Do you miss me talking about domestic violence when I keep talking about my scooter?
This summer, I was at a conference put on by the Colorado Coalition Against Domestic Violence. (As opposed to a coalition FOR domestic violence?) One of the keynote speakers talked about secondary trauma, the trauma we as workers feel as observers, as caretakers, as story-receivers of the trauma of other people. She asked us at one point to think about the ways in which we are different since beginning our work with survivors of domestic violence. How are we different? How have our thought patterns, our choices, our preferences, our reactions, changed since we began this work. And I thought, “I could make a list.”
It’s true. I could rattle off the things about me that have shifted since we started actively doing work around the challenges these survivors face. I’ve said for a while that the super-power I possess is the ability to relate DV and trauma to just about anything. We joked, my coworkers and I at the conference, that the workshop we really needed to create and attend is one on how not to be Debbie Downer at parties. Because I can start talking about DV and trauma in about any context you give me. It’s easy for me. And sometimes I forget that other people don’t always want to talk about traumatic events all the time. It’s not that I’m jaded and that it doesn’t impact me. It’s actually the opposite- it impacts me enough that it changes how I do things. I’ve never been one to have many nightmares, and that’s still true. And I don’t know what my nightmares used to be about. But the only ones that stay with me anymore, the few times a year when I have them, are about abusive relationships. The few times in the past couple years when I’ve woken up terrified, it’s always been about abusive relationships. Secondary trauma means that I don’t like the same kinds of books and movies anymore. In theory, my favorite books are still those young adult novels with really tough situations facing the characters. And in theory, I still prefer drama movies over most any others. But anymore, I don’t read as many of those tough YA novels, and I can’t watch dramatic movies. I have less tolerance than ever for violence in movies. And even dramas, I just can’t watch them. I can’t come home from work, even easy, fun days where the kids and I make slime and try to piece together ideas for Halloween costumes, and then go watch a tear-jerker or any kind of intense movie. Joe and I were deciding tonight between watching “The House of Sand and Fog” and “Dave.” I’d never seen either, and I picked the first one. My thought process pretty much acknowledged that I would be equally happy with either, but since I was in a mood that didn’t feel on edge about tough things, then I should watch the more intense movie, because I’m usually not up for those- I should take advantage of it. And it was a good movie, but still more intense than I expected, and I’m okay and only a little rattled. But now I’m sitting here typing all about secondary trauma, so you can see where my mind went to.
The way my mind works around these issues isn’t any different since I started full-time hours a month ago. It’s changed over the past probably two years, since we really started to focus in on the impact of DV on our clients. We started actively seeking out information from families about these experiences, and we’ve worked to become a more informed staff, to provide trauma-informed services. I’m so glad we do it. But it’s changed the way I function in parts of my life outside of work, and I’m still adjusting to it.
We all got copies of the book written by that keynote speaker from the summer. Her book is called “Trauma Stewardship,” and the idea is that we are stewards, receivers, of the traumatic experiences of other people, and we need to be able to handle this trusted gift in the best way possible. No one owes us these stories, but we owe the givers the respect of them and their experiences, and we do no good if we receive these experiences and can’t handle them. We need to be able to take care of ourselves, or else we are no good for ourselves, our clients, or our many other relationships.
It’s true. I could rattle off the things about me that have shifted since we started actively doing work around the challenges these survivors face. I’ve said for a while that the super-power I possess is the ability to relate DV and trauma to just about anything. We joked, my coworkers and I at the conference, that the workshop we really needed to create and attend is one on how not to be Debbie Downer at parties. Because I can start talking about DV and trauma in about any context you give me. It’s easy for me. And sometimes I forget that other people don’t always want to talk about traumatic events all the time. It’s not that I’m jaded and that it doesn’t impact me. It’s actually the opposite- it impacts me enough that it changes how I do things. I’ve never been one to have many nightmares, and that’s still true. And I don’t know what my nightmares used to be about. But the only ones that stay with me anymore, the few times a year when I have them, are about abusive relationships. The few times in the past couple years when I’ve woken up terrified, it’s always been about abusive relationships. Secondary trauma means that I don’t like the same kinds of books and movies anymore. In theory, my favorite books are still those young adult novels with really tough situations facing the characters. And in theory, I still prefer drama movies over most any others. But anymore, I don’t read as many of those tough YA novels, and I can’t watch dramatic movies. I have less tolerance than ever for violence in movies. And even dramas, I just can’t watch them. I can’t come home from work, even easy, fun days where the kids and I make slime and try to piece together ideas for Halloween costumes, and then go watch a tear-jerker or any kind of intense movie. Joe and I were deciding tonight between watching “The House of Sand and Fog” and “Dave.” I’d never seen either, and I picked the first one. My thought process pretty much acknowledged that I would be equally happy with either, but since I was in a mood that didn’t feel on edge about tough things, then I should watch the more intense movie, because I’m usually not up for those- I should take advantage of it. And it was a good movie, but still more intense than I expected, and I’m okay and only a little rattled. But now I’m sitting here typing all about secondary trauma, so you can see where my mind went to.
The way my mind works around these issues isn’t any different since I started full-time hours a month ago. It’s changed over the past probably two years, since we really started to focus in on the impact of DV on our clients. We started actively seeking out information from families about these experiences, and we’ve worked to become a more informed staff, to provide trauma-informed services. I’m so glad we do it. But it’s changed the way I function in parts of my life outside of work, and I’m still adjusting to it.
We all got copies of the book written by that keynote speaker from the summer. Her book is called “Trauma Stewardship,” and the idea is that we are stewards, receivers, of the traumatic experiences of other people, and we need to be able to handle this trusted gift in the best way possible. No one owes us these stories, but we owe the givers the respect of them and their experiences, and we do no good if we receive these experiences and can’t handle them. We need to be able to take care of ourselves, or else we are no good for ourselves, our clients, or our many other relationships.