularly recommend Chapter 4: Helping Yourself When You Reexperience a Trauma. This chapter has helped me on many occasions.
Buddha (photo: Dennis Jarvis, flickr creative commons)
Long Term Coping
Long term there are other important practices that you can use to become prepared, so that when the flashbacks come, they aren't as strong. The more you know about what's happening and what to do, the more in control you should feel and the less overwhelmed. Here are some practices that I have found to be particularly useful.
Educate yourself about PTSD. When it comes to PTSD, ignorance is definitely not bliss.
Exercise regularly. Swim, walk, hike, cycle: get moving and get your endorphins up.
Singing and music can be very helpful practices: they have helped me tremendously.
See a therapist or your family doctor.
Keep a journal.
Talk to friends or family members.
Find a support group. (Be cautious, however. More on this later.)
Practice self-kindness.
Man thinking (photo: Robyn Jay, flickr creative commons)
This last thing is the most important of all! Don't beat up on yourself if you encounter a trigger and have a flashback or feel really bad. It's not your fault!! Learning to cope is a skill like any other and it takes time and a great deal of courage and persistence. Maybe, we won't become like the lovely Buddha above, but life will get better. On the other hand, you will probably never completely "get over" your PTSD. I know that even when I'm feeling relaxed and enjoying life, I still find myself looking over my shoulder or expecting something "bad" to happen. Not constantly, but sometimes. It goes with the territory of my life. Will I get beyond this someday? Who knows. Just two days ago, I had to cancel dinner with one of my best friends because I'd had a bad day dealing with a medical crisis with my mother, who's in the hospital with pneumonia. Then my son and his girlfriend hosted a party for a friend who's going away and seeing all those beautiful young people, was a trigger. I was happy for them, but sad for myself that my own high school sweetheart and I had to go through so much together and are now estranged. And so, instead of going to dinner, I went upstairs, shut my door, and read a book. Sometimes, however, I just let myself feel sad and it was okay. Here are some final words to ponder from Chilean poet Pablo Neruda.
from Oh, earth wait for me
River (flickr creative commons)
I want to go back to being what I haven't been,
to learn to return from such depths that among all natural things I may live or not live.
I don't mind being one stone more, the dark stone, the pure stone that the river bears away.
by Pablo Neruda
How do you cope with PTSD flashbacks? I'd love to hear your story.
Many people consider 18 to be the age at which someone becomes an adult. If so, then the year I became an adult was a doozy. I experienced the Rites of passage of graduation, and beginning university that are often associated with adulthood, and, then, for good measure, I also experienced the birth of my first child, the loss of my first child, and the loss of my first love. It was a tumultuous year.
My high school graduation (personal collection)
Even though I was pregnant during my senior year, I focused on the goal of graduation with a tenacity that I find hard to believe when I look back. I was eight months pregnant when I graduated, a shocking thing in my small town. Thankfully, no matter how shocked people were neither parents nor the local school board could do anything about my presence at school. Michigan was ahead of the rest of the country in this regard. While the passage of Title IX in 1972, allowed pregnant teens to attend school in most states, Michigan began allowing pregnant teens to attend school in late 1970. So, yes, graduation day was a happy one. I felt proud and then about a month later the other shoe dropped.
Teen mother (photo: Harbor Life, flickr creative commons)
Our daughter was born on July 25th and no one had told us anything about what to expect: not that it would have mattered. I was drugged against my will, not allowed to hold my baby, and my boyfriend and I were both treated as less than human. I can't remember anyone acknowledging our presence or offering the least crumb of comfort. We were deeply grieving and no one acknowledged that either, they simply told us, "you'll get over it." I started university in the fall, which went fairly well under the circumstances and, then, about a year later my boyfriend and I broke up. By August 1972, I resembled the survivor of a shipwreck who had barely made it to shore, more than I did a normal young woman embarked on adulthood.
My son and his girlfriend at the prom (photo: Angela Wheelock)
My son turned 18 this year and, as he headed toward graduation, I realized that this event could be a big trigger. (I already wrote about his birthday and new girlfriend on an earlier post.) In some ways, it was. I had some very bad days and it wasn't always easy to attend the many events associated with graduation: which is a big deal in Vancouver. However, today was the last day of school for my son and I managed better than I thought I would. Self-awareness and self-care made the difference. I treated myself with tenderness and it worked. I got through the approximate month of events and participated in most of them with the kind of happiness you would expect a "normal" parents to show. There was the prom (June 3), the pre-graduation brunch, the graduation ceremony, the after-grad dinner/dance (June 20), the beach party/potluck (June 27), and - finally - today the last day of school. Whew!
