Pause, don’t panic
In 2nd grade, I had a bad habit of reading ahead.
In class, we frequently read aloud together, one paragraph per student. As we snaked up and down the desks, we had the potential to read more than one time, until the passage was complete.
Some kids read slower and struggled with sounding out words; We were 7 and 8 years old, after all. The delay in momentum was frustrating, and my brain shifted to default mode. My eyes simply kept reading while the class was paused somewhere in its progress.
When the rotation reached me, I was surprised to find I’d wandered. I had no idea where we were as I was too far ahead. My breath caught in my throat, my face burned hot, and my stomach dropped.
The silence of my "not reading" interrupted the flow, and our teacher spoke up, using a firm voice to fill the gap.
"Do you know where we are? You're supposed to be paying attention and following along with the class," she said.
I looked down over the pages, harried with fret.
"Stand up!" she cut to the chase.
Being told to stand at one's desk was a common punishment in this class. Kids talking during class often had to stand, as did kids who forgot their homework. The class continued reading as I stood for what felt like an hour, disappointed in myself for doing the wrong thing.
When it happened again on another day, the punishment was more significant for the repeat offense. In addition to standing, I would also not be allowed to eat my "snack" with the rest of the class.
Lunch felt like eons from our morning reading period. How would I make it from morning reading to lunchtime?
Snack time came somewhere around 10:15 a.m., and everyone took out their baggies and began munching. I pretended not to watch the other kids eat even though I could see them from the corner of my eyes, and they tried to make their eating as inconspicuous as possible for my benefit.
After a while, I felt pukey and light-headed, and I asked to go to the bathroom because my stomach hurt. I was hungry, and lunchtime was nearly 2 hours away.
Wearing a cotton dress with white bobby socks, I sat on the bathroom floor for a few minutes amid the powder blue tile and matching stall doors, waiting out snack time.
When the bathroom door swung open, the student-teacher, Miss Zane, snuck in. She was a college student in her late teens or early 20s and wore her long brown hair permed, with sides up, and poofy, curled bangs.
Miss Zane crouched beside me, pulled something out of her cardigan pocket, and said, "Don't tell, okay?"
Then, she handed me a half-stack of Girl Scout Thin Mints, the plastic sleeve twisted at the top.
My eyes lit up – food! I looked at her, wiped my eyes, and said, "Thank you." She nodded and snuck out of the bathroom while I stayed on the floor, eating Thin Mints.
When the cookies were gone, I returned to class and took my seat. Miss Zane and I made eye contact, remaining emotionless like undercover agents. It was a beautiful moment of kindness.
"I stopped breathing."
You may remember in my post "Part 2: Bloom Where You Are Planted," I told a story about a student who was yelled at by a teacher. Getting in trouble for reading ahead in 2nd grade came before the 5th-grade incident (obviously).
An irrational fear of "being in trouble" followed me through time and space – from early childhood to (and beyond) 7th-grade volleyball when I was yelled at by the coach and ran laps because I forgot my hoodie overnight in the locker room.
I didn't have the same resilience as other athletes to "take it," for some reason, and I wore my shame as a shroud, shrinking inside myself. Not all kids are emotionally equipped to handle getting yelled at or sustain strange punishments like not being allowed to eat. Volleyball was the only sport I ever quit.
The purpose of sharing all this is to illustrate the "why" behind our actions later in life.
People are naturally good, right? We want to succeed and be kind, patient, and truthful. So, what would cause us to be anything other than that?
It was Spring 2001 at Bradley University; I was 20 years old and, for all argument's sake – an adult. I was taking a Communications course called Basic Reporting, essentially an introduction to journalism. Because I was on the high school newspaper, having served as Sports Editor, News Editor, and then being selected for Editor-in-Chief my senior year, I was confident in my passion for this class and my ability to do the work well.
For the first several weeks, we had a substitute teacher because our scheduled professor was out of the country. Our sub was laid back and seemed to enjoy our class; he asked us to call him by his first name.
We were given an assignment to write an article using the inverted pyramid model – which means to write the most crucial information first, at the top, and then include the less important information toward the bottom (just in case editors have to make a cut to size or length before publishing).
I recall someone asking if we needed to include interviews for the assignment.
I don't know what other students heard; I only know that I understood it as though it was up to us – do interviews or don't do interviews, whatever we want to do. (I realize now that "do or don't do" doesn't also mean "or make them up.”)
From point A to point B(usted)
I wrote a great article. I added some made-up quotes that supported the model and made the piece more interesting. I turned the assignment in (feeling good about it, thank you very much).
