Life After Trauma
Part 1: Black, White, and Gray and Part 2: Coping with Dark days
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Video #5 of 12-Part Series
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Video Transcription
Part 1: Black, White, and Gray
In the life of every abuse survivor, even with lots of healing work, there is light, dark, and lots of gray. The light is easy—who wouldn’t want to move toward Love? The dark is easy—we have a clear vision of what harmed us and want nothing to do with that. But the gray, oh the gray--what we live with beyond the abuse—there’s the challenge.
For eighteen years of my childhood, from ages 3 to 21, I was the victim of weekly sexual abuse and torture at the hands of my grandfather, his friend, and my father. My grandmother and mother knew, but did not intervene. The abuse I endured was horrific which puts my experience and my recovery on the extreme end of the spectrum. Your experience and recovery may be different than mine.
In the last video, I talked of living a small life, of learning to be okay with the diminishment that abuse has created in my life. I tried to offer the many blessings of the life I live. But I would be disrespectful to other survivors if I suggested that my life was always filled with light and ease. I struggle to accept—maybe you do too--that harm done so long ago can still have such impact on my life.
Before I began my healing journey, when all my memory was sublimated, I lived a life of trying to be more—supermom to my kids; hostess extraordinaire for my husband’s colleagues and students; church officer and volunteer; substitute teacher in my kids’ high school. The list of what I did, what I could do, never lessened. It just became more.
Trauma and trauma recovery can take you off the path to more, whether you want to or not. Learning what happened to me forced me to slow down, to contract into introspection, and to be less present out in the world. Suddenly, I couldn’t go into places with loud noises or TVs, couldn’t see movies with violence, couldn’t join friends at a restaurant. I could no longer be a wedding planner. I could no longer entertain on a grand scale. I wasn’t able to live my ordinary life. I told myself this was temporary and managed the lack of my former life with the promise that it would return.
Harder still, has been having to accept that the effects of abuse mean my life will be permanently different. Travel is now off the table. Just as my husband retired and had time and energy to travel, I discovered that I cannot fly without panic attacks. Car travel is still ok—especially on the back roads--but longer trips or overseas flights cannot happen for me. I berate myself for this and think I should be able to manage my panic attacks by sheer willpower. Being with four loud, boisterous, and utterly wonderful grandchildren can easily overwhelm me, causing dissociation. I must titrate my time with them—an anathema to me. The return to my former life has not happened.
I struggle to claim I am enough just as I am. There are days I don’t want to be just as I am. I struggle with the irony that before I began this healing work, before I knew what had happened to me, I could do what I wanted. I made the decisions about what I did—now aftereffects of trauma often make those decisions for me.
Accepting that I am enough, though now diminished, is going to be life-long work. When I can relax into my reality and find the beauty of it—more time to spend in my garden, more time to soak in the grace of solitude and silence, more ability to be truly present in the moment, more times when there is no underlying anger and pain—I can see that my life is rich and full. The friends I have are special. The choices I make always include self-care. Most days I can live in the gray, not harmed, not healed, not dark or light but a combination of dark and light. It has to be enough-and most days it is. Just not today.
For eighteen years of my childhood, from ages 3 to 21, I was the victim of weekly sexual abuse and torture at the hands of my grandfather, his friend, and my father. My grandmother and mother knew, but did not intervene. The abuse I endured was horrific which puts my experience and my recovery on the extreme end of the spectrum. Your experience and recovery may be different than mine.
In the last video, I talked of living a small life, of learning to be okay with the diminishment that abuse has created in my life. I tried to offer the many blessings of the life I live. But I would be disrespectful to other survivors if I suggested that my life was always filled with light and ease. I struggle to accept—maybe you do too--that harm done so long ago can still have such impact on my life.
Before I began my healing journey, when all my memory was sublimated, I lived a life of trying to be more—supermom to my kids; hostess extraordinaire for my husband’s colleagues and students; church officer and volunteer; substitute teacher in my kids’ high school. The list of what I did, what I could do, never lessened. It just became more.
Trauma and trauma recovery can take you off the path to more, whether you want to or not. Learning what happened to me forced me to slow down, to contract into introspection, and to be less present out in the world. Suddenly, I couldn’t go into places with loud noises or TVs, couldn’t see movies with violence, couldn’t join friends at a restaurant. I could no longer be a wedding planner. I could no longer entertain on a grand scale. I wasn’t able to live my ordinary life. I told myself this was temporary and managed the lack of my former life with the promise that it would return.
