The thing I was planning to write today got erased from my brain.
Because of the explosions.
I honestly thought I was mostly over all the post-traumatic stress crap that accumulated in my mind/body from a decade living in the Middle East. Hahahahaha. No.
This is my brain on stress, fear and terror.
I mean, not this. I’m fine now.
It was the Fourth of July.
Of course I knew it was coming. I even practiced reminding myself that these are just fireworks. It’s just kids. It’s just noise.
During the day my brother and I walked through the city and watch teenage boys setting off little mini firecrackers. I didn’t jump. I didn’t cry. It was going to be okay.
At night we went to sit outside with our neighbors to watch the neighborhood display. It was a little chaotic, but I was fine.
Some of the smaller kids were crying, and I remember saying semi-jokingly that we needed a designated hugger.
It was fine. But then there was a shrieking whistle and an explosion right above me.
And I was running panicked to the house.
That wasn’t the scary part.
Sure, I was terrified. And crying. And bewildered.
But the scary part was what happened to my brain. Because it went straight into this-is-a-terrorist-attack mode so smoothly and seamlessly that it was as if no time had elapsed since the last one.
In the first moments I had no thoughts at all other than my feet on the pavement and getting into the house.
Once the door was closed behind me, trauma-mode brain went into “here’s what happens next” overdrive.
“Okay. First you need to let people know where you are and that you’re okay. Of course, the cellular network is going to crash, so see if we can get through on a landline …”
There was still a part of me trying to insert something of now back into my consciousness. Reminding me.
“It’s fireworks, sweetie. You’re okay. No one’s dead.”
But it took seeing my gentleman friend looking at me with the most concerned, loving, and compassionate expression to get me to fully switch gears.
And it got better.
I went to bed.
My gentleman friend used emergency calming techniques on me, because I was too much of a wreck to do it myself.
And I slept. With explosions still going on outside the window. With shrieking. Sirens. I slept for ten hours and when I woke up I wasn’t scared.
And I had learned at least three things that I thought I already knew. Or at least was able to get a little better at internalizing them.
So yeah. I’m going to talk about them here, because that’s what I do.
Realization #1: We’re not done working on our stuff.
The funny thing is that this one is so incredibly familiar.
Often when I’m working with a new client and something really stuckified comes up, there’s an element of surprise and annoyance in their reaction.
Like, noooooooooo how can it be that this thing STILL isn’t resolved after all those years working on it?????
So I’m used to the idea that there are layers and layers and layers to work through. And that each time we heal one part of something, it’s not an ending. It’s just the opportunity to start clearing out even more.
But this really hit home for me just how much “we’re not done yet” there is. And how much time and love it takes to keep remembering that.
Realization #2: Permission. Still a really big deal.
Permission to stop everything and give myself comfort.
Permission to take time and acknowledge just how much trauma I’m carrying. How much we are carrying. All of us.
Permission to remember. Permission to not have to remember.
Permission to be someone who still is processing a lot of hurt.
Permission to be a total freaking train wreck sometimes.
Permission to remember that we are all, to some extent, traumatized from something.
And to try and relate to other people’s triggered reactions with as much patience and compassion as I do my own.
Realization #3: It’s really complicated.
All this healing to be done isn’t just about the immediate trigger.
It’s not just the café exploding across the street while I’m at work at the bar. It’s not just the explosions that wake me up when I’m at home.
- It’s knowing that your boyfriend was just looking for parking on the same street where that café was before it stopped being a café.
- It’s the agonizing waiting.
- It’s when your first thought is not about your boyfriend and it’s not about your customers and it’s not about the bodies on the street. Your first thought is “oh hell, there go my tips for the week.”
- It’s when you go out on your balcony and shout across to the neighbors to find out what happened … and they tell you it was a suicide bomber on a bus a few blocks away and you shrug and go back to bed.
- It’s being so jaded that you stop reacting.
- It’s everything.
A whole universe of reactions and associations and memories surround every painful experience … and they all need attention.
It’s not like you have to work on every single one since they’re all connected, but it’s useful to remember how much gunk can get stored in your body from these experiences.
And that it takes a lot of experiencing safety again to be able to demonstrate to yourself what it’s like to feel safe.
I hope you’re not hoping for a point or anything …
I guess what I’m really thinking is that we all have deep hurts. And old stuckified patterns. Screwed up memories.
And they’re going to come up. And they’re going to end up giving you something new to process each time.
You release something old, learn something new. Release something old, learn something new.
Learn something, heal something, move up to the next level of learning stuff and healing stuff.
We are healing.
