Traumatic Response (Mild) & Grounding Myself in Truth/Reality

Today, I had a very sudden and very unexpected traumatic response.

My kids were spending the day with a wonderful family, whom I implicitly trust, and they went off on a hike. Arrangements had been made for the family to drop the kids off at my house, after I returned home from work.

When I got home, I started making dinner and had it all prepped. A little more time elapsed, and I shuffled about doing one or two other things.

Suddenly, the idea that my kids were gone on a hike and were not back as soon as I thought they would be triggered a fear and sadness that reverberated through my body - and actually repeats its way through as I write about it now. It's not that they were particularly late or in any particularly scary place.

I think part of it is that my whole life, I had this idea that if some terrible accident were to occur, I would have some sense of it at the moment. I imagined that a part of my soul would hear the echoes of silent alarms signaling danger or crisis.

When Brandon died, it was hours before I even knew he was missing. Several more before I knew he was actually, well, dead.

I casually texted my husband more than once in between the time of his death, and the time I knew of his death. That's how unaware I was that anything out of the ordinary had taken place.

Back to tonight. Suddenly, my brain - that harborer of reactions, based so fixedly on past associations and their related meanings - noticed that my kids were on a normal, fun, routine hike, just like their dad had been. I was quite unsuspecting of any danger, just like I had been when their dad was gone. Thus, quite paradoxically, that assumption of safety triggered the fear of loss. I exploded into tears.

Not for the first time during this chapter of my life, I grasped at my mental health training to pull me through: I verbalized what I was feeling (something like, "I am crying because I am afraid something bad has happened to my kids and my friends") and then I questioned the evidence and grounded myself (e.g. thought about the fact that I had no evidence something bad had happened; considered the history of successful hikes and outings; took note of my surroundings and their relative security, including my - and my kids' - access to a phone), and finally decided to act in faith, not fear. That is, instead of frantically calling my friend in tears, demanding confirmation of everyone's safety, I continued making dinner. I resumed listening to an audio book I had paused at the moment of my breakdown, and I walked outside to breath fresh air and feel the sun and breeze. I knew that I could call my friend still, at this point, but I also knew that it was not necessary. It would not do to spend my life fearing the worst and desperately seeking ways to discredit it, once the possibility crossed my mind. If I gave into that fear-based pattern of thought and behavior, I would spend too much energy fighting hypothetical crises, instead of embracing - and simply living - present realities.

Honestly acknowledging my emotions but also reframing my thinking to center myself on a healthier hub of consciousness, I moved forward. I trusted that all would be well.

As might be expected, everyone shortly returned home safe and sound. My traumatic response (mild compared to those some others endure) had already resolved and I happily welcomed my children home. I didn't run to them with weepy embrace and tell them they would never leave my side again, or that their feet were forbidden to touch a dirt trail in the future. I didn't insist that my children's sitters institute a practice of sending me updates on the health status of my children every hour on the hour. All of that would be acting on fear. I would be allowing false associations (e.g. that one person I love died on a hike and so anyone who hikes is likely to die) dictate my decisions. By extension, false associations would dictate my life.

No gracias.

There is much greater peace in "walking in truth." Sometimes it takes a good, long stroll there to ground myself. Sometimes, the truth is not a place I want to be at all. (As evidenced, for instance, by the occasional nights of binging on junk food and Netflix.) But I think deep down inside, I know that the truth is the only place to be. No false associations, no self-deception.

It's certainly hard to be present in the truth sometimes, especially when it is full of worry, fear and/or sadness. In the case of my kids' temporary absence, I had the benefit of knowing the truth (i.e. reality) was a "positive" thing: it was most likely that my children would return home. In the case of missing my husband (and the deep sadness that washes over me often in his absence), the benefit is in knowing that I will eventually return home.

I know that Brandon, the kids, and I will eventually be together again. That is the reality and truth in which I most joyfully ground myself. Trauma got nothin' on truth.