Five words you should never say to yourself

From the time I was hit head-on until now, I have experienced things I never knew existed. I had no prior history of mental health struggles, and therefore no knowledge of what they looked like or felt like. When seemingly crazy things happened inside my own head, I did not know what I was looking at, where they were coming from and why, and most importantly to me, how to deal with them.

I remember saying many times every day to myself,

What is wrong with me?

When I became more emotional than I’d ever been, crying at every little thought or getting angry at inconsequential things—even inanimate objects—I wondered, “What is wrong with me?”

When I was suddenly terrified of spiders and walked through my house scanning the floor and walls and the brick around the fireplace where they might be hiding, I asked myself, “What is wrong with me?”

When I opened every cabinet and closet carefully, standing back lest some bug or rodent come jumping out, I wondered, “What is wrong with me?”

When every car that came near me on the road, pulled up to a stop sign at the road I was driving on, came around a curve or down an entrance ramp startled me and made me gasp and shake for miles afterward, I thought, “What is wrong with me?”

I am not exaggerating when I say I asked this question many times every day. I asked myself, I asked Ben, I asked doctors and therapists and psychologists and friends. It became the focus of my whole life for three very long years: what is wrong with me?

No one was able to give me a definitive answer. The medical doctor answered that he couldn’t find anything wrong with me. Two different therapists tried to treat me with EMDR therapy, assuring me it would cure me of all my newly acquired issues, but neither was any help and they never explained exactly what happened in my brain when I was hit.

The psychologist who did neurofeedback told me my issues were caused by too many and too high brain waves in certain parts of my brain, and too few and too small in other parts. In other words, some parts of my brain were too active and some parts were too quiet. This made the most sense to me and I could actually see what he was saying on the print-out of my brain waves after a qEEG. But many months of neurofeedback that was supposed to fix all of this did not help at all, and it wasn’t fun going through it. I ended up in the same place I started: wondering what was wrong with me.

Then we moved to Virginia and I found Ellie, my final therapist. I was in despair that I had sunk to this perceived low—needing a therapist at all. As a Christian, the idea of going to therapy was offensive to me, like I wasn’t praying enough, reading the Bible enough, or wasn’t spiritual enough. I did not want to be deceived into believing a bunch of what I thought of as “psychobabble” because of the vulnerability of my brain. So I took Ben to the first visit with me, and we were both convinced Ellie was the right person. She shares my faith, and that did a lot to put me at ease. She explained a lot about what happened in my brain when I saw a car coming at me and knew I was going to be hit.

The first thing she did was recommend I read the book The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk.

I remember lying in bed at night reading and suddenly I would sit up and say to Ben, “This is what I’ve been saying! This is what’s going on in my brain! It’s not just me! This is really a thing that happens after trauma!”

Little by little, the weight of the world began to lift. I learned that there were names for all the “issues” I was experiencing and that they were normal brain reactions to a traumatic event. I learned that countless other trauma survivors experienced the same things. I wasn’t alone.

I learned I wasn’t crazy, wasn’t losing my mind, wasn’t coming undone. I learned there was nothing wrong with me, but that my brain was doing exactly what it was designed to do: it was working to keep me safe in what it perceived were unsafe environments. My brain was normal. It was functioning perfectly.

Once I was convinced of this, the process of retraining my brain began. Now that I understood the basic theory behind it, EMDR therapy became a lot more helpful. Ellie taught me how to think through difficulties, how to name a feeling and just feel it, then how to look for the thought behind it and ask whether or not that thought was true or helpful.

When they say therapy is hard work, they are not kidding. It has been some of the hardest work I’ve ever done, and I don’t think it will ever be over. I had weekly visits with Ellie for a year, and I am currently not going at all. But I continue to read and learn about the brain’s response to trauma, and I remind myself every day that there is nothing wrong with me.

That doesn’t mean the question doesn’t ever come flying out of my mouth in frustration, but when it does I remind myself that I am okay and my brain is functioning like it’s supposed to. I remind myself to ask about the feeling I am struggling with and, more importantly, the thought behind it.

God doesn’t tell us how to feel, but he does tell us how to think in Philippians 4:

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

The biggest reason I get stuck on asking what is wrong with me is that I feel out of control, and who wants to feel like that? Nobody, that’s who. But if I focus on my thoughts and whether or not they are true or helpful, it gives me a measure of control and that’s what I need.

“What is wrong with me?” is not helpful. It is self-shaming and self-gaslighting and you need to notice every time you do it. It is not making you a better person or improving your mental health.

So next time you wonder, “What is wrong with me?” try this instead:

1. Give what you are feeling a name—sad, angry, frustrated, helpless, unsafe, etc.

2. Ask what is the thought that’s making you feel that way.

3. Determine if the thought is true, or helpful, or has any virtue.

4. If it isn’t or doesn’t, figure out how to change the thought to bring it in line with reality. Don’t expect this to be fast or easy. It takes time and lots of practice. It’s work, but it’s worth it. Find a quiet place alone to do this, and take it slow.
   

If you haven’t read The Body Keeps the Score, I cannot recommend it highly enough. It has been instrumental in helping me understand what my brain is doing and why.

A few other books I recommend to help with trauma recovery:

The Power of Writing It Down, by Allison Fallon
Finding Quiet, by JP Moreland
How to Do the Work, by Nicole LePera

It’s important that you know you are not alone. Literally every person who has ever suffered trauma also suffers from the effects of it. Trauma is not a one-time event; it is a lifetime of consequences.

But you don’t have to be a helpless victim. You can do the work of healing and become better than you were before.

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