But it takes a while.
Comments …
So I’ve been practicing asking for what I need and being more specific. And that way, if you feel like leaving one (you totally don’t have to), you get to be part of my experiment .
Here’s what I want:
- Comfort.
- Thoughts or stories about how you (or many of us) react to traumatic stuff, and things you’re wondering about or thinking about in connection to that theme.
What I would rather not have:
- Judgment.
- Politics.
- “Have you tried ….?”
My commitment.
I am committed to giving time and thought to the things that people say, and I will interact with their ideas and with my own stuff as compassionately and honestly as is possible for me.
Even though asking for what I want is still weirdly uncomfortable for me, I’m just going to remind myself that this is a thing I’m practicing.
Thanks for doing this with me!
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I had an experience of this just this morning. Something very small happened and I just froze up, sort of laughed and sort of cried all at once. It was so strange. I didn’t process it at exactly the moment it happened, how it was connected to old trauma, but then I did. And even though I wasn’t mad at myself for reacting that way (because I sometimes feel like, “geez, aren’t you over this already?), I was a bit sad. I do think trauma is so multi-layered and I find the layers to be very deep and old and hard to grasp. Makes me wonder if I could dialogue with some of it in art or writing.
(((big hugs and love))) to you, Havi. So glad you had your gentleman friend their to be your designated hugger.
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Oh boy, I never actually thought about that side of living in the Middle East – well, I never thought about it with *you*, but yes of course… explotions and awfulness and having to survive and becoming jaded because having to survive requires that. Oh hugs to you, because the jaded parts are so tired and hurt and beaten up that they have no energy to care anymore. Then the healing and the realisation of all that stuff. GAH! *Hugs*
There’s not much point to this comment other than I get this- whatever the layers apply to – I truly get this. I empathise with how hard and complicated it can be and I take my hat off to you for you gentleness to yourself through it all.l
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Wow. That’s a lot of trauma and anxiety to have to feel in just a matter of moments.
I’m so glad your gentleman friend was there to help you find a way to soothe that and feel better.
I think we human beings are pretty amazing, how we all carry so much STUFF with us, yet we’re still able to thrive at the same time. Kind of a both/and thing, instead of either/or, which is something I’ve been learning a lot about lately.
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I’m comforted to know that I’m not the only one who has this reaction to 4th of July fireworks. Really.
You lived in Israel. I lived in southern Lebanon – in the 1990s. I get it.
No matter how you cut it, it’s hard.
But you’re right. Healing comes; it just takes time.
Thanks.
Love and light to you, Havi.
Whether we give it a name like PTSD or leave the blech unnamed in the back of our minds, it hurts. It pops up when we don’t want it to. It gets in the way. And then we’re left with all these emotions that we want to call silly and stupid but are REAL and VARIED and, just as you say, layered.
I can’t relate to your experiences, but I can relate to the feelings and subsequent freakout.
I was in a rollover accident in my convertible in 2005 (rolled 3 times). I was extremely lucky to walk away (ok, be backboarded away) without much physical injury. To this day I have a hard time hearing shreeeeking brakes or the sound of gravel hitting the side of the car. It doesn’t bother me every day, so I never know when to expect it. I remind myself I’m safe and I tell my husband to slow down if he’s driving. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
After being assaulted in 1998, I had a series of night terrors lasting over 8 months that involved me losing my keys and the person who had them was my attacker. My heart still skips a beat from time to time when I misplace my house keys and it is 11 years later.
You’re right…. we’re all still working on our stuff. It’s good to have a reminder of how much we work on it…. I find it’s the randomness of the reaction that is so incredibly jarring. It is harder to prepare for when you aren’t sure if it will happen. I let The Blech take me prisoner for a long time and lost a lot of myself.
I find it amazing how you can articulate how you feel and recognize each emotion, marinate with it, and take the lessons away while lessening the pain.
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Oh Sweetie,
Reading your story I just wanted to take you in my arms and give you the biggest hug and try and make you feel as safe as possible. And it made me sooooo happy when you talked about how loving and compassionate and concerned your gentleman friend was with you. I’m just so glad that you have that kind of nurturing and sweetness in your life.
And yeah, trauma… blech…. we all got it…. in spades! One of my most intense traumatic experiences happened when I was in my early 20’s and some guy came walking up behind me and grabbed me and put a knife to my throat. His intention was to rape me and luckily I somehow managed to get away but for years, and years and YEARS afterward if I was walking down the street and I heard footsteps behind me I couldn’t tolerate it. I would have to stop and turn around, look at the person and let them pass me by. My body would just go into red alert alarm bells screaming freak out because of that trigger.
