The Voice of Trauma
WARNING: The following blog contains topics of traumatic experiences.
I’ll never forget the day when the flashbacks started again. I was sitting in the back of my Spanish II class, freshman year, watching the guest speaker flip through the slides and play a series of informational videos. My eyes became filled with tears as I learned about all the children who encounter experiences of sexual abuse throughout their lives. I went home that night thinking to myself “I just can’t imagine going through that…” and then it happened. All at once, as I walked by my chair in my bedroom, my own memories flooded my mind like a dam that had been slowing cracking for years-just waiting to face the last bit of pressure it needed to finally rupture.
As I tried to take on the weight of it all, a little voice inside my head whispered softly; “Your family won’t be able to take this.” Those words felt true. I thought about all the things my parents had done in my life to keep me safe, and I just didn’t think they could handle knowing that this happened despite their efforts. I thought about the image and reputation of perfection that my family carried in my eyes, and I felt shame that my life was going to be the one who tarnished it. I was disgusted at my 6-year-old self for letting this happen for so long and not speaking up. I was ashamed by the weakness of it all, and within minutes I determined that I had a responsibility to figure it out on my own. I remember feeling resolute in the fact that I needed to get my life together before I let any of my family feel the same pain I was met with in that moment.
That day I made a commitment with secrecy. For three years I told no one. At first, I told myself that I had forgotten about it once, and I can do it again. But that dam didn’t want to be mended. Its pieces were scattered throughout the lake of my mind, and no matter how hard I tried to restore its barriers; the waters were too strong to contain. I learned the art of surface living. Which honestly, I was in high school, so the discipline of remaining superficial was well accepted in every facet of my life outside of my own household.
My family, especially my mom, carries a high value for honesty and transparency. There has always been (and still is) an expectation to keep all your cards on the table. People are constantly calling people out when behaviors aren’t adding up and if someone’s attitude is out of line- questions are usually asked by someone. At the time, I thought I was too mature for honesty, while everyone else was sure that truth was a good thing, I saw their desire for connection as weakness. Therefore, I became a very angry and prideful teenage girl inside the walls of my own home. I had this group of people that wanted to be a safe place for me, and it frankly pissed me off how hard it was to ‘protect’ them from my own pain.
Here's the thing about trauma. When it comes to survival, there is no other compartment in the mind of an individual that is more resilient than the space in which our traumatic memories are stored. When necessary, this part of our brain can endure unimaginable circumstances for extended periods of time without relenting. Unfortunately, when it comes to living the life that survived those experiences- that part of our brain will never have the capacity to value a person’s innate need to thrive. Its job is to defer a person from experiencing distress, so it therefore sees no benefit for things like connection and vulnerability because those are two endeavors that most definitely guarantee pockets of pain.
Keeping this secret cost me. It inhibited my ability to fully thrive, and it imprisoned me inside my own mind. The day I finally sat down and shared my story with my family freed me from the lies my trauma had whispered to me all those years. I promised myself I would never live a surface level life again, and I’ve done my best to uphold that new commitment to myself ever since.
In many ways I understand my story isn’t shared by everyone, and in other ways I understand that my story is shared by some; however, no matter what secret details your story may carry, I know that a person cannot live a full life without a safe place to share. I believe we were not designed to weather the storms of this life alone- no matter what our trauma may be whispering in our ear. If you are a person who knows that your family and friends are not capable of being that place for you at this time; therapy may be the perfect place to start.