In my life, pregnancy has been another matter altogether. The loss of my first child was such a wrenching one, that when I became pregnant again ten years later, I experienced intense emotional flashbacks, had a miscarriage, and nearly lost my marriage. Things were very tough. At that time, my husband and I were living in a remote community with no access to counseling, neither of us had heard of PTSD or had any idea why I was so profoundly upset or what the intense emotional outbursts were about. After that, I went on to have two other pregnancy losses. By then, I'd begun to understand more about the connection between my earlier loss and my problems maintaining a pregnancy. I began practicing tai chi and other relaxation techniques to get through the hard times. Pregnancy was still a potent trigger for me, but over time the strength of my emotional flashbacks relented enough to allow me to give birth to a beautiful boy in 1994.
I have other triggers: anniversaries, music, feelings, people, but life events have been the largest triggers for me and have triggered the largest and most painful PTSD flashbacks. (The exception might be people. More on that in a future post.) Music, as I mentioned, has been a powerful trigger. I can't remember why now, but when I came home from the hospital after my daughter was born, I stayed in bed for about a week, crying and listening to Cat StevensTea for the Tillerman. Why that album? I can't say. All I know is that today, the thought of listening to Cat Stevens feels dangerous. Several years ago I thought I had come far enough to be able to finally listen to the album again. I even bought a copy. It's still in its wrapper. However, I think I'm brave enough to download a video below of one of the songs that conjures up that dark moment in my life. Why bother, you might say. According to most of the things I've read about PTSD, avoidance is an impediment to healing. So, here goes.
Wow, after downloading Wild World, I can see what a good song it would be to listen to while grieving. It's not as hard as I though it would be to listen to, but I don't plan to open the CD anytime soon and listen to the whole album. Baby steps.
What are your triggers? I'd love to hear your story.
A trigger is anything that sets you off emotionally and activates memories of your trauma.
Jasmin Lee Cori, Healing from Trauma
Helicopter (photo: Sarah Macmillan, flickr creative commons)
Triggers, as Jasmin Lee Cori notes above, can be anything from the sound of a helicopter to a beautiful September morning, like the morning of the 9/11 attacks in New York City. Triggers are sights, sounds, smells, and feelings that you may have encountered during whatever traumatic experience(s) you've been through. Listed below are some examples of triggers.
Visual reminders
People, either the same person, or a type of person who was with you at the time of the trauma. Eg. a nurse or doctor if you've experienced a medical trauma.
Places
Sounds
Smells
Thoughts
Music, movies, or other things that trigger memories
Life events, such as weddings, funerals, birthdays (more on this in next post)
Anniversary dates of the original trauma(s)
Feeling abandoned, trapped, or alone
There are as many triggers as there are traumas. Perhaps, you had just eaten a meal of spaghetti before being sexually assaulted and so spaghetti could become a trigger for you. Perhaps, you hear a song playing that brings back memories of a time in your life when you experienced trauma(s). Sometimes, you're aware of these triggers and sometimes you're not. And, as with many things in life, just when you think you've "figured out" what triggers to watch out for, new ones arise. Besides, some things cannot be avoided without changing your life dramatically. My doctor told me about one of her patients who is triggered by white vans because they remind him of being in a war zone. Imagine trying to avoid all white vans. The only way to do that would be to stay inside and, even then, you might see a white van in a movie or a white van might pull up to your house to deliver something. The article, How to identify PTSD triggers, does a great job of describing internal triggers - such as feelings and memories - and external triggers - such as sights, sounds or other external stimulus. We'll get to how to cope with flashbacks later, but go ahead and read that part of the article now if it interests you.
Flashback (photo: Paul Williams, flickr creative commons)
What happens when you have a flashback?
As you might imagine from the word trigger, encountering a trigger sets off a process that causes your frozen traumatic memories to become activated. Depending upon the trigger, the activation might be small or large and intrusive. Perhaps, you just feel somewhat unsettled. Something's wrong, but you can't put your finger on it. Or maybe you wake up from a terrifying nightmare, sure that the traumatic event is recurring. Flashbacks symptoms can run the gamut from mild to extreme. The severity and frequency of flashbacks will depend upon how many traumas you've experienced, how extreme they were, how long they lasted, and how far along you are in processing your trauma.
Take a look at How PTSD Flashbacks Feel for one man's experience with PTSD. Of course, flashbacks feel different for everyone. In my case, I feel dread, but I also feel emotional pain that isn't always easy to pinpoint. All I know is that if I'm having a full blown flashback, I need to be alone. Sometimes my flashbacks last an hour or so, sometimes more than a day. It all depends. You could say that it's like checking into "the memory motel," but not being able to check out again.