It’s gotten way better over time, but even now, especially at night, I can still have the trauma response. And yes, this stuff just takes as long as it takes to heal and every time we have the reaction it’s another opportunity to be ridiculously kind with ourselves!
Thanks for the story and the great reminders!
Hugs,
Chris
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That really sucks, Havi. I’m sorry.
When stuff freaks me out, I run and hide. But rather than a physical sort of running-and-hiding, it’s more…an emotional sort of running-and-hiding.
My face becomes a mask. My eyes go glassy. I block out the world, and furiously concentrate on something ridiculous (like surfing the internet, or watching TV, or reading), and if anyone makes the innocent mistake of accidentally pulling me back into reality by daring to talk to me? I bite their head off.
Not pretty, and not very useful, but there you have it.
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Whoa.
I want to go and make a cup of tea and send you some love over the ether whilst the kettle boils but I know that if I do that, I won’t come back and comment, because this post has made me realise I am going through something like this everyday, even today and I didn’t even see it.
It’s the shadow of post-natal depression. Hubby went out for one hour today, leaving me with the Bean at a time I normally work (it was an appointment he had). I freaked out inside. I didn’t show him, or the Bean, who went to sleep pretty quick in my arms anyway, but I felt such panic deep inside at being alone with my son.
Not because of anything sinister – it’s just that whenever I am alone with him, I’m back in that place I was two years ago. The colours bleed out of everything and even the sunlight outside turns grey. I’m taken back into that state, just as you describe hear – without even realising it until it’s happened.
Oh God. I need to go back and read what you said about the healing part, as I am so afraid right now that this will never heal.
Love, hugs and tears for you, glorious Havi.
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And even while I’m feeling relieved to have this added reminder that I’m not alone in this, wanting to send so much love to everyone else going through all this hard.
Because ohmygod it sucks.
@the fat nutritionist – oh yeah, that sounds like a really familiar description. Hug.
And I kind of want to echo back to everyone what Chris Zydel said in a sort of “oh sweetie!” way.
What hard, awful, terrifying things to go through. And so much love for you while you’re working through it. And thank you!
I’m sorry that the fireworks triggered those feelings inside you. I’m sorry that you were reminded of that time of chaos and fear and jadedness.
I’ve had similar visceral reactions to the stimuli that brought me back to the heartwrenching, fearful moments of my life.
I find that I’m like a big sponge, and as much as I bubble forth and think that I’ve got all this stuff out, there’s still a bit inside me that can be triggered and then out come my emotional reactions.
The only thing that helps me is comfort and forgiveness.
I don’t know if it’s the same for you but I find that there is part of myself that can’t get over how badly I reacted when I was assaulted (as if I had any prior understanding of how TO react).
When I write that out, it sounds CRAZY. It sounds crazy to say something like “Oh I’m feeling this pain because I haven’t forgiven myself.” But for my situation there is partial truth there.
If this helps- It’s not your fault that those suicide bombers blew up perfect innocent strangers on the buses and cafes in your neighborhood. It’s not your fault that you thought of your tips first or didn’t react with the same amount of concern and kindness to the victims of each catastrophe.
Much blessings and love your way-
Bridget
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Thank you for writing about this topic – you’re helping yourself and so many others. I was beaten and abused by men until my mid-20’s, when I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Syndrome (the doctors think I have had PTS since the age of 8). Ten years after the diagnosis and I began therapy, I am regularly in meeting rooms and asserting my role to a team of men. There are times it leaves me shaking but alwasy exultant that I got through it. Each interaction with the fear and the trigger of fight/flight gives me more insight and more compassion for my Self.
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Havi, I just love this. I can think of two friends who need to see it right now. And I shall share it. Thank you.
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Havi, thank you for sharing both the experience and for being able to sort through it. They are both gifts. Just the other day I was seeing your three realizations related to long-standing work issues that connect with losing jobs and relationships in the past. The triggers might be different, but our bodies respond to them the same. Prayers for continuing healing for all of us in the process. Thank you for being a part of that.
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I have never had the experiences you have had and I’m sorry you (or anyone) has had to have them. I have been blessed to feel relatively safe in my daily living. I have had that panicky oh-my-goodness-I-can’t-deal-with-this sort of feeling on a few occasions. Most notably with Hurricane Katrina and again with Gustav. There were some panicky, I-can’t-breathe moments, but they passed and I moved on to deal with what had to be dealt with. Every hurricane season when there are no storms, all is fine. When there is a major storm and we are watching every hour to see where it is going, not as fine. But I get through it with much prayer and support. We work as a family to prepare. And of course, everyone else is in the same situation.
