personal trauma

All trauma is interconnected

August 3, 2020 By gwynn

Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated. When it is ignored or invalidated the silent screams continue internally heard only by the one held captive. When someone enters the pain and hears the screams healing can begin. ~Danielle Bernock, Emerging with Wings: A True Story of Lies, Pain, and the Love That Heals

When my son was five months old he fell from a changing table at an art museum onto a concrete floor. This led to him having a fracture in his skull and us spending a night for observation at the children’s hospital (which in and of itself was a frustrating and somewhat traumatic experience.)

My son was fine, with no long term brain injuries or impact. I’m sure there is trauma that is living in his body from this which we will work through when the time is right.

I know there is trauma living in mine.

One day, when my son was four, he was wearing a pair of my shoes and was about to go down the steps onto our (concrete) walkway to go look at the moon with his dad and sister. I saw him starting to do this and very quickly grabbed him and told him to take my shoes off, I’d carry him or he could walk outside barefoot.

Long story short, Little Dude wasn’t having it and ran away crying while my husband got upset that I had stopped him from going outside. The truth is my response was automatic with no thought beyond seeing how his head was going to meet the concrete. I reacted on impulse, my mama instinct for my child’s safety, rightly or wrongly, engaged.

My body reacted in that “I will save my young” way that mammalian mothers tend to respond, but it was more than that. It was a trauma response. Because, in my mind and body, I had failed to protect my child when he was 5 months, I will be damned if I won’t protect him now.

Of course in the moment I didn’t full understand why my reaction was so strong. I didn’t see the connection to his fall at five months. I only knew I had a strong reaction to potential harm coming to my child.

In the days following the shoe-step-moon incident, is that all of a sudden the trauma that my family experienced the year before, not related to my child’s safety, was front and center. I was overwhelmingly sad, anxious, scared. I felt alone and yet wasn’t letting others in. I didn’t even have words for what all was swirling inside, but my body was reacting and then my mind would race and I was bringing all my practices for calming and soothing into play as best I could.

And sometimes they worked and sometimes they didn’t.

Mostly though, I didn’t understand why I was hurting so much, now, from the trauma from last summer. There was nothing that related to that trauma that had happened. There was no apparent logic to why I was feeling so sad and angry.

I chalked it up to this is part of the cycle for this relatively new trauma, and perhaps it was simply time again for me to feel my feelings again and process another layer of it.

Then a week later, I had an a-ha moment and remembered the fall when my son was five months old.

This thing that had been evading me, coming forward as the most recent trauma in my life, finally came out of the dark recesses of my unconsciousness.

And I cried. And sobbed. And wailed.

For not being there for my son in the way I needed to be when he was five months old up on that changing table.

Something finally released. And I wasn’t feeling so sad and angry about the trauma from last summer.

I named The Thing. I processed a bit more of the The Thing. And The Other Thing was no longer at the forefront of my mind and body.

Our bodies and even our minds, don’t always understand separate traumatic events as distinct. When one is triggered, often others – and particularly the most recent – come flooding forward. For those of us who have experienced multiple traumas in our lives (everyone), this can be incredibly confusing. It means we can’t always see how the dots connect or even that they connect.

It means one trauma is activated, but it presents as a completely separate trauma.

This is confusing and frustrating. It is illogical to our linear ways of considering logic. It makes no sense.

And.

This is how it works. Our bodies especially can’t differentiate distinct traumatic events. It knows (perceived) danger and acts. It doesn’t matter what the (perceived) danger is or is about or is related or similar to.

It takes a while for our minds to catch up, too. Which is its own frustration and layer of confusion.

There is logic to the trauma from last summer “just popping up.” Sometimes that’s how trauma works.

But this time, my body and mind responses actually weren’t about that most recent trauma but were about an older one. My body reacted. My brain didn’t comprehend what the hell was going so, so pulled from most recent events.

It took me slowing down and thinking about the shoe-stair-moon incident in a more detached way to piece together that all my upset about last summer’s events wasn’t really about last summer, but about something that happened more than three years ago.

I don’t know that I could have done this, this slowing down and breaking down and shifting apart, two years ago. I don’t know that I ever would have had my a-ha, been able to name what was really happening, and then move on, at all and definitely not within a matter of days.

Which is to say, this work takes time.

All our traumas are interconnected within us. This can be confusing and frustrating and takes time, energy, patience, and connection (with Self and others) be able to unravel.

Sometimes what we think is making us “crazy” isn’t what is making us “crazy.” Taking the time to slow down requires practice. Being able to slow down and unravel requires curiosity. Learning to allow ourselves to feel and be curious about ourselves requires patience and self-compassion.

And a lot of un-learning of ingrained and internalized patterns and ways of being.

