The Long Country Road-A Little Story About the Power of Trauma and of Healing

Last week, my daughter and I were leaving her school, and the place where I am a counselor. I said aloud, "I wonder what would happen if we took a left instead of a right--I wonder what's down there?" (An 'I wonder' statement can be creative and childlike- a place of openness and imagination).

She said, "I know, it's a long country road. It's actually faster, I don't know why you've never taken it. When I drive myself, I'm going to go that way all the time."

I was surprised she knew so much about this left instead of the right side of the street. I was surprised she had a plan to take that lesser known road in her very near future. Mainly I was surprised that in the handful of years we've been going to our school and winding through not one, not two, but three roundabouts to get there off of the highway, I had never tried this other route.

Oh, I'd thought about it. Several times, in fact, throughout the years. But never tried it out. Not even once! I'd come very close--but then I'd tell myself, "I just don't know what's down there. I just don't have time, I just..." fill in the blank.

That day, after discussing it with my daughter, I decided to try it. Why? Same answer as to why I lay in bed and snooze, then suddenly my body seems to rise without me telling it to do so- I overrode the all the reasons to stay lying down.

Here, I overrode the inhibitions I had. I now had more reasons to try it than to not. I made the decision and I took the left--into the back neighborhood we creeped. To the exit of said neighborhood and clicker on to turn left, watching and waiting and going at the speed of...well the speed limit, very anticlimactically we approached this mysterious direction further.

We drove up to a roundabout after a while. Those dreaded things. And then, found ourselves on a mostly straight, sunny, country road. Farmland on both sides. Lovely. Free feeling.

All this to the left instead of the right? All this behind the hustle and the bustle of the main roads to the south and east? I was pleasantly surprised on our initially westward journey. My daughter told me to keep going straight- she'd been this way before. For a few miles we cruised on, down this mostly straight, sunny, country road, and I breathed much more easily than I usually do.

Here, on this breezy street, we were free of roundabouts, highway ramps, highways, exits, traffic lights, 4-way intersections, any intersections!

I had a client once say to me, "We don't realize how much stress we are subconsiously under while we drive." It had me thinking how right he was. Our nervous systems are probably way more vigilant than we know as we percieve so many things all at once as we drive.

Consider: you are operating your machine- which alone takes a great amount of concentration even if you've been doing it for a while. You must be aware of road rules including signs, lights, and signals, some flashing at you. You are not alone on the road, therefore, are also in need of perceiving risk from other drivers as well. Emergency vehicles, construction changes, detours, signals expressed within your car--such as low tire pressure or an engine light.

Even if you are unaware that you are assessing for risk at a potentially moderate level, your autonomic nervous system surely is doing just that in the undergirding of your mind and body. You are doing the epitome of multi-tasking with all of your senses. Yes, I do mean to say you are even smelling for risk. Your proprioception is checking for time and space information, your vestibular system is considering its balance in motion, etc. All things are being evaluated from out of this sensory data, and your brain is organizing and sending it to its appropriate place of your mind. "Is this a risk?!" it asks unnoticed by your conscious mind. "Nope-- what about this, this, THIS?!" Your beautiful brain is helping you survive constantly!

Back to the country road. We knew we'd eventually need to hang another left onto "our street," but we missed it. That was ok, we simply went a little ways further and turned around in a nearby driveway. We found our road, and happily, I discovered it would be another lengthy calm drive heading south until we reached "civilization" aka the QuikTrip familiar to our regular vicinity. And then it was a sad sort of business as usual.

In considering this today, driving down my newfound mostly straight, sunny, country road, I started to grieve a tiny bit as I realized I had the option of this beautiful drive for five years, but had only just discovered it. The word discovered is too weak actually. I had only just chosen it. It had always been there for me to drive. It was a direction I could have gone anytime I'd wanted. It was paved, open, no legal reason I couldn't go down it.

I had chosen to avoid it. I made decisions not to try, to make excuses, and even forgot there was a new and different direction more days than not as I was so used to doing the same routine again and again. Even when there hadn't been a side road by the school created yet, I still could have looped a couple of the roundabouts and headed left.

You may be thinking, "So what's the big deal, Andi? Why are we discussing this?"

Trauma. That's why. New directions and trauma.

If you are anything like me, trying new things used to be a lot of fun--well, even then it was nerve-racking, but I'd still do it because the benefits, I decided, would outweigh the risks. The fun, the adventure, the capable feeling-"I did it!" "I learned some great things!" "Now I know this about myself!"

Trips overseas, sometimes dangerous ones- worth it!

More and more school- sometimes riddled with anxiety- worth it!

Art shows, new crowds, new jobs, my own private practice- worth it!

Threaded through our fun experiences and adventures--those things full of the adrenaline of immersing ourselves in wonderous novelty, those which are chosen and somewhat in our control, are those not-so-fun experiences we call traumatic ones.

Same use of adrenaline, laced with cortisol-- but these are unchosen by us. They are not in our control at all.

The nervous system is scanning, always, for survival information.

We take the new road when we are able to "rest and digest" as trauma researchers coin it. When we can disarm our sympathetic systems and vasovagal responses from leaping into the oblivion of flight/fight/freeze/faint.

If you are anything like me, and you've experienced enough trauma to where your happy, wide eyed, curious nervous system is now more of a deer in the headlights, and turning to the left (as in my above narrative) is typically not an option or at least not the first option. It is an option that takes a lot more risk assessment, critical thought, judgement, even research.

The days of "I want to turn left--ok, let's go!" might be over for you in some ways too.

It takes a good deal of weighing out the risks and benefits before taking such a leap. A leap which someone, such as my teenage daughter, may gawk at as they watch in wonder why such an idea would lead to such overreactive inhibition.

Oh the days of adolescent impulsivity.

Have you ever heard of the concept that when you have experienced multiple traumas in your life, the nervous system struggles with easy situations?

"This is too quiet. This is too calm. Ok, what's going on?!"

The anxious nervous system has experienced enough to always be on guard, yes, even and especially subconsciously. It will take great effort for those with this condition to a) be aware, b) want to heal, and c) walk through your healing to the end.

This can take a long time depending on the amount of trauma, the age of it, the depths of it.

The important thing is to know you needn't feel ashamed of your inhibitions.

Your autotomic system is simply trying to protect you. But we need to remember who is in control. If you are tired of your high level of risk assessment--your "Where are all the exits?!" when you walk into a new room, and you are ready for healing, what a friend you are to yourself.

I recently realized how tired I am of feeling anxious (and exhausted as a byproduct)--and I chose to return to my counselor. There is no shame in going to counseling or returning to it after many years.

Maybe it's why last week I took the left and discovered a small but lovely change in my daily travels. Ironically, one which is calmer than my prior direction.

When we get in our loops and routines, we lose out on opportunities, at times, that could be even better for us.

What is familiar is not always what is better. Just as feeling anxious, or always vigilantly scanning for risk may be familiar, but not necessarily better. It is harmful to be stressed on that level on repeat--it is hard on the body, and it keeps the nervous system in the same loop until you are willing to heal--and please, please don't feel ashamed if the healing takes years, or you relapse over and again. Be patient with yourself, especially if you find yourself retraumatized.

Sadly, it can also leave us grieving for opportunities missed due to the fear or stress of new or unfamiliar things. We may find ourselves dissociative too--daydreaming into the past or future, rather than being present--another stamp that trauma can leave on our minds and bodies, thus, we miss more of life while assessing the past's problems or the future's fatalities that may never come to pass.

The long country road came into my present last week. A small childlike, creative wonder, a small sign of healing, I believe.