Monday

Monday, July 14, 2014

I have my moments when I wonder when the unexpected intrusive and upsetting thoughts will stop suddenly appearing in my waking consciousness every so often.  Today was another day in which the past impinged upon the present.  While at work this morning I suddenly found memories from 1995 and 1996 drifting through my mind.  In particular I wondered if a certain relationship I had with an older man at that time was not what I thought it was at the time.  Though the relationship was consensual there was a large difference in age…and he was married.  Today, as the memories appeared in my conscious awareness, I wondered if that relationship caused me more harm than good.  I also found myself wondering if the man’s wife ever found out about the full nature of our relationship.  This entire relationship occurred before I came out as a gay man in 1997.

Moments like this morning’s sudden unintended trip down memory lane have a way of leaving me feeling very off center.  And yet it’s a testament to the immense work I have done in the last year that I did not overreact as the memories suddenly appeared.  I did not experience a suddenly racing pulse.  My breathing did not become shallow and rapid.  I experienced no telltale signs that you might associate with a panic attack.  But I did feel an immense amount of sadness.  But that is nothing new.  Deep sadness has been my companion for a while now.

Prior to the interlude of this Monday morning I had already scheduled an appointment with my primary care doctor.  My energy level has been low for about a week now.  Despite the uplifting sunbathing I was able to do yesterday I definitely felt as if I had a ‘case of the Mondays’ this morning.  The sadness is gradually morphing into something else but some days the pace of the transformation feels positively glacial. 

I know my deep sadness is due in part to the deepening realization that it isn’t realistic for me to hope to have any sort of relationship with my paternal family of origin.  By ‘paternal family of origin’ I mean my father and his siblings.  My four grandparents all died many years ago.  My paternal family’s capacity for denial is as dense as granite.  I have finally learned to stop beating my head against that which cannot be moved…or can only be moved with such extreme exertion that the energy required is not worth the results achieved.  As I have noted recently in my writing I believe the only way my paternal family of origin would ever take my sentiments regarding my father’s past (and much more recent) dysfunctional behavior seriously would be if I had committed suicide earlier in my life.  I can no longer afford to abdicate so much of my power to any one person.  It’s debilitating and self-defeating.  For my own sake I must move on.

And I am moving on.  But first must come the time of my dark grief.  First I must acknowledge the pain of the loss…the lost time, the lost energy, the lost possibilities.

I have to admit that I find myself wondering how my father’s family managed to survive all the challenges that have erupted throughout the centuries.  Given my family’s penchant for avoidance and denial how did our ancestors manage to survive the stormy periods of history that others were defeated by?  For example, if you are reading this passage your ancestors either survived the Black Death in Europe or were never exposed to the bubonic plague in the first place.  Those of us who live today do so in part due to the ingenuity of our ancestors.

I will begin working with a personal trainer this week.  I am looking forward to that.

Joy...and Terminal Illness

Sunday, July 13, 2014


Today I did something I really needed to do for my own health.  I went outside and enjoyed an afternoon of inner tubing on a river about a hour long drive south of the Twin Cities.  I enjoyed the July sunshine, an ideal outdoor temperature, the beauty of Canadian geese along the river shore and some relaxed playfulness among a group of gay men in recovery.

Though my father and I are not on good terms he has shared some genuine wisdom with me throughout the years.  One piece I still recall now is his admonishment to enjoy life.  I agree.  Life is too short not to enjoy the gifts that you have.

Yesterday I awoke with the topic of terminal illness on my mind.  Why that particular topic was on my mind then I do not know.  To my knowledge I have no friends who are currently facing the grim experience of a terminal illness.  When I re-entered therapy last summer it took me a while just to work through the anger and frustration I felt when it became clear that I could benefit immensely from a conscious choice to do more 'work' on myself.  I had already invested a lot of time and energy (earlier in my life) in the veritable odyssey that personal healing can sometimes become.  So going back into therapy yet again was not something I relished.  But I called on what my therapist would call my 'mature adult self' to do more work.  And here I am a year later in a much better position.

Sometimes we can lose the proverbial forest for the trees and fail to find joy in the small pleasures of life.  The prospect of becoming terminally ill can lay waste to unfounded assumptions we may nurture about the future of our lives.  While in a state of somewhat morbid curiosity yesterday morning I decided to google the topic of 'living with terminal illness'.  I found some good resources including this article.

The stories of four people's lives upended by the sudden intrusion of unexpected and immense illness contained in this article are sobering to read.  But I also took some solace in reading the brief descriptions of these four people's journeys; I was able to see threads weaving through their lives that hold something in common with my own life.  Though I thankfully was not diagnosed with a terminal condition the very fact that my health issues are primarily attributable to circumstances I was unable to escape from which first occurred decades ago when I was a child renders me able to sympathize with those who fight long and hard battles...only to ultimately lose their battle nonetheless.  Some battles take immense amounts of energy and determination to fight.  And when we finish such battles (should we survive them) we can emerge feeling a bit bewildered as to whether the battle was worth the cost.

