I generally enjoy discussions about mental health and trauma. I love learning from others about their lived experience, aspirations, and obstacles. There are so many different ways to experience trauma and mental health struggles. The types of events that can qualify as trauma vary widely. Trauma can be a single event or type of event, or a series of chaotic events layered on top of each other. It can be a storm in otherwise calm seas, or some of us may have had prolonged periods early in our development full of other-worldly stormy seas with only brief interludes of any sort of calm.
Some people who've experienced trauma have particular privileges and/or positive experiences to draw on to get through it. Some have layers of marginalization that make the struggle more challenging. Some have lucky breaks that they may not recognize, while some may be unlucky and--despite doing everything that could have been asked of them to heal--could have their healing set back by further trauma and/or other challenges.
With all this variation (in addition to the differences in personality styles, strengths, limitations, and goals), no one can presume to know that just because an approach, mindset, attitude, philosophy, self-relationship or tool worked for them that it's what others need. No one can presume to know that what they call "healing" is what others are striving for. Even if it worked for A LOT of people it doesn't mean it is what others in particular need. It's not something where majority rules: our own needs are valid even if we're the only one who has them.
Of course, there may be some more objective measures that some may choose to strive for and that's perfectly fine. In many ways, by some measures, I'm someone who has not needed much "recovery." I did exactly what some might expect of a person who has "overcome" a lot of trauma "resiliently." I pursued higher education and got three university degrees without missing so much as a semester (albeit with great personal suffering and some setbacks along the way). I immediately commenced my very demanding career and until recently never took any time away from it. I formed friendships. I distanced myself as best I could from the repeated traumas that had severely affected me for the first two and a half decades of my life. A whole lot of wisdom and skill went into that "overcoming," even though it didn't eliminate my (considerable) suffering.
In other words, by many measures I "recovered" from the things that happened to me. Even when I experienced substantial trauma, I kept performing "wellness" by many outward measures. I took step after step after step forward no matter what obstacles I faced. I didn't "give up" or "remain stuck" I did a ton of work and applied a ton of skills at each step of the way. If I didn't I wouldn't be here.
As a young child who wanted to kill myself because of the terrible things that were happening to me and the terrible things that were happening to virtually everyone close to me, I had kept on performing. Even when I had to switch elementary schools approximately a dozen times due to the chaos in our lives, I was near the top of my class in academic performance and my report cards were positive both behaviourally and scholastically. Aside from getting caught taking my beloved hamster to school once, I was never disciplined for anything that I can recall. I adjusted to all the horrible things I was exposed to and did what was expected of me. My life from ages 7-11 especially was so infused with layer upon layer of trauma that I can barely stand to recall what it felt like to be that person.
And yet I carried on. No one gets to lecture me about skills or moving forward. I know what it means to make the best of terrible circumstances. The fact that I'm here proves it.
Even throughout my teenage years when further traumas happened, I remained focussed on my goals. I had close friends and dreams of the future that I worked towards. I graduated at the top of my high school class. I fell in love soon afterwards and had a good relationship that ended in heartbreak as so many relationships at that age do. And then when further repeated trauma happened to me when I rebounded from that relationship, all I knew how to do was carry on. So I did, using tons of valid skills and insights to survive.
Until I broke. And yet even in my "breaking" I finished my degree and then completed two more. All the while suffering immensely with PTSD flashbacks so severe that I would drop to my knees when one unexpectedly came upon me. But I kept doing the only thing I knew how to do--the thing I was an absolute expert by experience at: I "overcame." I absorbed it and kept moving because the alternative would be to break, and I had no safety net to catch me, so breaking was never an option no matter how bad things got. If I could carry on, I did. And I always could, even when it was torture inside.
And it wasn't simply joyless: I often could laugh, and smile, and hope.
Except when the darkness got me.
And then I had to brace myself for the impact, pause, absorb it, suffer it, and wait for it to pass so I could perform "resilience," "healing" and "recovery" again quietly without support in my own way as I'd been doing my entire life.
