Debating Whether to Disclose Your Trauma? Read This First

"Truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for." (Bob Marley)

Ask survivors if talking about their trauma was a good idea and most will tell you: don’t.

Listen to survivors recounting their experiences of trusting others with their most painful memories and you will hear a steady stream of cautionary tales. Family members denying facts and cutting off ties. Mental health professionals invoking personality disorders and pathologizing natural defense mechanisms. Friends and lovers weaponizing their new insights. Co-workers smelling blood in the water and an opportunity to take out competition, and managers who start thinking of survivors in terms of liabilities instead of potential.

Revealing a history of abuse or a CPTSD diagnosis represents a significant risk in a world that’s unprepared for, and uncomfortable with, our stories.

Yet sometimes, that conversation - costly and uncomfortable as it may be - has to take place.

I took my first leap of faith and spoke about my difficult circumstances with my two best friends in college. After years of arduous masking, things at home started going from bad to worse, fast. As I result, I had two fresh reasons for concern: the prospect of my pretense becoming untenable sooner rather than later, and the sense of betrayal my friends would feel once the bucketload of shit I had been tap dancing in front of all along finally spilled. I figured the least I owed them was a heads up. Out of energy and options I asked with shaky knees that we turn our next study session (typically involving too many snacks, an inordinate amount of chatter about everything but school and several episodes of Sex And The City, begrudgingly followed by a couple of hours of actual study) into a meeting.

There’s something that I need to tell you.

When we got together my friends sat me down, handed me a glass of wine and listened. Once I finished talking one of them exhaled with relief. “I was so worried you were going to tell us you had cancer.“ They asked a few questions, we talked about it for a bit and then we went back to our coursework.

That evening I learned that some people can see all the bad and ugly in your life and keep walking alongside you unfazed.

I wish I could tell you that all my confessions about the off-the-rails things in my life were as straightforward or effective, but that’s not what happened.

There are conversations that make or break relationships. Beware that bringing up the dark chapters of your story represents one of them.

About a year or so after my CPTSD diagnosis, I felt something shift. The therapy and avid research were beginning to bear fruit. I was starting to piece together symptoms that had made no sense before. Self-criticism and self-punishment were being replaced by a sense of compassion for that little girl once trapped in impossible situations and admiration for the resilience that came of it. Above all I felt elated by the miracle of my escape and upturn under such a big shadow.

It wasn’t me. It was them.

That transition point, when the old narrative was unraveling and a new one was emerging, was the moment I wanted most to talk to others about what I had lived through. I needed to corroborate, affirm, to feel witnessed and absolved.

That profound shift in perspective can be confusing, enraging, crushing, and exhilarating at the same time. It is a day-to-day metamorphosis that begs to be lived with others.

There are moments in life when we need to be together, uncensored. That may be as simple as breathing to some, but not to survivors. The cost of being ourselves may be steep, but we can’t window dress unremittingly either. Even when we’re not seeking to share our history, life puts us in situations where full disclosure is a very tempting option.

Trauma disclosure is not a one-time event, but a choice we need to make again and again through the course of our lives.

To be, or not to be transparent, that is the question

So when is bringing up a difficult past a good idea, and what’s the ‘right’ way of talking about it? If there’s a straightforward answer to that question, I don’t have it. What I do have is a list of pros and cons that I turn to whenever the urge to share washes over me.

The appeal of sharing

• Honouring the truth. Sure, life’s a bit more complicated than just this is who I am and the world needs to deal with it but there is something to that for survivors to consider.

• Connecting with other human beings. Not in a desperate-for-attention way but through moments of shared humanity. Stories of struggle, victories and learnings have been the foundation of relationships and communities since time immemorial.

• Finding out exactly where you stand with key people in your life. Can your prospective life partner deal with who you are and why? Best to have an answer before the mortgage and the kids, if you can.

• Some people will admire your courage and might be inspired by your story.

• We need to talk about trauma more often and more publicly so attitudes can change, prevalence is reduced and healing becomes more accessible.

The dangers of sharing

• Ignorance and stigma. Stand as a survivor and you run the risk of people thinking you’re unstable, unreliable, incapable, needy.

• Sharing too much, too quickly or at the wrong time. Our stories can be quite long and intense. Titrating what we say, choosing our timing and words is essential to the way our story lands, but that’s a tall order when emotions run high. Practice and have a few short sentences ready - you never know when you might need them.

• Not liking the (first) reaction you get, even when your delivery was appropriate. Lots of people won’t know what to say or do with our stories. They may withdraw or have a hard time finding the right tone or words. Some of them will need our help to learn how to respond effectively.

  There’s also the potential of the conversation going off tracks completely - don’t be surprised if you become pressed for graphic details or the mic gets stolen and you become the one doing the listening instead.

• Your story means more to you than to anyone else. You’re having an epiphany but it is just another Wednesday for everyone else. Our stories require a great deal of time, attention and empathy, all of which are usually in short supply.

• Loss of privacy and control. Once out in the world your story starts living a life of its own. Expect a level of judgment, filtering and indiscretion.

• Re-traumatization by reiteration.

That’s what works for me, what about you? How do you make the decision whether to speak up, or stay silent, when it comes to trauma? Have you had any positive experiences disclosing a difficult past, and is there a good recipe for talking about trauma? As usual, I would love to learn from you.

Thanks for tuning in,

Adina

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