Death, life and trauma

I just read the number-two-most emailed article in the New York Times, “The Trauma of Being Alive,” by psychiatrist Mark Epstein. He argues that grief and trauma are real and enduring, and we do ourselves a disservice by suppressing our emotions. In his words: 

“In resisting trauma and in defending ourselves from feeling its full impact, we deprive ourselves of its truth. As a therapist, I can testify to how difficult it can be to acknowledge one’s distress and to admit one’s vulnerability. My mother’s knee-jerk reaction, ‘Shouldn’t I be over this by now?’ is very common. There is a rush to normal in many of us that closes us off, not only to the depth of our own suffering but also, as a consequence, to the suffering of others.”  

His words are a relief, a sort of balm in themselves, offering the soothing reassurance that it’s ok to not be ok. The trauma of John’s sudden death, followed a year later by Ali’s sudden death, followed lately by the shock of breast cancer, has shaken my sense of security and my sense of self. I resist the PTSD label and remain outwardly blase about risk in general, but the truth is I harbor an insidious conviction that more disaster awaits me.

At the same time, I'm leery of psychiatrists and their ilk, who tend to pathologize everything and everyone (job security, right?). When I check my young widow websites and the breast cancer sites there is so much “woe is me,” so much lament and self-absorption. Usually it brings me down, so I’ve learned to avoid them unless I have a specific question. I’m impressed that strangers offer each other heartfelt compassion and support on these sites, but I wonder how productive it is. People many years out from their trauma seem mired in their own suffering.  

Epstein tells us we do better if we “lean into the trauma,” but gives no real evidence for this. And what does “leaning into trauma” mean, exactly? More crying? More therapy? Neither of those seems to help me as much as running, laughing, and friendship do.

 “Fake it til you make it” is an alternative strategy, the stoic approach. It has its downsides—obviously, you can’t live a lie—but if you lean into optimism, aren’t you more likely to fall into the positive side?  

I don’t know the answers. As facebook would say, “It’s complicated.”

On a lighter note, my head is now lighter. Santino buzzed my hair off yesterday. My stubble-riddled bright-white scalp is one ugly sight. And it’s not one you will be seeing pictures of any time soon!

With thanks for your love and support,

Becca