More Intense Layers of Trauma

Lately I’ve been witnessing a more intense layer of trauma in people I meet, and in groups that I convene. Not real time stuff — the meeting room hasn’t been on fire. But rather, buried trauma — the kind that is lingering beneath the surface of both the individual and collective psyche. The latter shows up as everything from shut down to strong reactions (fight, flight, freeze, appease). There are good people doing good direct work with trauma. Teresa Posakony is one of them. For several years now, she has been prompting the question and inquiry about trauma-informed care, education, and convening of groups.

Trauma continues to interest me, to be relevant. It seems that what is surfacing isn’t new, but there are either more invitations or provocations that are triggering what has been beneath the visible layers for some time. Personal traumas of violence or abuse. Historical traumas of colonization and inequity. Contemporary traumas of complexity and polarization. I don’t think of my work as dealing directly with trauma, though there was a time when my career aspirations were pointing more toward psychology and counseling. I do think of my work as creating healthy containers for authentic wonder, witnessing, and imagination on behalf of so much of what we humans care about in the world.

Where I am encountering some simple steps about what to do with trauma (I do believe there is some trauma in all of us, whether through direct experience, genetic memory, or associative proximity), are through two encouragements. One is developing a “self care plan.” I learned more of this through a participant at a recent gathering who was significantly traumatized yet masterfully skillful with her self care plan. She shared that it included steps like — breath, get outside, touch the ground, move her body, shake, listen to a select set of music. All good stuff, and personalized for her. “Informed,” as Teresa says. Doesn’t deny or further bury the trauma. Doesn’t default to hijacked debilitation (though, it’s trauma — this will happen sometimes).

In the language of The Circle Way, and from the components wheel that helps strengthen the container that is circle, my friend Amanda Fenton reminds me that a self care plan is very much about personal preparation. Whether is it being aware of ones own trauma, or being able to offer a helpful ground if others are experiencing a trauma. To be clear, my approach to The Circle Way is about tending fiercely and kindly to the quality of the center that we connect ourselves to. As it pertains to trauma (unless a specifically intended circle to speak to trauma), I encourage people to spoke there energy and attention into the resting place that is between all of us. That uniqueness of circle is a kind of self care.

Another friend from The Circle Way, reminded me recently of the importance of making friends with our own and other’s anxieties. She was reflecting on a book by Marvin Weisbord and Sandra Janoff. Yes, making friends will always matter. It’s not about being perfect, or even knowing exactly what to do. But it is about being in relationship with our traumas, our anxieties, our chaos, and the learning that can uniquely come from them, right?

Best done with friends and good containers.

Make Room For Mystery

So, it’s not new for me to write about mystery. I value the unknown quality as much as I do the known. I think that’s mostly true. Yes, most of us have our limits and tip over the edge into too much unknown. That’s when the circuits fry and our inner psyche’s can just go a bit haywire.

But, over the years, through a few circuit-fryings, I’ve come to realize that I actually embrace a couple of premises that have become pretty solid operating principles for me. This wasn’t as true for me in younger versions of myself. Developmentally, like most, I was coded to seek certainty. To protect. To project. To succeed. There were a bunch of seemingly good reasons.

One of my most treasured premises — when I’m at my best, I’m oriented to this — is one of my most simple. Prepare to be unamazed. “There is always more unseen than seen.”

Most of us can relate to some layer of unseen, be it in our personal or professional lives. For me, the unknown of when my 14 year-old dog Shadow will die is a big one for me the last three days. He overexerted himself chasing a cat. Hasn’t been able to move his sore legs and hips very well since then. And he didn’t eat for that time either. It’s a tough thing to say goodbye to a beloved family companion who has been masterful at following us around and inviting play on an almost daily basis.

Professionally (still feels like a falsely stated distinction), the unknown of plans and learning together is massive. As simple as it sounds, living in to complexity to welcome emergence is a big deal. When solutions don’t come from within the existing system (adaptive solutions rather than technical solutions), and only come because people are willing to engage each other — well, yes, there is a bunch of unknown and unseen and mystery in that. Learning to work together when there is no finish line, no end — yes, this requires an ability to dance with the unknown. It requires poetry, not just lists. It requires patience, not just convenience. It requires imagination, not just multi-tasking at scale.

I met a friend last week while riding the ferry from Bowen Island to Canada’s mainland near Vancouver. He is one that I respect for his insight. He was sharing how a recent gathering of men had gone. “Many arrived exhausted.” I nodded, and then offered, “How can you not be exhausted in the world that is as wonky as this is.” His summary statement is what stuck with me. “‘I don’t know’ — it’s the only think I can count on.”

Make room for mystery. For “I don’t know.” It’s what I long for in the simple and in the complex. In the personal and in the professional to break the spell of reductionism that is void of mystery.

 

From Snug to Snow

I love this view. From Snug Cove on Bowen Island, across the Howe Sound to these majestic and now snow-dusted mountains of the Squamish region.

From the ferry departure today, after a good week hosting with Chris Corrigan, Caitlin Frost, and Amanda Fenton.

Here’s to ferries that connect us, literally and figuratively.

To majesty and beauty that transports our hearts above the ordinary, and yet also more deeply in to the ordinary.

And here’s to friends to enjoy and journey with.

Why Talk = Why Connect

Over the years, “Hobbit Tools” has been one of the teachings I most enjoy offering with participants. I love it for it’s simplicity.

A piece that I love to add is something called, “Why Talk?” It gets to some of the most basic premises that underlay participative leadership.

A particular piece that I loved in teaching it this time at Bowen Island Art of Hosting was some added emphasis on not just talking, but connecting and trusting.

Thanks Shasta for this and her work with choir, music, and threshold singing!