The trauma response...

The trauma response in our brain is to either fight, flight, or freeze.  For me, my life has been defined by and bound by the latter:  Shut up.  Be still. Wait until it is over.  I snap into that ... easily.  Too easily.

It is not a response that some predators like.  Or, rather, I think that I should say that my disassociation that accompanies the trauma response is not what they want.  I wonder what I look like.  However I do, it used to enrage my last boss when she was filleting me for this, that, and the other.

Instead of leaving (and suing), I shut up, was still, and waited until it was over.  Even though I was an adult and had learned some things about abuse.  The same is with others ... those who abused my body.  At 44, I was still unable to do anything but shut up, be still, and wait until it is over. 

I know that that what I learned at a young age.  I know that it is a normal trauma response.  I know that my brain is wired differently.  And yet I feel immense guilt and shame for my response, for what seems to me to be ... participation in the abuse of my body, in the sex (even though I know it should be called rape).

How could Jesus forgive a life of that?

The past three therapy sessions, we have used the article that I shared here about Complex PTSD as a framework, a tool that is perfect for me.  The past two sessions have been about how I struggle to trust God.  I am not sure I do much at all.  That grieves me.  And it terrifies me.

I have been trying to figure what it is that I believe.

As I have written before, I believe in the power of prayer.  I believe that God desires us to pray.  I believe that God yearns for us to pour out our hearts to Him.  I believe that prayer comforts.  I believe that prayer heals.  I believe that it matters not so much what we say, because the Holy Spirit takes us to Jesus and Jesus takes us to the Father.  The Holy Spirit understands our groanings and speaks them.  We need not worry about our words when the very Living Word of God brings our cries to the Father, who collects our tears.

To me, the beauty ... the awe really ... of the Psalter is that it shows so clearly that we, as human beings, are known to our Creator.  He understands our doubts and fears and joys and exultations and wonders and yearnings and questions.  They are all there.  In the collections of prayers He gave to us.

Which brings me to the other certainty I have:  I believe in the efficacy of the Word of God.  It is powerful, performative, and perfect.  Hearing it changes you.  The Word of God sustains and heals and feeds and encourages.  Having it in your mouth and on your lips, in your ears, and in your eyes is what God desires for us because the Word of God is and has done all that God is and has done.  It will not return void.

I could write forever about the Word of God, about the wonder of it and its perfection.  The latter is why I love (and have been so very blessed by) Michael Card's commentaries on the gospels.  He, too, believes in the perfection of the Word of God (and the Living Word).  They are an amazing celebration of Jesus ... not a exploration of how Christians should live.

Good stuff there.
SIGH.

I'd rather hide in the Psalter and in those commentaries than think about the fact that I struggle with trusting God.  What does that mean for me?

It is a tad challenging when my therapist talks about faith, and the Bible, and theology.  She believes in God, but I think she is lapsed in whatever denomination she might be.  I suspect it was either Catholic or Lutheran.  In any case, she made a suggestion for something for me to consider:

If God is our Creator, then He created that trauma response in our brains to preserve us.  So, therefore, there would be no shame in freezing, no shame and no guilt.  Certainly Jesus would have forgiveness for that response ... again and again and again.

I spent the week thinking about what she said, wondering if her thought could become my thought.  I have yearned to speak to a pastor about her thought, to work through what that could mean for me.

We talked more about it today, along with trust in general.

1. Deep Fear Of Trust
People who endure ongoing abuse, particularly from significant people in their lives, develop an intense and understandable fear of trusting people. If the abuse was parents or caregivers, this intensifies. Ongoing trauma wires the brain for fear and distrust. It becomes the way the brain copes with any further potential abuse. Complex trauma survivors often find trusting people very difficult, and it takes little for any trust built to be destroyed. The brain senses issues and this overwhelms the already severely-traumatized brain. This fear of trust is extremely impactful on a survivor’s life. Trust can be learned with support and an understanding of trusting people slowly and carefully.


After setting aside her idea about the trauma response, we talked briefly about how she would like for me to come up with three ways that I view trust in others.  What a tough assignment!  I could think of one:

Don't tell me that you will call or visit or write and then do not.  If your plans change, call me or send a text.  I understand that.  But if you blow me off—for that is how I feel about it—then I cannot help but think that I matter not to you.

I am not sure what she means, but when I think about trust, that came to mind first as an example when the trust I built is threatened or even destroyed.  "The brain senses issues and this overwhelms the already severely-traumatized brain."  Oh, man! Is that ever a sentence I understand. SIGH.