Memory motel (photo: Jeff Weston, flickr creative commons)
More flashback symptoms
Panic attacks
Nightmares
Anger
Sense of dread
Seeing the "movie from hell" play on a continuous feedback loop in your head
Intrusive memories and thoughts that you can't quiet
Shame
Self-hatred
Depression
Frustration
I'm sure you get the picture. Flashbacks are no fun!! Check out the video below for one man's experience with PTSD. Robert is a Vietnam veteran who was in the U.S. Airforce and he is eloquent in his description of the impact PTSD has had on his life. Of course, as you'll see in the next post, you don't have to be a war veteran to have PTSD and experience flashbacks.
It is as if time stops at the moment of trauma. The traumatic moment becomes encoded in an abnormal form of memory, which breaks spontaneously into consciousness, both as flashbacks . . . and as traumatic nightmares. . .
Former child soldier, Uganda, 2008 (photo: Gary Moore, Trocaire, flickr creative commons)
Memories are very important to making sense of our lives. That's why people with any sort of brain damage or dementia often struggle because when they lose their memories, they lose much of their ability to function in the world. Traumatic memories are created at the moment of trauma. In this moment, the person - and the person's brain - is overwhelmed. Indeed, as Judith Herman says about trauma, "traumatic reactions occur when action is of no avail." Often the person freezes, helpless to act either because they will be killed if they do so or because they have been overpowered by someone or something stronger than themselves. Some trauma survivors were drugged against their will or told family members would be killed if they tried to escape. We can only imagine the sort of traumatic memories the young man above is struggling with and the courage he must have to get on with his life.
Ice bubbles (flickr creative commons)
Characteristics of Traumatic Memory
Frozen
Exist outside of normal time
Non-verbal
Possess heightened reality
Tremendously persistent
Stored differently in the brain
Difficult to fit into the "story" of one's life
Go to Traumatic memory for more on the characteristics of traumatic memory.
What's the Amygdala Got to do With It?
The human brain's limbic system (photo: Zachary Veach, flickr creative commons)
Okay, what is the amygdala and what does it have to do with traumatic memories? The amygdala is an almond-shaped set of neurons located deep within the brain's limbic system. During traumatic events, the amygdala may become damaged and, after the event, continue to function differently than the amygdala of people who have not experienced trauma. The science of exactly how this works is somewhat lost on me. The important take-away point is that after trauma our brains, and the way in which we process memory and emotions, are changed in a profound and long-lasting way. I think that this understanding not only normalizes certain aspects of PTSD, it helps us understand how the process of recovery works and the key role that memory plays in healing. For more on this fascinating topic, see Memory, the Amygdala, and PTSD.
Below, Dr. Frank Ochberg does an excellent job of explaining the nature of trauma memories.
Why is understanding Traumatic Memory important to the PTSD recovery process?
Knowledge is power. Understanding, if only in a limited way, how traumatic memory functions allows someone with PTSD to understand more about what is happening in their mind and why PTSD can be so resistant to change. Dr. Ochberg does a good job of explaining this in the video above when he describes the difference between verbal memory and non-verbal memory, which he terms VAM and SAM. Trauma memory is a deeply rooted memory that was created under extraordinary conditions. Understanding the power of this special kind of memory is the first step to understanding and coping with PTSD triggers. Next time, more about flashbacks and how they are triggered.
. . . it's as if we are wandering lost in a desert, famished, delirious
set upon by wild lions, our minds blank with fear,
starving for a crumb, any morsel of light.
Barbara Hamby, "Thinking of Galileo"
Bereft (photo: flickr creative commons)
I am going to start a new series here on PTSD Flashbacks. Several readers have written about this and I know from my own experience that flashbacks and intrusive emotions can be one of the hardest parts of PTSD to cope with. However, it would be impossible to tackle this huge subject in one post. I'm not exactly sure yet how many posts the series will include, but 5 or 6 is my best guess. Below are some of the topics I plan to explore. Please let me know if you think of other topics that should be covered and I'll add them to the list. Partly, I'm doing the series now because of reader interest and partly I'm doing it because I am in the middle of dealing with some potent triggers myself. More about that in a future post.
My own experiences with flashbacks - recent and in the past.
What are the different types of flashbacks people with PTSD may experience?
How can you cope with flashbacks?
Will flashbacks ever completely go away?
Traumatic Memories and the Brain
The limbic system of the brain (photo: Zachary Veach)
As you can see from the list above, the first topic I plan to tackle is a look at how traumatic memories are stored in the brain. In fact, traumatic memories are stored quite differently than "normal" memories and this fact has a large influence on both the power and unpredictability of PTSD flashbacks. Despite the fact that flashbacks can be unpredictable, trauma survivors can anticipate circumstances, stimuli, and anniversary dates that may trigger flashbacks and plan accordingly. When it comes to PTSD flashbacks, ignorance is certainly not bliss!