It wasn't until many years of performing "resilience" had passed that my suffering overcame me to such a degree that I made the choice (pressured by how loudly my trauma was screaming at me and manifesting in my body, my flashbacks and my dreams) to pause and try to do something about it. Because carrying on with "resilience" no longer made sense. Because it was time to face it in a more direct way--in a way that had never been safe before.
And yet facing it for me is a delicate operation. The inner dynamics are my own. The way I pushed through layers of suffering from a very early age affected my self-relationship in ways that some may understand (I know a few who do) and many may not.
The fact that someone's trauma heals in a particular way doesn't necessarily mean anything for how others need to move forward with theirs, especially if there were complications and adaptations over time that no one externally situated is in a position to adjudicate (at least without knowing a whole lot more).
The "we healed this way, so must you" crowd doesn't have all the answers, regardless of any "expertise" with which may have adorned themselves. They presume that the ones who haven't done it *their way* or who have tried their way and "failed" were just doing it wrong. There's a huge survivor bias in this kind of discourse. And I reject it not only as inapplicable to me but as dangerous.
If we haven't "healed" (whatever on earth that means), it doesn't mean we've done something wrong. It doesn't mean we've just failed to set out on the one shining path that others point us towards. It could just mean that we're playing the hand that we were dealt while trying to figure out the way forward for ourselves.
And yeah maybe some people will look back later and say "I was stuck then--here's what I should have done earlier" and then excitedly tell others that they MUST do it differently to learn the lesson that they happened to learn in their own journey.
But others' life lessons may not apply to all of us. Yes, we can learn from what others have tried by reflecting on it to consider whether it (or some modification) may possibly help us too, but I have no compunction about distancing myself from the ones barking orders to vulnerable people about the one true path, the one correct destination or journey/approach, and the "only" acceptable self-relationship, heedless of how others may differ from them. What they "must" do. How they “must” feel and relate to themselves in the aftermath of all that they've been through.
If an approach that works for others doesn't work for us, it doesn't necessarily mean that you are stuck or somehow refusing to heal. It could mean that we are doing the exact work that we need to given our particular circumstances, complications and needs. It could mean that there are limitations on our paths and obstacles that those others didn't happen to face. It could mean that some luck they happened to have didn't happen for us. It could mean that we have different values that limit the way forward for us. That we prefer to advance towards some other goal and concept of the "good life."
It doesn't mean that we are non-compliant or declining to improve. And even if we are "stuck," there may be reasons for this that others don't understand. We may need the break from performing "resilience." Being "stuck" could be a necessary stopping point along the path to improving our situation (or avoiding further deterioration).
And of course I don't mean to say that no one ever gets stuck, that no one ever is obstinate (whether for good reason or not), that no one ever looks back later and correctly revises their view of themselves and their predicament.
What I'm saying is this still won't mean that others know the answers. And applying a survivorship bias to everyone who hasn't chosen or succeeded in the path that others did is dangerous and harmful.
But of course, if it helps you to hear others who speak in absolutes then by all means seek out those voices. I personally will not. Not only because much of what they say doesn't work for me, but also because I know that *no one* has a monopoly on the true meaning of recovery (or even what it means to move towards it) and anyone purporting to carry the keys to it will cause harm if not to me then to someone else. It's inherently invalidating to others who've suffered and need to “heal” (or simply survive) differently.
I've learned lots of "lessons" along my own road to "overcoming" the things that happened to me. There was an enormous amount of labour and skill involved. I like sharing those insights and telling others what works for me (and what failed me) in case it may help someone else. And I love learning what helped others since their strategies and personal lessons may sometimes also help me.
But I'll never assume that my answers are what someone else needs. And I won't listen to those who try to push their answers on others.
It's as simple as that.
(Portrait, of little girl me and my recently departed dog, Layton, in the Sandwich house, by Sadie Kitson. I described the "sandwich house" metaphor in this blog post)
As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way.
I enjoy reading your writing. You express complex matters with the detailed expression appropriate to the subject matter without losing yourself in jargon or convolutions. I admire your courage to speak of your inner life; it is a challenging task, I know. I wish you all the best in your continued journey through the realms of life that are yet to emerge for you.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much for those kind words
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