The worst part for me about post traumatic stress is the sneakiness of it all. I go blythely along in life doing my thing and then, out of nowhere, it rears it’s ugly head. I have resigned myself that these moments will happen and am trying not to view them as a personal failure. That actually is quite a challenge, I am still working on accepting that it is normal to have reactions like this and that I am not mentally ill or crazy or a failure for having a reaction to what most other people don’t even register on their radar. And it is comforting to me to know I am not alone in this. For me, every time I hear a door slam or voices raised I cringe, I get a frisson of fear, an unconscious reaction to being in a home with a violent bipolar parent. I know intellectually a door slamming sometimes is a slip or the wind catches it or what have you. But no matter what my spine tenses up and I hold my breath for a second. Or two. No matter how much therapy I purchase or how safe I feel in my home or other places or how much time has passed it’s always there, like a ghost who follows me around. We all have our baggage and most people who know me don’t even know I have these feelings. And most people I don’t ever tell. I am just “a jumpy person” and that’s a label I can live with.
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Add my voice to the “I can’t even comprehend” chorus, but I do want to totally sympathize/empathize with the “it’s not the immediate trigger” bit.
I was in a bad situtation once (in the interest of saving time/space, feel free to go here if you want the story: http://linboring.blogspot.com/2008/10/in-which-i-go-to-parade.html or, you know, not. That’s cool too). And it’s not really what the guy did that got to me — that I handled OK. It’s the mistaken thought that he had *followed* me that caused the panic, and to this day, years later and in a different state, I *still* feel like he’s following me. Even though he never was. So that, at least, I get.
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I lived in Tel Aviv from 88 to 94. I was there during the first Gulf War. I left just before they started blowing up Dizengoff Center. I cannot imagine what it was like to live through that era.
Your thought about your tips reminds me of what I thought during one missile attack – the news had stopped showing where the missiles had fallen, because that would have been like saying, “HEY! A LITTLE TO THE LEFT NEXT TIME!” but you could figure it out if you lived there, of course, based on what the cameras were showing. Anyway, I start realizing that the footage looks familiar, and then the phone rang, it was a friend of a friend, who said, “I don’t know if you had anything important in your office BUT YOU MIGHT WANT TO CHECK IF YOU FORGOT ANYTHING THERE TODAY” (of course you can’t say anything on the phone either because you don’t know who’s listening.)
And I got in a cab and took it as far as i could, and then walked the rest of the way, and the whole time, I wasn’t panicked. I wasn’t freaked out. I was just going to check the office because I didn’t have kids and I was still in Tel Aviv and I was the closest person to the office.
(The office was fine. The missile fell on our post office, though, which was in a building being renovated at the time so it was empty.)
I tell people about it and they go WHAT? you did WHAT?
It is the stuff you have to do to get by. It is the stuff you do to keep going. Thinking about your tips was the completely NORMAL thing to do.
I can’t hear air raid sirens in movies or on records. I hate flyovers at baseball games (or anywhere). I hid in a closet the first year I lived in Seattle when the Blue Angels were out.
My PTSD first presented itself after 9/11. That was the time I finally got to a therapist about it. That was the first time I gave myself credit for having gone through something enormous, of how i got through it, of what I had accomplished in spite of it. It was the first time that I learned that my reactions weren’t “wrong”, despite how people – like ex-boyfriends or well-meaning neighbors – reacted to my reactions.
it has taken a long time for me to acknowledge that there is no “getting over” it. there is just going through it, and growing around it, and the work unfortunately never ends.
*hugs*
4th of July used to make me very, very angry, as I thought about all the people in the world for whom the boom boom noises are not “fun” but instead terrifying. Now I try to not get so angry and instead to send LOVE to all the people in the world for whom the boom boom noises are not fun but instead terrifying… so I was sending you and the rest of the world A LOT of love this weekend!!!
And I did learn that it’s the Dalai Lama’s birthday on July 6th. Last year at a meditation retreat the teacher said “hey, maybe you can think of the fireworks as being a celebration of the Dalai Lama’s birthday” – it’s a reframe that doesn’t work if you’re in the throes of terror, but one I strive to try on as an alternative…
I think at some level the heart, the meat-body, the nervous system recognize no “time” or “progress” in working on our issues/trauma – it’s a deep, elemental, limbic part of us, the part that is meant to keep us safe, that doesn’t really let us ever fully get rid of “scary! go hide! run away!” So your reaction is not some kind of failure of progress, it’s just your sweet body, trying to help keep you safe! It loves you!
