Navigating Trauma Brain in Everyday Conversation
*Trigger warning, discussing trauma
*Not a mental health care professional
The first time I heard the term “trauma brain” was when I was teaching at an alternative school for students with social emotional and behavioral challenges. Many of my students were victims of trauma, and that greatly contributed to their low social emotional awareness and behavior challenges. I underwent many trainings and professional developments to understand the brain and why our students were reacting and responding the way they were.
When you experience trauma, your brain goes into survival mode. This is where your adrenaline is spiked, your anxiety is heightened, and fight/flight/freeze responses have been activated. At the time of the incident, your brain switching into this primal mode is what helps you survive it. It’s necessary. It’s crucial. But once you’re safe and away from the incident, your brain doesn’t easily just switch back. Survival mode has been activated like a bodyguard, and it’s not planning on taking a break. This is why our students would lash out and have behavior problems because their brains were stuck in “lizard brain” mode where they were filtering everything through this fight or flight survival receptor. Something as simple as asking them a question about the story we read could trigger a fight response that sometimes turned hostile.
Getting out of this lizard brain, primal survival state takes awareness and conscious effort. We called it “wizard brain” for our students, illustrating the higher level of thinking and awareness needed to identify when your brain kicks over into lizard brain/survivor mode. Teaching my students how to navigate this and develop these social emotional skills, heightened my own awareness.
I have experienced several traumatic events in my life—to be honest, I think that everyone experiences various traumas throughout our lives, so I don’t feel unique in this admission. I had a lot of denial and shame surrounding my experiences which delayed my path of acceptance and healing, but through hard work I released those emotions and have been able to reach a level of self-love and self-understanding that I hadn’t been able to accomplish before. Teaching my students these skills was crucial for my own journey—I just didn’t know it at the time. It’s difficult to see that big picture when you’re stuck in the details of living.
While I was teaching and learning about trauma brain, I was also experiencing one of the most challenging and darkest years of my life. I was in a career that was devastating for my mental health—we often had trainings about vicarious trauma and how to protect ourselves from taking on the trauma of our students who we are helping; turns out, I really struggled with that. I was in an emotionally, mentally, and verbally abusive relationship. I was physically distanced from my support system. I spent my time with toxic, co-dependent, and controlling people; and was sexually assaulted by a friend just before Halloween. I was not in a good place, to say the least. I was submerged in toxicity. By night I was surrounded by people who used me, abused me, tried to control me, and disrespected me. By day I was trying to educate and support students who verbally abused me, tried to control me, disrespected me, and on occasion physically threatened me.
It was around the five-month mark of living like this that my suicidal thoughts returned. The first time that thought came into my mind it was surprising. The next few times it came to mind it was familiar. I had been suicidal when I was sixteen and am so grateful that I was able to get the perspective shift I needed to pull me out of that place. When those thoughts came back, I knew that I needed to make drastic changes to my life. I knew I didn’t actually want to end my life, everything just felt so heavy—like I was being crushed and drowned all at the same time—and I wanted THAT to end. Luckily, I knew what I needed to do. Not only had I survived it before, but I literally was teaching these skills to my students.
After the assault I did seek out a therapist who provided essential support. After a couple of sessions and getting more awareness of my circumstances, I was able to strategize what I did next. I was in survival mode and needed to make choices quickly to get out of the environments that were threatening my safety and well-being. That’s when I made big life moves: I quit my job, started my own company, moved across town to be closer to my family, and set some serious boundaries with friends—some of whom I never spoke to again. Those who know me well were surprised but not really. I’m prone to making what seem like sudden shifts in my life and so they just rolled with my spontaneity. Truth is, none of it was sudden, it just seemed that way. I kept this quiet from most of the people in my life, except for my close support system who helped me make these changes safely.
Once I was safe, it took a while to get myself stable. Years. It took years. I had a lot of mindsets and patterns I had to close out, boundaries I had to set, and basic needs I had to address. I was living in lizard brain mode for about two years before I got my feet underneath me and was able to consider embarking on the path of healing. The biggest hurdle to overcome was my own denial. I didn’t want to acknowledge what all had happened or how bad it was. I was fine. I was unstoppable. I was building a new life; I didn’t need to think about all that stuff. I kept myself so busy that there was no time to process it. I had 3-5 jobs at any given time and dozens of projects I was working on. “Workaholic” was an understatement. I didn’t want to slow down, that felt like failure. I didn’t want to talk about it, that felt like shame. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, that felt like weakness.
