Why my foot is twitching

We have a lot going on in life right now, and lately I’ve been pretty easily overwhelmed. A few days ago my right foot started twitching a little and I want to explain why.

(Forgive me if you read about this on my last blog which is now gone. I'm trying to re-create some of the content for personal reasons.)

Three years ago I was hit head-on. In addition to losing what was then my favorite car ever, it took two full years and two handfuls of professionals to finally figure out that most of my resulting issues were not caused by concussions, as everyone (including me) had assumed, but by trauma.

At the time, I didn't even know what trauma was. In my mind that was a term reserved for people who endured years of child abuse or survived catastrophic accidents. Since I walked away from mine, I didn’t think it applied to me.

I've since learned that trauma is defined as anything that happens too fast, too much, or too big for our brain to process in the moment. It can be a one-time thing or an ongoing experience. Trauma includes physical or mental/emotional abuse, sexual abuse, growing up with an alcoholic parent or a parent who depends on you to keep stability in the home, accidents, and even watching someone else be badly injured. Combat veterans are often victims of trauma because of what they see. I read one story of a man who struggled with his mental health and finally, in counseling as an adult, realized he had been traumatized when his parents let him watch Terminator as a 6-year-old. People can be traumatized by the loss of a close loved one or even a pet.

Because traumas are not processed by the brain, the brain thinks the trauma is still happening right now. The trauma is still in the present. People who have experienced trauma perceive danger where there is none, and sometimes don't perceive danger where they should. Their nervous systems are re-wired.

The problems caused by trauma are as varied as the people who experience them. My symptoms are different from your symptoms. Even now, I am sometimes surprised at the issues that pop up and the circumstances in which I see them.

Last year we flew from Virginia to Florida for a ministry event. I've flown since my accident, and while I've definitely had anxiety that never bothered me before the accident, I was always able to control it. But on the flight from Richmond to Atlanta, I learned a new thing about trauma.

Our approach into Atlanta was bumpy. It was windy, there was turbulence, [insert all the flying terms]. My anxiety was high as I felt the plane doing things I'd never felt before. Ben was trying to distract me by explaining what I was feeling: pitch (where the plane seesaws front-to-back), roll (where it literally rolls side-to-side), and yaw (where it feels like the plane is spinning back and forth horizontally). I'm sure I was squeezing the blood out of his hand with my tight grip. When we finally hit the tarmac, the panic hit me and I gasped (loudly—sorry to the woman sitting in front of us) and then sobbed for a minute trying to catch my breath.

Before this, I had read the book The Body Keeps the Score in which the author, Bessel van der Kolk, explains that trauma is not just stored in the brain; it is stored in the body. But I didn't really understand what that meant until that moment. In the out-of-control, high-anxiety situation, my body took over. It gasped, it sobbed, it tried to hyperventilate, and there was nothing my brain could do to stop it. I could look around and see that no one else was panicking, but rational thinking didn't matter. It was my body's reaction to a high-stress situation I could not control.

Then on the way home from Florida, our approach to Richmond was completely fogged in. Again the ride was bumpy, but I thought it was because we were still a mile in the air, flying through dense clouds. When the plane touched down with a hard jolt and audible bang, my body took over again and I experienced the worst panic attack of my life. I gasped, sobbed, and couldn't speak until we got to the gate. I found myself shaking my hands in front of me, like a child with autism stimming (the brain's protective response to over-stimulation). I was aware of all that was happening but powerless to control any of it. Again, my body took over. It was more than an hour before my body was able to feel calm again.

So what's the point of these stories? I want you to know that trauma is not in a person's head. It's not imagined or drummed up or being over-emotional, and the person is not making a mountain out of a molehill. Trauma is in the BODY. It is the body's response to anything that feels overwhelming, whether it reminds the person of the causative event or not.

In the case of the last flight, I think there were two factors that led to my extreme panic: first, that my anxiety was high to begin with and I thought we were still a mile up in the air. I had no idea we were about to touch down, so when it happened, it caught me off guard. Second, the hard jolt and loud bang caused a flashback to my accident. My brain literally thought the accident was happening again and my body reacted just like it did during the actual event. Hence, panic and stimming.

I tell my story because, before my car accident, I had no idea what trauma was. I was guilty of thinking people just needed to get a grip, get it together, pray more, take some deep breaths. I want you to know what it is.

One time in therapy I noticed my right foot jerking a little and realized it felt like it was trying to come off the gas pedal and hit the brake. This happens whenever my stress level gets high because my body remembers what it tried to do right before I got hit. My BODY remembers and takes over.

People who live with past trauma, even those who are in perfectly safe places now, will always be affected by it. Trauma changes the physical brain—it deactivates the rational left brain and activates the re-active right brain, and these changes don’t go away. The person with trauma can't just get over it and move on. They need our grace and understanding. I need your grace and understanding.

Last May I flew to Florida by myself for a girls' weekend before Leah's wedding. I was anxious as I always am on a plane now, but there was a lovely girl, maybe a third of my age, sitting next to me. As we touched down she could see I was struggling and she reached over and gently put her hand on my arm. If we hadn't been in such tight quarters I probably would have hugged her. I'll never forget that small act of kindness.

I don’t know if she knew anything about trauma, but she was full of compassion that spilled over into her actions. Let's all strive to be like that.

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