To our un-learning, together.

/../

This essay was originally written for my weekly-ish newsletter in February 2018. It has been edited for publication here. To read my most recent essays you can subscribe right here.

Breaking patterns, disrupting cycles, & accountability

April 20, 2020 By gwynn

Healing can only happen when people are willing to shift. ~Iyanla Vanzant

Much too often, our minds are used to somewhat efficiently excuse and justify old patterns, when the same energy and efforts could go towards the creating of new ones. Our society is, meanwhile, deeply enamored with technological creation, invention, and marvels. Many of these technological advancements assist with life as it is, however, the creation of new patterns of behavior and ways of life remains largely unexplored. ~Sabina Nore, 22 Triggers

True accountability is not only apologizing, understanding the impact your actions have caused on yourself and others, making amends or reparations to the harmed parties; but most importantly, true accountability is changing your behavior so that the harm, violence, abuse does not happen again. ~Mia Mingus

Looking back on my thirteen years of motherhood, there is so much I would do different, if I could go back in time and start all over again. There were so many mistakes. So much I got wrong. So many patterns and cycles that I continued. So many I am still working on breaking.

And.

There is so much I got right, and I would do it the same way again. There were patterns I have been able to break, cycles I have been able to disrupt.

It is the both and.

All our relationships are often like that.

There are moments we look back on and wish with every fiber of our being we had made another choice, done something different. And then there are the moments that we look back on and breathe a sigh of yes, that one, that I got right.

Hindsight is nearly always 20/20. Looking back we have a clearer view of those moments, the ones that mattered, the ones that didn’t. The ones that were defining, the ones that weren’t. The ones that didn’t feel significant at the time, but turned out to be. Those moments we didn’t know would be the last, the times we thought we would always have another chance, more time, but it didn’t turn out that way.

We all carry within us patterns and cycles passed on to us by our families of origin, by our genetic ancestors, and by our culture. We have a choice, to a certain degree, to break and disrupt those cycles, to create change, to do different than what was done to us, to do different than what was done before.

I say to a certain degree, because we can’t break a pattern unless we become aware of it. This requires not only our ability to look back at past generations, but also an ability to look objectively at ourselves.

We need to be able to see the ways we have perpetuated these cycles. The ways we have continued the patterns.

This requires us to have a certain level of self-awareness. I believe it also requires us to have the ability to give ourselves self-compassion, to not dive into shame spirals and defensiveness. To be able to explain the whys of the harm we ourselves have participated in, but not make excuses for it.

There are no excuses for causing harm to others, or ourselves for that matter. Regardless of what was done to us in the past. Regardless of what was done to our ancestors.

In order to break these patterns and cycles we need to be willing to hold ourselves accountable.

Accountability, has four basic components.** These are:

Self reflection
Apology
Repair
Changed behavior

**From Mia Mingus

We need to be willing, and able, to do all four. It requires our ability to be wrong, and to actually change our behavior in the future. And in order to change behaviors, we need to do the work of unraveling, untangling, and processing the trauma that lives within us.

It is not glamorous or fun work.

It is work most people avoid doing. I get it. I understand why. It is hard and brutal to process the trauma that lives within us. To do the accompanying grief work. To move into liminal space and unknown territory of doing different. Of making change.

Of actually breaking and disrupting, and not repeating and perpetuating, old patterns and cycles of harm.

Even in the this work of doing different, we will still get some things wrong. Which is why self-compassion is so important. Which is why accountability, and our own willingness to go deep within ourselves and look at our own shadows, is so important. Which is why we need to remember that we are all only human, to make space for forgiveness when appropriate (and I do not believe it is always appropriate).

I have spent the last thirteen years practicing accountability with my daughter. Believe me, there have been ample opportunities for me to practice! And almost daily there are more opportunities. I practice it with my son. I am learning to practice it with my friends and lovers.

Accountability is vulnerable. It is a vulnerable space to move into admitting we have caused harm and taking ownership of it. It requires that we be able to hold the disappointment, hurt, and or frustration that we caused, of someone we love; and it requires that we process our own grief that comes with it.

It all takes intention, practice, and time. Life will give us plenty of opportunities. A vital piece is remembering the importance of doing our own work of breaking the patterns and cycles still alive in us, in between each new opportunity.

This is how we create change in the world :: by doing our individual work and the work of healing and creating a loving relationships with those in our lives. It means we will each be in the wrong, and this needs to be okay in the sense that we accept our responsibility and do the work of repair and change.

/../

This essay was originally published in my weekly(ish) newsletter on April 12, 2020. It has been edited for publication here. To receive my most recent essays, you can subscribe here.