The following week or so, our sub had not returned, and our scheduled professor, Dr. Olatunji Dare, a professional, published journalist (who later became Professor Emeritus), was in the classroom awaiting our arrival. He was back from his travels, and it was our first time meeting him.
Dr. Dare was nothing short of inspiring. Awestruck at his experience in journalism, as well as the quality and depth of his writing, we were learning from one of the best, and every class was an adrenaline rush.
Sometime later, Dr. Dare walked around the room handing back our homework, including the article that was assigned before his return. When he called my name, I raised my hand. He didn't bring me the paper right away, though. Instead, he looked at me for a moment.
From across the room, he asked, "Did you call the office and speak to this person?"
My danger radar spiked, and the panic, heat, and shortness of breath took over. The pit in my stomach hurled, and that fear of being in trouble surfaced.
No, I didn't speak to anyone. I made the quotes up; I thought it was okay for practice...
Stepping outside the situation, Dr. Dare asked me an appropriate question and quite kindly, as a matter of fact. The pattern of fearing being in trouble put me in survival mode (often referred to as fight or flight).
Some affirmative response came out – either a higher-pitched mm-hmm or a nod yes – either way, a lie. My face was hot.
Dr. Dare asked the same question again, using different words this time. The class looked back at me, awaiting my response.
I confirmed the original affirmative.
He nodded and looked down, disappointed. Dr. Dare was giving me a chance to be truthful twice now.
You see, he had called the office I cited in my article, and they said they had not been interviewed.
Reaching the truth through kindness
Dr. Dare was practicing being trauma-informed before its time. He intuitively (or through experience, perhaps) noticed something was off with me.
Instead of threatening me, yelling at me, and kicking me out of class, he did something else.
He gave me a third chance.
Is it possible you didn't know how to respond when I asked you the question, and so you didn't tell me the truth?
Yes, I breathed, relieved from the release of pressure.
Okay, he nodded. I apologized in the window of this moment, and Dr. Dare accepted, handing me the paper.
From where I sit today (after some therapy, healing certifications, and my own self-searching), this moment (among others) haunts me.
I now understand that my choice to lie in the moment, though outside of my moral character, was a trauma response I constructed to evade the dread of "being in trouble."
I could have easily said: No sir, I didn't interview anyone. I thought this was practice.
Why didn't I (couldn't I) say that?! The worst-case scenario would have been… getting a bad grade? Redoing the assignment?
Digging deeper, I looked back over other times I reacted outside my moral compass across situations, analyzing how the feelings in the moment resulted in actions I wouldn't intentionally choose had I more time to reflect.
I was a good person at my core, right? Good people don't lie or hide or manipulate to avoid trouble, do they?
When my body's danger radar is on alert, I learned to ask myself: When was the first time I felt this way (i.e., pit in my stomach, hot face, short breath)?
Tracing the body's reaction to past memories helps us understand our current-day motives and survival mechanisms so that we can respond more appropriately and in line with our values.
In the book The Body Keeps the Score, author Bessel van der Kolk, MD, explains that while our mind may forget or push down traumatic situations, our bodies remember.
We know, thanks to Dr. Stephen Porges' Polyvagal Theory, that 80% of what we think or feel is driven by the vagal nerve from the body's physical response to a situation it remembers. This means something outside your consciousness can trigger you to react in a certain way – like not being honest if you think you'll get in trouble.
Tracking these moments back to the source is called Shadow Work. For me, the fear of being in trouble started very young and was reaffirmed in various situations with different players over time.
Stephanie Foo, author of What My Bones Know, speaks in her memoir about C-PTSD, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. When the same type of trauma occurs over and over again, you begin to learn in your bones that certain danger is real. Your body sets out to protect you by feeding defensive thoughts and emotions, which you then act out.
The difference of taking a beat
Remembering to pause (not panic) became a tool I use regularly to check over my vitals. I'm not on fire. The kids are safe. There is no real danger.
Then, I have the wherewithal to approach the situation logically and rationally – exhibiting honesty, patience, and kindness. I can respond from my heart instead of what my brain thinks will save me from immediate (non-existent) peril.
I wish I had the "Pause (Don't Panic)" mantra in Dr. Dare's class. I would have taken that beat and told the truth without guilt, shame, or panic.
When you sense the lurch to react (the instinct to hide, fight, defend, deflect, or jump), just pause. In this immediate moment: Have your values changed? Not likely. Does how you want to protect yourself align with your values?