Harder still, has been having to accept that the effects of abuse mean my life will be permanently different. Travel is now off the table. Just as my husband retired and had time and energy to travel, I discovered that I cannot fly without panic attacks. Car travel is still ok—especially on the back roads--but longer trips or overseas flights cannot happen for me. I berate myself for this and think I should be able to manage my panic attacks by sheer willpower. Being with four loud, boisterous, and utterly wonderful grandchildren can easily overwhelm me, causing dissociation. I must titrate my time with them—an anathema to me. The return to my former life has not happened.
I struggle to claim I am enough just as I am. There are days I don’t want to be just as I am. I struggle with the irony that before I began this healing work, before I knew what had happened to me, I could do what I wanted. I made the decisions about what I did—now aftereffects of trauma often make those decisions for me.
Accepting that I am enough, though now diminished, is going to be life-long work. When I can relax into my reality and find the beauty of it—more time to spend in my garden, more time to soak in the grace of solitude and silence, more ability to be truly present in the moment, more times when there is no underlying anger and pain—I can see that my life is rich and full. The friends I have are special. The choices I make always include self-care. Most days I can live in the gray, not harmed, not healed, not dark or light but a combination of dark and light. It has to be enough-and most days it is. Just not today.
Video Transcription
Part 2: Coping with Dark Days
What helps when I find myself in the dark, when depression and despair visit and will not leave? What can I do to help me move through the days when healing seems forever over the horizon, and the sheer effort of living in the present with the past forever nipping at my heels seems more than I can do?
I am grateful that I have fewer of those days now. Healing, lots of healing, has already happened, and I no longer take up permanent residence deep in the well, in the dark. When I do visit the well, I know there are things to do that will help move me back into daylight.
The most powerful support for me is my connection to God and the guides he sends to walk every moment with me. I am awed to realize that these spirits have been with me throughout time and will be here this hard day, too. Knowing that being outside and moving helps me, I walk in a prairie near my home. I try to remember my unique place in the beauty that surrounds me.
I go out into my garden and pull weeds. Getting my hands in the dirt, helps. Other times I declutter a drawer, clean a room, or wash my car. Doing things that create order and beauty in my surroundings helps me find the inner order and beauty that calm me.
When these tangible efforts do not give me all the help I need, I call my therapist, Ron. What I need from Ron is his presence. He willingly gives that. With him I can cry and speak my despair, knowing it will be met with kindness and compassion. He stands in the dark with me.
Then I wait for Chuck to come home, to envelop me in his strong arms. His presence and constant love carry me through many a hard time.
I’d like to tell you that these things help every time. Not always. Sometimes there is nothing to do but weather the storm, darken the room, put on soft music, and pull up the blanket. Having been there before, I know I can make it through this hard day. I remind myself I survived horrific abuse; I can survive this difficult day. I’ve heard it said that sometimes to get over something, you have to go through it. This proves true for me time and again as I struggle with the reality of my life. Over time, I’ve learned that the next day will not be as bad as this one; that I will be better able to find peace and manage my life with less difficulty. That knowledge can carry me through the night into the next day.
I’d like to share a blessing I wrote for days like this with the wish that it will offer you comfort and hope. When you suffer despair and depression, may this blessing help you weather the dark in anticipation of the light to come.
I am grateful that I have fewer of those days now. Healing, lots of healing, has already happened, and I no longer take up permanent residence deep in the well, in the dark. When I do visit the well, I know there are things to do that will help move me back into daylight.
The most powerful support for me is my connection to God and the guides he sends to walk every moment with me. I am awed to realize that these spirits have been with me throughout time and will be here this hard day, too. Knowing that being outside and moving helps me, I walk in a prairie near my home. I try to remember my unique place in the beauty that surrounds me.
I go out into my garden and pull weeds. Getting my hands in the dirt, helps. Other times I declutter a drawer, clean a room, or wash my car. Doing things that create order and beauty in my surroundings helps me find the inner order and beauty that calm me.
When these tangible efforts do not give me all the help I need, I call my therapist, Ron. What I need from Ron is his presence. He willingly gives that. With him I can cry and speak my despair, knowing it will be met with kindness and compassion. He stands in the dark with me.
Then I wait for Chuck to come home, to envelop me in his strong arms. His presence and constant love carry me through many a hard time.
I’d like to tell you that these things help every time. Not always. Sometimes there is nothing to do but weather the storm, darken the room, put on soft music, and pull up the blanket. Having been there before, I know I can make it through this hard day. I remind myself I survived horrific abuse; I can survive this difficult day. I’ve heard it said that sometimes to get over something, you have to go through it. This proves true for me time and again as I struggle with the reality of my life. Over time, I’ve learned that the next day will not be as bad as this one; that I will be better able to find peace and manage my life with less difficulty. That knowledge can carry me through the night into the next day.
I’d like to share a blessing I wrote for days like this with the wish that it will offer you comfort and hope. When you suffer despair and depression, may this blessing help you weather the dark in anticipation of the light to come.