You are NOT Your Trauma
I have been incredibly blessed to be doing some pretty intense trauma therapy. It is called EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing). It is a therapy specialized to help someone that has gone through any type of trauma and suffers from PTSD. As you reprocess traumatic events, both your left and right brain are being stimulated either by your eyes following an object back and forth, or what I do in my sessions, is hold a tapper in each hand. They vibrate in a subsequent rhythm as you are replaying traumatic events in your mind. The purpose of this is to desensitize those negative emotions caused from trauma that tend to dictate the present. Stimulating both sides of the brain while reprocessing these events, allows you to let go of these emotions and no longer allow them to dictate your thought process, especially when conflict of any kind arises.
I have been doing this therapy now for about three months. I started my therapy reprocessing clear back when I was about 12 years old dealing with some mean girls and when I started losing my self worth. I then worked through the events that lead to my eating disorder, through my eating disorder, up until I met my ex husband "J", and now into the memories of events that played out in my marriage that, honestly, seem so surreal to me at this point. My last two sessions I leave the therapist's office physically and emotionally drained. As I began reprocessing when things began to unfold and my world started to crash all around me, I remembered the anxiety, despair, hurt, and flat out fear that those situations brought. I felt those horrible feelings again, this time doing so to help me close the door on them hopefully forever. I remembered ,and once again, felt overcome with hopelessness. Seeing myself sitting on the couch in my parent's living room on the phone, hearing J's friend on the other line telling me, "I think you should know that J is drinking a lot. He is abusing his pain medication" and the words that burned the worst as if a million knives were stabbing my stomach, " and I really hate to tell you this part, but you should know that he has also been communicating and spending a lot of time with another female." Reliving finding the solid proof through Facebook messages between he and another girl. Reliving myself dry heaving all night after his friend told me. Reliving myself laying on the couch all night pleading with Heavenly Father to feel any ounce of relief. Listening to conference talks, church hymns, doing anything to relieve the pain. Reliving my kids and I stranded in Las Vegas as he reassured me over and over that his "paycheck" from a job that, I now know, was non existent, would be in the bank account and we would be able to be just fine with gas and food. Reliving calling him after a day of not being able to do anything, eat anything, or go anywhere, checking the bank account to only find $43 dollars each time, and him telling me to go to a Walmart so he could wire me money (something I didn't even know was a thing) just so I could get home and finally get my two hungry kids some dinner. Finally finding a Walmart and calling him telling him I was there and asking what I did next, to hear him say, "just hold on" and losing it yelling that I couldn't hold on anymore. My kids were hungry, I just wanted to get home. The next thing I know he's shouting at me, "I need to call you back!" as I just stood in the middle of accessory department not being able to put the phone down, in awe that he really didn't care about me, about our kids, about our eternal family. He thought he had hung the phone up, but he didn't. I was reliving hearing what happened on the other end next that he was completely unaware of. Hearing him telling other people (I still to this day have no idea who), that he needed to figure out a way to get his (insert vulgar language here) wife some money, and then laughing about it with whomever he was with. I had to relive running outside the store trying not to let my kids see me as they were waiting in the car with my friend, as I sat on a cement barrier sobbing. Reliving calling him back and telling him that I heard his whole conversation and having to hear again him say, "you are crazy! I NEVER said those things!! You are absolutely crazy. You don't know what you're talking about. Stop making things up." Reliving the moment of panic thinking "am I really crazy? Did he really not say those things? What is wrong with me?" This therapy session caused me to not only relive how I felt and what I heard and saw that day, but this time to envision what my two "little" children must have saw and felt. Being only 10 and 8, watching their mom hysterically sobbing, not paying attention to them, so consumed with something, something that was scary, something that was bad, but not knowing what it was. I envisioned them with tears running down their cheeks, scared to death. I thought about so many of the things they both struggle with now and how so many of these traumatic experiences that literally were happening on a daily basis in one way or another, have most certainly played a role in their way of dealing with things, and seeing things nearly seven years later. Trauma is no joke. It is real. It can be the dictator of your entire life. The dictator of how you look at yourself. The dictator of how you believe others look at you. The dictator of how you cope, how you see things, and the quality of your relationships on any level. Trauma is not fun. It is what comes between you and peace, you and hope, you and even happiness. It robs you of who you even are and how you portray yourself, if you let it. I am finding out through a long, hard path that what I wish I would've known so many years ago.
