Several years ago, I began a journey to learn about trauma, what it means and how it impacts us particularly when trauma happens in early developmental stage of life.  This is not a scientific description but rather, what I have discover as a result of my own exploration of trauma.

    To begin with, the word trauma is a generic description of what happens when there is ongoing disregard for basic human needs.  PTSD is often the result of a catastrophic event, war, abuse, unexpected death, accidents, abandonment, starvation and more. The kind of trauma I experienced, comes from the kinds of interactions with early caregivers (parents or otherwise) who were not able to meet all of our basic needs. 

    A baby who is hungry, wants to be fed and so cries.  If those cries are ignored, the baby has a physical response. It may shut down, become placid and unable to read their own body cues, or it may become aggressive, fighting to get what it wants and needs.  A baby who is frightened, wants to be assured that they are ok. If that need isn’t met, they may have a physical response: like tight shoulders, indigestion, breathing problems, and more, and they don’t know how to resolve their fear or feel safe. They may learn to ignore things that they should be afraid of because they don’t realize the dangers. Children discover plenty of options for how to deal with a fear if no one is there to help move them through it, and most of their choices are highly ineffective long term.

    In my case, I learned to hide when I was afraid, not to trust anyone, and to disconnect from the world.  Disconnecting is very common response to trauma; we can’t handle being overwhelmed by a situation and the best way to deal with it is to stop paying attention. Once, when I was in my teens, maybe, I asked my mother what my birth was like.  She said she didn’t know because they had put her to sleep and given her a spinal injection to numb the pain.  She literally was not present when I was born.  

    Medicines and drugs easily cross into the placenta and the baby’s blood system. That means I was also asleep when I was born. Imagine being asleep for the birth and for the next many hours until the anesthesia wears off.  No bonding between mother and baby, no recourse to avoid falling asleep, a clear message that when things get stirred up emotionally, the best response is to fall asleep, literally or mentally.  

    This biological response has plagued me all my life. I would become upset or disturbed or excited, and mentally/emotionally leave.  I didn’t know about this automatic response until a few years ago when felt it happen.  There was a tingling sensation deep in my brain and upper spine, and I was gone.  I had no idea why I was there in the room or what we had been talking about.  I was with an SE friend at the time who was not frightened, thankfully, and asked me where I was. I had just enough attention to realize I had left, and could describe where I was and what I felt. I watched it long enough to complete the leaving and came back to where I had been before I left.  That is a typical process in Somatic Experiencing, completing a trauma response allows for it to resolve rather than perpetual repetitions.

    Completing a trauma response doesn’t always heal it completely the first time, but it provided a huge insight into how I have typically responded when upset.  I leave, change the subject, laugh it off, become sarcastic, accuse the other person of doing something wrong, and more. Today, I am learning to stay with the feeling before I leave, and speak from that place. It is more authentic than an analytical or head-based explanation. 

    I wish my mother had had a chance to explore this as well.  She and I were close but never bonded in a deep way. I didn’t trust her with my trials and tribulations as a child because she always brushed it aside as though it didn’t matter.  We continued the struggle when I became an adult and needed some autonomy. She wanted to tell me what to do — an unwanted response.

    It is only now, after I have explored many aspects of this early trauma that I understand she also faced the same disconnecting process and was unable to respond to me or others.  She was loving in her own way, never cruel, but always slightly detached. I didn’t realize how deep these feeling of abandonment or detachment run. 

     To be a good SE practitioner means doing your own work. It is what helps us recognize what is going on in another person’s body and find ways to open doors to healing. 

There are many events in our life that cause a traumatic shock to our system. It could be a car accident, or a hospital stay, or a parent that ignores our basic needs. It could also be an injury, a fall, or an attack by someone or something. What is my experience of getting through to the other side of adversity?

When an animal has a scare, or faces an attack, it will freeze. It fakes being dead by not moving, or goes limp when a predator grabs it. Sometimes this act saves their life and when the danger passes, they shake it off and continue on their way. Humans are less successful at shaking the fear off, and yet, each of us have figured out a way to survive.

