As adults when we think of memories that have influenced us we often think of the story itself – what we or others did, what was done to us or to others, or where we have been. When working with clients’ bodies and experiences, however, it soon becomes clear that our bodies remember in different way. Childhood trauma can be remembered in sounds and images more than in clearly formed stories in our minds. Our bodies remember color, flavors, and tastes in many moments much more than what actually happened.
It doesn’t surprise us when we recognize music we heard at a young age and a chain of memories comes with it, but we often don’t realize how many details children can perceive and be influenced by only through listening.
Lying in bed on my back with my eyes shut, breathing in and out, I am trying to allow the darkness to enter. I am trying to allow the night to take its place and dreams of another family where I could feel like I belonged to take over and color my reality with some additional joy. The lights are off, but their voices continue to sneak in without permission, without respect to the closed door.
They talk as if someone forced them to have this conversation. My mom’s voice is so familiar and I feel it more than I can hear it. I feel her effort of controlling the yelling that wants to burst out of her chest, I feel her fingers creating small fists to not allow her hands to push him away from her. My dad’s voice is relaxed, as if he doesn’t understand the drama, the issue, the topic.
I’m in bed, school tomorrow, and it all just doesn’t make any sense.
Their voices are quiet, I hear them talking of their concern that they would wake me up. Their whispers are louder than any music, TV or radio.
I turn on my side, push my ear strongly to the pillow trying to block the sounds and pull the blanket over my head. Their voices are still there, entering and penetrating my bedroom without mercy or consideration.
My breathing moves with what they say. They stop talking for a moment and my breath stops with them, anticipating the end of the conversation. Soon sleep will be welcomed in my bedroom which I pictured to be the castle of my nights. But they start again, it’s almost as if they entered into my head- two miniature parents, two puppets with the shapes, names and behavior of my mom and dad, only they are now IN ME talking, trying to convince each other how wrong the other is.
My dolls look at me with a fixed facial expression, witnessing the way two adults just ‘entered’ my head and refuse to go away. I look at the doll that sits on the right side of the shelf with her blue hair, long legs and big eyes. I quietly ask her for help. Her eyes focus on my face and for a fraction of a second I feel as if she actually understands me.
I try to push their voices away but they are everywhere now- in my ears, eyes and mouth, in my brain. They crawl on and around my body. My blanket doesn’t manage to block them away or protect me, rather it seems to have become a speaker that increases their volume without control.
I do not allow myself to think of standing up, opening the door, going out of the room, to the corridor, to the dining room, to the living room where they are, and scream at them to stop.
Closing my body, my thoughts, my ears and my eyes, so their voices will not enter, only that they are already inside, and I’m trying to escape something that is already in me. Finally I’m asleep.
The morning after. Everyone is smiling as if nothing happened. My head hurts and my stomach clenches in a tight knot.
“How did you sleep sweetie?” they ask.
This story was published in the 30th Anniversary Edition 2015 of the Porter Gulch Review. It was one of the first stories I wrote trying to capture some of the struggles and paths of my clients, many of whom have gone through emotional trauma or other difficult experiences in their childhoods. I wanted to show that past events that might have been as small as the one described above can continue to affect our lives and bodies years later.
The client I described in this story approached me because she was extremely sensitive to any noise around her while sleeping. Through our bodywork sessions she found out how it was connected to her childhood, which was a great breakthrough in our process. Not only was she then able to sleep better, it also became clear for her that her hyper sensitivity to times when she felt that people were not telling her the truth is something she has carried with her from a young age. She could then create her own personal development plan, learning to sleep much better and also to trust others around her. She started to openly talk to people and address situations where she felt that the words that were used and their real meaning were not the same. To her surprise and delight, people around her appreciated it very much and her conversations with others became more honest, real and with a depth she had never before dared to express in words.
