Trauma Brain: Where Everything Good is Bad and Everything Bad is Funny
My inner monologue has its own laugh track
Trauma Brain is the reason why I freak out every time I get something accepted for publication or when I get a new paid subscriber to my Substack. I’ve gained three new paid subscribers in the month of December. That’s a record. That’s unbelievable. And the Negative Nelly in my brain tells me that’s a problem.
Deep down, I fear that I’m not really any good at this and if the spotlight shines on me, people will be able to see that I’m a big fraud. Imposter syndrome. It’s real. Every time someone tells me they think I’m a good writer, I have the mixed emotions of happiness (Yay! They really like me!) and dread (They don’t really know me. Run away now, before they can get to know me and learn to hate me and everything I do.)
Obviously, I know my reaction is bullshit. I know intellectually that I’m at least a halfway decent writer because I’ve had dozens of things published. People have applauded at poetry readings, not the polite golf-clap, but real “Hell Yeah!” kind of clapping.
Every time I received a promotion at work, a part of me felt like I somehow conned these people into believing I was competent and skilled. Whenever I had an abusive asshole for a boss, I winced but put up with it because that same voice told me that he could see what a worthless person I really was, and I was lucky to have that job. Plus hanging onto a job meant I had health insurance to cover my defective heart. Another sign of my defectiveness as a human being.
Years and years of working on myself, seeing therapists, and reading every book I could find about growing up with trauma – now called Complex PTSD – helped me to heal my trauma wound. I don’t think trauma ever really heals, but it can get good and scabby, or even grow thick, ropey scars. That works for me. I’m covered in scars.
I no longer tighten up with fear when something good happens because I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I still double and triple check to be sure I’m not leaving myself open to any unforeseen problems. If all my planning fails to protect me, at least I have a sense of humor to protect me.
My trauma brain says, “Yeah, this is a pretty sucky situation but let me tell you what’s funny about it.” At some point in the future, I will likely recount the story with side-splitting laughter while people sit transfixed with horror upon hearing about it. That’s how you can tell fellow trauma brains. The people who can laugh along with your horror stories have their own damage. That’s when I know I’m among my people. You can laugh or you can cry, but laughing feels a whole lot better.
Recently I was chatting with a friend who is a trauma therapist, and we were discussing how some people can find humor in the worst situations. She’s not my therapist. We belong to the same writing group. She has a really informative YouTube channel, and I’ve learned a lot from watching her videos.
You can find her here: ASK THE THERAPIST - Elaine Belson LCSW
Elaine has a series on Imposter Syndrome, and she employs an ingenious method to combat the imposter monster. Be your own best friend. In this method, you hold an imaginary conversation between your best friend and yourself in your head.
Best friend, “I just got three new paid subscribers to my Substack this month. Isn’t that exciting?”
You, “Uh-oh. You know what that means. It’s only a matter of time before those people realize you’re a shitty writer. Then everyone else will know too. Soon the whole world will know you’re faking it.”
Seriously, you would never say that to your friend. Heck, you would most likely never say that to your worst enemy. So why would you say it to yourself?
This approach helps me to introduce perspective into my way of thinking, and I hope it helps you too. Check out Elaine’s YouTube and share it with someone you think might benefit from her tips. I know I have.
As the days grow shorter and the darkness seems to swallow most of the day, take a moment to show a little kindness to yourself. Remember to be your own best friend.
Whatever happens this month, hopefully you can laugh about it in the new year.
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I hear myself in those examples above...Self talk is not always kind.
This is so interesting. I would never have connected the dots to this being a trauma response, although it clearly is: the expectation that something bad is going to happen because something good happened and the lack of belief in yourself. I completely relate. It was less than two years ago that I began to see myself as a writer— not even a good writer, just a writer period. That was after many many years of working professionally as a writer. And, yes, the roots of that belief were formed from experiences in childhood and then compounded by years of comparison. It’s definitely something I’ve had to work on and probably will for the rest of my life. But I’ve also come to realize that as a now safe, secure adult, It’s up to me to push back against the inner narratives that have no basis in reality.