The young woman's comment about crying for a week hit close to home.  I can recall how upset I was last summer.  I still remember breaking down in tears one day at Abbott Hospital after getting blood drawn.  I was feeling the fear that many feel when they still do not know what they are sick with and why.  Healing can be an emotionally demanding process.  When you don't have a family that supports you in the ways you most need to be supported you can feel quite isolated and alone in the world.

Indeed, illness can itself compound and result in secondary issues.  When the AIDS epidemic burst upon the world in the 1980s the eventual infection of millions with HIV was just the beginning.  As people needlessly suffered and later died during the early years of the epidemic (long before the medical community could adequately respond) their effective disappearance left immense holes in the lives of those they left behind.  One book I read long ago (written by social worker Rik Isensee) noted that the AIDS epidemic was a source of trauma for many, many people.

Though the advance of medicine in the last thirty years has now made it possible to seriously no longer consider seroconverting to an HIV positive status as being a defacto death sentence I still do not generally consider it 'sexy' to be HIV positive.  But there are some men (I have heard them called 'bug-chasers') who find 'risky' sex to be appealing sex.  And I would be hypocritical if I were to deny that I cannot understand the appeal...or refuse to attempt to contemplate it.  I once dated an HIV positive man...and there were moments when I could somehow appreciate how being HIV-positive could appeal to others.  In a sense it is easy to project the archetype of the powerful warrior onto men (and women) who have overcome immense obstacles that most have been destroyed by.  I do not believe we should limit how love enters our lives.  Love is love...regardless of age, orientation, socioeconomic background and the like.  I believe people should be able to define relationships in ways that will serve their needs...even if they do not align with the prevailing social standards of the day.  Had gay people continued to think and behave in hetero-normative ways we might never have seen the eruption of Stonewall here in the United States.

I feel as if I have digressed a bit...but I think it is a good digression.  We're all going to die at some point.  The surest way to die is to be born.  The better question is this: What are we going to do with the time we have?

Like one of the four people profiled in the above referenced article I chose to make some major changes  in my own life after last June.  I simply could not be the 'old' me.  The reality of the trauma in my life history had long ago influenced my outlook.  I had learned to behave like an adult even when I was a child...because I had to do so as a way of adapting to my circumstances.

I see one theme that runs through the lives of all four people profiled...as well as my own.  Illness (and trauma) has a way of upending our sense of time and thus the value we ascribe to it.  When people receive terminal diagnoses their experience of time can shift dramatically.  For some it might feel like decades of time has compressed into something incredibly small.  Victor Fournere, profiled in the article, speaks of "60 years of memories at once".  I was attempting to describe what I would guess is the same phenomenon when I recently wrote a daily posting about what I call 'scrolling'.

Time feels very precious to me now.  And I therefore have little patience to include people in my life who live lives that so defy this, well, timeless truth.  Procrastinators beware...I would rather live and engage with the proactive and passionate.  If I am going to be alive I want to be really alive.  I want to feel the sun on my face...and actually feel its warmth!


Change comes to those who will commit to it.  It rarely comes overnight...but it will come to those who are determined...and who have the support they need to transform their lives.

I love the power of July sunshine.  There's nothing much better to metabolize Vitamin D!

Rather than attempt to blot out old memories focus on creating new memories filled with joy and love.  And if the old memories deeply haunt you then it's perhaps time to go to therapy.  With the help of a skilled and compassionate therapist it is indeed possible to create a new and rewarding life.

I cannot remember July 13, 1982.  But I will be able to recall that July 13, 2014 was a fun day for me.

The Great Gift of Unconditional Love

Saturday, July 12, 2014


Just like yesterday and the day before I cannot remember this particular day of July from the year 1982. I feel a lot of grief that I cannot really remember that summer.  I believe it's a very healthy choice that I simply focus on completing my current position at Abbott Northwestern Hospital (that will end on August 15th) as a way of structuring my time and honoring the boy I was who couldn't really easily escape his circumstances back in 1982.

Sometimes I find myself here in the present day wondering why I didn't simply run away back in 1982.    Considering I felt so alienated and fearful it seems strange to me that I stuck around.  But when I take a step back and really think through that time period I realize it is unrealistic for me to have thought about my circumstances in an adult way back then when I was a child.  Children typically think with brains that correspond to the developmental state of children and adults (hopefully) function with adult brains. To expect a child to rationally think about difficult circumstances as if he were an adult is to expect a child to essentially be an adult.  And that isn't a realistic expectation.  I grew up under my father's supervision and went off to college after graduating high school because that seemed to be a better choice than taking the risk of striking off on my own as an eight year old kid.  I haven't heard about too many 'successful' eight-year old runaways.

With the passage of time and the clarity that ideally comes after undergoing therapy I understand more and more clearly that a principle issue of my earliest years of life is that I needed more unconditional love.  The problem is not that I didn't receive any such love.  The love I received wasn't consistent.  And much of it was not unconditional.  While I do feel I take a fairly healthy view regarding the influence of gender (upon the roles that fathers and mothers fulfill) in the sense that I think it narrow to think only mothers can and do provide unconditional love I nonetheless think it is still true that the love a mother gives a child is quite different than what a father gives a child.  Regardless of whether a child has a mother and a father, two fathers or two mothers I think it critical that a child experience the gift of unconditional love.  To experience such love is, in my opinion, the birthright of every person.