Stay tuned for more.
Some of you may have noticed that I've changed the title of my blog. It used to be Sitting With Sorrow. However, as I've begun healing and feeling stronger, I felt that Life After Trauma was a more appropriate title. Of course, the URL remains the same.
Distressed woman (photo: Alex Thompson, flickr creative commons)
Judith Lewis Herman's book, Trauma and Recovery, is a landmark book. I don't use this term lightly. A woman who calls herself SwedishJewfish has written a lengthy review of Trauma and Recovery on The Daily Kos, describing it as a "life-changing" book. I definitely agree. I first picked up Trauma and Recovery several years after I'd been diagnosed with PTSD. I'm not sure how I had overlooked it before, but I think it was because I wasn't ready to read something theoretical yet. I was too caught up in my own head. The genius of Herman's book is that it operates on so many levels. The book is not only a history of the study of trauma and recovery, as the title suggests, it also deals with many topics that few have written about in quite the same way. I'll go through the book's sections below - hopefully briefly. If you're interested, you should get your hands on a copy because Herman's book is so filled with insights into trauma that it is impossible to share them all in a brief review.
Introduction
In most books, you can skip the introduction. However, I suggest that you read Herman's introduction. It's brief and clear about why we should be interested in trauma. Herman argues that, "Remembering and telling the truth about terrible events are prerequisites both for the restoration of the social order and for the healing of individual victims." (p. 1) She then goes on to describe the conflict that is at the heart of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: "the conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma." And that's just on page one!
A Forgotten History
Memorial to those soldiers who were executed in World War I for shell-shock (combat trauma) (photo: flickr creative commons)
In the first section of the book, Herman discusses the history of the treatment of trauma. She begins with Freud and shows how he suppressed the evidence that sexual abuse was more widespread in the well-to-do population of Vienna than anyone suspected. Controversy is still raging on this subject, so I'll leave it to you to decide who's right. Right or wrong about Freud, Herman raises many important points about the study of trauma. She argues that it has been hard for psychologists to get "respect" for studying something that most people would rather deny. "To study psychological trauma," Herman says, "means bearing witness to horrible events." (p. 7)
The next section of the book, discusses the work of W.H.R. Rivers with shell-shocked soldiers in World War I. I've written about this work at length on an earlier post and Man Booker Award winning author, Pat Barker, has written about it in Regeneration. Barker's book - part of a trilogy on the subject - beautifully evokes the shift from punishing combat trauma to treating it humanely. That wasn't necessarily because people became more empathetic, Herman suggests, but simply because there were so many shell-shocked men in World War I, that if they had all been executed - as many were - there would have been no one left to fight the war.
Next, Herman goes on to discuss the treatment of combat trauma in the Vietnam War, when PTSD first came into usage as an official diagnosis. As Vietnam Vets returned home, they increased awareness of this issue and, in the 1970s, the Women's Movement took up the issue of rape and what they called "the rape trauma syndrome." It's amazing to realize today that it was only in 1971 that the first rape crisis center was opened in the United States. Before that, women kept quiet or were silenced about sexual violence, unless - and this is a big unless - the perpetrator came from a group that was discriminated against by society, eg. African-American men in the U.S.
Describing PTSD
In this section of the book, Herman does a splendid job of describing the hallmark symptoms of PTSD.
Hyperarousal
Intrusion
Constriction
Disconnection - with family and community
Unfortunately, I don't have room here to share her many insights.
A New Diagnosis
Herman makes a strong case for a new diagnosis: complex PTSD and outlines why she believes that people who have experienced repeated/chronic PTSD, particularly at a young age, will need different treatments and approaches to recovery.
Man crying at the Vietnam War Memorial (flickr creative commons)
Stages of Recovery
As important as the first part of Herman's book is, the part that glued me to the page was the stages that trauma survivors must pass through in order to successfully recover from PTSD. (Caveat: to recover doesn't mean that people who have experienced significant trauma will return to their pre-trauma state. It means, rather, that the survivor will be able to reconnect with others both on the individual level and on the community level.)
Safety
The first, and most important stage, is that the survivor must be safe. Some survivors, tragically, cannot leave unsafe conditions and may not have the luxury of a safe recovery. Most people, however, can begin to understand that the trauma is over and they are safe now. First, comes physical safety, then the establishment of a "safe" therapeutic relationship. Both facilitate healing.
