I Will Always Name It as Trauma

It took decades for me to name it for myself: It was trauma. Those experiences - what happened to me, what I witnessed, how I was treated... It. Was. Trauma.

I still remember coming out of the fog of disconnection and complete subconscious denial. The placing of puzzle pieces and conncting of dots. The seeing my story with clear eyes. The sinking realizations. The weeping. The sorrow. The heartache. The horror. The darkness of grief and overwhelm that inevitably followed.

For many of us, when in the midst of trauma and its after effects, it is often nearly impossible to name the experiences as traumatic. It's all too much to see and to know. So you don't. And instead the disconnection and dissociation abounds. Consciously or not, you simply do not allow yourself to process your reality. And in this way some semblance of a life is able to go on. Until it can't anymore.

Any client of mine with a history of trauma knows that I do not shy away from naming it for what it is. I strive to never overuse the word and I am purposeful when I bring the word into the room; but when I see someone in front of me whose body is speaking louder than their words, I will always name it.

Do you notice how your breathing speeds up when that topic is brought up?

Do you recognize the tension in your shoulders when his name is mentioned?

Do you ever wonder why the depression stays despite all of your best efforts to cope?

Can we get curious about why you remain avoidant of this part of your story?

Can we consider that perhaps your unhealthy coping skills are trying to tell you something important?

What if it's not simply anxiety, but hypervigilance?

Do you ever wonder if what happened to you was more impactful than you thought?

I would like to name your experiences as traumatic. Can we talk about why?

My trauma was never named for me. Despite multiple rounds of counseling and despite significant pieces of my story being known to many, my trauma was never named. And it cost me.

I often weep for my younger self. The one who was deceived, manipulated, and abused. The one who didn't and couldn't understand what happened and what was happening to her. The one who was simply fighting to survive and did so through disconnection, avoidance, copious amounts of unhealthy coping skills as well as the overuse of healthy ones. She simply did not know. And instead believed what she was told: It was her weak faith or it was her anxiety or she simply could not forgive or...

But it wasn't. It was trauma.

While at first the naming of my trauma for what it was brought a flood of all the hard things, it now gives me space to breathe. To show up for myself with grace and compassion. To offer my body and my heart what it actually needs, which is gentleness, care, and a deep grounded sense of safety.

And now I will always choose to offer this to others. I will always choose to name for others what they often cannot name for themselves.

I will always name it as trauma.