So here is one of my questions now: How do you deal with the impact of a dearth of unconditional love  years later?

The Joy of Discovery

Saturday, July 12, 2014


This morning, as I rode into Minneapolis on the bus, I observed a little girl with her mother sitting near the front of the bus.  The girl squealed with delight when a two-tier transport truck loaded up with cars passed by the bus.  You could sense her delight and sense of wonder.  I also sensed that she felt very safe.  Her mother was very good at interacting with her daughter and performing what you might call 'teachable moments'.

Play and discovery are vital to the healthy development of a person's imagination.  But play and discovery cannot take place in a consistent way in an environment constantly threatened with instability and chaos.  To be able to play in a lighthearted and engaged way one must not be overly preoccupied with overwhelming matters day in and day out.

I have been realizing lately that I didn't really experience the joy of discovery in a consistent way when I was a child.  Yes, there were some highlights and lighthearted moments.  But they were often moments or no more than short periods.  These moments of joy and delight were interspersed with excess drama and confusion.  I have been further realizing that my tendency to stay at home a little too much during the years of my adolescence was a way I adapted to my circumstances.  I actually had this ongoing fear that I would come home and find some new horror due to a poor decision my father had made.  I was so distrusting of his capacity to cultivate healthy relationships that by the time his third marriage began I was deeply mistrustful.  In some strange way I made this unconscious decision that it was in my best interest to hang out at home a lot.  In sticking close to home I could theoretically protect myself better...as well as my father.  And yet it should not be the responsibility of a child to care for a parent.  That is a complete reversal of the proper relationship that should exist between an adult parent and a child.

In some sense I did not experience some of the essentials of childhood as would have been ideal.  I did not have sufficient safety to feel carefree and engage in the 'joy of discovery' as I was able to witness this morning while on the bus.  And so I sit with this question now as well: How can I honor that child I was who didn't get this basic need met?  What can I do about it now?

Not all discoveries bring joy.  The unexpected developments of our lives can bring us our greatest gifts and our harshest challenges.  I suspect that a person's general openness to the unexpected is probably very much related to their life history and how much joy and how much pain have come as a result of the intrusion of the unexpected.

......

It's been a year since my discovery that I had still more healing to do.  It's going fairly well...especially considering that I have received very minimal support from my paternal family of origin.  I sometimes feel I am being a bit obsessive when I enumerate the days from the summer of 1982 that I cannot consciously remember now.  By no means do I think I should be able to access happy memories from all the days (or even a large majority of days) I have lived thus far.  The mundane demands of living are a fundamental piece of life for most people.  Many aspects of life are often not exciting.  And yet the grief still weighs upon me deeply.

Adjusting to a new, normal life after having an anxiety disorder for so many years is not something I suspect most people can do in a short period of time.  It simply takes time.  And perhaps I still have a lot of time left in my life.  I would like to think so.  There is so much that I want to do now.

July 11, 1982

Friday, July 11, 2014

I have felt a little low throughout the day and I can’t quite discern what is contributing to my malaise…other than the deep psychological work I am continuing to do.  I’ve been wondering lately if I should perhaps avoid watching this television show called Criminal Minds.  I’ve actually watched it enough in the last six months to not infrequently come across episodes I have already seen.

A recently aired episode (which I had previously seen) featured the story of a con man who used a number of aliases as a means of creating not just professional success but also multiple relationships with women.  He was married to one of the women and had a son with her.  But he was meanwhile involved with other women.  The maddening depth of his deceit was revealed in the course of the episode; the man’s nine year old is present when his father is shot to death by the FBI.  The boy was, of course, deeply frightened and horrified by his father’s death.  Was he traumatized?  I would say that is a reasonable conclusion to come to.  Watching the boy suffer such a catastrophic loss reminded me of how I nearly experienced that very type of loss when I was almost the same age.  In other words, I keep finding my thoughts drifting back to the summer of 1982 when I was eight years old.

What happened on July 11, 1982?  I cannot really recall.  That summer still remains such a blank.  Will I ever recall a lot more? I do not know.  But I am willing to if doing so will somehow help me in my life now.  That summer seems to have been quite unremarkable with the exception of my father’s near-death.  I wish I had happy memories from that summer.  But I do not.

Here in the present some thirty-two years later I continue to do my best each and every day to move forward in a new direction.  Some days I feel patient.  Some days I feel encouraged.  And then there are other days I just want to hide and not even emerge out into the world at all.  Recovery, as I have frequently noted, is never a straight line.

What were the highlights of this day?  I met with my future personal trainer at the YMCA this morning.  I also exercised at the gym before meeting with him.  I pushed myself to run as fast as I could manage.  That was fun.  I also tried to remember what it was like to run around as a kid with little conscious thought to the demands that running exacts on the body.  In this way children and adults can be very different.

And I learned about a job in Hawaii that I am going to apply to.

I’m grateful it is the weekend.