Finally heeding the advice of my friends and family, I took a break. I cut down on all the jobs and projects I had going on and I took a vacation. A real vacation. No work was allowed to come with me on this vacation—it was the first time in about three years that I didn’t bring my laptop on a trip. It was transformative. I finally had time to breathe and realize how I was selling myself short. I was accepting so much less than I was worth and for the first time in my life, I saw that and understood it. Wizard brain had finally kicked on and I was able to look at the choices I was making more critically.
It was time to make some more moves. I got a better job so I was no longer underemployed, and I pulled back on the company until we eventually decided to close. I reduced my side jobs, but was still working a few of them when the pandemic hit. It was eye-opening to be faced with how ragged I was still running myself when I was literally forced to stop everything except my primary source of income. I’m grateful that my day job was, and still is, so stable and wonderful to me. Losing everything else was hard at first, I went stir crazy and did so many projects at home because I was used to just go, go, go. Not working on a million things put me on edge. I kept feeling like I was forgetting something—an appointment, a project, a deadline. But I wasn’t. It had all been cleared from my schedule. Eventually, I ran out of projects and was finally ready to sit with myself and face my denial.
Being secluded from other people I no longer had all the external influences and distractions. With those significantly reduced, and some all around eliminated, my wizard brain was able to compare and see how much I was still living in lizard brain mode.
One of the reasons I was go, go, go all the time was because it allowed me to brush past all the daily trauma triggers I was still in denial about. Now that those triggers and my coping mechanism were both reduced, I was able to see just how often it happened. Not because of malice, sometimes because of ignorance, but mostly just because that’s what trauma brain does. It was challenging to accept that trauma brain never goes away. I wanted to believe that if I was strong-willed enough, I could release it and never have to deal with it ever again. Wishful thinking. It doesn’t work that way.
I had to give myself a stern talking-to and remind myself that I actually had training on how trauma brain worked. It’s always there because it wants to keep you safe. It’s sweet really. It’s also terribly inconvenient. Whenever it picks up on a trigger (a word, a smell, a sound, anything that it has associated with the traumatic event) it kicks on like a big, bad, bodyguard ready to attack any threat. “Where is it? Who is it? I’ll get ‘em! Come at me bro!” When there’s an actual threat, that’s wonderful. When it’s just an Arizona license plate on the car in front of you, that’s not so wonderful.
Understanding and accepting that this is how my brain will be for the rest of my life, I was able to start working with it and not against it. I was able to finally stop fighting myself and start providing self-care. This acceptance kicked my wizard brain awareness to a new level. Not only was I aware of the triggers, I was now able to identify when I was having a trauma brain response.
Going back to the start of all this, trauma brain responses are fight, flight, or freeze. I was able to see when my anger was stoked because my trauma brain was triggered, and I was projecting onto the situation. I was able to see when I wanted to run away because something reminded me of the traumatic event and my trauma brain was telling me to flee. What was most unexpected and incredible, though, was how often I froze and just laughed along. Someone would say something in casual conversation and it would trigger me. I wouldn’t know what to do. My breath would catch, and my chest would tighten. My back would go straight, and my muscles would tense. I couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation, I was hyper aware of everyone else’s reactions and was trying to mirror them, or at the very least not draw attention to my own. I froze and all I could do was awkwardly laugh along with the group while strategizing the most discrete way to excuse myself so that I could compose myself.
Now that I was aware of my triggers and my trauma reactions, it was time to go to the next step in the healing process: interrogation. Why is this triggering me? Why am I feeling the way I’m feeling? Are my reactions proportional to the trigger? Why do I feel unsafe? Am I unsafe? What is the actual emotion I am feeling? What is the real problem? Where is the real hurt?
I used my training, the resources I had gotten from mental health professionals, advice and guidance from my supports who were leading by example and sharing their experiences in healing, and my own research, to work through the interrogations. This part of the process was exhausting. This part of the process caused me to cry harder than I’ve ever cried in my life. This part of the process had me digging up a lot of hurt I didn’t know I had buried and was still carrying with me.
It took me one year of intense, deep, soul-diving healing to find the answers to the questions. Each hurt I uncovered I got to work healing. I acknowledged it, validated my emotions, and processed it. I had a lot of anger. I had a lot of depression. I would find acceptance and forgiveness, and then move on to the next thing. It wasn’t a straight path. I’d find acceptance and forgiveness for part of the traumatic event, but then a different trigger would bring up a different aspect of it, and I’d have to work on healing that. Sometimes, the trauma was so deep that I had to heal it layer by layer each time it was triggered until finally, nothing remained but acceptance and objectivity.