We love you!
Havi, my heart really goes out to you. For about a week, I was struggling with some PTSD-type healing of my own, although it was very hard for me to recognize it as such. I took time out for myself and visited some of my favorite paintings at the MoMA and talked to my partner and therapist and eventually felt more even. Reading this post really helps me to put what I was going through into some perspective though. Thanks as always for sharing your processes with us.
Sweet Havi, great loving hugs and tender soft blankets of comfort to wrap you in.
Trauma lives in our cells and heals slowly, slowly, over time as we accumulate experiences of safety that develop more weight than our experiences of fear and pain. And new trauma brings old traumatic experience roaring out of the depths.
I wish you so much softness, love and healing. And time and space in which to hold all the experiences of your life in love.
Growing up in India was, in some ways, a decades-long lesson in understanding fear, suffering, and pain. Up close and personal. Those patterns of reacting to danger still show up when I least expect them. I’ve learned to meet them with compassion, and to give myself lots of time and space and healing support when they’re triggered.
Love and love to you,
Hiro
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Lovingkindness to you, Havi, and everybody who needs it. There’s so much reason to be gentle and kind with ourselves and others . . . and it’s so easy for me to forget that!
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Good one, Havi. Really painful. I’ve finally started receiving sessions and support on my own PTSD after eight years as a paramedic in the SF Bay Area. Why in the world I would have paranoid panic reactions about safety, and feeling an internal urge to “OMG do something *now*” after only seeing thousands of tragic situations…? 🙂
And I hate the fourth of July, too. Although I rarely was actually there for the violent calls, almost always coming in afterwards, I still wonder if someone is using the sound fireworks to cover up a little drive by or something else. Nice thoughts, eh?
Oy. I’m glad I’ve got the support. The most helpful to me so far has been the trauma work of Peter Levine as describe in his book Waking the Tiger. Amazing.
Peace to both of us, and to all of us who carry the trauma of this world in our bodies.
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Havi,
Obviously I’m sorry it happened, but I want to really tell you how wonderful I think it was that you were able to take good care of yourself by letting yourself sleep for the 10 hours.
I used to do dot-to-dot pictures to calm myself down. I’d have to have a variety around because most of the time I’d want the ones that go to 200 so they’d last a little longer and distract me a little more and sometimes I’d only want to do the ones that went to about 20 and do a whole book of them.
Kudos to your gentleman friend.
Re another blog. If and only if and when you feel like it, go to your closet and meditate.
May you find peace when you need it most, Havi and everyone else.
I am so glad you had your gentleman friend to help you through the Fourth.
Light and love to you all.
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This post made me realize that I still jump when the floor shakes. After having lived through the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake and the 1994 Northridge quake, for the longest time I would jump out of my skin when the building shook. Someone running down the hall in my small apartment building, or a very large truck going by would start the sudden intake of breath and the shaky-shakes in my body. I no longer have such an extreme reaction, but I still become tense and can feel the blood start to drain from my face.
The other reaction is the sound of back-up beeps on trucks. The entire two years of my father’s illness leading to his death, there was major sewer line contstruction going on outside my house for a long distance up and down Santa Monica Blvd. The work went on 24 – 7. The back-up beeps became the soundtrack to those stress-filled years. I still hate them.
I have been aware that these things were still issues but by writing about it here, it has made it clearer how much of an issue it still is. And I feel better for writing it down.
And (as Hiro said on Twitter) since we don’t have rituals for these things, all this weird stuff happens with our grief (she said it way more eloquently than that).
@Harriet – thanks for the reminder about my closet! *kiss*
@Mark – oh yeah. Definitely. And thanks for mentioning the Waking the Tiger book – I will take a look.
@everyone – this is so so so helpful for me. I am really appreciating your thoughts and kindness and experiences and the togetherness of it. It means so much to me. Really, truly, thank you for being with me during this.
Wow, holy hell, how freakin’ terrifying!!!
It reminds me of how some dogs react during fireworks. As if it’s the end of the world. They are desperate, terrified, tail between their legs, running for cover, completely freaked out and fearful. Super super awful.
You know, that’s the one thing–the bombs–that comes to mind first when I hear “Israel.” I don’t think I would be able to stand it. I know after a while you get jaded, but I’m afraid to even visit it.
I would probably feel different if I were Jewish. My friend Dana from college is from Israel and was not scared about all that. She said she and her family would spend time together inside and play board games, hang out. They would transform the experience into a bonding one. Wow. And that when she served in the army she was super proud.