The Horror of Unaccompanied Minors

Friday, July 11, 2014


Lately I have been hearing (with a bit of pained horror but sadly, and tellingly, no surprise) about the burgeoning population of unaccompanied minors who have been crossing the United States-Mexico border into Texas.  The population of kids fleeing countries in Latin America in the hope of finding a better life in the States has grown explosively in just a few years.  I haven't read up deeply on all the circumstances prompting this exodus but I suspect it's due to a combination of factors including loss of parents, instability in the countries they grew up in and the violence of local drug cartels.  A sobering article in the Huffington Post claims tens of thousands of unaccompanied children are attempting to cross the border into the United States...and that this flow of refugees (correctly termed in my opinion) is not expected to wane any time soon.

Our own economy in this nation is still struggling to fully recover some six years after the financial crisis erupted.  I have been a first hand witness to the issues of poverty, lack of opportunity and despair in this nation.  It has been over three years since I completed graduate school in California.  At the time I had a starry eyed hope that I would find a 'real job' which would be commensurate with my extensive skill set.  It hasn't happened yet.  Sometimes I feel my resistance to despairing about my situation is about as strong as the border erected to keep those deemed unwanted and undesirable from crossing into the United States from Mexico.  I try not to think too much about my own situation because it can prove so profoundly depressing.  It's no wonder I am still in therapy even now.

It's painful for me to think about this refugee crisis because it simply brings up old memories of my own childhood in Texas.  You know times are desperate when people are actually fleeing into Texas from another place in the hope of a better life.  Yes, I have a negative bias against Texas...and rightly so given my early life history.  I don't have a rigid belief based in my own personal worldview that we should automatically turn people away at the border but I have to ask the pragmatic question of what are we to do with all of them?  When Texas and other Southwest states become hosts to tens of thousands of children who are effectively stateless persons just what is the best policy response?  I think I can accurately answer by citing one example of a bad policy response.  A bad response would be something like scapegoating or demonizing them.  Or you could do what people in our two party political system here in the United States do a lot: you could point fingers at someone else.


The issue of displaced people throughout the world was recently the focus of a blog on the New York Times webpage.  It's sobering to learn that there are currently approximately fifty million displaced people throughout the world.  That is approximately one-sixth the population of the United States.  It is equivalent to the entire population of California with an additional thirteen million thrown in for good measure.  Displacement from your home or country of birth can be quite a stressor.  Add in the shock of war, famine or persecution and the stressor can ultimately prove traumatizing.

As I increasingly recall the immense sadness I felt throughout much of my childhood I realize that I often felt like the equivalent of an unaccompanied minor as well.  It is true that I had caregivers but they weren't able to be very present to the full range of my needs.  And they certainly proved essentially incapable of recognizing the harm that was being done to me as a result of the abuse I experienced.

Displaced adults who have nonetheless predominantly enjoyed stable, productive lives are, in my opinion, likely to fare better than displaced children.  And this would be especially true for children who have no consistent caregivers or predictability in their lives.  When children experience trauma early in their lives it can take a very long time to heal.  Healing is nonetheless very possible.  But it takes time and concerted focus.

July 10, 1982

Thursday, July 10, 2014

There are still moments when I find myself laughing a bit as I contemplate the fantastic delusional thinking I once so frequently engaged in…and didn’t fully realize I was doing so.  Once upon a time I believed that I could actually successfully convince some of my father’s siblings of the validity of my belief that my father has some very deep darkness in his heart…or soul…or both.  I’ve given up on that futile quest…finally.

Being completely estranged from your own family of origin is no easy matter.  I wish I felt there could be another viable way to relate to my paternal family of origin…but there simply isn’t…at least not right now.  And it seems that will never change.  Now I must find my way through the grief that I imagine is such a predictable result of utter estrangement that I think it can also be expected to consume you…at least for a while.  Some days I feel as if my grief is consuming me.  Other days I feel fairly good.  Every day is a new experience.

I found myself feeling very aware of my sadness and grief as I left work today…on July 10, 2014.  In the moments of relative quiet I can enjoy as I wait for the bus I find it easy for my mind to drift to thoughts of 1982.  Sadness has been an omnipresent aspect of my daily affect for some time now.  At least a lot of the anger is finally gone.  But I feel very sure that much of the sadness is sadness never acknowledged or fully felt from long ago.

I often feel sad when I contemplate the summer of 1982 when I was an eight-year old boy.  Why can’t I recall more of that time period?  I tend to suspect I cannot recall it because there was so little about the period that was worthy of remembering.  I can finally remember that I felt a lot of fear that I would die before the age of nine.  I feared that my former stepmother or one of her friends might attempt to harm my father…or me.  It’s not fun to recall that feeling of pervasive dread from that period but at least I have been able to recall more than I have previously.

As I waited downtown to transfer onto my second bus I noticed a woman standing nearby who was apparently blind.  She was listening to a message near the bus stop that informed her of upcoming bus arrivals.  Noticing her apparent blindness caused me to remember how last summer I drew the tarot card of blindness shortly after my return from Germany.  I think back on that moment now and feel it was a hint of a theme that was to emerge in this past year…namely the blindness people can adamantly maintain when they simply cannot deal with issues that are very painful to confront.

I am no longer suffering from a form of psychic blindness.  I see quite clearly now.  It’s still amazing each day when I awaken and see the world around me with such clear vision.

