wow i am so tired of my body keeping score
vignettes on how healing trauma requires rest & recuperation to integrate... and how exhausting that is.
Note & Content/Trigger Warnings: Though it shouldn’t surprise anyone, I want to give a warning that I will talk about trauma, specifically complex post-traumatic stress disorder (cPTSD,) childhood abuse and all the things that go along with that. I will dedicate much of my Substack this year to exploring trauma and its manifestations in my life, especially through the lens of disability. If this feels too heavy or deep, please exit now and don’t read further. Love you all x

Why does this one keep popping out?, my acupuncture mutters and furrows his brow. For the last four years, I dedicate my Saturday mornings to self-care, which includes sessions with Michael. First time back after surgery and already, a thin sliver of metal has bounced out of my ear. As he reaches over to collect the needle, which was jammed in cartilage before hopping onto the table, now nearly invisible. Ah, I think that’s probably a sign that it doesn’t want to be there, isn’t it? My body doesn’t want that part to be worked on today, I ponder aloud, attempting to add some levity. My gaze pointed up, I hardly notice him futzing around with the arsenal of sharps as he continues to poke and prod my body.
So what point is it? This needle feels the need to jump out?, I continue to coax out of him, curious to collect more data. I don’t know a lot about acupuncture and Eastern medicine, but I included both in my health routine around seven years ago— as long as I’ve been getting tattooed, both practices helped my long-standing needle aversion— but Michael has always been straight-forward and accommodating to my idiosyncrasies. He will always answer my questions, which is part of the reason I’m still a client.
It’s Point Zero, Michael responds and continues his schpiel. It balances the entire body by soothing the autonomic nervous system, so that you’re not as activated.
It’s the nervous system reset point.

When I broke up with my long-term therapist, we already had conversations about slowing down our sessions together and perhaps, me looking outwards to explore more ways to unpack my childhood abuse and subsequent relationship traumas with another provider. My former therapist, though wonderful, confessed that her expertise could not help me unravel all the relational threads running through the tapestry of my life. I would require someone with more training and knowledge in those specific areas in order to move forward with healing.
At some point, therapy became less about finding tools and healthy coping mechanisms for behavioural modification and invited further inquiry into the roots of my distress. It got to where the ADHD and anxiety were well-managed, but the lingering effects of cPTSD were tripping me up, and I needed to work on breaking unhealthy cycles. So, with the blessing of my old one, I found trauma-informed and focused therapist with similar shared identities and also took my insurance. Lately, I use sessions to distract myself from the depths of systemic, intergenerational and afflicted traumas and instead, discuss the mundane bothers of life. I’m lying to myself and my therapist through avoidance and evasion.
And so, I made the brave decision to move forward and be honest with them.
During this week’s session, I plead for help.
I need you to challenge me when I talk at you in circles to evade my feelings, I confess.
We spend the rest of the session catching up and scheming for the future.

Despite numerous references to Bessel van der Kolk’s seminal work on trauma, I haven’t actually read the entire tome. There are several reasons:
I read the criticisms of the book, as well as the author himself, beforehand. And while no one is immune to harming others— much of this discourave me pause.
It’s fucking long. (I will not put myself through that, sorry. If it’s not fully engaging, I can’t sit through it.)
Much of the work that van der Kolk disseminated into this book is too simplified, inaccurate and some of it was stolen from others without citation.
(Here is a list of recommended books you can read instead of TBKTS, brought to you by Lighthouse Bookstore in Edinburgh and Project LETS.)
The irony of it all is that when I first heard about this book, it intrigued me because of the shared identity markers that van der Kolk and I overlap on in our very separate lives. First off, he’s Dutch and born in the Netherlands. I frequently cite the Netherlands as a refuge and “other home” because my spouse is from there and it’s also where my other partner resides. van der Kolk, weirdly, graduated from the University of Hawaii, and spent his undergraduate years in my home state. Of course, knowing this, I was interested in embarking on reading his novel. …Then I heard all the accusations and other reasons and started reading other books. I will say van der Kolk’s work, while now marred by criticism and his own undoing (accusations of harassment and sexual assault) was still instrumental in my journey. I probably wouldn’t have done as much research and digging into my personal traumas without exposure to his work.
The Body Keeps the Score came out in 2014.
11 years later, why is this still THE most cited book about trauma when there are multicultural factors and intergenerational and communal traumas that we need to discuss and integrate?

I was my parents’ favourite party trick.
When I was five, family friends frequently commented about how smart and curious I was. During gatherings, I would wander around and chat with the adults (rather than hang out with children my age,) gather information and charm them with my precociousness. Part of this was flexing my storytelling and grasping attention through storytelling. They would often humour me by playing pretend, or coaxing me into telling them a story that I improvised.
As I grew older, especially into college and graduate school, this shifted into advocacy. The sicker I became, the more loud I had to become in order to get help. When I would write something on socials, I would solicit private messages thanking me for my advocacy. Most people were too afraid to speak their biggest insecurites and struggled with their mental health in silence.
In contrast, I screamed so that everyone could hear.
My parents chastised me, claiming that our baggage was on display and that it would make me appear weak. If I don’t speak my truth, how will people ever realize it’s okay for them to speak theirs?, I argued with them over text, bombarding them with endless defences, articles about stigma and fierce compassion. Part of this storytelling was a way for me to ask for the support I needed, especially when depression and anxiety prevented me from doing so directly.

I don’t subscribe to New Year’s resolutions, but when my spouse asked what I wanted to work on this year…
I want to heal all my trauma. All of it. In one year, I joked in response. Embarking on a journey to heal all of my trauma? Ambitious, perhaps. Impossible? More than likely. But one can hope. Though I often use humour to deflect the toughness of certain topics, I am sincere in my approach to reclaiming and rebuilding secure attachment.
Each passing interpersonal connection brings me closer to who I am now, rather than who I want to become. Part of this integration is learning how to move slower through the process, however sloth-like it might feel to outsiders. With disability, I am not immune to others’ disappointment, especially when they’ve unknowingly placed high expectations on our relationship. I’ve accepted, especially within the last year, that I will always let someone down in the process of prioritising my health.
It doesn’t mean I don’t love them any less,
I’m just learning to love myself more.
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