The Logic in Trauma
I have decided to write this blog as part of working through what has essentially been a four-day panic attack. There have been no obvious external changes or triggers, and I suspect this has heightened the feeling of powerlessness and confusion for me. Out of the blue, I have become engulfed in a perpetual state of abject fear, starting as soon as my eyes open, until they close, in exhaustion at the end of another battle (day).
As I continue my healing journey, engaging in regular therapy, reading, and listening to podcasts, I am increasing my awareness, which does help. However, the paradox is that we cannot logically reason our way out of trauma. My therapist often directed me back to compassion and practicing somatic therapy, which I discuss in another blog. She explains that sometimes the inner child needs the warmth of love and safety, not well-intentioned advice from a self-help book or an impressive theory on the nervous system and trauma.
I tend towards logic, both in my working role and personal life. I like to make sense of my life, the people in it, the environment, and my interactions with others. For as long as I can remember, I have had an enquiring mind. if there is a problem, I want to know how to solve it. When I started therapy four years ago, I would sit in preparation, with my notebook and pen. I wonder now if my therapist was making the observations about my logical thought processes. I like to fit things neatly into boxes. I like certainty, predictability.
She helped me to understand that sometimes complex ptsd cannot be put into a box or made sense of. If I could fit mine into a box, you can be sure I would, and it would be nailed down, encased in cement, and buried under the Titanic. Oftentimes, I will ask her about practical measures, ways to combat my panic and the pain. There are many techniques that are very effective and evidence-based. This, of course, had me rubbing my hands together, eager to logic my way out of my suffering.
Don’t get me wrong, the journal work has been very powerful, and I have made a lot of progress, connecting with my inner child by writing, often with my non-dominant hand. But sometimes, little Grace doesn’t want to read a letter from an adult. She wants that adult to show her safety. She wants to feel love. She doesn’t care about words or well-articulated messages of support. She just wants to feel.
I am still learning. Every day. Today is just another experience of living with complex PTSD. Part of me had nothing to give as I sat looking at the screen. For hours, I have been scraping the barrel of scraps for inspiration to bring something to my website. Then I realized that I could channel my pain and use it to connect with others. Not only might my raw experience resonate with someone out there, but it also helps me because I am processing my pain (ok, there’s a bit of logic, but I am also giving myself compassion).
I want to be able to read this article back in a couple of weeks and be reassured that I made it. That I came out of the panic. Right now, it feels like I am surrounded by a thick, dense fog, sounds are muted, colours are dulled, and I feel entirely isolated, unable to find my way to safety, to home. I know that I am home, but my nervous system is betraying me. My body is a 24-hour channel, breaking news of dread, annihilation, violence. Every channel is tuned; the news readers are on full volume, and the screen is HD.
I want to turn it off, but I can’t find the remote. I am praying for the fog to lift, and all the while, I get up each day and navigate my life in darkness. Based on experience, I tell myself that this will pass, that I will recover to a state of relative calm. Yet, my body feels otherwise. I have no appetite, everything seems meaningless, I feel disconnected, and I have lost part of myself. Everyone seems just slightly out of reach, no matter how close. It is an incredibly frightening state to be in, and I have never experienced my symptoms so badly as I do right now.
This was exactly why I needed to write this. I want to teach not just my audience, but myself, that this too, will pass. I want to reassure my future self, and my present and past selves, that we have the resources to get through this. I want to reassure you all, too. And what better way to do this than by proving it. I will write a blog in the future and be able to compare it to this one. This is the raw, unedited version of what complex-ptsd brings to the table on any given day. It doesn’t wait for the dinner bell, like Pavlov’s dog. It has engulfed the chairs and inhaled the table by the time you put your napkin on.
As I continue to work through this debilitating panic, I want you all to know that this is a daily battle for me, and that my website is testament to living with and thriving through trauma. I hope that you get something from reading my blogs. I hope even a fraction of my healing journey resonates with yours, and lifts some of your pain along the way. We are all on a journey where the destination is never guaranteed. We just have to hold onto faith, and each other. For me, one hand on the logic, the other one holding my inner child.