The Incredible (And Long) Journey To A New Beginning

Thursday, July 10, 2014


Every so often I will toggle back through my i-Calendar and look at what was going on one year ago.  I was hoping that this summer would be a bit more joyful and less stressful than it has proven so far.  My life is incredibly wonderful compared to this time last year when I was essentially living in a state of crisis management mode.  Almost exactly a year ago I went for a stress echocardiogram to test the health of my heart.  I was relieved to discover my heart was in very good shape.  I was able to cross one thing off my list of aspects of my physical health I was determined to get checked.

This morning I had my follow up meeting with Vocational Rehabilitation Services at the North Minneapolis Workforce Center.  I received a variety of referrals to help me move onwards to the next stage in the process of rebuilding my life.  I have even been given a referral to help me get more clothing suitable for my professional life.  I have gained about thirty pounds in the last year; I am still fairly slim but certainly not too thin now.  When I arrived at work this morning I felt that sense of quiet, tentative and yet very real hopefulness that a person might feel when the most difficult piece of a journey of healing is finally in the past.  I'm starting to allow myself to nurture greater aspirations for my future.  It will take some time...quite obviously...but I am on my way.

Tomorrow morning I will be visiting with a personal trainer at the downtown YMCA.  One of my goals is to continue my regular gym regimen such that I am in even better physical shape as autumn begins and we slide inevitably towards the next winter season.  I spent so much of last summer simply working to stabilize myself and not allow myself to plummet into the depths of despair.  Looking back it is clear I was in shock for weeks after the unexpected diagnosis I received last June.  I am finally transitioning from crisis management to the mode of rebuilding.

The preciousness of life looks very different for me now.

I hope to get a cat soon.

Looking Back With A Year of Hindsight

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

The following are the contents of an article written by Catherine Woodiwiss.  I first shared this article here in my blog this past February.  Now, five months later, I thought I would re-explore the article and add any new insights I have developed since February.  My new comments appear in an italicized font directly underneath my original comments from this past February.

I knew that pain was a part of life, but — thanks in part to a peculiar blend of “God-has-a-plan” Southern roots, a suburban “Midwestern nice” upbringing, and a higher education in New England stoicism — I managed to skate by for quite some time without having to experience it.

After a handful of traumas in the last five years, things look different now. Trauma upends everything we took for granted, including things we didn’t know we took for granted. And many of these realities I wish I’d known when I first encountered them. So, while the work of life and healing continues, here are ten things I’ve learned about trauma along the way:

1. Trauma permanently changes us.

This is the big, scary truth about trauma: there is no such thing as “getting over it.” The five stages of grief model marks universal stages in learning to accept loss, but the reality is in fact much bigger: a major life disruption leaves a new normal in its wake. There is no “back to the old me.” You are different now, full stop.

This is not a wholly negative thing. Healing from trauma can also mean finding new strength and joy. The goal of healing is not a papering-over of changes in an effort to preserve or present things as normal. It is to acknowledge and wear your new life — warts, wisdom, and all — with courage.

This first one is perhaps one of the most difficult ones to acknowledge.  Trauma is often so difficult precisely because it can result in permanent change.  Does this happen in 100% of all cases of trauma?  That is a good question.  I honestly do not know.  If there are some people who emerge from a period of trauma not fundamentally changed or at least somehow marginally impacted I suspect that they represent a very small fraction of the total population who will experience trauma in their lifetimes.

What has been so difficult for me in my own personal journey is the confusion I feel regarding when I can expect normal to feel, well, normal.  When trauma happens very early in a person's development, and is then followed by still more trauma early on (as it did in my particular history), it seems the potential for serious and even permanent harm is quite large.  As I have observed in the company of friends and alluded to in this blog it seems to me that adults can heal from trauma much more easily than children because they possess something children do not: they have life experience and maturity which can foster the important ability to maintain a healthy perspective.  Trauma does not have to permanently scar us and our ability to live in a healthy way in an all too often unhealthy world.  But the potential for such scarring is there, and seems to increase as the age at which you experience trauma decreases.

I also agree with Catherine's sentiment, however, that trauma can ironically help us to discover strength we might rarely call upon.  This has been my experience.  I have come to realize I am much stronger than I often gave myself credit for.  I have indeed been finding new strength and joy as she notes is possible.

As more time has passed I agree that trauma can undoubtedly permanently change us.  It very much depends on the particular circumstances.  In my own journey I recognize the immense grief I am now wrestling with as I recognize I simply cannot be an active part of a family that cannot understand how what I went through affected me nor how very harmful it was.

2.  Presence is always better than distance.

There is a curious illusion that in times of crisis people “need space.” I don’t know where this assumption originated, but in my experience it is almost always false. Trauma is a disfiguring, lonely time even when surrounded in love; to suffer through trauma alone is unbearable. Do not assume others are reaching out, showing up, or covering all the bases.

It is a much lighter burden to say, “Thanks for your love, but please go away,” than to say, “I was hurting and no one cared for me.” If someone says they need space, respect that. Otherwise, err on the side of presence.

I cannot agree more with this one.  From what I know of the literature within the mental health profession isolation, intended or otherwise, is a risk factor for the development of a variety of issues including depression, anxiety and delayed healing.  We need the presence of others in part because they can assist us in finding that important gift called perspective which I alluded to above.  But more importantly we need others because we are social creatures; human beings are not meant to live in isolation.  I think it goes against the very grain of our DNA.  Put another way: 'No man is an island'.