This action, the figuring it out, utilizes resources which facilitate the return safety. Resources are objects, actions or non-actions that help us calm down. When I am particularly upset about something, it helps to look at a piece of beautiful art, or wiggle my toes, or touch a pet animal and I feel a bit warmer, easier and less agitated. Resources are life savers (not the candy).

Resources could also be out-of-date. Sometimes, finding a resource means finding something to cling to. It could be a particular kind of person, like choosing friends who are overly dependent on me and where I feel drained of energy but needed, or I cling to a belief, like not being able to have or express an opinion about anything.

I invite you to look back at what you did that helped you get through a really tough time. Perhaps this was your experience: You fell and hurt yourself and when you went to a parent in tears, they ignored you, or called you a sissy, or acted like it wasn’t that bad. How does a child who is very small, hurt and scared respond?
Some children learn to:
– become very quiet and not cry because they have learned over time that they won’t get the loving attention and care they need.
– become frustrated and act out in angry or violent ways.
– think they did something wrong, that the parent would have paid more attention if they hadn’t misbehaved.
These are common ways we respond to adverse situations, all of which aim to stop or reduce the pain.

If you chose one of these ways, congratulations, you are using resources that helped you survive the harm as a child. It is makes sense that we carry these ‘found’ resources with us as we grow — even if they are not very effective or helpful solutions as adults. Because they have become mostly automatic responses, we may be reluctant to bring them into the light to be examined.

I recently had someone dismiss me as a possible helper in a certain situation. My response was absolutely typical for a person who was ignored and shamed as a child. I figured I was not good enough. I didn’t have any evidence to that fact. but I dug myself into a hole assuming I was just not capable of helping. It took a while to release that old pattern. Afterwards, I could allow the possibility that there might be other reasons I was not chosen.

Somatic Experiencing practitioners work with clients in the present to guide them into appropriately completing an action today. Completion re-educates the system to ignore the old responses. It heals. Many times I have wished I could have asked my mother to hold me when I was hurt, and stroke my hair and kiss the pain away. I have wished I could have cried when I was hurt and longed to find a more effective way to ask for what I need. These options never came easily until I had the proper support and learned to ask for help.

Recognizing the strengths we developed as a child (and don’t need any more) is a relief. It means I was smart enough to figure it out, survive and even thrive despite adverse conditions. There is no shame in what we did when we were young but at the same time, there is no need to perpetuate those old responses.

When it is appropriate, I practice saying to myself, “I am here, I am hurt, I need some attention, I am asking for your presence which will help my system heal.”

Today I begin. I acknowledge that I haven’t experienced this day before, and it is new. I have said goodbye to my former occupation, to last year, to yesterday, to this morning… to 5 minutes ago. They are gone, never to be lived again. That part of me that felt whatever I felt back then, a moment ago, is no longer alive. I welcome the newness, the unknown.

In touch. In the quiet, I sense your discomfort at thinking about a difficult experience, or as you face the progression of a disease or of aging. I didn’t think the discomfort, the body became aware of it… became aware of something new, that wasn’t there when I was alone. Suddenly, it sensed what you were feeling… there was no knowing until we came in contact with each other. And, from experience, there is understanding that it will diminish or stop once we separate. Now, in the quiet, it is possible to become aware of your feelings and sensations. If I am distracted, it is impossible, but with attention, my heart warms. If you are quiet, perhaps you will sense it too… we are connected.

The breath quickens and there is the sense that there is anxiety in you and your breath has responded to it. Fingertips or shoulders heat up… and there is a sense of released pent up energy. Words tumble out of you more quickly… and there is tension in my chest. I work to remain calm, centered… slowly your breathing calms, you speak more slowly, and the tension releases. We are resonating. It is what we were made to do together.

Whatever I was thinking about before I entered your room, is gone. That part of me died. Now we are both changed. I wonder, isn’t end of life a bit like this? Moving along, letting go, living now.

I am in transition, each day. Every new person I meet contains a biography of a complete life until this moment. You are not the papery-skinned old person I see in front of me; you are a young child, a recent graduate, matron of the areas of your life where you found satisfaction, a recent retiree, a person facing the last phase of your life. You are more than some frail representation of a former person. As we talk, your life story reveals itself to me. It makes us whole, a part of something much larger than I thought. Isn’t that the way of it?