Speak the Unspeakable
It only takes a cursory glance at human behavior and history to understand that we need community. It is not just for convenience that we root ourselves into a group, or grow up in some sort of family. We crave connection and need it on a deep, core level; to the point that we will suffer long-term physical and mental pain if we are isolated too early and/or too long. One of the main things that binds us to others is our ability to communicate. At first, our communication is mostly non-verbal: we cry, we scream, we furrow our brows, we coo, and we gurgle. As infants we make noise and move our bodies to signal our displeasure and our delight to our caregivers. Then at some point, we develop words — at last we can verbalize what we feel! Words grant us access to a way of connecting that was impossible before. The trouble is that we can begin to rely so heavily on language that we forget that we have other ways that we communicate. Our bodies have stories to tell. Our bones and joints, our muscles and internal organs, all have things to tell us about what has and is happening to us — the hardest part is listening well enough to understand what our bodies are telling us without words.
In Colin’s Corner this week we read chapter 14 from The Body Keeps the Score and we were again called by Van der Kolk into the revelation that our trauma needs expression in order for us to process it and get beyond its effects. There are two big things that stand in our way however: one, that when we experience trauma, the language center of our brain shuts down, and two, that silence often feels like the safest option.
When we experience trauma, the stimulus is too much for our brains to process, there is too much pain (both physically and emotionally), and there’s usually an onslaught of sensory information that when coupled with the pain of the trauma, is too much for us to process. This is often called “going into shock” and we find that our capacity to feel anything is extremely limited. But what happens when the shock fades and our brains come back online? Do we take advantage of our renewed capacity for language and tell our story? Or do we keep that part of us locked away in an attempt to not give voice to the pain our traumatic experience heaped upon us?
Silence feels safe.
If we stay silent, we might be able to trick ourselves into thinking that we are fine, that everything is okay and that there is no pain that stays shut up in our bones.
But silence is not safe.
Though we might be able to tell ourselves that there is no pain waiting to be processed, it will linger in us until our bodies are virtually screaming our pain at us in an attempt to be heard. As Van der Kolk puts it, “We may think we control our grief, our terror, or our shame by remaining silent, but naming offers the possibility of a different kind of control.” (p 234) There is no denying the relief that comes when we are finally able to tell another person what happened to us. To tell someone the truth. To speak out loud that which feels unspeakable. To finally acknowledge what our body has been trying to tell us about who we are now in light of what we’ve been through.
Breaking our silence in order to tell our story frees us to not only connect with others in our pain, but for us to connect with ourselves. When we name our trauma, we befriend the part of us that has been shut away and we invite others to bear witness to our pain. When someone else bears witness to our pain and validates that part of us that felt unspeakable, we begin to open up to the possibility of true connection and healing.