What a difference it can make where you are raised!! That thought still impresses me!!
I find that colour helps me calm down and reconnect with myself. For me that means either playing with water colour or colouring in some fancy colouring books I keep on hand for the purpose. Something about this child-like activity brings me back to balance and is besides, very soothing. I think this works for me because most often it’s the child self and her memories that respond to the trigger I experience.
@Janet: thank you, thank you so much for sending love so that the past weekend could be potentially less terrifying for those of us who do NOT believe that loud noises and explosions have anything to do with recreation!!!
My usual joke to people is that *someone* has to keep the cats company while they’re hiding under the bed in fear — so I’m just there to, you know, help them out. I’m OK with the “geez, aren’t you over this already?” voice, but still have a very hard time with the “you’re so ridiculous to be like this” voice. But getting better, I think.
For all of us: here’s sending comfort (retroactively?) and mental earplugs. Bright pink, industrial-grade earplugs.
Wow, I can barely imagine what your experiences in Tel Aviv must have been like. I’m awed that you can write about it so eloquently. Thank you.
My traumas are all very internal. When my grandmother died I was 19, and for years afterwards I gave myself the hardest time because I hadn’t cried at her funeral (and was therefore hard-hearted, unnatural, etc.). Then one evening in the pub I was talking to a dear friend about my grandmother, and suddenly I found the grief – stumbled into it like a vast underground lake. It was an overwhelming experience, and I was so glad my friend was there to help me through it.
There’s a more recent example that makes me laugh: my younger son, who’s still breastfeeding, discovered a little while ago that I have two nipples, one of which is handily placed to fiddle with while he feeds from the other. I find this ridiculously irritating and have been doing my best to discourage it. But he’s persistent – he basically gropes the hell out of me every time he feeds, while I try to stop him. And here’s the funny bit: the first few days of this routine, I had full-on flashbacks to my very first relationship, from when I was sixteen, with a boy who was similarly … enthusiastic. I guess heightened experiences, even when not traumatic, can leave us with intense sensory memories.
Or perhaps I should say, in this case, sensory mammaries. (Sorry. I tried to resist. I failed.)
@Lean Ni – lol, ya, my kids also liked to “play with their food” while they nursed.. owwweeee…
@Havi – How do you even begin to destuckify a bad hurt ?
Oh, honey. Yeah, trauma sucks. It just really, really sucks. Sometimes I need to talk about the thing that happened to me, and sometimes I don’t even want to think about it, because if I don’t think about it, it never happened, right? Yeah, right. I still wake up at 3am thinking about it sometimes. And even when I don’t think about it, I know it scarred me. The ability to trust men is just gone. I’m sure I’ll never have another relationship again.
*hugs*
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Oh Havi, hugs and a comfy blanket and a big mug of hot delicious something to you. The whole layers of hurt thing has been coming up a bit for me recently too, and it’s very hard not to be annoyed that I *still* haven’t gotten over it. Practicing my ‘even though’ sentences has helped make it easier (thanks to you).
Also, by coincidence I recently read some old diary entries from a traumatic period in my life and it made me realise that there is a lot *more* distance between Me Then and Me Now than I had thought. It made me feel a lot safer and calmer to see how much had changed and shifted since that time. Of course, it could have the opposite effect on some people – old diaries are volatile things.
Havi, I’m so sorry. I want to join the group making hot chocolate and popcorn for you. And bringing you cuddly teddy bears and snuggly afghans to hide under. And hugs. And healing tears together.
Every year, for about a month before my annual gyno exam, I go insane. I get progressively worse and more panicky and emotional all the way up to and including when I have to get on that exam table. Tranquilizers just make me sleepy. They don’t calm me down.
I had two bad experiences with rather intimate medical procedures when I was a small child. Less caring doctors over the years have made it worse.
For years, I’ve beaten myself up for being so emotional and angry and scared about it. I won’t tell you all the ways it’s scarred my life, because it’s too embarrassing to admit, but that childhood trauma has scarred my life. Plus, I’ve been so angry and resentful that I couldn’t work through it, even after all this time.
But now I know that getting Stuck is a part of life. That everyone does over something. And that I’m not a freak because I’m stuck over this. Thank you.
And thank you for your Emergency Calming Techniques. They helped me sleep during those nights in the month going up to the doctor visit.
