THE WIND PHONE
Lungs Hold the Grief of Trauma
The body/mind connection to trauma
My self-imposed annual malaise reared its ugly head as the days neared Christmas. Dread, fear, anxiety, and loss occupied the majority of my headspace. Even if I didn’t have a calendar, my body seems to know when Christmas is close.
I am an adoptee and straddle the loneliness between my adoptive family, who I have been estranged from for 23 years, and my birth family, who refuses to acknowledge my existence. The bombardment of Christmas songs, decorations, well wishers, and observing families collecting and convening to create the best Christmas ever, triggers my trauma.
Friends text me. “I know the holidays can be hard, I just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you.” Some people get me. The ones who don’t know me as well invite me over. “Come spend Christmas with my family. It will be fun.” Oh dear. Two of my Favorite F words.
No, thank you. I’ll stay in my bed. Sitting around the Christmas tree hearing funny stories about Aunt Eileen, Grandpa Carl, or cousin Maureen, is not fun for me. I don’t know these people, and they don’t know me; just as the people in my ancestral DNA tree. They stare at me, I stare at them. Who are these people?
It is now time to turn my phone off and pull the covers over my head. “It will soon be over. It will soon be over.”
On Christmas Eve, I was alarmed by my inability to breathe or to stop coughing. It didn’t feel like my annual malaise, but something much worse. I drove to the ER, where I collapsed and remained for four hours, the time it took the medical staff to stabilize me just enough to be transported by ambulance to another hospital. A hospital that receives multiple lawsuits due to poor care. Merry Christmas.
I am diagnosed with double pneumonia and placed in the ICU ward. This time I have managed to top myself, mentally hurling me to near death. I was held there for 7 days, being released the weekend of New Year’s Eve. Well, Christmas was well diverted. Have I allowed the holiday to actually kill me? I wonder what my mind and body has planned for me next year.
A week after discharge, I went down the internet rabbit hole about pneumonia, lungs, symptoms, and causes. A link brought me to a page about how the body holds emotions, and there it was, lungs hold grief.
A while back, I found my birth father, but he wanted no contact with me, and although I had irrefutable proof, he would not confirm nor deny he was my father. I fell to a puddle on the floor, in shock, disbelief, pain, and devastation. I decided therapy might be warranted. I found an “adoptee-competent” and adoptee herself therapist. Maybe I’ll bring up the interaction. Surely, she could bring valuable insight; unfortunately, she did, but I was not willing to face it. She diagnosed that I was grieving. Grieving for the loss of my father. I became indignant and practically screamed, “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t even know him. I’m glad to have discovered your incompetence during our first session. My psyche has averted manipulation.“
So…here we are, back to grief. I needed to understand the body/mind connection, and downloaded onto my Kindle a book entitled, “The Body Keeps the Score,” written by a neuroscientist examining how trauma leaves imprints within the body.
A passage, on page 132, caught my attention. There are three responses to threats to our safety or social connections are flight, fight, or collapse. “Finally, if there’s no way out, and there’s nothing we can do to stave off the inevitable…the heart rate plunges, we can’t breathe, and our gut stops working…this is the point at which we disengage, collapse, and freeze.” Aha!
The second book I downloaded onto my Kindle was “What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma” written by a woman combining her own story with cutting edge trauma care. I resonated with a passage found on page 120. “I read later that breathing exercises can actually be more triggering in certain populations. Sounds about right.” Aha!
My body was done. My lungs were no longer wanting to breathe. My grief was lodged deep in my body. It appears that the body/mind connection has merit.
Now, am I willing to admit my therapist was correct? Yes, it’s time.