Very much related to the polarity of presence and distance is the issue of boundaries.  Some trauma is very much a product of the violation of healthy boundaries.  When children are abused, when a woman is raped, when an entire community is devastated by an occupying army, when a person stalks you...these are all examples of events in which the trauma results from a violation of boundaries.

Looking back and realizing how I had my own issues with boundaries earlier in my life I can say with great confidence that a person's conscious or unconscious violation of personal boundaries can be taken as one potential indicator that a person has been traumatized in the past.

Trauma can indeed be a lonely, disfiguring time.  Part of my harsh experience was being returned to my father's custody with the (unspoken) expectation that I accept being raised under his care despite all the pain I had experienced before I had even turned nine years old.

I think it is important to err in the direction of being overly-present.  Unfortunately many people do not know how to be present in times of immense hardship.  And here in America we lived in a very distracting culture.

3.  Healing is seasonal, not linear.

It is true that healing happens with time. But in the recovery wilderness, emotional healing looks less like a line and more like a wobbly figure-8. It’s perfectly common to get stuck in one stage for months, only to jump to another end entirely … only to find yourself back in the same old mud again next year.

Recovery lasts a long, long time. Expect seasons.

This observation is also profound.  Healing is most certainly not linear.  Living encased within the distorted Western, industrialized world paradigm that says 'progress' is not only good but essential, inevitable and endlessly sustainable is a serious delusion.  Human development bears out the reality that much of what we observe in the world unfolds in a decidedly non-linear way.

I remarked earlier in the history of my blog how my recovery process was unfolding in direct apparent contradiction to the seasons outside my windows.  As I continued to improve last summer, autumn and early winter I was simultaneously observing the world outside moving in the direction of hibernation and death.  To be honest it felt quite jarring.  Even in the seasons of weather there are steps forward and back.  Spring will arrive only to be punctuated by cold winds that serve as a reminder of the season that recently held sway.  Heat waves and cold waves can disorient us.  Trauma is like that...it can be profoundly disorienting.

But how long does recovery take before you feel normal?  That is another good question.  There are some days when I yearn so much for a clear answer to that question that I almost hurt in a different way.  Considering I had an anxiety disorder that was not fully successfully treated and that this was with me for a vast majority of my life history it does seem rather incredible to expect I would be done with my recovery after a mere seven months...even if I include all the time I previously spent in therapy.

I am still waiting to experience my first spring as a man without an anxiety order distorted my capacity for clear perception.

Here is one final connected point.  I find myself sometimes drifting off into thoughts of what this coming spring will be like.  I tell myself "This spring will be amazing!"  And then I catch myself in this imaginative reverie and realize I have the power to direct the course of my life but that I am also a part of a larger system whose future course is well beyond my control.  I have ideas about what the future will hold but I cannot guarantee anything to myself or others.  And I believe knowing that to be true is a very healthy way of living in the world.

The observation that healing has a certain seasonality is also quite true.  I can look back now over a period of a year.  Am I better? Undoubtedly so.  Am I done with therapy? Certainly not.  Do I know when I will feel truly whole and no longer haunted by the past? No.  Do I feel I am moving in the right direction? Yes.  I think it will be telling to see what happens when this coming autumn arrives.

4.  Surviving trauma takes “firefighters” and “builders.” Very few people are both.

This is a tough one. In times of crisis, we want our family, partner, or dearest friends to be everything for us. But surviving trauma requires at least two types of people: the crisis team — those friends who can drop everything and jump into the fray by your side, and the reconstruction crew — those whose calm, steady care will help nudge you out the door into regaining your footing in the world. In my experience, it is extremely rare for any individual to be both a firefighter and a builder. This is one reason why trauma is a lonely experience. Even if you share suffering with others, no one else will be able to fully walk the road with you the whole way.

A hard lesson of trauma is learning to forgive and love your partner, best friend, or family even when they fail at one of these roles. Conversely, one of the deepest joys is finding both kinds of companions beside you on the journey.

I can say so much about this one.  Rebuilding a life impacted by trauma is no small project.  In the best of circumstances post-trauma life can be demanding; it might feel like a never ending slog to get to some 'final' destination that looks like what you imagine healing to be.  Under the worst of circumstances trauma can permanently debilitate us.  I feel grateful my history of trauma never permanently disabled my body.  Though I have had my share of aches and pain I have a very healthy body all things considered.

Reviewing this comment I also am reminded of the wisdom of not 'putting all your eggs in one basket'. If you expect a small number of individuals to be your entire world for you there is a fair chance you will be disappointed.  I have learned this lesson...and then forgotten it only to relearn it again.  Just like it is wise to diversify an investment portfolio so is it also wise to diversify how you invest your time.  No one person, not even a life partner, can be everything you want and need.

I also agree that trauma can be a very lonely experience.  Based on my own personal history and the friendships and relationships I have enjoyed throughout the years I believe it is wise not to invest too much energy trying to find someone so nearly identical to you that you feel it's somehow a guarantee they will be able to relate to you in a deep way.  When I have tried to imagine such people for myself I have stuttered a bit at the very thought.  Indeed, I don't imagine there are many people whose personal history (the particular life themes, issues, hurts, traumas, etc) could easily mirror my own.

