A familiar feeling.
It was about 2 am one morning in the middle of September and I was driving myself to the hospital. It wasn’t the first time I had made this exact trip with tears streaming down my face and a shallowness in my breath. I knew that when I finally saw the doctor, he (or she) would tell me the sudden onset of tension in my chest and uncontrollable shaking throughout my body was normal. Predictable, even. My oldest childhood friend had just died unexpectedly a few days earlier, so this visceral reaction was at a minimum understandable.
But rational thinking has no place at the table amidst an emotional avalanche of loss. And while I knew what the doctor would likely say, I was scared. And overwhelmed with worry. So there I was, on a dark highway, driving away from my slumbering family and towards a place that never sleeps, in hopes of finding relief.
Searching after loss.
After my friend died, I began going through some sort of metamorphosis. As is the case for many people who experience sudden loss, I’ve been in a carpe-diem mindset ever since. I’m re-evaluating how I spend every minute of my time outside of work and family obligations, feeling as though whatever I am doing must be productive and meaningful. This self-interrogation has taken me down many paths, most prominently the consumption of a couple incredible books. Although I enjoy reading, I would not call myself an avid bookworm. However, since last fall, I’ve been steadily making my way through multiple non-fiction, self-improvement publications. They all have a similar theme: With everything I know and everything I’ve gone through, how can I live the happiest, most fulfilling life?
The first book I read was called Forever Young by Dr. Mark Hyman. He founded the Cleveland Clinic Center for Functional Medicine and has written many books related to health and wellness. In this book, his focus is on the aspects of our lives within our control that will contribute to individual longevity. Some chapters are heavily focused on the science, describing the impact of our food, fitness, and lifestyle choices at a molecular level within our bodies. But before he breaks down topics such as epigenetics and methylation, he starts the book by describing what are known as ‘Blue Zones’ around the world.
Blue Zones (Sardinia, Ikaria) are areas with a high concentration of people who reach 100 years old or more. Many of these areas have up to twenty times the number of those same individuals than the United States. They often live simple lives, rich in unprocessed foods and marked by functional exercise. They typically grow their own food and live free from the stressors of modern technology and busyness. One of the most interesting things he noticed in his travels was that in these Blue Zones, there is also a very strong sense of community. For young and old, both friends and family, the sense of common traditions and experiences undoubtedly contributes to the strength of a shared bond and overall longevity of individuals within these cultures.
Looking for answers.
Mental health is something I feel very passionate about, having gone through my own battles with acute trauma and lasting anxiety. After my friend died, I found myself in a familiar but agonizing place. For the first week after her passing, I was managing OK. I maintained my daily routines, attended my son’s soccer games, and worked as much as possible. But try as I might to convince myself I was fine, her death caught up with me. I began to feel the unrelenting waves of adrenaline rush over me, one after another, and I was in a state of perpetual panic. The kind where I felt an unexplainable and irrational yet impending sense of doom.
I had experienced this same type of physiological reaction to extreme stress a couple of times before, but this time it triggered something in me: a curiosity. A yearning to better understand why I found myself driving to the ER in the middle of the night feeling like the world was caving in on me. And why I felt so immobilized that I couldn’t even travel for my dear friend’s funeral. Everyone suffers loss, I figured, but why do sudden losses catapult me into a rabid state of psychological conflict?
The next book I picked up, called The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk, M.D., came highly recommended by several trusted friends. And for good reason – it was eye opening and perspective changing. This book, published in 2014, is a must read for anyone (in my opinion), regardless of their history with trauma. Because at its core, the book details how our bodies adapt and respond to events through our life, memorizing those patterns for future encounters. It is a book that I wish I had read several years earlier, after my first severe bout with anxiety, because it explained the core truths I was living in those moments: My body had been programmed to react to trauma in a particular way because of my life experiences, and that was not something I could escape. But, I could learn how to both understand it and thereby manage it.
There is so much rich material in this book that can’t be justly covered in such a short blog post. Every human is a cumulative compilation of experiences. The trauma we endure can be acute or chronic, minor or major. It can be something common like suffering through a parental divorce, or something rare such as surviving a school shooting. And this book doesn’t shy away from any of it. It details vets who experienced severe PTSD and individuals who suffered through family violence and betrayal. Through it all, the author goes to great lengths to explain the connection between our bodies and our brains, between the physiological and the psychological.
A prevalent theme in the book is that of relationships, and how they serve as the foundation for both our reaction to and our healing from trauma. He describes the process of attunement between a child and a caregiver, noting that as children become attached to their primary caregiver, the nature of that relationship influences the child’s life both emotionally and physically. Children who are securely attached and feel safe are better able to understand their feelings as well as the feelings of others. They develop a sense of what they can control and when to ask for help. They can better regulate emotions and reactions because their emotional foundation is built on bricks, rather than sand.
