When Trauma Speaks and God Answers

If you plan to follow me here on my HeartSites blog, you’ll quickly recognize that I talk often about trauma. I know it can probably get old for some but it’s such a integral part of my story, I won’t be able to avoid it. I’ve written about it in a few blog posts and facebook posts, but I hope to share (and work through) more of it over the next through months in a series called “When Trauma Speaks and God Answers”. Even though I keep talking, processing and writing about some aspects of my trauma, there is still more work to be done, and hopefully my words and experiences can help others too.

For many of us, the trauma that we carry started when we were children. This is most definitely my story. In some ways, my trauma began at birth with a difficult entry into the world and then soon after, my parents finding out that I had a heart defect similar to my father’s heart defects. I’m sure it was traumatic for them as well, as life began for me in a challenging place.

When I was two, my father died from his heart issues. The fact that he lived to adulthood and into his 30’s was essentially a miracle, as that just wasn’t happening for most in his situation. In most cases, children born with defects like his/ours were only given to the age of 12 or 15 to live. In my case, I was lucky enough to be born at a time when technology has developed enough to allow for surgeries to correct these kinds of defects. My generation is the first to live and grow into adulthood, thanks to the doctors and surgeons who were willing to learn and try.

So, at four years of age, I was scheduled for corrective heart surgery. I don’t have a lot of specific memories that I can recall in my mind about the hospital stay and the surgery, and the memories I do have are a mixed bag of fun and awful. I remember riding a tricycle in the playroom, and making ice cream with the nurses. I also remember being very afraid and alone and angry, even. The 1970’s weren’t a time when people were directed towards counseling for these kinds of events, so the trauma that occurred just stayed with me, unresolved, stuffed down in my body, for over 40 years.

When I found out at the age of 50 that I needed another open heart surgery, I didn’t expect it to knock the breath out of me. But it did. The fear, the tightness in my chest, the tears… they didn’t feel like a 50-year-old woman crying. They felt like that little girl again. I instantly went into “flight” mode and told my husband I wasn’t doing it. He was gentle in talking with me about it, and said, “but if they say you NEED it to live?” The fear and desire to run away was a daily, sometimes hour by hour, battle… as the decades-old trauma came to the surface.

Over the next few months, it was like a volcano of trauma erupted and I re-lived over and over the feelings and trauma from that little four year old, while also experiencing the fear and alone-ness, and anger of 50 year old me who did NOT want to go through it again. It was a very low and scary season, and I’m so thankful for my husband and close friends and family who figuratively and literally held my hand through it.

During those months, (and all the months since), I did the slow, quiet work of processing my life-long feelings, again and again. I didn’t rush past the feelings. I sat with them. I prayed through them. I let myself remember, and let God begin to heal not just my body, but my soul.

I slowly was able to get to a place where I could breathe through the fear and agree to the surgery, knowing it WAS necessary if I wanted to be around to see my kids graduate from high school and college and get married.. and have grandchildren! I know for certain that the only reason I was able to get to this place was because of prayer. My prayers and the prayers of those around me. Only God could heal what was erupting and overflowing.

By the time the surgery date arrived, I was in a more peaceful place. I still went into the surgery with a lot of fear (and some anger), but also with confidence and peace that only comes from God. And while the healing process afterwards was much longer than expected – 6 weeks turned into almost 6 months before I felt well enough to work again – I can look back on it as see I needed that time emotionally and spiritually too.

The trauma. It’s still with me. (And I continue to work through deep feelings on a regular basis). But I can also say: God met me there. Then. And again. And still. He’s restoring what was broken, layer by layer, for the child-me and the adult-me. The last two years have been transformative in so many ways.

The little girl in me is healing.

The woman I am now is learning to live free.

And both are held by the same faithful God.