Trauma Takes A Toll
In my years as an abuse recovery coach, I have observed the toll that trauma takes on physical health. The wisest king once wrote that “a cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength.” (Prov 17:22, NLT)
Other translations say it different ways:
“The one whose heart is crushed struggles with sickness and depression.” TPT
“A broken spirit dries the bones.” NMV/NASB/CEB
“It is slow death to be gloomy all the time.” GNB
I read this passage slower after being diagnosed with bone cancer at the beginning of 2020.
There is no doubt our frame of mind plays a powerful role in our physical wellbeing. But it isn’t ONLY our own cheerfulness that counts.
Our bodies are impacted by the amount of tension and anger and dissonance surrounding us.
It is hard to explain to someone who has not lived it, just how the daily life of surviving under the influence of abuse can suck the life from your bones.
But if you have experienced it, you already know.
Science continues to discover just how much our emotional and mental atmosphere impacts our physical wellbeing. Often, abuse survivors don’t realize that our ensuing wellness whackamole may be directly related to living in tension and fear. Things like unexplained UTIs, persistent insomnia (when you used to sleep great), chronic hives, mysterious rashes, chronic fatigue and lethargy, migraines, autoimmune issues, and more.
I used to scoff at stuff like that. “Really? Come on, people, be reasonable…”
I don’t anymore.
When I was first escaping abuse, I read that women experiencing the disclosure of betrayal trauma and divorce are at their highest risk of developing a chronic illness (Your Sexually Addicted Spouse by Dr Barbara Steffens). I still didn’t believe it then.
Until you’ve lived in an unsafe home, you probably won't understand the physical toll it takes when you spend…
years waking with a shudder, in a sweat, because your stomach just flooded with adrenaline, for the third time tonight.
years of insecurity as to whether your spouse is cheating, again.
years of living braced for the next explosion, or disclosure, or silent spell.
years of lying awake wracking your brain to find a solution for the unsolvable, because you haven’t yet recognized that the other person has zero intent to keep their vows.
years of triple checking the locks before bed, not due to irrational fear of strangers, but because you know someone from your past is capable and motivated to harm your home.
years of glancing over your shoulder because you know the trauma that a chance run-in with your abuser would cause your children in a grocery store or parking lot.
years of hyperawareness due to trace indications that you’re being stalked online and/or in real life.
years of your children crawling into bed with you in the wee hours from nightmares because they’re worried they’ll be kidnapped from their beds by the person who taught you all how to be afraid.
years of censoring your conversations and plans around little ears to minimize their awareness of just how hard you’re fighting to keep them safe, even when it means keep them in the dark about things safe children would be free to hear.
years of carrying the weight of parent, provider, protector, and playmate with your children, all alone.
Years spent in abuse, or in survival mode after abuse, take their toll.
Most survivors find that their health measurably improves after finding freedom. But the toll may stick around long-term, anyway.
Long after you find happiness, the years of survival still demand their pound of flesh.
Yesterday… my hair fell out.
Pretty much all of it in a day, thanks to chemotherapy. Enough to make my daughter hug me with empathy and make my son feel “weird in his tummy, and can you please put on a hat mommy, I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings…” I hugged him and told him I understand.
We talked about how hard times can make us sick even years later.
We talked about how this journey doesn’t change my heart or my face, even if my head looks very different.
We talked about how we can show empathy and solidarity with others who are experiencing big life changes.
My daughter asked if it made me want to cry, to touch my bald patchy head and see all my waist-length tresses in the trash…
I told her I have cried about it, because crying is healing. But also that the only way out of this part of the journey is to go through it. Being sad and morose will not grow back my hair. Being angry or bitter about the painful years that caused my cancer will not get me through it faster.
We can choose to smile and count blessings, or burrow into the negative and let it continue to dry out our bones.
So… we joked about the positives, such as:
I’m going to save SO MUCH MONEY on shampoo and dry shampoo and hairspray.
I won’t have to worry about burning myself with a curling iron for at least a year, maybe more.
I’ll be ready faster than the boys without even trying in the mornings.
I can spend money on massages instead of a hair dresser.
Cute hats can match outfits without requiring work.
You may have lived in tension and dissonance and betrayal for years, and then maybe in survival mode for years after that, but you can still choose your attitude now.
Today, that’s why I’m choosing to show my kids that tough times don’t have to take away my smile, patchy bald head and all.
And now I might go take a nap.
Naps are good.
I recommend naps, y’all.
XOXO,
Coach Sarah
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Do you find yourself saying things like:
"My anxiety is acting up again"
"I'm so clumsy, always forgetting things"
"He didn't mean it this time"
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