I'd like to share what I've been learning about
trauma over the last 40 years. And since a good story is worth a thousand words, I will use the story of Joan to illustrate how the ghosts of
childhood wounds can decades later shape our lives.
On an unusually stormy night in Santa Barbara, the winds pounding against the windows outside my office mirrored the stormy atmosphere brewing in the room where my psychotherapy group was about to end. Joan, in her 40s, was venting her usual tirade, revealing little of her own feelings. Her group members were becoming antsy and resentful. One member confronted her, saying, "I've heard this before." Like the storm outside, Joan blurted out how unsafe it was and how unfeeling others were, continuing to externalize her problems. As Joan was leaving, she said she didn't understand why everyone she tried to get close to didn't like her. She believed she was telling the truth about her husband, missing the point of her confrontation. That evening I called Joan and invited her to my office to talk about what occurred and why it continues to happen.
When Joan arrived, she started her usual tirade against others. I asked if she would be willing to probe deeper. As she talked, she casually mentioned being raped when she was nine by a family friend. She told her mother what had happened. Instead of getting the comfort and support she needed, her mother told her she was lying, that the neighbor would never do such a horrible thing, to forget "that nonsense," and "never mention it again." Summoning all of her remaining courage, she told her father, who punished her severely for disobeying her mother by talking to him.
In those traumatic moments, her life changed, perhaps more by the reactions of her parents than the rape itself! She learned that it was not safe to talk about her feelings and believed others would think she was lying, too. Not only did she not talk about the rape again, but also pushed the memory so far back in her mind that she "forgot" about it.
When I pointed out how traumatic the rape and its aftermath must have been, she minimized it. Besides, she argued, what good is it to go back over "those things?" With subdued tears, she said, "You can't change what happened!" "Yes," I agreed, "but you can change how you think about it and your interpretation of what happened." I explained that when we are traumatized, whether we realize it or not, we continue to replay and enact the feelings of horror. In fact, we expect that the same thing will happen, namely that we won't be believed and will even be blamed.
I continued to explain that unlike stress that stretches us, trauma shatters us. Trauma survivors who don't get help with their life-changing experiences will typically view the world as no longer safe and predictable, just as Joan did. They will experience a world where chaos rules, will find little or no meaning or purpose, and worst of all blame themselves.
I tried to show her the value of facing her feelings. First, I asked her would she be safe if she were driving her car without an instrument panel to inform her of her speed, fuel level, or the condition of her engine? Suppose it was pouring rain and her windshield wipers weren't working? She was nonplus. I even reminded her that when the dentist gives her Novocain, she not only doesn't experience pain in the tooth the dentist is drilling, but also doesn't feel other sensations, like someone stroking her face tenderly. Feelings are our ways of assessing what's happening to us, I told her. She remained unmoved.
Out of desperation, I asked her what she knew about leprosy. She said, "Nothing." I asked her if she knew why lepers lost their fingers? "No" she replied. Then, I told her it was not because of the disease itself, but because lepers can't feel the rats and other animals tearing at their flesh. She got it! She cried for all the times she had to stuff her feelings, telling me how hard her life has been, living without comfort from others.
We then talked about how friendships, trust, and intimacy develop. Without sharing her real feelings, no one could really know her. And without knowing her, no one would connect with her. Her solution as a child became the problem as an adult. She perpetuated her rejection, creating self-filling prophecies.
I knew if she talked to her group the way she talked to me, she would not only be accepted but also praised for her courage and persistence. A new Joan walked into group the following week, a Joan who was listened to with compassion, praised for her courage and bravery. Most importantly, she was accepted and supported. It was the end of an old story and the beginning of a new one.
This story illustrates many of the effects of trauma's wake, especially the denial of its impact. Joan learned the value of facing her feelings and finally received the benefits of being heard and understood. She became missed whenever she couldn't attend a group, and she was better able to connect with her husband in ways she never could before.
My hope is this blog will also become your blog. Send me questions/concerns you wish me to address at my e-mail gravitz@aol.com.
Until later...