Don't be afraid to dig into the shadows of that moment: When did you first remember feeling that way in your body or emotions? What was happening? Where were you, and how old? Is there a common thread that triggers your body's response and your mind's reactive solution?
Identify the root, and then take the time and work to heal it. Forgive yourself for the unapologetic state of being human, and commit to doing a little better every day.
On being Trauma-Informed
While trauma studies began in the 1870s, the term "trauma-informed" was introduced by Maxine Harris and Roger D. Fallot in Spring 2001 (the same semester I took Dr. Dare's class).
With much more research available on trauma and its long-term effects on physical health and mental wellness, we are experiencing a generation of adults working hard to identify their triggers, seeking to understand adverse reactions, and aiming to heal from maladaptive coping mechanisms to live happier, healthier lives. Opportunities to become trauma-informed occur in schools, hospitals, and the workplace. Some colleges are offering Certificates and Master's Degrees in Trauma-Informed Leadership.
In 2023, going to counseling, speaking to a therapist, and/or having prescription medication to assist the regulation process no longer exists behind a veil of shame as it did for previous generations. In fact, the stigma around mental wellness seems to have shifted from "the unhealthy thing we don't talk about" to not talking about it being unhealthy.
To be trauma-informed is also to avoid comparing one person's trauma to another's. Some of my first clients in the Root to Rise program shared that they are grateful to not have "big T" trauma but do recognize the "little t" experiences they did have. They might classify what's happening in the Gaza Strip and Israel as "big T" trauma – and traumatic it is!
Remember not to discount your or others' experiences based on a "who had it worse" scale. You may not have been raped or beaten or starved, but you have experienced some tough times that affected who you are today. Your experiences matter in the realm of your life's path. And you matter, too.
What is trauma?
Dr. Gabor Mate describes trauma as not what happened to you (i.e., house fire, physical abuse) but what happens inside you because of what happened to you (i.e., fear, anxiety, addiction). Trauma looks different for everyone – and what is traumatic for one person may not be for another.
Not being able to label everyone with a standard scale is what makes understanding trauma responses in people challenging to tolerate. Where I might freeze, the woman next to me might fight.
Where does all this leave parents of kids coming up today?
If we adults seek to understand how various circumstances affect us today, how can we help children be better equipped for their tomorrow?
In addition to understanding what trauma is (and is not), Dr. Robin Gurwitch at Duke University Medical Center and the Center for Child & Family Health explains that Trauma-Informed Parenting requires parents to:
Understand the impact of trauma
Recognize the signs and symptoms of trauma
Respond in a way that supports that child without further traumatization
Understand the impact of the child's trauma on their personal self-care and needs
Dr. Gurwitch compares in her research the assumption that poor behavior was the "problem" parents face with their children vs what current research shows – that trauma responses may be the issue instead.
Gen Xers, Generation Y (Millennials), and early Gen Z are the parents of today's kids and teens. These are the generations embracing mental wellness, equitable inclusion, neuro-diversity, and self-care practices. We are doing it for ourselves – but are we doing it (enough or correctly) for our kids?
Mental wellness education begins at home
While licensed counseling is highly recommended, and our schools are doing their best to integrate these topics in health classes and special events for parents, it is up to us to make sure our kids (the world's future politicians, business owners, healthcare workers, and teachers) understand not only their own mental wellness needs but also those of their peers and partners. Everyone will benefit from a ground-up paradigm shift that enables knowledge for parents and children alike, complete with valuable tactics and modalities to support us during the hills and valleys of life.
To understand this generation of children and what they will go through, we first must understand ourselves. Just like you need to put your own oxygen mask on first before you can help your child – it all starts "at home" (aka within you).
The book I'm publishing scheduled for March 2024, When Leaf Let Go, is just the first of many I'll have coming to support parents and kids in discussing these essential topics through storytelling.
We as parents must be open to the inevitable "storms" our kids will face and help them grow and learn through them with today's knowledge in our corner.
[Author’s note: Dr. Dare reviewed and approved the use of this story and Dr. Gurwich recommends exploring resources at the National Child Traumatic Stress Network at www.nctsn.org]
©2023 Angie Marie Carlson. All rights reserved.
Storytelling explores topics to nurture growth, ignite joy, and promote acceptance. Each day is full of chances. Errors and double plays happen in the same inning, and just like in life, one moment doesn't make us bad, and the other moment doesn't make us good. We are the beautiful whole — learning, growing, trying, failing, and succeeding over and over again.