Finally, as you go through the healing process, it can be very appealing to bond with others over common experiences of trauma.  I felt a bit of a tug to do this when I was attending the partial program at Abbott Northwestern Hospital last November.  But there is a risk that in seeking companionship based first and foremost on common wounding you might easily collapse your sense of self into your trauma.  We are more than the sum of our traumas and hardships.  We are much more!  Despite whatever particular ways relationships may have been modeled to you as a child healthy relationships do not emphasize the negative, the hurts and a pessimistic outlook on life.

I think I can safely say that I am essentially through the stage in which I need the help of 'psychic firefighters'.  I am now well into a phase in which 'rebuilding' is my focus.  I suspect rebuilding can take  (much?) longer than the crisis management stage.  Again, it all depends on the particular details of a person's experience of trauma.  Context is very important to consider.

5.  Grieving is social, and so is healing.

For as private a pain as trauma is, for all the healing that time and self-work will bring, we are wired for contact. Just as relationships can hurt us most deeply, it is only through relationship that we can be most fully healed.

It’s not easy to know what this looks like — can I trust casual acquaintances with my hurt? If my family is the source of trauma, can they also be the source of healing? How long until this friend walks away? Does communal prayer help or trivialize?

Seeking out shelter in one another requires tremendous courage, but it is a matter of life or paralysis. One way to start is to practice giving shelter to others.

This can be a challenging issue to confront.  And I think it is only more so in cultures like America where we all too often seem to exist in a 'landscape of atomized selves'.  To better understand what I mean by that term please search out a past blog post under that title.

I struggle with the question as to whether family can be the source of healing considering how so much of my PTSD developed in response to illness and dysfunction within my family.  The challenge is to not permanently isolate when your heart is wounded.  To never allow yourself to love again is to never live again.  Life is full of risk.  There are no guarantees the moment we emerge from our mothers.

Thus far I have found regular and rigorous physical exercise to be an excellent way to do my own grief work.  I do not believe there is one right way to grieve.  I do think it somewhat safe to say there are wrong ways to grieve though.  Examples would include isolation, rumination over perceived mistakes and what-ifs as well as refusing to allow yourself to fully feel your pain.

I have unfortunately not found a level of quality in the grief resources here in the Twin Cities that I feel a metropolitan area of this size should have.  So I trudge through my grief in my own private therapy.  I am not sure 'where' I will find myself when the calendar year of 2014 ends.  At that time my medical insurance may change and require me to put more of my own financial resources into my healing process.  But that is six months away.  A lot can happen in a mere six months.

6.  Do not offer platitudes or comparisons. Do not, do not, do not.

“I’m so sorry you lost your son, we lost our dog last year … ” “At least it’s not as bad as … ” “You’ll be stronger when this is over.” “God works in all things for good!”

When a loved one is suffering, we want to comfort them. We offer assurances like the ones above when we don’t know what else to say. But from the inside, these often sting as clueless, careless, or just plain false.

Trauma is terrible. What we need in the aftermath is a friend who can swallow her own discomfort and fear, sit beside us, and just let it be terrible for a while.

Another way to rephrase this is the following: 'Do not offer false hope.'

When someone is suffering terribly it is only natural and humane to reach out to offer solace and whatever comfort we can.  Sometimes all we can do is be present for a person.  And sometimes that is more than enough. Attempting to rescue someone from pain may feel noble and wise but rushing in to 'save' a person may do more harm than good.  When trauma proves all the more devastating due to poor coping and life skills rushing in to rescue someone caught in such darkness may only delay the inevitable realization a person may need to have that it is essential to develop healthy life skills.

Rather than offer false hope I would propose an effective coping technique can be to refocus your attention on what still is working and wonderful in your life.  Unless you are clinically dead there is something going well for you.  It may be something as simple as being able to breathe.  In the most horrifying moments of trauma we would benefit from employing conscious breathing techniques.  This can allow the mind to settle down.

I have had friends advise me not to compare myself to other people.  I believe this is very sage wisdom to share.  We all are born into different circumstances and then have the opportunity to use our gifts and strengths to transcend our challenges and obstacles.  No one person will experience the same journey.  I try not to think too much about the fact that I am forty years old and only now really digging deeply into my psyche and healing the darkness I thought past treatment would have achieved.  Starting over, even under the best of circumstances, isn't necessarily easy.

7.  Allow those suffering to tell their own stories.

Of course, someone who has suffered trauma may say, “This made me stronger,” or “I’m lucky it’s only (x) and not (z).” That is their prerogative. There is an enormous gulf between having someone else thrust his unsolicited or misapplied silver linings onto you, and discovering hope for one’s self. The story may ultimately sound very much like “God works in all things for good,” but there will be a galaxy of disfigurement and longing and disorientation in that confession. Give the person struggling through trauma the dignity of discovering and owning for himself where, and if, hope endures.

This piece strikes me as somewhat similar to #6.  Rather than rush in like a paramedic might do sometimes 'merely' witnessing with a person going through difficulty may prove immensely helpful.  Sometimes silent presence is ultimately a more satisfying balm than the most concerted actions to change disheartening circumstances (and supposedly thereby address the root issue).

