I went to town yesterday morning to take the truck in for repairs. I was really early, so I stopped at my favorite coffee shop and enjoyed a latte and a pastry and read my new Brenda Gantt cookbook. As I sat there, thinking about the upcoming garage visit, I became uncomfortable. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why. This happens sometimes and I have to cogitate on it for a while before it comes to me.

You’ve probably heard the term trigger used in a way that doesn’t relate to guns. It wasn’t all that many years ago that I learned about trauma triggers. I will quote from Wikipedia: A trauma trigger is a psychological stimulus that prompts involuntary recall of a previous traumatic experience. The stimulus itself need not be frightening or traumatic and may be only indirectly or superficially reminiscent of an earlier traumatic incident, such as a scent or a piece of clothing.

A couple of days ago, I had a little time to kill between appointments, so I went to my favorite antique shop. I was browsing around and I saw some really cool glasses, a couple of quilts, a neat crock. Then, I saw a doll and a very faint memory flickered through my mind like a bolt of lightning streaks across a distant sky and was gone. It was so far away. I couldn’t hear the thunder, but the storm was coming nonetheless.

I turned a corner and there was a little doll carriage…old fashioned, metal frame, white wheels. There was the lightning again…a little closer. I turned to look around and there were kid’s books and the storm was closer. This hadn’t happened to me in a long time. It used to send me into a panic and I’d run away, but this time I stayed looking for the hurricane so I could face it head on.

I became a “storm chaser”.

My eyes ran over the shelves of old toys, each one stirring the winds, till I hit the mother lode.

There, on the top shelf, was a picture block puzzle. And…immediately I was transported to the stone garage behind the house next door to my grandmother. It was dark and the windows were glazed over with years of dust and soot. The light shone faintly through. A man was carrying me. His breath was labored, his tweedy suit scratchy against my bare legs. He wasn’t my dad. He wasn’t my grandfather. He was old and he had me alone in a dark garage. I was maybe two or three. 

I don’t know where my mother was, nor why I was here with this man. I have a vague memory of him showing me toys. Old fashioned, old timey toys. An old leather pram. A doll with a cracked face and a dark blue velvet jacket worn bare in places. And a wooden block picture puzzle…the kind you could make lots of pictures with because of all the sides. I have a vague memory of him giving me that puzzle but I have no idea whatever happened to it.

His hands were gentle, and I wasn’t scared of him. That’s why I think he must have been someone we knew, like Grandmother’s neighbor. His wife had TB and used to sit on the front porch with Grandmother. I was always instructed to be polite to them. There wasn’t anything traumatic about that memory.

However, because of that experience, I was trusting. Too trusting. A few years later, when I was about eight or so, the neighbor boy asked my friend Karen and I if we wanted to see the old toys in their garage. I took Karen’s hand and followed him into the garage where the boy proceeded to trap me and sexually assault me. We managed to escape before he could hurt Karen, but I was left forever traumatized by that seminal event.

When I saw the toys in the antique store on Tuesday, it tripped a trauma trigger and my palms started sweating and I felt I couldn’t catch my breath. But I stayed with it. I rode the lightning, because if I don’t, it wins. I stayed. I looked at every toy and told it…”You are nothing but a memory and yesterday cannot hurt me. I’ve forgiven the people who abused me in the past. You are nothing but a trigger and a trigger is nothing but a thought and a thought is not what’s happening now. A thought cannot hurt me, so stop it.”

My breathing slowed. My heart rate slowed. My blood pressure was still a little elevated at the doctor’s office a little bit later, but overall, I rode that through without having a full fledged panic attack. There was one thing I could NOT do. I couldn’t touch the puzzle blocks. Every time I reached out it was like static so I just left it alone. I took a picture, but try as I might, I couldn’t find it on my phone. I found a similar one on the internet.

Desensitization therapy is one of the most effective ways to work through trauma and minimize triggers. It doesn’t mean they go away or that you’ll never have them again, but it makes it easier to get through. When I have a strong experience like that, it sometimes takes a day or so to even out. As I sat in the coffee shop yesterday morning, the thought of going into the tiny little waiting area at the mechanic’s garage and sitting there for hours with strange men coming in and out made me uncomfortable. 

I could have done it. I could have forced myself. But I decided to go with my gut. I called my sweet Mr. FixIt and explained the situation to him and said, “If I bring the truck back home, will you take it in later to the garage?” There’s a noise it’s been making and I’d like to have it fixed and Mr. FixIt knows exactly what it is. “Of course I’ll do that for you, baby.” 

He’s a good man.

I came home, went out to the camper, climbed in my little twin bed and curled up under the covers for a nap. 

That’s how I worked through a trauma trigger. It may not look like a home run because I didn’t pick up the puzzle and I didn’t take the truck in, but I assure you…progress does NOT mean perfection. God was with me every step of the way, reminding me how much stronger I am than I used to be. Mr. FixIt got to sit in a garage and shoot the bull with a whole mess of guys coming in and out. He got to go to his favorite little discount store and hang out for an hour talking with more people. He brought supper home and it was a good day.

???

“fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Isaiah 41:10 ESV