I'm going to take a break from the Empathy Equation to tell you my "you have unresolved trauma" wake-up call. It took the stupidest form ever. A seemingly innocuous joke triggered a full-blown panic attack for me at work, witnessed by dozens of people. At the time, I was working as an office admin for the youth ministry of a very large, very conservative church in Dallas. The team of fun-loving youth pastors I worked with was notorious for playing silly pranks on each other and laughing hysterically. Fun, right? Well, this particular day was the first time the joke was played on me. TW: I definitely didn't react in a fun-loving way.
My boss, the youth director, had acquired a larger-than-life-sized cardboard cutout of a pre-teen Justin Bieber a few months prior. It had already been featured in numerous practical jokes around the office. High-fives had been had by all. On the day of the Bieber incident, as I jokingly refer to it now, I was walking out of my office to check the mail when a gigantic, man-shaped Bieber jumped aggressively out at me from the shadows. He even roared like a monster: "Bugatey, bugatey boo!!"
In the past, when any of my coworkers had been the victims of this prank, they had shown momentary shock and then immediately started laughing. Not me. I made a high-pitched scream and jumped so high, I was practically crawling on the ceiling. I started shaking uncontrollably and crumpled to the floor, sobbing, gasping for air, and feeling like I was absolutely dying. My boss, who had been wielding the offending Bieber was speechless. After regaining control of my limbs, I fled to the bathroom, locked the door behind me, vomited, and cried as I tried to stop shaking.
I was absolutely mortified by my public hysteria, especially since I generally pride myself on being in control of my emotions. (I better not see anyone rolling their eyes!) My desperation to prove that I was a fun, chill, and *ahem* normal member of the team was crushed in that one spectacular meltdown. I spent about an hour locked in the bathroom, getting my panic under control, and, naturally, spiraling into shame.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, multiple well-meaning coworkers grimaced at me with worried expressions. My boss apologized profusely and after a few minutes of silence, he tentatively asked, "So…um… What happened?" I was at a loss. I’d just spent the last hour asking myself that exact same question. (Well, technically, I think the exact question I was asking was, "What the fuck just happened?")
The Bieber incident was the first time I truly confronted the fact that I was still deeply impacted by childhood trauma and I needed to address it. I'd gone to therapists numerous times (always at churches) for depression, but the topic of trauma had never come up. I had chalked up my depression to be a “thorn in my side” that I just needed to live with. The Bieber incident proved it wasn’t going to be that passive of a process.
Confused but intrigued, I started looking for explanations for why I reacted the way I did. Google insensitively informed me that having an “exaggerated startle response” is a common symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Rude. The more I read, the more the sobering reality started to sink in. I went to a psychologist (this time, one who specialized in trauma) who confirmed the diagnosis. It was like discovering a gaping wound in my chest that I’d been blissfully ignorant of until then.
I started trauma therapy and reluctantly began examining the long-tucked-away memories of my childhood and the problematic thinking patterns that had come with them. I gave myself permission to stop running from my darkest memories. It was miserable. Whenever I processed a "big" trauma, it seemed like 4 more would pop up in its place, like a diabolical hydra. I was determined, though, hungry to learn about what I was experiencing.
Although I didn’t have the words for it then, the Bieber incident had kickstarted a pivotal change in how I viewed myself. In hindsight, the work I was doing in therapy was me working through the Empathy Equation…for myself. My PTSD breakdown had highlighted feelings, beliefs, and behaviors that didn’t make sense to me. In order to solve that mystery, I had to investigate my identity, experiences, and circumstances with curiosity and non-judgment.
As I slowly got to know myself, I discovered a problematic core belief that had unconsciously been the foundation of my worldview my entire life. It was this: My feelings don’t matter. It wasn’t a belief that I had chosen, but one that I acquired through years of repressed trauma and trying to smother my fear for the greater good. The Beiber incident made me realize I had a habit of shutting off any awareness of my needs in order to handle situations where I felt trapped and powerless.
Confronting my trauma forced me to start paying attention to my body’s constant tension and stress and actually look for solutions instead of hiding. As I slowly opened the door to self-empathy, I not only uncovered parts of my identity that I had never acknowledged before, but I actually started treating myself like I mattered. That was the year I quit my job and started my master's in counseling.
No comments:
Post a Comment