Giving yourself (and others) the space to experience and truly feel everything you are feeling is a very important gift.  Many people do not make the time to do so.  Allowing yourself the time and space to heal from trauma takes time.

8.  Love shows up in unexpected ways.

This is a mystifying pattern after trauma, particularly for those in broad community: some near-strangers reach out, some close friends fumble to express care. It’s natural for us to weight expressions of love differently: a Hallmark card, while unsatisfying if received from a dear friend, can be deeply touching coming from an old acquaintance.

Ultimately every gesture of love, regardless of the sender, becomes a step along the way to healing. If there are beatitudes for trauma, I’d say the first is, “Blessed are those who give love to anyone in times of hurt, regardless of how recently they’ve talked or awkwardly reconnected or visited cross-country or ignored each other on the metro.” It may not look like what you’d request or expect, but there will be days when surprise love will be the sweetest.

This is wonderful encouragement.  And I can attest that love indeed does come to us at unexpected moments.  Sometimes the smallest of generosities may come to us and yet for those going through a personal agony it may feel as if that person has moved a mountain for you.  Never underestimate the power of a kind word or action.  Remember the expression 'It's the thought that counts'?

It's also important to recognize that love can only come to us in the ways we are open to it.  You cannot enter doors that are not already open.  I believe the more open we are to healing the more likely we are to heal.  And healing is as unique as the person experiencing it!  So consider asking yourself this question: 'How do you recognize a loving person?'  What does love do?

I hope love will show up for me in unexpected ways beyond what I have already experienced.  I need and want a lot more of it in my own life.  I have come to recognize I needed a lot more unconditional love when I was a child.  So how can I move forward now having come to appreciate this aspect of my early life history?  That is a primary question before me now.

9.  Whatever doesn’t kill you …

In 2011, after a publically humiliating year, comedian Conan O’Brien gave students at Dartmouth College the following warning:

"Nietzsche famously said, 'Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.' … What he failed to stress is that it almost kills you.”

Odd things show up after a serious loss and creep into every corner of life: insatiable anxiety in places that used to bring you joy, detachment or frustration towards your closest companions, a deep distrust of love or presence or vulnerability.

There will be days when you feel like a quivering, cowardly shell of yourself, when despair yawns as a terrible chasm, when fear paralyzes any chance for pleasure. This is just a fight that has to be won, over and over and over again.

This reminds me again that healing after trauma has no standard path.  I have had days when everything outside of me gives the illusion that my life is perfectly fine.  You can have a day when everything flows smoothly and you get everything you want and somehow you still feel low and blue.  It is perfectly fine for such days to come and go.  Remember that recovery is just that, recovery.  And yet I do believe that a solid commitment to bettering your life will eventually be handsomely rewarded.  It simply takes time and commitment.  And you have to be willing to remain steadfast even when the results you desire do not seem to be coming.  Think of the farmer who plants his seeds in spring.  Does he expect a full crop in a week's time?  Of course not.  So it is with healing.

Each and every day is indeed a new day.  And yet each new day may feel very much like so many other days.  It may seem we are required to slay the same dragons over and over again.  My recovery process has most certainly not been a straight line pointed steadily upwards.  I have felt despair, fear, the beauty of hope and impatience.  Every new day presents itself as a new opportunity to move forward.  Bad days are allowed.  Perfection is not required.

10.  … Doesn’t kill you.

Living through trauma may teach you resilience. It may help sustain you and others in times of crisis down the road. It may prompt humility. It may make for deeper seasons of joy. It may even make you stronger.

It also may not.

In the end, the hope of life after trauma is simply that you have life after trauma. The days, in their weird and varied richness, go on. So will you.

That which doesn't kill you not only may make you stronger but it may give you something I alluded to earlier in this writing: perspective.  If you have struggled with multiple sectors of your life (career, home, relationships) for a protracted time do you really think you will be likely to notice or care about the small details in life?  And by small details I mean those minor things that some people inflate to such a degree that you find it laughable how much energy they waste on drama.  Think about these.  The discarded bathroom towel not properly hung to dry.  Being five minutes late to an appointment.  A rain check on a social engagement you are forced to reschedule due to bad weather.  Will these minor disappointments permanently hurt you?  No.  So don't give your immense power to them.

Yes the trauma I experienced did not kill me.  But it profoundly changed me.  And I never appreciated how much until these last twelve months.  Disentangling the immense constellation of my life experiences and mining them for insight with which I can establish a new foundation for my future life has been an intensive and demanding process.  But it has been immensely rewarding.  It just takes time.

In short trauma does not have to signify the end of a good and enjoyable life.  You may come out of trauma permanently changed...but perhaps the changes will lead you to an even better life.  Who can say?  I believe a key to surviving trauma is to not armor yourself against pain indefinitely but to allow loss to speak to your heart.  By embracing our darkness we can later more deeply appreciate that which is light in our lives.

Thank you to Catherine Woodiwiss for her excellent piece.  I hope my additional thoughts will prove inspirational to those who follow me.

Catherine Woodiwiss is Associate Web Editor at Sojourners. She can be found on Twitter at @chwoodiwiss.