Human suffering seems endless. It has accompanied humankind from the very beginning, and perhaps always will. It has many shapes and forms: the unexpected loss of a loved one; accidents; frightening illness; violence; rape; the emotional, physical, or sexual abuse of children; the ravages of war or poverty; and many others. In one way or another, each of us is affected. There is another kind of suffering, which often has no apparent cause. Here are some examples: the nagging symptoms that take us from physician to physician who tell us that nothing is medically wrong; the mysterious aches and pains that do not respond to conventional treatment; the chronic, vague sense of apprehension or excessive cautiousness that narrows the scope of our lives; the inability to relax without drugs or alcohol; chronic low energy or fatigue; intimacy that doesn’t work; relationships that always seem to end soon after they begin, or are fraught with endless conflict. The list goes on, and it spans medical, physical, psychological, and interpersonal difficulties. However, what could this broad range of symptoms possibly have in common? Moreover, what relationship could the symptoms have to the catastrophes listed in the first paragraph? For me, these questions have more than theoretical interest. I have begun writing a book that chronicles my journey from a home where violent, severe physical and emotional abuse were everyday occurrences to my present life that usually feels rich, vibrant, and blessed. Each year, I notice more evidence that healing is continuing on so many levels. At 57 years of age, my body is becoming healthier, more responsive, and more fluid. I have been extremely fortunate to have had so many good teachers, therapists, and body workers along the way. However, none has spoken more directly to these questions than Dr. Peter Levine, who has been studying the effects of trauma for the past thirty years. I am talking about a specific type of trauma — "shock trauma" — and will distinguish it from developmental trauma. Dr. Levine uses a beautiful metaphor to illustrate this distinction. He uses the image of a river to represent the flow of one’s life. Developmental traumas are like the boulders in this river. Of various sizes, these rocks do no damage to the integrity of the river. They may even contribute to its particular character. In our metaphor, these are the normal wounds and challenges of childhood, the pains that all children experience in the process of growing up. Shock trauma, on the other hand, fractures the bank of the river. When it occurs, there is a sense of helplessness in the face of an overwhelming force. The result is a loss of wholeness, a diminishment of our coherency. It is as if a part of the self splits off from the whole. At the place of the fracture, where the riverbank has been broken, it creates a whirlpool, a fragmented vortex of energy. In addition, those systems that give us meaning, a sense of control and connection, are disrupted. Shock trauma is so much more common than previously suspected. It can occur from any of the events listed in the first paragraph. It can also occur from intrauterine toxicity, difficult birth, surgery, or anesthesia. It is very important to underscore that neither general medicine, psychiatry, nor psychology fully understands the pervasiveness and effects of trauma. As late as 1980, when post-traumatic stress disorders were first included in the American Psychiatric Association’s diagnostic manual, they described traumatic events as "outside the range of usual human experience." However, as Judith Herman responds in her classic Trauma and Recovery, "Sadly, this definition has proved to be inaccurate. Rape, battery, and other forms of sexual and domestic violence are so common a part of women’s lives that they can hardly be described as outside the range of ordinary experience." It is becoming increasingly more obvious just how widespread traumatic reactions are. Nevertheless, there is hope. My own life is a testament to that hope. As Dr. Levine puts it, "Trauma is a fact of life, but it does not have to be a life sentence." Inherent in every trauma is the seed of healing. When the riverbank is broken and a whirlpool occurs outside of its boundary, an interesting thing happens. A much smaller whirlpool is created opposite it, but inside the bank of the river. Dr. Levine calls this the healing vortex. Here is another of nature’s wondrous mysteries. Here is the basis of true hope, the hope for healing. Dr. Levine has stated, "In all my years of working with trauma, I have never not found somewhere within the trauma the seed of healing." The job of practitioners is to find, nurture, and grow that seed. From a social perspective, the importance of understanding trauma is immense. Trauma spreads through families. Traumatized parents inflict their wounds on their children. Whole communities, and sometimes cultures, are affected. No one is immune. Nevertheless, healing is possible. To understand trauma better, imagine a young impala grazing happily in a field when, suddenly, he hears a sound in the distance. He immediately pauses and looks. It is a jaguar, who at that exact moment leaps into action. The chase is on. For miles, over hills and through the brush, the impala stays a step ahead of our hungry jaguar. However, the jaguar’s endurance proves superior. Just before his final lunge, the impala hits the ground and freezes. He is motionless, perfectly still. Playing possum? No, neither he nor the famous possum is playing. Both are exhibiting another of nature’s wonders. When the fight-or-flight response is rendered useless, freezing is the organism’s last effort at survival. In the wild, it sometimes works. For example, a predator, thinking the prey is dead meat, may leave it. On the other hand, he may decide to drag it somewhere before dining, in which case the prey may have one more chance to survive. At the very least, there will not be pain. In humans, the freeze response plays a significant role in traumatic reactions. It is important to understand that in "freeze," an organism’s sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems are highly activated — simultaneously. It is like trying to drive your car with one foot down on the accelerator and one foot pressing against the gas pedal. If we return to the wild and find for some reason that our jaguar friend has decided not to eat our impala, we would notice an interesting phenomenon. After a while, the impala would begin to vibrate and quiver. He would become progressively more intense until he is spent. The energy held in the freeze response is enormous; however, in the wild, it is routinely discharged. The animal’s normal equilibrium is soon restored. There is no traumatic reaction. There are no symptoms. The impala survives, and soon will be grazing harmoniously in the field. For human beings, it is not as simple. For very complex reasons, we do not readily discharge the energy that is aroused by an impact. We store it in our nervous systems. We hold it in our tissues, and eventually symptoms ensue. Symptoms are the organism’s way of containing and organizing the energy that has not been discharged. The human organism is unbelievably creative in finding countless ways to express energy that has not been discharged. Headaches, backaches, neck pain, excessive caution, anxiety, depression, chronic fatigue, sleep difficulties, a weakened immune system, relationship and intimacy difficulties, fibromyalgia, nightmares, mood swings, hyper-vigilance, and a reduced ability to deal with stress are a partial list of possible consequences. Symptoms can even show up many years after the traumatic event. Moreover, each unresolved trauma makes us more susceptible to another. The common denominator of these seemingly disparate manifestations is a decrease in the resiliency of the autonomic nervous system, and a corresponding loss of the system’s ability to process new information and to take in nourishment. This decrease of the resiliency of the autonomic nervous system is part of the energetic underpinnings of feelings of inadequacy and incompetence. In addition, given the intimate relationship among the autonomic nervous system, the endocrine system, and the immune system, the effects of trauma on health and energy are not difficult to infer. Recognizing the need for healing is an act of courage and wisdom. In the world in which most of us were reared, we went to the doctor when we were sick. The doctor examined us and gave us our prescription. For trauma, however, there is no medication. As a nation, we spend hundreds of millions of dollars (if not billions) seeking relief from symptoms that have neither clear etiology nor certain prognosis. With traumatic reactions, the healing that is required is somatic. The approach has to be both physiological and psychological. It must include both one’s body and one’s awareness. There is no need to re-experience the original trauma or to engage in heavy cathartic experiences. In fact, the genius of Dr. Levine’s approach is that it is very gentle. Unassimilated portions of energy and experience are taken in very small bites, thus allowing the nervous system to reintegrate in manageable steps. Trauma does not have to be a life sentence. Don St. John, M.A., is a Bodymind therapist in private practice in Seattle. He is developing the Bodymind and Life Skills Training, and is completing his Ph.D. at the Western Institute for Social Research. He and his wife Diane Naismith-St. John give monthly lectures on trauma. For more information, call (206) 368-8145. |