May your head and heart speak with one voice. (Last night’s teabag)

Yesterday, I heard someone say that trauma is not what happened to us as much as it is our response to it.

I wondered if avoiding what reminds us of a harmful event or period in our life is doing more damage than we ever thought.

I thought about this, sipping my tea in bed in the dark after reading “How to Babysit a Grandma” and planning matching outfits with a spirited five year old.

Thursday Night Sleepy Tea

I took my little girl self by the hand and we remembered what happened on Monday in the dental chair.

I decided to consider my trauma response, look at it closely, learn from the recognition of my reaction.

The hygienist told me there was a new approach to cleaning. It would involve an instrument blowing air with a little bit of force in my mouth. Because of that, a thin paper shield with an opening would simply cover my face.

The procedure began. It wasn’t painful. I folded my hands together and sat still. Then I began to sort of dig one finger into my thumb, an anxiety reliever, I thought.

Then, I noticed my breathing change.

Then, I noticed fear.

The hygienist finished and I felt my body unclench, my neck unstiffen and my belly exhale as she freed me from being trapped.

She didn’t know.

It was too strange.

Here I am on Friday considering the gift of small and unthreatening, albeit unavoidable reminders of trauma.

Here I am deciding that just maybe these not so scary things are meant to be noticed and acknowledged so that we over time may still have a trauma response.

But, we can make sense of it and making sense of it will only lead to even more healing than we would know if we’d silenced our thoughts.

Being held down with a hand over my mouth, my face, my eyes was decades ago.

Decades ago.

Has something deeply hurt you? Were you a child? Were you on the cusp of grown-up?

Are there reminders from time to time?

Don’t silence them. Notice how they show up unexpectedly and so very often in safe (but scary) ways.

When we consider our trauma, we’re not coddling the helpless baby of us, we’re simply honoring our story and giving ourselves and God credit for all the rewriting.

How can we rewrite such stories?

Maybe like this:

My cleaning appointment was better because I put my very own music in my ears. The hygienist was kind. She’d changed her hair and I told her two times that it was beautiful. The instrument used to remove the plaque was not enjoyable but necessary. The new technique with the air pressure in my mouth took the place of the polishing. The tissue paper circle covering my face was not pleasant but kept me dry. No changes, keep flossing, maybe go without your partial on top to ease the inflammation.

There’s trauma all over my issues with my teeth.

Last night Elizabeth, my granddaughter watched in fascination as I cleaned my dental “appliances”.

When she asked,

“How many teeth have you lost, Grandma?”

I answered “two” because the true story, the number being slightly more would’ve been too hard on her little ears.

Instead, I smiled and said “Two!”

And her little blue eyed face lit up as she grinned and said.

“Me too!”

Considering trauma, let it talk and pay very close attention when it speaks gently.

Simply longing to be heard and learned from.

You are loved.

Continue and believe.

Restoration is a process and a promise.

“I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter, my great army, which I sent among you.”
‭‭Joel‬ ‭2‬:‭25‬ ‭ESV‬‬