Thanks for bringing it out for all to think about it. It’s important for everyone to be able to understand how we handle traumatic stuff in our life. If it wasn’t for you post, I wouldn’t be writing it right now. Your experience is reminding me that there are greater traumas out there. I was raped three times, first time I was 12. But I lived through, I am here in US my kids don’t know war. I have not seen people killing each other or bombs going off. When I need to comfort my self or my kids, I am trying to remember that we have our experiences for a reason. But first I cry like a baby.
Peace to everyone
Erikas last blog post..
I hope you know how wonderful it is that you share your fears with us so that we can face our own.
😉
Yeah, I know a little bit of this. Earthquake, SF 1989. Scary, bad, and stayed that way for so long. A smaller version, but I know that hijack long after the fact, and that WFT? sense afterwards.
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Going through explosions sounds very, very scary. And I thank you for asking me to share my own traumatic stuff.
Although it may seem minor compared to things like living in the middle east and sometimes–not right now–it seems a little silly (but we don’t compare, we love, right?), but one of my biggest traumas are the chemicals and hormones in my brain during PMS. It’s very frightening and distressing.
But, I’ve learned that if I pull out my CNVC list of feelings and needs, I feel better for at least being able to articulate where I am:
“When my body shifts it’s hormone levels every month, I feel panicked and overwhelmed. I am grateful for the presence with which I am experiencing these feelings, even if they are very uncomfortable right now. In the meantime, I accept that these are scary emotions and, even though right now it feels like they’re never going to stop, I feel grounded enough to put this into words so I can see what I’m feeling.”
Sometimes that’s all I can do. And it doesn’t really fix it, but it makes me feel like I have a better handle on the situation. Sometimes that’s enough.
And I haven’t even begun processing the PTSD surrounding the suicides of my friend or my father. But that’s where I am right now. And it’s okay that we’re here.
This makes me think of when my boyfriend and I are at home, but in different parts of the house and he approaches me, but I don’t hear him. I have assault-related PTSD and when I am startled, often times I jump away or scream. He says the same thing every time this happens: “I live here.” And every time he says this I wonder whether my reactions are a way of reinforcing this old piece of my story/identity as rape-survivor? Or just part of my deal in this life? Thanks Havi, I am inspired by your courage.
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Jen, I had those panicky feelings with regard to hormone changes and peri-menopause. Started using progesterone cream. Like night and day for me. Might help you. And it’s natural. I got mine from Emerita but other places have it also.
Thank you so much for writing. I usually enjoy fireworks and don’t often think about how they affect other people, but your post reminds me that *the things I think are fun are not always fun to others*. Perhaps you would have enjoyed the view of the fireworks from my house this year – I live on top of a mountain about 40 miles out of Washington DC. From the front porch we could see, but not hear, at least ten displays between us and the horizon. We were above them and they were tiny and silent, but still beautiful!
I have been dealing with PTSD for 16 years. It’s only very recently that I’ve begun to ‘get better’ in some ways. Your post helps a lot, as does reading the comments from other people who are in the same boat. I’ve just become a reader of your blog, and I am enjoying it very much!
@Lisa: My husband does something similar. Whenever he makes a sudden move near me, especially near my head, I jump, duck, or flinch away, and he says “you know it’s just me, I’m the only other person in the house.” Sure, I *know* that… but my lizardbrain doesn’t. It just knows that someone is making a move that could be dangerous. You can’t help those reactions. I think that there are things we *do* do to reinforce our identities as survivors, as victims, as both positive and negative things – but that sort of instinctive panic-reaction ain’t it.
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Havi – thanks for writing about this topic. Sending you hugs. Can totally relate how events in the present can instantly bring back all the trauma from years ago. Those layers…… Mine is the inability to watch, read or hear about anything that has to do with cars and water. As in cars submerged in water… with people in them. Almost 8 years ago, my father (who had the start of dementia), drove us into a detention pond. Obviously, I survived, but I know just how close we both came to dying that day. Okay… can’t write anymore… just too traumatic…. the lizard brain is freaking out….
Big hugs to all of the rest of you who shared your traumas. May we all experience healing as time passes.
This makes me think about all the folks out there in the world who not only have to deal with personal/family-of-origin Stuff, but geopolitical Stuff too, and how unfair that is. (I’m probably looking at it through the wrong lens, but that’s how it feels to me: so damn unfair.) I’ll try to be like the other commenters here and send out love instead of stewing in my it’s-not-fair-ness.
Catherine Cantieri, Sorteds last blog post..Freedom and organization: does it have to be either/or?
Hugs, lots and lots of hugs. Virtual ones now and a real one on Sunday if you’d like.
@Jen – yay for feelings and needs. And bringing attention to them. I find that very grounding too. Also, just talking-it-out to myself out loud is useful for me.
