On The Other Side of Trauma

Guest Blog Written by Mariah McIntyre / Photography by Elisabeth Ashliegh Photography

Over two instances of fighting cancer in my twenty one years, I’ve learned a lot about my own personal trauma that’s stemmed from these challenging situations. Chemo is no joke, and after round two of fighting against this disease, I’d say it’s left me with more physical and emotional scars than my first go around. This isn’t to say that I haven’t gained strength and endurance for the things that we never expect life to throw at us; relapse for me was a reminder that as humans, we're never too good to be thrown into the wringer for a second time. It’s shown me that there’s always more to learn from a hard situation- always a new view point that can be taken on as the tables are slightly turned. In fact, I like to say that as time passes, the more I can personally see all the wisdom I’ve gained in a clearer light. It’s wisdom you have to work for, cry for, and mentally exhaust yourself for. But in the end, your armor is stronger and brighter, making the chinks in the metal that much less visible.

One of the biggest wisdom's I’ve learned from my relapse with cancer- and one that I was only dipping my toes into as a fourteen year old fighting the disease- is that trauma is both connective and isolating, all wrapped into one very complicated package. Let me elaborate on that thought:

Trauma Connects Us All in many ways that some of us don’t realize. What do a cancer patient, gun violence survivor, and a widowed parent all have in common? A sense that the whole world turns and moves on without them, while they attempt to rebuild a semblance of a ‘normal’ life. They all relearn everyday life with new and heavy challenges that at times, can feel as if they're too much for one person to bear. They mourn the loss of the life they lived before, the normal things they used to do that now feel like they take up all of their emotional and physical capacity. There’s the brave face, the need to show people that you’re strong and that you’re adapting to this new way of life to the best of your ability. But in contradiction, there’s the aching need to be heard and to be understood in the midst of so much change and isolation.
The trauma in these three cases has come about in completely different ways, and in three very different forms. The cancer patient is learning a new immune system and a new body that may never work the same ever again. The gun violence survivor is learning how to manage PTSD after the traumatic event and relearning how to function after suffering major trauma to the body.

The widowed parent is relearning everyday life without their other half there; relearning holidays and anniversaries that will never quite feel the same. Yet there’s a sense that these three people are struggling, growing, and surviving as one. 

Trauma Is Isolating in many ways that some of us don’t realize as well. This can come about when the trauma causes a disconnect between yourself and virtually everyone around you. It separates you from the life you feel you should be living- the one that almost everyone around you still is- and the life that you’ve been thrust into. It’s seen in the people who look at you differently, like you’re fragile or have a sign above your head that reads I'm not approachable. It’s in the ones you open up to, only to feel as if you’ve opened some rotting jar of stink that people are eager to close and get far away from. For many, this isolation is in the things that they just can’t do the same way that they used to. “I can’t have a child naturally because the chemo has affected my fertility.” Or “Celebrating my birthday isn’t the same without my significant other here to celebrate with me.” It can be hard for other people to grasp these losses if they haven’t experienced it for themselves. This can also lead to people and relatives unfairly placing timelines on your grief and trauma. In reality, these are things that we can live with for the rest of our lives; time only makes it easier to manage these wounds. The point that all of this leads me to is:

Trauma Doesn’t End After The Initial Traumatic Incident. The way I often like to convey this idea is to put it into perspective using a situation that many have been blessed to go through: Having a baby. The birth of a child is the gateway into a brand new chapter in the lives of a family. If it’s their first, they're learning how to be a new parent which includes the in’s and out’s of 24/7 child care. If it’s their second addition to the family, it’s learning how to navigate the care of two tiny humans instead of one. Each addition is a whole new ball game with its own challenges to be faced. 

That first month after a child is born can be filled with visitors, family members staying over to help with the transition, gifts, and meals being delivered to the new parent’s home. It’s a challenging and amazing introduction of new life, all guided by friends and family easing you into parenthood. But oftentimes, once that excitement has died down, you’re left navigating the transition period of raising a baby on your own. Things aren’t any easier then what they were in that first month- in fact, sometimes they can get harder as new challenges present themselves. Yet the visits are less frequent along with the texts asking how things are going, and the help that was there in the very beginning slowly becomes nowhere to be found.

This same concept can be applied to the cancer patient, the gun violence survivor, and the widowed parent. Once those first few months of initial shock, pain, and grief wear off for everyone else, it's all still there aching inside of the people who are navigating their trauma. In my own words, this process can be described as living in a bubble filled with constant noise. Once the initial trauma came to an end, that being the end of treatment for myself, the bubble pops, and the silence screams in both of my ears. The “How are you doing’s?”  become much less, the social media encouragement fades away, and you get the sense that the whole world is ready for you to move on.
This isn’t being said to shame people for getting on with their everyday lives, or trying to put out an expectation that people should forever be coddling those who have sustained trauma. It’s a PSA that we’re still here, and we’re still going through it long after the world has deemed that we should be fine.

As someone who has always made it a point to learn from my trials and to move past them as soon as I feel I’m ready, I’ve always had a particularly hard time navigating my way through the ‘silence’ stage of my journey. The words and encouragement of others do not define me and they don’t make me who I am. But as I’ve struggled through the after effects of treating cancer that still present themselves to me on a daily basis, I find it a great deal more lonely and challenging then when I was in the thick of chemo.

This leads me to suggest small ways that you can be there for someone who has endured trauma in their life. 

• Sending a “How are you?” text every once in a while.
• Comments of support if they publicly share how they’re doing or what they’re facing through social media or in a social setting.
• Offering a gentle and non judgemental listening ear.
• If you have the time, offer help to someone who is going through an elongated transitioning phase.
• Partake in activities together that are within this persons limits, that allow them to feel some sort of normalcy.
• Let them know that you’re still there for them, even if it’s been months or even a few years after their initial trauma.

Everyone carries trauma differently and not everyone needs the same things after suffering a traumatic event. Feel free to share your own tips if you're someone who has been longing for some kind of support after suffering a trauma. 

It’s important to remember that we're all guilty of forgetting to check in on the people in our lives who may be suffering through things some of us can’t fully understand. We’re humans trying to find our way through this crazy thing we call life. Even so, I hope that I can enlighten those who might read this using my own experiences and the stories I’ve heard from others.

The highest form
of knowledge
is empathy.”

- Bill Bullard

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Featured Gallery:
Mariah McIntyre at Something Old, Dayton, Ohio 
Photography: Elisabeth Ashliegh / Elisabeth Ashliegh Photography 
Guest Blog Beautifully Written by Mariah McIntyre