Let’s talk about shame. Shame is not only an emotion we feel, but also a negative belief we think and physically feel in our bodies. It can feel powerful and all-consuming, even crushing at times. It also is common for those who have experienced trauma to feel shame.
But here’s the thing: You are not failing. You are human.
Experiencing shame does not make you a “bad person.” It makes you human. We all have experiences that shape our lives, how we see ourselves, how we see others and how we see the world. We can’t change the events that happened in our lives. What we can do is learn how to undo the shame that became a by-product of our experiences.
To begin to reduce shame, we can start by naming it for what it is (e.g., “This is shame.”) and increasing compassion for ourselves—in other words, what you say to yourself and how you say it. It matters.
Imagine if someone you care for said “I am such a failure.” What would you say to them? What tone of voice would you use?
How can you speak to yourself with more kindness and tenderness to bring more self-compassion to what you are going through? How can you speak to yourself the way you would to a dear friend?
I am in the process of understanding shame and learning how to let go of it.
Trauma anniversaries can be difficult to cope with. Whether it’s a particular day, holiday, season or month, knowing when that anniversary (or anniversaries) occurred can be helpful in creating a plan for how you will care for yourself. I created this infographic to help normalize what you may be experiencing and help you find new ways of coping.
One of my anniversaries occurred near 4th of July. Every year after that, when that holiday approached, I would become sad and weepy and wanting to isolate. For years I didn’t know that what I was experiencing was actually a common response to a trauma anniversary.
Over the years, the event has lost its emotional charge with the help of a great therapist, EMDR and my own personal growth and healing. For me, reclaiming that day and finding new meaning was so important to my journey. I used to feel broken and helpless this time of year. But now I feel strong and empowered. I got through it. I survived. I no longer think of it as a trauma anniversary, but a celebration anniversary of me and the day I left and took back my life.
I sat across from my new therapist, contemplating the answer
to her question as my mind flipped through flashes of images from that day.
Wind.
Drizzling rain on the windshield.
Singing in the car to P!nk.
A thud.
Glass shattering.
Silence.
Standing on the side of the road.
Tears.
Calling my husband.
It only took a few seconds before I landed on the image that makes my chest tighten and takes away my breath.
“When I saw the tree falling onto my car,” I answered. “I
thought I was going to die.”
“And when you think of that incident, on a scale from 0-10,
with 10 being the most disturbing, how disturbing is the event when you think
about it?” my therapist asked.
“10,” I said without hesitation. I took a deep breath and exhaled.
This was my first of six sessions of Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing or EMDR, an evidence-based form of therapy that helps individuals process and heal from traumatic or disturbing experiences. EMDR is too complex to explain all of its attributes and treatment methods fully in one post. If you’re interested in learning more, I suggest exploring the links at the end of this post and checking back on this blog for my future posts on the topic. But for the purpose of this story, I’m going to focus on the brain and how memories are stored.
Our brain is a powerful organ built with an information
processing system for healing and survival. As explained by EMDR’s founder,
Francine Shapiro, in her book “Getting Past Your Past,” this mechanism allows
us to “make connections to what is useful, and let go of the rest.” This
process occurs mostly during REM (rapid eye movement). Have you ever gone to
bed upset about something, perhaps grappling over a decision you want to make,
and then wake up the next morning with clarity about what to do or feeling less
bad about it? It’s because your brain processed it during REM sleep; the brain
worked out a solution or what Shapiro describes as an adaptive resolution.
But sometimes, a traumatic or disturbing event prevents that
adaptive solution to form. The event can be so overwhelming (mentally,
emotionally, physically) that the body cannot process the experience, and
instead, the event gets filed away in the brain unprocessed. You can think of an
unprocessed memory as a container holding all the emotions, body sensations,
negative beliefs and thoughts about yourself that are tied to that memory.
So, let’s go back to my car accident for a moment and think
about what was in my unprocessed memory container of that event?
Emotions: Fear, shock, vulnerability.
Body sensations: Freeze response, whole body tensed, chest
tightened, like wind was knocked out of me.
Senses (sight, sound, smell, etc.): The pine tree snapping
and falling onto my car; the “whoosh” of the tree when it was falling; glass shattering;
smashed windshield; shards of glass; P!nk on the radio; the smell of pine
needles; silence.
Negative beliefs and thoughts: I’m going to die.
What happened was so overwhelming to my entire system that
the memory was never fully processed, and all of that stuff I just listed got
filed away in an isolated part of the brain that didn’t link up to anything
adaptive that would have allowed me to integrate the event into all of my other
life experiences. Instead, the memory remained unprocessed, and as a result, I
stayed stuck. Every time I drove or got in the car with anyone, the past felt
like the present. A constant loop of “I’m going to die” played in my head. Sometimes
I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack. Other times I felt like at
any moment my whole body would freeze up in the middle of driving. I was
reliving my accident over and over again—and not just in my waking life. It
also showed up in my dreams, where I frequently experienced nightmares about car
accidents.
What further prevented this memory from being processed is
how I responded immediately after the accident happened. Shocked and numbed, I went
into autopilot and made phone calls: first to my doctor’s office that I wouldn’t
make my appointment that afternoon; second to AAA to tow my car; third to 911
to let them know about the pine tree lying across I-40; fourth to my husband;
fifth to my auto insurance to file my claim. And when my husband arrived on the
scene, I had him drive me to my friend’s dinner party which I had committed to
that evening and he highly discouraged me from going to. “I’m not going to let
this ruin my whole evening,” I proclaimed. I pushed it all away.
This traumatic experience also occurred on the heals of a number of other traumatic events that proceeded it, which added to the weight of my symptoms. I would learn through EMDR—both as a clinician in my training and as a patient in therapy—that there was a thread connecting all of them together.
My symptoms persisted for more than two years, ultimately
leading to a diagnosis of PTSD. I tried everything to cope with the symptoms—meditation,
mindfulness, medication, grounding exercises, counseling, yoga. It took the
edge off a little, and helped me in other areas of my life, but I never felt true
relief. I felt stuck and unable to believe that I would ever find safety or joy
again behind the wheel. I gave up and just tried to co-exist with these
symptoms. Spoiler alert: That didn’t work either.
The turning point for me finally happened in October 2019 when I was triggered by a video in my EMDR training course, which featured a woman talking to her therapist about being physically hit by a car. I was fine up until the part in her story where she talked about the smashed windshield and identified “I’m going to die” as the first thought she experienced. Watching it, I felt like someone stabbed a knife in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I left the room and walked into the hallway ith no awareness of where I was going. I could hear my friend’s voice calling my name behind me, but I felt like I was in a tunnel and she was on the far opposite end from me. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was experiencing a flashback and panic attack. I was back in the driver’s seat, reliving my accident. With the help of my friend and one of the trainers from our course, I stabilized in a few minutes using some grounding techniques we learned in class. I had never experienced anything like this before and it scared me. The next day I made an appointment with an EMDR therapist.
Photo by Carla Kucinski.
EMDR helped me take back my life. Now, when I drive, I catch myself all the time in moments where I am relaxed behind the wheel. My PTSD symptoms are gone. I still have a little bit of hypervigilance, but as my therapist explained, that’s normal, and not something that I would want to completely go away because it keeps me safe. I no longer feel like a prisoner to these symptoms and this experience. And that negative belief of “I’m going to die” that constantly looped in my head while I drove, it’s no longer there. It’s been replaced by the more adaptive belief: I survived. When I say these words out loud or to myself, I feel a sense of peace in my body and a smile forms on my face. I never imagined this could be possible.
