Day One: Trauma, the Body & Writing

Our bodies have a form of knowledge that is different from our cognitive brains. This knowledge is typically experienced as a felt sense of constriction or expansion, pain or ease, energy or numbness. Often this knowledge is stored in our bodies as wordless stories about what is safe and what is dangerous. . . . 

The body is where we live. It’s where we fear, hope, and react. It’s where we constrict and relax. And what the body most cares about are safety and survival. When something happens to the body that is too much, too fast, or too soon, it overwhelms the body and can create trauma. . . . 

Trauma is not primarily an emotional response. [It] always happens in the body. . . . Trauma is the body’s protective response to an event—or a series of events—that [the body] perceives as potentially dangerous. This perception may be accurate, inaccurate, or entirely imaginary. . . . 

An embedded trauma response can manifest as fight, flee, or freeze—or as some combination of constriction, pain, fear, . . . reactive behaviors, or other sensations and experiences. This trauma then gets stuck in the body—and stays stuck there until it is addressed.

—————Resma Menakem

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I am obsessed with the way writing heals trauma in the body. When I first started writing, I didn't even know I had stored trauma in my body. My writing process led me to discover that in fact I had.

Stories were trapped inside my body, and they had no way to escape. This happens in severe childhood trauma. Stories get stuck in the joints.

What happened to me in my childhood was clearly too much for me, and I buried hundreds, probably thousands of stories in my body. Daily writing helped me access, express, and transform these stories.

Perhaps trauma has become something of a buzz word. To me, it is an essential word that expresses the heavy burden I carry. So I don't mind using the word. I think the word begs us to use it now. I think it's about time.

These days, I find the world to be an intense, terrifying place. This activates my trauma. I figure, since I live in this time, there must be a reason I am here. And maybe I am meant to use this moment to heal my own trauma.

Why is it important that I heal my own personal trauma in a time of such societal need? It is important because, if I heal the pain I carry, I will be much better able to help others heal. And after all, isn't that the main job of a human being on this earth?

So how exactly does writing address this trauma inside of me?

1) I must write every day to allow the process to happen. Writing every day is like turning on a spigot. If I don't turn on the spigot, the water does not flow. The pipes become rusty and the water may stop flowing altogether. When I write every day, an energy in the universe recognizes that I am serious, and it therefore has an obligation to help me heal. And that is exactly what the universe does, as long as I do my part.

2) I must allow the writing to have complete freedom. I cannot tell the writing what to do. I do this by writing quickly. If I write quickly, I bypass my internal critic, who is determined to stop my writing. I don't worry about spelling, punctuation, grammar, or any of the other things I learned in school. I put aside my fears and just let the writing go where it wants to go.

3) I am willing to dive into painful subjects, as the writing directs me. I trust that the writing will not give me more than I can handle. And I continue to do this day after day, no matter how much it hurts, knowing that writing has my best interests at heart.

4) I write in a group with other like-minded creatives. And I commit to doing this as often as I can, sharing my writing fearlessly with others. I do not censor myself. I let the stories experience their freedom. I do not become selfish.

5) Finally, I never give up on writing, no matter what. The only way I can lose is if I stop writing.

Where are these stories in my body and how do I know they are there?

1) As I write every day, I begin to notice body sensations and movements that accompany my writing. I learn to associate these body sensations with particular stories and characters. I let go of my "contempt prior to investigation", and I listen to my body.

2) I begin to notice a general trend toward healing in my body, as I write. This may take time, but it nonetheless happens. For instance, when I first started writing, I had a lot of issues with my left knee. As I have progressed in writing, these issues have mostly disappeared, or at least lessened in severity.

3) My body has its own internal wisdom. I noticed that my body had certain things stored on the left and on the right. This pattern was set down in childhood, and it has its own internal logic. To understand these patterns, though, I have to be willing to regress back to a childlike state. I do this partly through the use of metaphor. Metaphor is the language my child parts use to describe the trauma they experienced. My job is to put aside my intellect and listen to these child parts.

4) Finally, I have to let go of my reason to enter into the wisdom of my body. If I take everything too literally, or try to figure it all out, I shut down the healing of the body.

There is so much more I could say about healing and writing, but that is enough for today, I think!