Wisdom from the Trenches

I was watching Moulin Rouge with my husband on Saturday night. I’ve seen this movie countless times before and appreciated it for its artistic approach to storytelling. I have never had an issue with this movie, so I immediately chose it when it popped up as an option. The movie started as usual. There are funny parts, intense parts, serious parts. And I was doing just fine…until it wasn’t.

For the first time ever, the movie triggered me. My mind immediately became total chaos. I could hear a deafening, seemingly never ending, blood-curdling scream that went on for over an hour, until I passed out from exhaustion in bed. But in those first few moments, I put my head down, I worked on controlling my rapidly escalating breathing pattern, and I prayed. Unfortunately, something in me had been brutally ripped wide open and I was hemorrhaging traumatic memories into the forefront of my mind. As my mind spun out of control, I vacillated between vivid flashbacks and a horrifying, uncontrollable reality. My past rampaged through my mind and waged war on my heart and soul, while my logical brain tried to subdue everything with sound reasoning…and slowly lost. I could feel myself descending into a PTSD episode. I knew I had been triggered. I tried every technique I had ever been taught to regain control. And I was powerless to stop it.

I came to while pacing frantically in the kitchen. I could hear the movie in the background. I was supposed to be watching a movie! What was I doing in the kitchen? Why was I pacing like a caged animal? Why was my heart beating wildly? My husband entered the kitchen and walked toward me. I knew he was my husband. I knew he was a safe person. And yet, every step he took toward me sent me further into a panic. I remember grabbing his wrists and stopping him when he opened his arms for a hug. I wanted someone to hold me, but I felt like he was moving too fast. The screaming in my head grew louder. Was it me? Was I screaming?

“I’m going to bed,” I said. And then, I was in bed. What just happened? Why were chunks of time disappearing from memory? I felt like I was being choked. My husband asked me if I wanted to talk about it and I burst into tears and cried. That night, there were no words.

I woke up several times during the night, in a cold sweat and panicked. I had dreamt something awful, but I could never remember what. By morning, I was exhausted. I felt worthless, damaged, and small. I cycled through stages of grief in the span of mere hours. Grief over what had happened so long ago, and sadness over what had happened just the night before. This was a reminder to me that my life will never be the same.

I went to church and silently sat in the row during worship, taking in everything around me and quietly talking to God. Self condemnation was hard at work on me. Shame was trying to tear me down. In mid-August, I began a Master of Social Work program at a local university. My goal is to become a licensed clinical social worker and mental health counselor. I have wanted to do this for quite awhile, but timing just worked out this year and I am enjoying my program. But sitting in church, voices screamed at me inside my head. How can I ever talk to people about PTSD, depression, and anxiety when I’m still so broken? How can I help others when I still need help?

My answer was clear and came in the form of a quote: “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” – Theodore Roosevelt

We are not meant to live life coaching others from the sidelines. We are meant to live life side by side in this journey we call life. We will all stumble and fall, myself included. We will all suffer defeat. We will all feel powerless at times. The struggle through life isn’t evidence we are unqualified. Our struggles are precisely why we are qualified.

If you have lived through something difficult…or if you are walking through it right now, I encourage you to share with others. Your insight might help another. Someone else might be able to help you. Regardless, we link arms with others who are also courageously in the arena and we boldly face this life together. This is what it looks like to live well in this imperfect life.