Like a butterfly, I cocooned in a safe space. I withdrew from a lot of people because I didn’t have the spoons to interact. I didn’t have the head or heart space to consume new content, so I just re-watched my favorite shows and spent a lot of time thinking. Like a butterfly in the cocoon, I had become goo while I underwent my transformation. I couldn’t communicate where I was mentally and emotionally or what I was going through because I was processing so many things on such deep levels that I didn’t have the words to describe it. Healing is a solitary journey. Even with support systems, it really comes down to you. Only you can heal yourself. Only you can do the work. Only you can see it through. Your support systems can encourage you, can lend you an ear, can hold space, but at the core of it all it comes down to you.
The more healed I got, the more I processed and understood, the easier it became to confront those daily triggers. There would be the initial shock, but now my wizard brain could step forward and tame my lizard brain before that bodyguard got all worked up. I could breathe it out when I’d hear a name or see a license plate. I’d remind myself that I was safe and free from those situations. I wasn’t in those places, so I didn’t need to be in survival mode, anymore. More importantly, I stopped laughing along. When something triggering was said in a conversation, I analyzed it. Was it a joke said in bad taste? Was it ignorance? Was it totally innocent in nature? Whatever it was, I stopped being ashamed that I was triggered. If it was a tasteless joke, I wouldn’t laugh to hide how it affected me. I wasn’t helping anyone by doing that. I was only prolonging my discomfort and enabling it to happen to others. Instead, I opted not to encourage it and, in cases of individuals whose company I cared to keep, I offered an alternative perspective. If it was ignorance, I opted to change the direction of the conversation instead of enduring. If it was totally innocent, I reminded myself that I was safe and took whatever action felt right to preserve my peace.
I developed new coping mechanisms. I didn’t have to pretend like I wasn’t bothered. Now, when I walked away it was a powerful choice to preserve my peace and wellness and not a flight response. I didn’t have to stay in a triggering setting because I was ashamed of my trauma. The more healed I became and the more distance I got from my trauma, the easier it was to talk about it. The easier it was to share. I stopped hiding it. I stopped brushing it off. My trauma brain is part of me, always will be, and I refuse to deny that any longer. I know it is uncomfortable to hear, but so is listening to triggering conversations.
My trauma doesn’t owe you comfort.
I say that with love and kindness. I say that with self-love and acceptance. I say that with empowerment. There is no anger or bitterness. I am in charge of my peace and maintaining it. I will not hide myself any longer just because who I am and what I’ve been through might make someone uncomfortable. My journey is mine and it has made me who I am. I love who I am, and I love all the parts of me that make me—including my trauma brain.
The most healing part of this journey has been the more I’ve been able to share, the more I’ve been able to help others and the deeper my relationships have gotten. By not hiding it, I was respecting myself and our relationship. If I don’t communicate myself and my needs with the people I spent my time with, how could they help? And help they did. With each conversation, the people who love and care about me helped. They held space. They changed the way they joked. They opened up and shared themselves with me, too.
I was inspired by the people in my life who did it first. My friends and acquaintances who shared their stories with such loving honesty and acceptance, they created the safe spaces for me to start looking inward. I wanted to pay their kindness forward by living just as openly, just as authentically, and just as acceptingly. In order to do so, that meant I had to embrace my trauma brain and stop awkwardly laughing along when it was triggered. I had to stop letting it control me and keep me in a state of survival mode where I constantly felt unsafe. I had to take back control not by denying it, not by berating it, and not by trivializing it. I had to take back control by loving my trauma brain and thanking it for all the times it kept me safe. Loving it for getting me to where I am. Loving it for protecting me and defending me. I had to take back control by letting my trauma brain know that it did its job and I’m safe now, so it doesn’t need to be so worried all the time.
It's an ongoing process and I accept that it will be for the rest of my life, but each day gets easier. Each month gets lighter. With time, it won’t be so much work.
Now that I wasn’t holding back this huge part of myself, I was fully present and living my authenticity. I was finally able to shine my light and when I did, I was able to use the wisdom I’ve gained from my experiences to help others while they worked through their own healing and understanding. I was finally able to be the role model I’ve always wanted to become. I was able to live my truth and step fully into myself so that others can see it’s possible to do the same.
If you’re just starting your healing journey, or if you’re somewhere in the middle of it, just keep going. It’s hard, I know. It’s lonely, I know that, too. It’s exhausting, and trying, and at times you just beg to be done with it all. I know. But it’s so worth it to keep going and get to the other side. It’s so worth it to see this through. Take breaks when you need them. Take time. Take space. Remember, there is no one way to do this and there is no time limit. Healing is an on-going process. You’re doing an amazing job. Be kind to yourself. You wouldn’t expect a goo-blob of a cocooned butterfly to do everything it did as a caterpillar, and you certainly can’t expect it to fly when it’s still in the process of creating wings, so don’t expect those things from yourself, either.
Keep going. I believe in you. I see you. I understand you. I’m here for you. One day, you won’t have to awkwardly laugh along, either.
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