Heart Work is Hard Work. Hang in There!

Story Time

Years ago my little church hosted a blood drive, and we were encouraged to save a life in a simple way. I had never given blood; my heart pounded at the thought. It sounded simple.

Saturday, October 16th, was a clear, crisp fall morning. I was early for my time slot, so I popped into my boyfriend’s staff office to say hello. I turned the corner to see a King-Size Snickers, 1-liter Sprite, and a card in the hall outside the door. A mylar “Happy Sweetest Day” balloon floated above. This new Hallmark holiday is really working for me! I thought. We didn’t have long. I thanked him for the thoughtful gifts and gave him the card I picked out for him.

I’d skipped breakfast like most mornings. When my tummy rumbled, someone suggested I eat something before giving blood. Snickers has protein, I reasoned. Sprite is a drink, so that should be fine.

I sailed through the paperwork, shuffled to the blood-typing station, and waited for an open chair. My stomach was quieter with a little food in it.

I hopped into the recliner-like chair, dwarfed by it.

The phlebotomist said, “You’re going to feel a little pinch.” She was right. I couldn’t look, but the worst was over.

“Okay, you’re all set. Here’s a ball to squeeze to make this go a little faster.”

Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze-squeeze-squeeze-squeeze.

This is easy, I thought. I took in the room around me. Friends were drifting in to begin the paperwork. One was being typed. Three were waiting for open chairs. A few were sitting at the cookies and juice station.

I started to relax. Then I noticed the bag of red hanging up next to my chair. Half full. That’s when I saw the little tube that exited the top of the bag and gracefully crossed the distance from there to—my arm. Wait. That’s coming out of my—

I reflexively turned to the right. Hello, Snickers and Sprite! All over the carpet, the chair, and me. I hurled. Yes. Yes, I did.

All eyes were on me as I tried to focus on what the nice lady next to me was saying. “We can stop now if you want to, but the bag isn’t full. If we stop, we have to throw it away. What would you like to do?”

A tough question. My comfort or a completed donation…

What Just Happened There?

This story reminds me tension exists in everyday life: the tension of whether a remarkable event will become more than just a moment. If it has lasting effect, does that automatically mean it’s trauma? No, events are memorable for many reasons, including positive ones. And terrible moments have potential to be healed with the right attention and care.

The word trauma comes from the word that means “wound.” An experience that is traumatic wounds the mind (changing the brain physically) and is carried in the body. But what exactly is trauma? Simply, trauma requires two things in any event: an inability to move or find voice (helplessness) and the sense that others are dismissive, unapproachable, or unkind during or after the event (abandonment).

In my story I was stuck in a messy chair, deciding whether to continue the blood donation or not. I couldn’t immediately move, but I was definitely given a choice. I could (and did) use my words when I was ready to. I wasn’t helpless. The phlebotomist taking my donation was calm and kind, and no one laughed or shamed me. I wasn’t abandoned, either.

What If…

This could have been a very different story. Imagine the phlebotomist raised her voice and said, “Freeze! Just keep going, no matter what—you can’t stop now!” Truthfully, I initially froze; but had her reaction been scary and pinned me down, giving me no choice or voice, I would have felt helpless.

Imagine, in my shared story above, that everyone in the room looked at me and laughed. Now imagine I was told to clean up the mess all by myself while everyone watched. These people being my “family by choice” kind of people, it would be devastating. That would introduce a terrible feeling of abandonment!

Under these circumstances, the story would be a traumatic event that would transform me physically, mentally, emotionally, and likely spiritually. How could someone not have a difficult, longer-term effect from such a moment with people who should be “safe” in the church?

Comfortable with the Uncomfortable Moment

The uncomfortable moment is here. I share this story in this way so you have an opportunity to think through a topic that will regularly appear here: trauma. There are traumatic events (stories) in life, and we’ve all probably experienced some measure of them. This broken world and the people in it can be cruel. We need to address those stories.

By the definition above (helplessness + abandonment = trauma), events are split between traumatic incidents and felt trauma (traumatizing events). The difference between a traumatic event and being traumatized hangs on helplessness and abandonment. That’s one way to sift through and take a closer look at your stories. You can answer the question, Was I traumatized?

Beyond the “technicolor yawn” discomfort in my story, I decided what I wanted to do next and voiced it, which canceled out helplessness. I found quick solace in relationship to the one who had given me the Sweetest Day gifts, and that did a lot to fight any sense of abandonment. In this story, I’m comfortable knowing an uncomfortable, traumatic event didn’t traumatize me.

On another level, the uncomfortable moment begs this question: When this event took place, who was the first to know? Who did you (or I) tell first?

My blood bank story was common knowledge immediately (it was a small church). As a child, other traumatic stories couldn’t be shared with my parents for various reasons. That reveals something foundational had been shattered in the parent-child relationship. (We’ll think about that, but visit the link to Adam Young’s site below if you’re curious.)

Hang in There!

At a deeper-level, the “uncomfortable moment” leads to a decision each of us makes. Will I lean into my stories? That is a decision for you (and me) to make individually with the right support in place. If you think you’ve got some traumatic events (especially if you realized you’ve been traumatized!), you need safe people to walk with you in the process. You might need a professional, and that is more than okay. (I’ve taken a seat on more than one professional’s couch myself.)

Most likely, you can only hang in with the stories when you have someone hanging in with you. The healing process will be initiated by your own decision and action. It will be sustained in relationship to God, yourself, and safe others.

But, I’m Just Writing My Stories…

That may be the case. You might only be ready to write your stories from a 10,000-foot view, or you may have no real experience with traumatic events. I would say, either way, writing is a good beginning that’s worthy of your time, energy, and effort. Don’t stop.

If you notice at some point that you’ve got traumatic events that traumatized you…and you want to begin the healing journey…there are fantastic resources you can take advantage of. Let me know if I can help! I’d love to be a good friend to you in that way.

Thanks for investing time in this post. If you’re still reading, you’re my hero! Thank you for gracing me with your time and attention in this space. I believe deep connection and community is growing rapidly here (if only in a sense of solidarity at first). Remember—you belong, and you are welcome here!

Oh, I almost forgot! My local blood bank has a need for O-type blood. Do you know what your local area needs? Are you able to safely give blood? Something to think about…

Be blessed as you go!

Notes on Trauma:
https://adamyoungcounseling.com/2019/12/11/what-makes-trauma-trauma/