If you have gone through ANY type of traumatic experience, PLEASE get the help you need through professionals that are trained to help you overcome such skewed ways of thinking, causing you turmoil and pain, and in turn, also causing those you love the same.
I have been doing this therapy now for about three months. I started my therapy reprocessing clear back when I was about 12 years old dealing with some mean girls and when I started losing my self worth. I then worked through the events that lead to my eating disorder, through my eating disorder, up until I met my ex husband "J", and now into the memories of events that played out in my marriage that, honestly, seem so surreal to me at this point. My last two sessions I leave the therapist's office physically and emotionally drained. As I began reprocessing when things began to unfold and my world started to crash all around me, I remembered the anxiety, despair, hurt, and flat out fear that those situations brought. I felt those horrible feelings again, this time doing so to help me close the door on them hopefully forever. I remembered ,and once again, felt overcome with hopelessness. Seeing myself sitting on the couch in my parent's living room on the phone, hearing J's friend on the other line telling me, "I think you should know that J is drinking a lot. He is abusing his pain medication" and the words that burned the worst as if a million knives were stabbing my stomach, " and I really hate to tell you this part, but you should know that he has also been communicating and spending a lot of time with another female." Reliving finding the solid proof through Facebook messages between he and another girl. Reliving myself dry heaving all night after his friend told me. Reliving myself laying on the couch all night pleading with Heavenly Father to feel any ounce of relief. Listening to conference talks, church hymns, doing anything to relieve the pain. Reliving my kids and I stranded in Las Vegas as he reassured me over and over that his "paycheck" from a job that, I now know, was non existent, would be in the bank account and we would be able to be just fine with gas and food. Reliving calling him after a day of not being able to do anything, eat anything, or go anywhere, checking the bank account to only find $43 dollars each time, and him telling me to go to a Walmart so he could wire me money (something I didn't even know was a thing) just so I could get home and finally get my two hungry kids some dinner. Finally finding a Walmart and calling him telling him I was there and asking what I did next, to hear him say, "just hold on" and losing it yelling that I couldn't hold on anymore. My kids were hungry, I just wanted to get home. The next thing I know he's shouting at me, "I need to call you back!" as I just stood in the middle of accessory department not being able to put the phone down, in awe that he really didn't care about me, about our kids, about our eternal family. He thought he had hung the phone up, but he didn't. I was reliving hearing what happened on the other end next that he was completely unaware of. Hearing him telling other people (I still to this day have no idea who), that he needed to figure out a way to get his (insert vulgar language here) wife some money, and then laughing about it with whomever he was with. I had to relive running outside the store trying not to let my kids see me as they were waiting in the car with my friend, as I sat on a cement barrier sobbing. Reliving calling him back and telling him that I heard his whole conversation and having to hear again him say, "you are crazy! I NEVER said those things!! You are absolutely crazy. You don't know what you're talking about. Stop making things up." Reliving the moment of panic thinking "am I really crazy? Did he really not say those things? What is wrong with me?" This therapy session caused me to not only relive how I felt and what I heard and saw that day, but this time to envision what my two "little" children must have saw and felt. Being only 10 and 8, watching their mom hysterically sobbing, not paying attention to them, so consumed with something, something that was scary, something that was bad, but not knowing what it was. I envisioned them with tears running down their cheeks, scared to death. I thought about so many of the things they both struggle with now and how so many of these traumatic experiences that literally were happening on a daily basis in one way or another, have most certainly played a role in their way of dealing with things, and seeing things nearly seven years later. Trauma is no joke. It is real. It can be the dictator of your entire life. The dictator of how you look at yourself. The dictator of how you believe others look at you. The dictator of how you cope, how you see things, and the quality of your relationships on any level. Trauma is not fun. It is what comes between you and peace, you and hope, you and even happiness. It robs you of who you even are and how you portray yourself, if you let it. I am finding out through a long, hard path that what I wish I would've known so many years ago.
If you have gone through ANY type of traumatic experience, PLEASE get the help you need through professionals that are trained to help you overcome such skewed ways of thinking, causing you turmoil and pain, and in turn, also causing those you love the same.
Comments
Post a Comment