We’ll be exploring these ideas in the seven week course Embodied Writing :: Relating, Relationships, & Trauma. You can learn more and register here.

Our shame narratives

January 16, 2020 By gwynn

We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection.

Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.

Shame, blame, disrespect, betrayal, and the withholding of affection damage the roots from which love grows. Love can only survive these injuries if they are acknowledged, healed and rare. ~Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

We all carry with us narratives from our families of origin, narratives from our communities, narratives from our greater culture. The stories of how we are too much this or not enough that. The stories about how we should feel shame for what we want, what we do, who we are, that we even exist in the first place.

These narratives didn’t come to us out of the blue. These are stories that have been cultivated for generations and generations, by a greater culture that sees humans as a commodity to be used, but not respected. These stories stem from capitalism, authoritarianism, patriarchy, misogyny. These stories stem from those in power wanting to stay in power and doing whatever they can to keep everyone else in line and doing their bidding.

That is where those stories come from on a meta level. That is how they seep into our communities. Into our families. Into our relationships. Into us.

It is true that our own experiences of abuse feed these stories. Complex trauma only makes those voices louder, only makes the stories seem more true.

And.

I would argue that the abuse of children – sexual, physical, neglect – all stem from this meta source.

Why else would children be beaten if not to be forced to fall in line with the status quo?

Why else would children be molested if not because the abusers were indoctrinated in the idea that children exist to serve others, in any and all capacities?

Why else would children be neglected if the adults weren’t so busy trying to stay alive within a culture that wants to kill them?

I am not dismissing the responsibility of the abusers for their own actions. Regardless of our own experiences of oppression and abuse we are always responsible for how we treat others in the world and whether or not we perpetuate harm.

What I am saying is that these narratives are fed to us from many, many different places. Hearing these narratives is inescapable. If it’s not our family, or our Self that’s telling us how we are too much or not enough and should feel shame, our greater culture definitely is.

These stories are fed to us, from birth. These stories seep into under skin, into our muscles, our sinew, our bones. These stories keep us small, quiet, complicit, compliant.

These stories keep us stuck in harmful (to us and others) patterns and cycles.

These stories impact the ways we relate to others. They have us judging. They have us expecting. They have us assuming. They have us demanding.

These stories keep us disconnected from our Self. Our true self. Our tend, broken open heart, Self. The self that knows, in its very being these narratives are total bullshit. The Self that asks over and over, why do you keep believing these lies?

Because a truth is, we are not too much.

A truth is, we are exactly enough.

A truth is, we get to take up space. And there is plenty of space for everyone.

A truth is, we get to state our wants, whatever they are, without shame.

A truth is, we get to have our boundaries respected.

A truth is, we are exactly enough just as we are.

A truth is, we can do the work of untangling all this cultural indoctrination and trauma.

Let’s do it. Let’s undo the generations of training we have living in our bodies and minds. Let’s begin to feel good in our own skin. Let’s find our ways to connection, real connection, without losing pieces of ourselves in the process.

We can do it. I know we can.

/../

This essay was originally published in my weeklyish newsletter on January 14, 2020. To receive my most recent essays you can subscribe here.

We will be exploring these narratives in my seven week writing course Embodied Writing :: Too much, not enough, & shame. We begin Monday, January 27, 2020. To learn more and register, click here.

Trauma & releasing shame

January 6, 2020 By gwynn

Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change. ~Brene Brown,I Thought It Was Just Me: Women Reclaiming Power and Courage in a Culture of Shame

Shame is a soul eating emotion. ~Carl Gustav Jung

So often survivors have had their experiences denied, trivialized, or distorted. Writing is an important avenue for healing because it gives you the opportunity to define your own reality. You can say: This did happen to me. It was that bad. It was the fault & responsibility of the adult. I was—and am—innocent. ~Ellen Bass, The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse

One of the ironies of trauma, is that for those of us who have experienced it, particularly relational trauma, we feel shame. We, the victims, the survivors, the ones who were harmed, feel the shame of the experience. We carry the burden of being “tainted” or “damaged” or “broken.”

This shame often leads us to silencing ourselves, even if the perpetrator didn’t specifically tell us not to talk about what happened. We don’t tell when the abuse is happening or immediately after the assault occurred. We don’t tell the story because we are afraid of what people will think, what they will say, how they will respond.

We don’t tell because we somehow think what happened was our fault. That we somehow encouraged the other person to harm us, that if only we’d done x or hadn’t done y.

When we are living in shame, and unable to share our stories, we are also unable to deeply connect with others. We don’t allow ourselves to be truly
seen and so intimacy, deep emotional intimacy, isn’t possible.

