cannibal-rainbow:

by
Catherine Woodiwiss

1. Trauma permanently changes us.

This is the big, scary truth about trauma: there is no such thing as
“getting over it.” The five stages of grief model marks universal stages
in learning to accept loss, but the reality is in fact much bigger: a
major life disruption leaves a new normal in its wake. There is no “back
to the old me.” You are different now, full stop.

This is not a wholly negative thing. Healing from trauma can also
mean finding new strength and joy. The goal of healing is not a
papering-over of changes in an effort to preserve or present things as
normal. It is to acknowledge and wear your new life — warts, wisdom, and
all — with courage.

2.  Presence is always better than distance.

There is a curious illusion that in times of crisis people “need
space.” I don’t know where this assumption originated, but in my
experience it is almost always false. Trauma is a disfiguring, lonely
time even when surrounded in love; to suffer through trauma alone is
unbearable. Do not assume others are reaching out, showing up, or
covering all the bases.

It is a much lighter burden to say, “Thanks for your love, but please
go away,” than to say, “I was hurting and no one cared for me.” If
someone says they need space, respect that. Otherwise, err on the side
of presence.

3.  Healing is seasonal, not linear.

It is true that healing happens with time. But in the recovery
wilderness, emotional healing looks less like a line and more like a
wobbly figure-8. It’s perfectly common to get stuck in one stage for
months, only to jump to another end entirely … only to find yourself
back in the same old mud again next year.

Recovery lasts a long, long time. Expect seasons.

4.  Surviving trauma takes “firefighters” and “builders.” Very few people are both.

This is a tough one. In times of crisis, we want our family, partner,
or dearest friends to be everything for us. But surviving trauma
requires at least two types of people: the crisis team — those friends
who can drop everything and jump into the fray by your side, and the
reconstruction crew — those whose calm, steady care will help nudge you
out the door into regaining your footing in the world. In my experience,
it is extremely rare for any individual to be both a firefighter and a
builder. This is one reason why trauma is a lonely experience. Even if
you share suffering with others, no one else will be able to fully walk
the road with you the whole way.

A hard lesson of trauma is learning to forgive and love your partner,
best friend, or family even when they fail at one of these roles.
Conversely, one of the deepest joys is finding both kinds of companions
beside you on the journey.

5.  Grieving is social, and so is healing.

For as private a pain as trauma is, for all the healing that time and
self-work will bring, we are wired for contact. Just as relationships
can hurt us most deeply, it is only through relationship that we can be
most fully healed.

It’s not easy to know what this looks like — can I trust casual
acquaintances with my hurt? If my family is the source of trauma, can
they also be the source of healing? How long until this friend walks
away? Does communal prayer help or trivialize?

Seeking out shelter in one another requires tremendous courage, but
it is a matter of life or paralysis. One way to start is to practice
giving shelter to others.

6.  Do not offer platitudes or comparisons. Do not, do not, do not.

“I’m so sorry you lost your son, we lost our dog last year … ” “At
least it’s not as bad as … ” “You’ll be stronger when this is over.”
“God works in all things for good!”

When a loved one is suffering, we want to comfort them. We offer
assurances like the ones above when we don’t know what else to say. But
from the inside, these often sting as clueless, careless, or just plain
false.

Trauma is terrible. What we need in the aftermath is a friend who can
swallow her own discomfort and fear, sit beside us, and just let it be
terrible for a while.

7.  Allow those suffering to tell their own stories.

Of course, someone who has suffered trauma may say, “This made me
stronger,” or “I’m lucky it’s only (x) and not (z).” That is their
prerogative. There is an enormous gulf between having someone else
thrust his unsolicited or misapplied silver linings onto you, and
discovering hope for one’s self. The story may ultimately sound very
much like “God works in all things for good,” but there will be a galaxy
of disfigurement and longing and disorientation in that confession.
Give the person struggling through trauma the dignity of discovering and
owning for himself where, and if, hope endures.

8.  Love shows up in unexpected ways.

This is a mystifying pattern after trauma, particularly for those in
broad community: some near-strangers reach out, some close friends
fumble to express care. It’s natural for us to weight expressions of
love differently: a Hallmark card, while unsatisfying if received from a
dear friend, can be deeply touching coming from an old acquaintance.

Ultimately every gesture of love, regardless of the sender, becomes a
step along the way to healing. If there are beatitudes for trauma, I’d
say the first is, “Blessed are those who give love to anyone in times of
hurt, regardless of how recently they’ve talked or awkwardly
reconnected or visited cross-country or ignored each other on the
metro.” It may not look like what you’d request or expect, but there
will be days when surprise love will be the sweetest.

9.  Whatever doesn’t kill you …

In 2011, after a publically humiliating year, comedian Conan O’Brien gave students at Dartmouth College the following warning:

“Nietzsche famously said, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger.’ … What he failed to stress is that it almost kills you.”
Odd things show up after a serious loss and creep into every corner of
life: insatiable anxiety in places that used to bring you joy,
detachment or frustration towards your closest companions, a deep
distrust of love or presence or vulnerability.

There will be days when you feel like a quivering, cowardly shell of
yourself, when despair yawns as a terrible chasm, when fear paralyzes
any chance for pleasure. This is just a fight that has to be won, over
and over and over again.

10.  … Doesn’t kill you.

Living through trauma may teach you resilience. It may help sustain
you and others in times of crisis down the road. It may prompt humility.
It may make for deeper seasons of joy. It may even make you stronger.

It also may not.

In the end, the hope of life after trauma is simply that you have
life after trauma. The days, in their weird and varied richness, go on.
So will you.