Remembrance and Mourning
Beatrice Mauwa, Survivor of Sexual Violence in the Congo, telling her story (The Advocacy Project, flickr creative commons)
This is a very difficult, although vital, stage for recovery. It may be a long stage, if my own experience is any indication. Much depends upon how many traumas you've experienced and whether or not others are receptive to hearing about them. Telling your story of trauma in this stage is essential. Ideally, you can do this through a combination of therapy and writing, voicing your story to a wider audience. Be aware, however, that this story is not something most people want to hear, so choose your audience carefully. This is what sets Herman's book above many others on trauma; she recognizes the essential role that the community and the political climate have on trauma survivors' ability to recover.
Reconnection with (Ordinary) Life
Women protest violence against prostitutes and others, Columbia, 2009 (The Advocacy Project, flickr creative commons)
The first person the survivor must come to trust is the self. Indeed, it is only recently that I have come to trust myself in ways I hadn't done since the initial traumas in my life occurred. Herman urges survivors to connect with a larger community and become involved in action to expose or end the trauma of others. This can only be done, however, when the survivor is strong enough. This step, however, can be a powerful one. Herman suggests that survivors can, "transform the meaning of their personal tragedy by making it the basis for social action. While there is no way to compensate for an atrocity, there is a way to transcend it, by making it a gift to others" (p. 207). Herman has more to say about the connection between trauma survivors and communities. However, I've run out of both space and energy. In the final analysis, Herman's book is not just informative, it's courageous. Herman is not afraid to speak out about the so-called "unspeakable" and to bring traumas that are hidden out into the open. It's only there, Herman suggests, that true healing can occur.
And what about Judith Herman the person? She was born in 1942 and grew up in New York City. She's a medical doctor and a professor of psychiatry. Those of you interested in Herman and her work will enjoy the lengthy interview below. It gets off to a bit of a slow start, but stick with it or fast forward to about minute 12. Herman shares wonderful stories about her work with trauma survivors and insight into how trauma is connected to our larger society.
Finally, a video by Solomon Burke. Herman worked in the Civil Rights movement and much of her work has been motivated by a sense of justice. I think she would like this song; it makes me think of her.
A funny thing has been happening to me lately. When I feel emotionally overwhelmed by events, angry emails, and worries, at first I focus on the external stimulus, like I have for much of my life. Then, it's as if a switch goes off in my brain and I say to myself, "You know what, I can't do anything about _____ (fill in the blank with your stressor of choice). But I can do something about myself." Then I ask myself, "what do you want to do?" This may not seem like rocket science; however, it is a revelation for people who have been grappling with PTSD and grief. It's huge. A quote from Madeleine L'Engle (author of A Wrinkle in Time) does a perfect job of describing what this feels like, "That's the way things come clear. All of a sudden. And then you realize how obvious they've been all along." And that's so true. I find myself thinking, "Gee, why couldn't I do this before," and wondering if all those times that my therapist said, "you can only control yourself," finally trickled down into my brain. Whatever happened, I can feel myself healing and it feels good. Scary too.
How will you know if you're healing? Your first sign may be a similar desire to turn towards yourself instead of turning towards the other, turning inward, rather than outward; being able to focus on yourself the way the woman above is focusing on balancing that egg. Before I began to heal, I was easily derailed by the needs of others, my desire to control the uncontrollable, and my desire to make my emotional pain go away. These days, I find that I can listen to myself, where before listening to myself was too frightening to do. These signs of healing are still new, however, and I am protective of them the way my husband is protective of the seedlings that are hardening off on the patio before he puts them in the garden. My healing still needs to "harden off." It's fragile, but not so fragile that it can't stand a few knocks. It feels miraculous, the way seedlings always seem to me when they first burst out of the seed. I know it's going to happen, but it's a miracle just the same.
Self-heal (photo: Jerry Oldenettel, flickr creative commons)
For me the strongest sign of true healing has been my newfound ability to trust myself. This self-trust has been coming for a long time, like a seed planted in the fall, that sprouts in the spring. My singing, writing this blog, therapy, reading, and spending quiet time alone, have all contributed to my healing. Self-compassion and self-kindness have also been essential. And, more and more often, I trust myself. Just saying those words, "I trust myself," bring tears to my eyes. Maybe that sounds maudlin, but I survived so many traumas, beginning at age 17, that trusting myself has not been part of my life. When I was looking for images of healing, I came across a flower called self-heal. I didn't even know there was a plant named self-heal, but I think it is a lovely name and, while I realize that I haven't healed alone - I've had lots of help and support - self-heal(ing) has a beautiful ring to it. The flower of the self-heal plant has a simple beauty, as you can see from the photograph above.
If you haven't detected signs of healing in your own life, don't beat up on yourself. It may not be time yet; you may still be struggling with the necessary stage of allowing yourself to feel your pain and grieve the losses you've experienced. Don't give up. For most of us, things will get better. Healing may be slow and quiet, but I believe that if we do the work it will come. To end, here's a quote from St. Bartholomew and a song from Ruthie Foster.