Sometimes though, it’s not only others that we can’t share our stories with. Sometimes we can’t admit our own stories to ourselves. Or we can admit parts of them, but not others. Or we can acknowledge the stories but are unable to examine them, explore them, become curious about the ways these events from our lives are still impacting us today.

The events from our past do impact us in our present, and will continue to, until we are able to dig into our own unconscious and automatic reactions, including the stories we have about being too much and not enough.

Shame runs rampant in those stories. I think most of us can make a long list of all the ways we aren’t enough (not smart enough, not pretty enough, not vocal enough, not articulate enough, not successful enough…) as well as all the ways we are too much (too loud, too sexual, too smart, too large, too picky…). We are never “right;” there is always something “wrong” with us, something that needs to be “fixed.”

Trauma does this to us. Our culture does this to us. And often times, intentionally or now, our families of origin do this to us. Unearthing, unraveling, examining these stories is no easy feat. And doing it while remaining present in our bodies can be even more complex.

Shame comes with trauma. Releasing the shame takes intention, time, practice and requires us to come into our bodies, examining our histories and our stories and seeing how they impacted us, and how that isn’t our fault.

Because what was done to us, what happened to us was not, and is not, our fault.

And.

Changing patterns, cycles, and harmful behaviors we have because of these experiences is our responsibility so we do not continue to pass trauma on to future generations.

/../

This essay was originally published to my weekly(ish) newsletter on January 14, 2019. It has been revised and edited for publication here. To receive my most recent essays you can subscribe to my newsletter here.

We will be exploring our stories of being too much, not enough, and the shame that comes with all that in the seven week program Embodied Writing :: Too Much, Not Enough, & Shame. We begin on Monday, January 27, 2020. There is a sliding scale fee. Learn more and register here.

The importance of grief work in our trauma processing

November 18, 2019 By gwynn

Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you. ~John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

I’ve been thinking a lot about grief. How grief can be present at the same time as excitement and anticipation. How in our culture we don’t have ways of grieving that are helpful. How we try to put a time limit on our grief. How we, in my profession, often don’t include grief work in our trauma work with clients.

Here’s some things. There are no time limits on our grief. Ever. And grief work is a vital part of our trauma work.

A vital part. An essential part. A necessary part. A required part.

Those of us living with trauma in our bodies have had horrible things happen to us, done to us. For those of us who experienced trauma in our childhood, those events literally shaped our brains and the ways we are able to see and be in the world. These childhood experiences also impacted our physical health, specifically our nervous systems and autoimmune systems. Those events have life long impacts.

It is hard for me to imagine who I would be if all the trauma I experienced as a child hadn’t occurred. If I have been raised in a household where the ACEs score was under 4. If I had never been touched inappropriately. I would be a totally different person, of that I am sure.

It is heartbreaking to know all the damage that was done, and to know that we have survived (and some of us are learning to thrive) DESPITE all those experiences.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could simply be thriving? If we didn’t have to learn how to do that.

Yes. Yes it would.

What happened to us as children is not our fault. Those events took so much away from us. Some of which will never be recovered, and some of which may be. Because of those childhood events, we have, as part of the trauma, experienced great loss. Loss of innocence. Loss of trust. Loss of resilience. Loss of “normal” neuropathways. Loss of an ability to relate and connect to others in a healthy way. Loss of feeling comfortable in our own skin. Loss of a sense of safeness. Sometimes even loss of hope.

We have experienced a lot of loss.

When we experience loss, grieving is a natural process. Yet we don’t talk about the losses we experienced because of the trauma events in our lives. We don’t acknowledge all those losses, let alone grieve them. And this I believe is a disservice to ourselves, and our greater culture.

How do we grieve these things we (perhaps) never had? How do we grieve these losses that feel totally theoretical?

We slow down. We acknowledge the losses. The things we never had. The things we wanted so desperately. The things that will never be.

We acknowledge the struggles. The difficulties being in intimate relationships. The challenges being present in our bodies. The extra work we’ve had to do to try to break (generations old) cycles and patterns.

We allow the tears. The anger. The deep sadness.

We allow ourselves to acknowledge and feel the unfairness and injustice of it all.

We grieve. In community. In ritual. In our own hearts and bodies.

I believe when grief is not a part of our trauma work, that we are missing a huge piece of the work. Grieving what we have lost, what never was, and perhaps what never will be, is vital to our ability to move the trauma out of our bodies and systems and to learn to shift from simply surviving into a place of actually thriving.

We need to acknowledge these losses and create space for our own grief process along with our trauma work. This is part of building our own self-compassion. This is truly part of our life long healing work.

/../

This essay was originally published in my weekly(ish) newsletter on June 4, 2018. It has been edited for publication here. To receive my most recent essays, you can subscribe here.

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