11/06/2024
https://www.facebook.com/share/Qr7SivA1qdEGcRGD/?mibextid=QwDbR1
The weight of this morning feels unbearable.
For so many of us, waking up to these election results isn't just disappointing - it's devastating. That familiar gut punch, that same crushing realization we felt in 2016: that progress is not linear, that justice and safety remain frighteningly uncertain.
I'm sitting with this heaviness, feeling it in my own body: the heat of anxiety in my stomach, the emotional heaviness, the fearful cloud of what's coming. And I know I'm not alone, am I?
Our bodies remember. They remember what this felt like before. In 2016 but also, for those of us who carry complex trauma histories, we remember earlier moments, too. Those times when the ground beneath us felt just as unstable, just as threatening.
For those of us who grew up in environments marked by unpredictability or harm, this kind of collective upheaval does more than unsettle - it reawakens.
Our nervous systems don't distinguish between past and present threats when the patterns feel so familiar. The need to keep refreshing NYT, to Google what Canada requires for immigration, to anticipate every possible outcome - these aren't random reactions... They're survival responses, deeply wired patterns that once helped keep us safe.
But here's what I want you to know: what you're feeling right now - the fear, the rage, the numbness, whatever is moving through you - is NORMAL to an abnormal situation.
Collective trauma happens when events disrupt our shared sense of safety. It ripples through our communities, amplifying our personal histories of vulnerability. Your responses are part of this collective experience, this shared rupture of safety we're all navigating.
As both a trauma therapist and someone who lived through 2016 with my own relational trauma history, I know something about how we hold moments like this. When our nervous systems feel overwhelmed (right now), we ground ourselves:
We anchor in the present moment. Feel our feet on the floor. Notice the temperature of the air. Name five things we can see.
We move the energy that trauma stores in our bodies. I'll be logging miles on my Peloton Tread today. Maybe you'll walk or stretch or dance - anything that helps release the activation.
We reach toward connection, even when trauma tells us to isolate. Because healing happens in relationship, in being witnessed without being fixed.
We honor what our systems tell us they need: stepping away from the news, taking a mental health day, channeling feelings into action.
Remember: we've been here before. The devastation is real. The fear is valid.
And somehow, we keep going. Not because we're unbreakable, but because we're infinitely able to put ourselves back together again - especially when we do it together.
You're not alone in this. What we're experiencing isn't just personal grief - it's collective trauma. And while that makes it more complicated, it also means we don't have to hold it alone.
I'm here with you in this heavy moment.
Annie