Many of us spend our whole lives running from feeling with the mistaken belief that you cannot bear the pain. But you have already borne the pain. What you have not done is feel all you are beyond the pain.
St. Bartholomew
What signs of healing have you experienced? I'd love to hear your story.
A camera is an instrument that teaches people to see without a camera.
Dorothea Lange
Lange at work, circa 1930s (photo: Library of Congress)
I am a huge admirer of Dorothea Lange. I discovered her photographs when I was a graduate student in American Studies. It was love at first sight (pardon the pun). Her photographs reached into my heart and seemed to say, "this is what it is to be human." Lange is best known for her photographs of migratory workers taken during the Great Depression of the 1930s and for her photographs of Japanese Internment Camps taken during World War II. No matter what the circumstances, Lange allowed people their dignity. She saw how people responded to the most difficult situations and still retain their humanity and she documented that. Her photographs inspire me; they show the resiliency of the human spirit.
Dorothea Lange was born on May 26, 1895 in Hoboken, New Jersey. (Which is why I'm writing this post now. I missed her birthday, but it's still May.) Lange began her career as a studio photographer in San Francisco, California in 1918. She began working for the American government documenting the Depression in the 1930s, and became, along with Walker Evans, one of the most famous of the Farm Security Administration photographers. I particularly enjoyed reading this profile by young writer, Susannah Abbey, called My hero: Dorothea Lange.
Below are a few of my favorite Dorothea Lange photographs. I've tried to choose ones that are less well known than some of her iconic images. Less well known, yet no less beautiful. Another thing I love about Lange's photographs, is that she often records stories to go with her pictures, including word-for-word quotes from the people she meets along the roads, in migrant camps, and on tenant farms. The words beneath the photographs are her original captions.
Family between Dallas and Austin, Texas. . . . Penniless people. No food and three gallons of gas in the tank. The father is trying to repair a tire. Three children. Father says, "It's tough but life's tough anyway." (August 1936, Library of Congress)
Farm child, New Mexico, 1935 (Library of Congress)
Migratory cotton worker, Pima, Arizona, circa 1940 (Library of Congress)
Near Douglas, Georgia. "You don't have to worriate so much and you've got time to raise somp'n to eat." The program to eliminate the risk and uncertainty of a one-crop system meets the approval of this sharecropper. She sits on the porch and sorts tobacco. July, 1938 (Library of Congress)
On U.S. 99 between Bakersville and the Ridge, migrant man shaving by roadside. February, 1939 (Library of Congress)
Calipatria, Imperial Valley, California. Daughter of ex-tenant farmer. "Back in Oklahoma, we are sinking. You work your head off for a crop and then see it burn up. You live in debts you can never get out of. This isn't a good life, but I say that it's a better life than it was." (Library of Congress
There are ex-husbands and ex-wives, but there are no ex-moms, ex-dads, or ex-children.
Anonymous
Newborn baby (photo: Barbara Tang, flickr creative commons)
Between 1940 - 1970, approximately 4 million women (in the U.S. alone) relinquished newborn babies for adoption; I was one of them. This time period is now known as The Baby Scoop Era and there has been a great deal of research on the unprecedented numbers of adoptions that took place during those years. I gave birth to a beautiful daughter on July 25, 1971 (still within the boundaries of this era, in my opinion) and wasn't allowed to hold her or touch her. The pain of the moment they took my daughter away, has echoed through the rest of my life. Tragically, when my baby was born I was only 17 and my boyfriend and I didn't understand any of the consequences of this relinquishment and subsequent adoption. It wasn't a choice, however, but more like the only thing we knew to do or were allowed to do by the adults in our world. No one told us what the consequences might be, what our rights - as parents - were, or what help we could have had in raising our child. We also had no idea of the huge consequences this act would have in our daughter's life. That's because it is rare, even today, to tell the truth about adoption: not the sugar-coated truth, the truth.
Pregnant woman on the street, Thailand (photo: drbutoni, flickr creative commons)
Recently, I was delighted to discover the book Adoption Healing: a path to recovery written by adoptee, and therapist, Joe Soll. This book validates many of the feelings I've had over the years about the lasting pain of adoption loss. As Soll says, "Everyone involved in an adoption has many losses." The book is broken up into short, digestible chapters and Soll, a longtime counsellor, provides helpful advice at the end of each chapter for those readers who have become emotionally overwhelmed (Soll calls this "whelmed") through reading.
Each chapter also has valuable sections that contrast the Myths of adoption with the Facts. I found these sections to be particularly healing for myself and I hope they will be just as healing for adoptees. Here are some of my favorite facts.
