I have been reflecting so much on trauma over the last week. About how it is transferred and passed on. How it operates in cycles. How I don’t think we quite understand or respect the effects it has on our brains and what it means when witnessing trauma is a part of someone’s job.
On November 12, 2018 my Uncle Marty, a retired Police Chief, was shot and killed by a trainee police officer after attempting suicide and charging after the first responders with a knife.
In 38 years of working in law enforcement my Uncle surely encountered a lot of trauma. What happened to it? Did it hide out in his body? Did it just get tired of being so confined?
I think about how much pain he was in and how much pain my family is in now. I wonder if it is the same pain. I wonder if that pain, way too much for one person to hold, demanded to be dissipated. Transferred and passed on.
I can’t stop thinking about the officers involved in the shooting, especially the trainee officer, and how this is now a trauma for them. Will they process it? Will they have the resources they need to stay healthy in their work? Or is this the beginning of a collection of experiences that will live unconsciously in their bodies, changing their cells and altering their chemistry?
The cycle of it all feels overwhelmingly depressing to me.
But then I remember healing. And how it is transferred and passed on. How it operates in cycles. How we don’t quite understand or respect the effects it has on all the layers of our being and what it means if even one person in a family, community or system heals.
This week I witnessed how one person taking a deep breath could remind a whole group of people to breathe and shift the energy of an entire room.
I think about what this means on a collective level.
It means the hours of my life spent meditating matter. My work to unwind my negative thought patterns matters. My commitment to expanding my consciousness matters. My dedication to dissolving fear matters. My devotion to love matters.
My healing matters.
Sharing healing stories matters. It works. Healing spreads.
SO, from the belly of trauma my faith is in healing — and if you are reading this and take a deep breath, I believe my whole family will feel it.
WE ARE ONE.
It’s pretty miraculous actually. Not depressing at all.