Dr Van Der Kolk doesn’t stop at analyzing the relationship between children and their caregivers. He also discusses the idea of reciprocity - that it isn’t enough to just be near people, but rather to feel seen and heard by those around us. Even though we may live in a culture that values individual uniqueness, it is our shared interests, desires, experiences and cultures that allow us to form deep and lasting bonds with other people. Those relationships, according to study after study, are one of the most powerful tools in our toolbox for handling life and everything it throws at us. It makes sense, too, because the feeling of loneliness and desperation leads to a dark place. Yet when there is an outstretched hand in that darkness that offers company and companionship, it is much easier to put one foot in front of the other and keep going.
Putting it all together.
About 3 weeks after my friend died, my therapist took me through a couple sessions of EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Therapy). It is an alternate form of therapy that recalls traumatic experiences while engaging both the emotional and rational side of the brain. The basic concept is that by doing so, the brain and body learn how to think of the trauma as a distant event rather than a pervasive shadow.
The setup involves wearing headphones while listening to alternating beeps in each ear and simultaneously allowing for a free flow conscious stream of narration. When we started, I began all the way back on April 20, 1999. I took her through the beginning, middle and end of that day. Along the way, I detailed my emotions, which ranged from fear to uncertainty to worry to sorrow. We jumped ahead to my first year at college, and as we meandered through the exercise and my emotions bubbled up, some things became clear. In those moments after the shooting and the months that followed, I felt extreme loneliness. It may not have been obvious to others or to myself at the time, but in hindsight it is much clearer. And it explains so much of my reaction to grief.
After the Columbine shooting, I felt loneliness because it was the first of its kind in the 24-hour news cycle era, and the media attention was simultaneously suffocating and isolating. When I went to college, I felt loneliness because nobody there could understand what I had gone through just 4 months earlier and how I longed to focus on the mundane. When my grandma died in 2018, I felt loneliness at the thought of one day bearing the burden of being an only child for my parents and what that loss would mean for me. And when my friend died, I felt loneliness because she was the closest thing I had to a sister - someone with a shared history over 3 decades who I assumed would be there through life’s ups and downs.
Suddenly, it clicked, and I understood. When my body overwhelmed my brain due to trauma or loss, I felt loneliness. My body had been programmed for that immediate response, and I acted upon it by driving to hospital in the middle of the night. Rather than sit at home in the quiet and fight against my own thoughts, I wanted to be at the one place where I was guaranteed to find someone awake. Even though I was surrounded by people, I still felt isolated.
Why community matters.
I am extremely fortunate and blessed - I have an incredible social support network. Each one is filled with a community of people that acts like the branches of a tree. Some are deep and foundational, like the relationships I share with my family and closest friends. Others are shorter and with fewer stems, like the acquaintances I’ve made by way of my children or through various interests and hobbies. No matter which branch I’m nurturing, they all serve as a gravitational pull that keeps me grounded.
Having a community of people didn’t protect me from the lasting impacts of trauma, but I am convinced that it saved me from the darkness of despair. There are so many people I leaned on when it got really, really tough. My parents, who spent as much time with me as needed in person and on the phone, talking through things as I tried to make sense of my thoughts and feelings. My in-laws, who made sure my children were cared for when I was unable to meet their needs. My husband, who sat by my side at the hospital for hours waiting to be seen, and prayed for me nonstop. My children, who offered unlimited hugs because they knew something was wrong but didn’t know how to fix it. My friends, who drove me to my counseling appointments and made me meals just to be sure I took care of my physical self. My bosses, who told me to prioritize my mental well being over logging work hours. My therapist, who made time to see me with extra visits so I could process everything I was experiencing with a trained professional.
None of the people above could change what happened in my life. But every single one of them, I'm certain, helped me in ways they don't fully realize. Each individual, with their unique experiences and perspectives, contributed to my journey in significant ways, whether through their words of encouragement, their acts of kindness, or simply by being present during pivotal moments. They represent my own personal community, a network of support that has been invaluable to me throughout the ups and downs of my life.
Community for others.
In The Body Keeps the Score, the author spends the latter half of the book discussing treatments for trauma. Some of them are fairly conventional and some are less known. Several involve one on one interactions (EMDR, neurofeedback, counseling). Some of them involve groups of people, such as well-known group therapy sessions (Alcoholics Anonymous). A few of them that are incredibly promising rely on traumatized individuals coming together to explore artistic expression such as dance and theater. One such program in New York City - the Possibility Project - found success in helping foster children learn to process their emotions and feelings of abandonment through onstage acting. And it a well accepted fact that individuals who are well regulated emotionally are more likely to become productive members of society.
Not everyone has severe trauma to overcome. Some of us just need a communal outlet outside of our daily obligations that fosters creativity, fellowship, and belonging. Because if communities can help people overcome trauma, how much more can they help those of us looking for something much simpler?