Treats, Trauma, and Trust – Are You Even Real?

And now we have arrived at the “trauma” section of the EP! As I mentioned in the overview, the next two tracks are “trauma responses”—that is, my own musical improv responses to reading books about trauma. Since beginning my music therapy studies in the past year and a half, I’ve been reading and learning about lots of different kinds of trauma. The book that inspired “Are You Even Real?” was The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma, by Bessel van der Kolk. This book had been on my radar for quite a while, perhaps even a few years, before I finally purchased the paperback version and audiobook.

This book is INTENSE. As an HSP, I am very much not a fan of the horror genre in general, and while this book does not focus entirely on the real, horrific experiences that people have experienced, it definitely goes into quite graphic detail about some of those terrifying experiences. I always read (or listened) to this book in the middle of the day; I never started or ended my day with it. Though it was painful to read, I felt that it was important for me to learn, because of the kind of work I intend to go into. And fortunately, the latter half of the book is filled with more uplifting anecdotes, and actionable advice as to what we can DO about the trauma that is held within our bodies. The resilience I read about in these brave humans who worked to heal their trauma moved me just about as much as reading about the traumatic experiences themselves.

One of the most striking parts of this book for me was when the author described how some people who have been deeply traumatized lose access to their bodies while in intensely happy or pleasurable experiences. The author went into how they can be so disconnected from all strong emotions, and begin to question their reality when in an experience that otherwise would have been greatly enjoyable.

I was acutely reminded of a guy I used to be with, who would sometimes seemingly jokingly ask me, “Are you even real?” while we were in the throes of passion. After reading the passage in that book, I sat down at my keyboard and improvised a piece that kept going back and forth between major and minor, in a purposely confusing and unsettling way. I made very few edits to the original improvisation.

I always thought it was strange that the guy I was dating questioned whether or not I was “even real”, but with what I know now about trauma, I realized just how traumatized he was. I also realized that I could feel his trauma when we first met, and especially when we first touched. I noticed myself attracting men who were emotionally unavailable and found myself subconsciously wanting to “save” them. I ended things with this guy because of the literal pain in my body that I felt was undoubtedly connected to him. Sure enough, a few days after I said goodbye to him for the last time, the pain in my neck and shoulders disappeared completely.

In the months after that break-up, I went even deeper into my healing journey. I did some somatic therapy, and dug into my own childhood trauma and core wounds, guided by a couple of different coaches and mentors. I truly, painfully examined the patterns in the types of men I had been connecting romantically with. When I began dating again, I stayed aware of my body’s reactions to everyone I was meeting, and even if nothing seemed wrong from a logical standpoint, if my body seemed to say “no” to the man in front of me, I listened to that and didn’t continue seeing him.

We’re conditioned to be excited by butterflies in our stomachs, and rampant, obsessive thoughts about the object of our affections. But what if those are actually trauma responses? What if our nervous systems are activated by the knowing within our bodies that these people have the same characteristics of our emotionally unavailable fathers and/or mothers, and will hurt us in the same ways that our parents did? What if the “attraction” we feel is actually a subconscious craving to play out the same painful scenarios from our childhoods, in a well-intentioned but ultimately misguided and doomed attempt to heal the deep wounds within ourselves?

What if instead of calling our exes jerks, we took compassionate accountability for the ways that we ourselves played into the relationship dynamic, putting up with or enabling their behavior, and examine how we may have attracted them from a place of unknowing lack or hurt? And when we look for love again, what if we checked in with our bodies in a quiet moment, and took note of the state of our nervous systems? Instead of chasing the “excitement” and addictive desire to prove ourselves, what if we nourish connections that make us feel safe, with people who genuinely wish to see and hear us, and maybe even seem “boring” at times because in their presence, our nervous systems are actually calm?

What if?