Giving Voice to Your Fears
This is an archived post that was originally published at beyond-terminal.com
Elizabeth, a good friend of mine, recently shared with me how she had shared my blog with her friend Amy who was experiencing trauma-induced responses (note pseudonyms are being used here). “Trauma of any kind can trigger similar visceral responses,” my friend said, pointing out some examples from recent entries to Amy.
While my story is unique, the way in which trauma shows up – in the form of intrusive thoughts and flashbacks – is not.
Although the thoughts and flashbacks I experienced in my early 30s were jarring – and the same could be said for Amy – they were also surprisingly easy to dismiss. Why? Because many of us who have endured trauma have a desire to minimize what they experienced. Again, why does this happen? Because, if just thinking about something can be terrifying, imagine how acknowledging and giving voice to this can amplify the terror.
It took me a long time to understand that allowing the terror to be seen would lead me to a place where I could reclaim wholeness and balance.
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This passage follows the last and is from the chapter “I’ve Met My Match.”
As I drove home from school that day, my mind traveled down neural pathways that had been blocked for years. The frightening experience with Roger and the ensuing helplessness I felt somehow activated memories that had been suppressed for years. A technicolor display of fireworks exploded against the backs of my retinas.
The images were so blinding that I pulled over to the side of the road and turned on my hazards. I was glad I listened to my body’s building panic because in that moment my car morphed into Dr. Pierce’s clinic. The windows of my car turned into white opaque walls. A rug with flowers on it materialized underneath my feet. And a clock started to tick.
I look more closely at the rug that’s under the coffee table in front of me. Its flowers are arranged so neatly. There are nine columns and six rows for a total of 54 flowers. And each flower has six petals for a total of… 324 petals. I’m pretty certain my calculation is correct. For some reason, the part of my brain responsible for figuring out math problems must not be as damaged. Because my parents are still talking to Dr. Pierce – without me — I start skip counting by sixes to double check.
Several more minutes pass, and I start wondering what additional bad news my parents could be getting. I already have a terminal diagnosis. Is there anything worse than this?
But then I hear the click, click of my mom’s heels against the tiled floor. And I see her narrowed eyes and pursed lips as she walks into the lobby. What frightens me the most is my dad’s reaction. My dad, my stoic dad, with his 99.9 percent Swedish blood is crying, crying so hard that he can’t stop. He’s never cried this hard.
Slowly, slowly, these images faded and my car started to turn back into a car. I gripped the steering wheel harder as a new recognition dawned on me. Regardless of what I wanted, some of the more painful memories were surfacing again and again – and, with each recurring time, they were becoming more vivid and detailed. In fact, as I made my way home, I recalled a conversation I overheard later the week we had returned from Canada. Because it was a phone conversation, I could only hear what my mom was saying. But that didn’t matter. I didn’t any telepathy on my end to know that things were bad when I overheard my mom say, “Dr. Pierce said Meg’s brain is so damaged that it looks like she’s been shot in the head.”
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The flashbacks that Amy experienced were pervasive and nightmarish. They reminded her of real and terrifying events that had indeed happened. Elizabeth listened to Amy share these experiences and offered her support all along the way. When Amy started to question the validity of these memories, Elizabeth was there to remind her that, no, these things happened, and, yes, they were traumatic. She played a critical role in helping Amy recognize that those interrupted moments during the day when she was pulled into the mire of her past were trauma-related responses. Further, Elizabeth helped Amy understand that it was important for her to trust her memory, use her voice, and reclaim her life.
My mom and Dan were there by my side as I worked through my trauma-related responses. Elizabeth was there by Amy’s side. I hope all of you working through trauma are lucky enough to have someone like these people in your life.