Most people surrender a child to adoption because they lack the resources to do otherwise
Birthparents (Soll is now using the more politically-correct terms first or natural mother) care forever and have great difficulty going on with their lives.
Bonding begins before birth.
Adopted children think about their birthmothers all the time.
Babies suffer from the loss of their mothers.
My favorite chapter of the book, however, is the one titled, "The Respect We Never Got." In this chapter, Soll describes the many ways in which all members of the adoption triad were not treated with respect. Much of what he says in this chapter rings so true that it made me cry. As a first mother, I was treated like a criminal by most adults. Kindness was rare and after I agreed to relinquish my daughter for adoption, comfort was nonexistent. Soll uses a wonderful analogy to describe the deep truth of adoption.
It was like a big plane crash in a field. All the mothers and babies lying there crying and the rescuers came and carried them off in different directions. When they got to the Emergency Room they dusted them off, told them they were fine and sent them on their way. The mothers went home and the babies went to new homes. All were told they were fine. The most sacred relationship in the world has now gone up in smoke. They were told that there wasn't any accident, no crash, forget about it, just get on with your lives. (Soll, p. 153)
According to Soll, "Real healing can only be done when you know where you hurt, why you hurt, and the extent of the pain." I agree. This book, although written for adoptees, is recommended for anyone who has experienced adoption loss. My only criticism is that, as with much of the literature on adoption, there is little mention of the role of the first father and the pain he experiences. Soll and a co-author have written several other books, including one specifically for mothers. Unfortunately, my local library doesn't have a copy. I will suggest that they purchase it and, if they don't, I'll buy one myself.
Soll runs Healing Weekends in New York State Even though I live on the West Coast, I am considering going to one. If his small book is so powerful, I can only imagine what workshops would be like. From a look at his website, they must be good because I see that they fill quickly.
Note to readers: If you want to take a look at my other blog, you can either follow the link here to The Caregivers Chronicle or click on the link at the top of the page. The Caregivers Chronicle is about caregiving for my aging parents and topics that interest other caregivers.
For those who were interned, I hope this work brings them some peace
Pia Massie, filmmaker
Japanese family waiting to be "evacuated," Hayward, California, May 1942 (photo: Dorothea Lange, National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), Records of War Relocation Authority)
Today, the little girl in the picture above would be about 80 years old and the baby wouldn't be much younger. The mother is probably no longer alive and the baby probably has few memories of the day his/her family was forced to leave their home. The girl, however, from the look in her eyes will never forget. Her expression says everything about what it must have been like to be caught up in the frightening experience of the relocation of Japanese Americans and Japanese Canadians during World War II. It is her story - the story of people who were young during the internment - that Pia Massie has set out to tell in her new film, Just Beyond Hope.
Japanese farmer waiting to be relocated, Woodland, California. photo: Dorothea Lange, NARA
Just Beyond Hope weaves together the stories of three very different women: Mine Okubo, a Japanese artist who was interned at a camp in California; Margaret Sage a Canadian woman who worked at Tashme, the internment camp located "just beyond Hope," about 200 kilometers from Vancouver, and renowned photographer Dorothea Lange who took hundreds of moving photographs documenting the internment camps. When Massie began actively working on the film - she had been thinking about the topic for 30 years - she was surprised to discover that even after more than 60 years, survivors were still reluctant to speak about their experiences. As Massie told writer, Kenji Maeda, in an interview in The Bulletin: A Journal of Japanese Canadian Community, History + Culture. "It was stunning to realize how taboo the stories were to speak about; how much emotional freight they still carried. This, if anything, spurred me on more to connect with the elders that had lived it and let them set down some of the pain they they had been carrying."
Tashme Internment Camp, near Hope, B.C. photo: www.discovernikeii.org
My husband and I went to the World Premiere of Just Beyond Hope last Saturday at Vancouver's DOXA Documentary Film Festival. I'm delighted that Massie didn't let people's reluctance to speak stop her from producing this beautiful film. Just Beyond Hope is an "experimental" documentary, as Massie referred to it after the screening. The film blends footage of photographs from Dorothea Lange and other photographers, with shots of the landscape and ocean of the West Coast of British Columbia, contrasted with shots of the harsher landscape of the internment camp. Narrators read excerpts from the letters that Canadian Margaret Sage's wrote while working at Tashme, and excerpts from Okubo's book, Citizen 13660. The excerpts from Okubo's book are read, somewhat ironically, by an "aunt" (actually cousin) that Massie discovered while researching the film. Massie's aunt, now in her 80s, was more than willing to read from Okubo's book, but was reluctant to tell her own story. Interwoven with the three main stories are snippets of Massie's own family history.
Woman, Hayward, California; posters on wall list the names of families to be relocated; photo: Dorothea Lange, NARA.
