Earlier this month I was invited to go on stage to talk about how I’ve been recovering from trauma.
It would have been an opportunity to share my views on about how trauma shapes the way you see the world, how you interpret the things people say, how you cut yourself off from the world, and how you can eventually be completely disconnected.
More than that, it would have been a chance to share with others how I’ve overcome trauma, through a combination of physical rehabilitation, education, counselling, medication and staying connected to my family doctor. The event was Tell Us Another Story being presented by the Creative Centre Society, and many others would be telling their tales. It would prove to be a wonderful night of sharing and storytelling, even healing.
But I wasn’t there.
In the end, I declined the chance to speak. I was riddled with anxiety at the mere thought of opening my mouth on stage. And quite predictably, the moment that I knew the presentation would be starting without my story, regret started to sink in. Maybe my story could have helped someone.
And so here we are.
My story isn’t remarkable — car accident, injuries, withdrawal from life, change in lifestyle, emotional troubles. Soon enough, I was hurt, feeling alone, vulnerable and quite helpless. It’s such a common story it’s one we all need to be familiar with. I was fortunate to get into a rehab program where I learned coping strategies, was taught how the brain works, and was surrounded by people with similar trauma-related injuries.
It was an enlightening six weeks of discovery that readjusted my long path to healing.
For the last year and a half, I’ve been crossing paths with others who have not been so lucky. I’ve met fellow patients in the ER being denied pain medication for injuries worse than mine. I’ve spoken with people whose new anger issues — heaped on them suddenly with no prior anger management training or experience — have created havoc in the home. I’ve met people who are waiting on claims to be paid out but in the meantime have nothing.
I’m thankful mine was a physical trauma and easily diagnosed. Doctors can pinch and push nerves and understand pain pathways. But not all trauma is physical. The things we see and experience, the words that are spoken to us, the way families are divided, the way children are abused or neglected, leave invisible scarring that doesn’t manifest until later in life, sometimes decades later. And nobody grows up knowing the right way to explain this pain, so it goes undiagnosed.
This is the pain that leads to depression, to drug and alcohol abuse, to abusive relationships, and sometimes, even to suicide.
While my own story is not one that began early in life, it’s one that’s taught me what it means to be traumatized, to feel misunderstood, and to feel alone. And that’s a story worth sharing, because telling it could make one less person feel that way. It took missing the opportunity to speak to realize it. So, if I were to stand up on a stage today, I would end by saying this.
You are never alone.
And if you or someone you know is experiencing depression, there is help. In a crisis, call the Fraser Health Crisis Line at 1-877-820-7444, or call 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433). Visit www.suicide.ca for a full list of services, including help in a variety of languages.