Finding My Way Back Home

Eight years had passed by the time I realized the true impact of my sexual assault.

It was during a visit to my massage therapist, who had been treating me for over 10 years. Following my appointment, I opened the door to find her waiting for me. She asked for a moment of my time. 

Sitting down together, she asked if I felt safe. Her question caught me completely off guard since one of the reasons I had remained loyal to her all these years was the safe space she created. She proceeded to share how, upon touching certain areas of my body, she noticed a physical shift occur. It was as though I contracted into a fight-or-flight response. The act of her touch had sounded an internal alarm prompting my entire body to harden. 

I walked out of the clinic with tears in my eyes. It wasn’t because I had ever felt unsafe, but rather because I hadn’t even noticed the experience that she was describing; what was occurring in my own body. 

In The Body Keeps the Score, Bessel van der Kolk explains that following a traumatic event, one’s natural response is to prepare for fight or flight. As a result, when our trauma remains unresolved, we become extremely vulnerable, as we are essentially handing over all our power to our trauma. The trauma then becomes stored within our body, showing up in everything that we do: the way we breathe, how we make eye contact, and our emotional responses. 

Typically, our body speaks to us through sensations and emotions, which our mind uses to decipher the situation at hand. During a traumatic event, the nervous system may respond by freezing, dissociating or numbing in order to protect oneself. When this occurs, our body is no longer able to send signals to our brain. In Suzanne Scurlock-Durana’s book Reclaiming Your Body, she shares how this prevents trauma survivors from being able to separate the present moment from the past. 

The act of dissociating from my body is the only defence mechanism I had at the time of my trauma. It’s what kept me safe. Thus, when I am triggered, rather than recognizing the present sensations in my body, my mind immediately enters fight or flight causing my entire body to freeze. This rigidity prevents my mind from recognizing the signals being sent from my body, meaning I am no longer able to comprehend what my body is trying to tell me and so, I only have access to my mind. 

No matter how safe I rationalize I am, my mind is unable to differentiate threat from safety and reverts back to my prior experiences of trauma. When it comes to certain acts of touch, my body perceives them as a threat. Like a knee-jerk reaction, my body retracts almost instantaneously. For a moment that feels like an eternity, my mind completely pulls away from the present.

Simply learning the nuances of these reactions has helped me so much. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, as there have been many moments where others have used touch to take advantage of my body. In these moments, separating myself from my physical body was the only way I knew how to survive. 

Since I can remember, I’ve never really felt at home within my own body. 

Growing up as a professional ballerina fostered an environment where it was difficult to develop any kind of healthy relationship with my body. It was something that was never enough; the more I demanded of it, the more I resented it. This relationship worsened after I started to build a partnership which quickly evolved into domestic violence. 

Safety could no longer be found in my own body. I wanted to run, to completely escape from the very vessel that was keeping me locked inside. 

I blamed myself and in turn, I blamed my own physical body. How was I supposed to ever feel at home, let alone love myself, when I couldn’t even protect myself? 

Following this relationship, I spent years living in avoidance and complete numbness. At the time, I would have told you that this form of self-protection was healing. Yet now, I realize I was far from it. I was completely petrified and avoiding any potential trigger was my attempt to cling onto that one last fragment of control. This act of avoidance allowed me to remain in full control of my trauma. My therapist warned me that I couldn’t run away forever. We all know, she was right.

While I may have spent years trying to come to terms with the emotional turmoil of being labelled a survivor, I failed to recognize how my body stepped in to protect me at a time when my mind couldn’t. 

It wasn’t until I walked out of that appointment, that it finally crossed my mind to pause and think about how this experience may have impacted my body. I may have come to terms with the emotional turmoil, but the trauma very much still lives on in my body.

It hasn’t been easy, trying to find my way back home. 

Returning back to my body has required a variety of different approaches alongside cognitive behavioural therapy. There has never been a perfect solution and many of these practices are ones that I continue to explore. 

Awareness is how it began; examining how my body responded to others as they ebbed and flowed around me. I started to notice how the smallest of interactions could somehow trigger a much greater response. I remember noticing a physical reaction when a male server reached across my chest, simply to put a meal in front of me. This was the first realization of many. 

After awareness came exploration. My massage therapist recommended creating space to explore my own body. I began with self-touch, simply placing my hands on different parts of my body and observing what transpired. My chest would tighten, which was quickly followed by shallow breathing. As my heart rate began to rise, I reminded myself that I was safe. This was my attempt to reprogram my brain to make new memories when it came to touch. 

Following my years as a ballerina, it’s been hard to find a form of movement that's stuck. Over the past year, I’ve been grateful to discover a practice that encourages me to keep things simple and just move. This space continually provides a safe environment to get out of my mind and into my body. The emphasis on a feeling vs. a physical burn is what keeps me going back. 

Nowadays when my body enters fight or flight, I’ve learned to bring myself back into the present moment by laying my hand on my chest. This was something that brought me so much comfort with a previous partner; something that I realized I could easily do for myself. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the close friendship I have built with someone whose love language is physical touch. Evidently, this is a love language that has found its way to the bottom of my own list. I am forever grateful to have someone who provides me with a safe space to explore touch. It can often be as simple as a hug, yet on the darker days, she never fails to remind me of just how far I have come

This process of shifting from avoidance to awareness has evidently led me through some uncharted waters. By exploring my triggers, I have knowingly relinquished complete control over the outcome and as a trauma survivor, that is utterly terrifying. 

When triggered in the past, I have been filled with a deep sense of shame. There have been many moments where I’ve wanted to give up all together; moments where any resemblance of hope felt so far away. As of late, I have been trying to lean into self-compassion. Instead of shaming myself, I have replaced that sense of shame with acknowledgement.

I am acknowledging myself for being scared and doing it anyway; because now I know, that isn’t shameful, if anything, it’s incredibly brave.