And PMS stuff *is* very frightening and scary. I go through that stuff too, though I don’t go off into hormonal-induced paranoia nearly as much as I used to. For me it’s a combination of yoga and acupuncture and Avoiding People when I know it’s coming on. Hard stuff!
@Lisa R. –
First of all, so much love to you. What an impossibly hard, crappy thing to go through, and then to have the fear and not-trusting-yourself-either on top of it. Oh, my dear.
You said:
…when I am startled, often times I jump away or scream. He says the same thing every time this happens: “I live here.”
And I’m wondering …
Is that *useful* for you? I mean, when he says this, is that grounding and comforting for you? Does it help you get back to yourself?
Because if it is, that’s terrific. And if it’s not, you can ask him to say something else. Maybe there is something else that will help you feel safe and secure and supported. Because that’s really the only important thing.
In terms of whether your reactions are “a way of reinforcing this old piece of my story/identity as rape-survivor?” That’s one explanation … maybe not necessarily the most likely one.
There’s definitely an element of your body wanting to protect you and using fear because that’s what it knows.
My guess is that the best place to start is by giving the fear permission (temporary permission) to exist, along with the part of you that really wants it to be gone already.
Because it is so completely understandable and normal that you would still be having these reactions. And acknowledging that normalcy when they show up is really healthy.
As in:
“Yeah, there’s my stuff again and it makes sense that this would be happening and I’m allowed to be a mess about this for as long as it takes. And even though I really want to be done with this already, I’m recognizing how much hurt I still have that wants to be noticed.”
Or something like that. If that’s too cheesy, you can totally change the wording.
It’s just that it’s so much better for your body to have permission to be triggered and terrified than it is to be in resistance and try to rush yourself out of it with logic.
I hope that makes sense!
@Pirate – next year I’m watching fireworks with you. 🙂
And yeah, I also duck and do weird jump-ey things and sometimes scream and scare everyone who lives with me. It’s hard.
@renmiri – wow.
“How do you even begin to destuckify a bad hurt?”
I think that’s going to need its own post.
But for now I will just say that the most important thing is giving it permission to be hurt. Just acknowledging what a hard thing it is and that it’s natural and normal that this would hurt so much.
That is definitely the biggest first step. And that one is hard too.
So if you can’t give it permission to be awful, you can try giving yourself permission to not be able to let it be awful. And see if that starts to loosen things up a little too.
Hug to you. Sorry for your hurt.
Havi – You and Selma are totally awesome and inspiring.
You inspire me to be more honest, more open and more naked. (Yeah I know that last one is impossible, but you know what I mean…)
You make me wish I was a big hippy too!
Basically, you rock.
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Thank you in particular for writing the ‘realizations #3’ segment of this post. Reading: “It’s when your first thought is not about your boyfriend and it’s not about your customers and it’s not about the bodies on the street. Your first thought is “oh hell, there go my tips for the week,”” made you much more relatable (is that even a word? easier to relate to..) and in turn, makes it easier to take in the other things you have to say.
I find it a bit discouraging to think that the old hurts will continue to resurface, but from experience I know it to be true. However, your post made me realize that I need to be better about recognizing the progress I’ve made. It may feel like the same things–trust issues, being overly self-critical, what have you–coming up again and again, but it’s not always the same. There are different flavors, and that’s progress of a sort too.
claires last blog post..Latest note to self
Thank you so much for your honesty and sharing such a traumatic moment and your journey through it. Hang in there, is all I can say. And I’m so glad you weren’t alone.
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Hi Havi,
Thank you for sharing this. I often wonder what happens to all those people who survive the stories on the news, the ten second clips of this exploded or that collapsed. It’s so powerfully connecting to reflect on all the shared pain there is in this world and how hard people are working to try to heal themselves. Makes you want to be as compassionate as possible towards everyone, maybe even yourself.
I’ve been in some relationships in the past that were not very safe so I have some trauma responses. A few weeks ago my partner reached out to me from behind playfully, I think to pull me into a hug. I was tired and distracted and hadn’t heard anyone approach. I flipped around raised my fists and screamed at him to stop it and leave me alone and for a second I didn’t know who he was. I cried for an hour afterward because I felt so guilty. I kept apologizing and he kept saying there was nothing to apologize for, that it was just a triggered response, nothing more. The permission thing is really, really hard for me. I feel such intense shame whenever I get triggered and can’t control my reactions.
I like reading your blog because you help so many people, while still having stuff. I always thought I had to work through my stuff first before I could be of use to anyone, but you’ve changed my mind.
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