Chronic trauma

Living with a disability, life can be a steady stream of traumatic experiences.

There is medical trauma, trauma from unsolicited comments when out in public, trauma from being excluded from society because of lack of accessibility, trauma from public falls or accidents … and the list goes on. If you have lived all or most of your life disabled, well, you get the picture. It is years upon years of trauma. My sense of security always threatened. If it seems extreme that I am referring to these things a “trauma,” consider yourself fortunate that you do not live that experience.

As we get older, we start to examine our lives in a way we were never able to. Reflection often becomes a regular part of life.

One thing that I recognize in myself is that I am a catastrophic thinker. As I unpacked this reality recently, I wanted to understand why I am this way. It quickly became clear to me that I do this as a defense mechanism. If I can get ahead of what “may” happen, then when that thing happens, I will somehow be better prepared for said catastrophic event. People with all kinds of trauma do this very same thing. I am in good company. Of course, it doesn’t really make sense because you cannot prepare for trauma. You want to think you can because somehow that brings comfort. A façade of control.

An example of trauma for me was the story I wrote about when the lady at the store came up behind me and screamed at me, shaming for the way that I walk and telling me surely, I could do better. I could not be prepared for an incident like that, yet I know that is what I risk by being out in public. It has happened before; it will happen again. Imagine being publicly shamed for just being yourself and getting groceries for your family.

I recently shared a short story on one of my social media accounts about a medical procedure I recently had done called an Electromyography (EMG). It is a test that measures electrical activity of muscles and the nerves that control them. For the test, they “shock” different parts of my legs, some of the shocks strong enough to lift my legs off the bed. For the other part of the test, they use an acupuncture needle which they stick in different muscles and bear down on the needle to test muscle function. Neither feels good.

Throughout my life, I have had this done several times. The first memory of this test was at the Mayo Clinic. I remember crying for my dad because I didn’t understand what they were doing and it hurt. Luckily, they went and got him so they could finish the test, and he could comfort me.

I have had a lot of those type of medically traumatic experiences. As I have gotten older, sometimes I want to scream and cry during these procedures, but of course I’ve learned that I have to stay strong as it would be strange for an adult to scream and cry like a child would, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes I don’t have the desire to do so. I often get in my car after procedures like this to sit and wait for the strong emotions to pass through me.

Recently, I have also discovered it is very healing to take time and let those strong emotions pass through me. To process them, and not hold them in. In doing so, it has helped me with anxiety that I tend to carry.

Coping skills are important tools to have when dealing with chronic trauma. I have learned that I need to take time to process these events. Reaching out to a professional who understands the effects, rather than continue to stuff them down, has been very helpful to my mental health.

Until next time …

Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, wife, and mom of two boys. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.com and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.