The film was both a challenging and moving experience. There were so many layers of information and overlapping voices in the film, that I need to watch it again - maybe more than once. There were also layers of language, particularly untranslated Japanese, that enriched the film. One of the most surprising things I discovered while watching the film was the story of how Japanese Canadians were deported to Japan. Apparently, they were given a choice of moving east of the Rockies or going to Japan. Although, the factual details don't all come through in the film, Canada clearly didn't come off much better than the U.S. when it came to their treatment of Japanese Canadians during World War II.
Another aspect of the film that I loved was the way in which Massie wove the voice of white social worker, Margaret Sage, into the story. Sage's voice added to the film's texture and provided a subtle way to show the heartbreak of the deportations and separation of families. I loved the film. It provides an intimate look at the experiences of relocation and internment from the viewpoint of a member of the Japanese Canadian community. I highly recommend the film and urge you to see it, if you have a chance.
Almost 8,000 photographs taken by photographers including Dorothea Lange, Russell Lee, Japanese photographer Hikaru Iwasaki and many others. A treat for the eyes, mind, and heart. Be careful, however, or you can be sucked into the vortex of these beautiful photographs and spend hours clicking through photo after photo.
And for quite a different film about one survivor of an internment camp, check out the clip from The Cats of Mirikitani below.
Note to readers: If you want to take a look at my other blogs, you can either follow the links here Digging Out and The Caregivers Chronicle or click on the links at the top of the page. Digging Out is a blog about getting my life in order - digging out of debt and clutter. The Caregivers Chronicle is about caregiving for my aging parents and topics that interest other caregivers.
God respects me when I work, but He loves me when I sing.
Rabindranath Tagore
Girls singing in Bangalore, India (photo: Sabarish Raghupathy, flickr creative commons)
This Thursday (May 10) I performed in my second choir concert in less than a year. Like the December (2011) concert this one included our choir, Home Cookin', and our choir director's other choir: Harmony Mountain. The venue was a small brown Anglican church nestled in a quiet side street in North Vancouver. The audience wasn't quite as large as the previous concert, but it was large enough to make it exciting and to appreciate the fact that we weren't just singing for ourselves. In fact, we were singing for both the audience and to benefit The Stephen Lewis Foundation, an organization that supports people living with AIDS in Africa, the families of those who have died of the disease, and grandparents who are raising AIDS orphans. That fact made me feel good. But, to be honest, singing with my choir in front of an audience would have made me feel good even if we weren't supporting a worthy cause. (It's great that we were, but it isn't a necessary part of the process.)
Singing is a human universal. People of all ages from every culture in the world sing when they're happy, when they're sad, and when they're sad and want to be happy. Singing is a gift, especially for those who are recovering from trauma and grief. It releases the heart strings and lets us breathe again and connects us to our own breath and to those who are singing beside us. Our choir is a pretty informal one and we sing what our director calls "roots and folk" music, which is a good description of what we do. On Thursday, our program included a folky song from Newfoundland, a gospel song that is the basis for the well known civil rights song, "Keep Your Eyes on the Prize," a Georgian folk song (from Georgia, Russia) and a nice mix of singer-songwriter stuff. We had soloists, quartets - one of which I was in - trios and duets. We were accompanied by piano, a small bluegrass band, and nothing - i.e. a cappella. All of it was a blast. The other choir was a real treat too. They did music that ranged from the gospel song, Angel Band, to songs by Joe Cocker and Sting. (Women singing, photo: Rusty Stewart. flickr creative commons)
Man singing, photo: Tobias Leeger, flickr creative commons
For me, singing has been a large part of my healing journey. I'm not the only one who is using this practice. Here is a moving story about an Iraqi War veteran who has returned to singing to save his life: not metaphorically, but literally. He made three suicide attempts before rediscovering the joy of singing that he had practiced as a young man. Haitians living in New York City have also been using singing to heal from the grief and trauma of the Haitian Earthquake of 2010. I think singing has such a powerful healing affect because it's based in a different part of our brain than spoken speech. I know this is hard to believe, but I've read about it and witnessed it with my own eyes. In fact, singing therapy is being used to teach stroke survivors how to speak again. One of the most moving performances I've ever witnessed was the veteran blues and jazz singer Sippie Wallace singing after she had had a stroke. Sippie couldn't walk or talk and had to be helped onto the stage. But, boy, could she sing. She opened her mouth and a beautiful sound came out. I've never forgotten watching this small old woman, recovering from a stroke, sing with such huge joy. (Singing above, one of the members of The Connections Zulu Choir, photo: Andrew, flickr creative commons)
In the video below, Sippie was younger, pre-stroke.
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What healing practices do you use that bring you joy and feed your heart? I'd love to hear about them.
