I am competitive. It’s the competition I love, not winning. Winning is fun, but losing can be too when the competition has been strong. Challenges energize me as I strategize to solve problems. With time and experience, my skills have strengthened and I rarely walk away from something or someone. Our culture feeds right into my wiring. With technology there is so much I can do. And advertising reminds me of all that I can have. I might forget that I have limits.
Recently I have been learning a lot about trauma and its potentially lasting impact on people. I became interested in the subject because I was encountering more and more individuals in my line of work who were living with residual trauma. I would hear heart-wrenching stories while noticing ways their lives were still being directed by the trauma. Feelings of fear, distrust, anxiety and isolation weren’t periodic experiences but were their daily realities.
There are many factors that contribute to how one will respond to trauma. My competitive spirit has been helpful. Not wanting to be beat, I honed in with laser focus on what was happening, identified what was needed, and got to work. The initial goal is to survive, followed by learning and making adjustments in hopes of not experiencing that same trauma again. Safety would return. Resilience grew. This stoked my confidence in what is achievable.
I never had difficulty acknowledging my physical limitations. I periodically enjoy a physical challenge but I never forget what my limits are. I cannot go 24/7. At the end of the day, I willingly go to bed in order to recharge. If I wanted to run a marathon (I don’t) I recognize that my body would need time to be conditioned. To train properly, I would need to push my limits thoughtfully but not too hard in order to avoid injury. There seem to be obvious parameters to how far we can push ourselves physically. I have a friend who, after running several marathons, trained for a 50 mile race. I cannot comprehend running 26.2 miles, let alone 50. But he did it and survived. If he kept going, training to run 60 miles, 80 miles, 100 miles, at some point it would be all he was doing. And I imagine eventually he would either run as much as is physically possible or die trying. My friend (or certainly his spouse) is smart enough to identify the foolishness of such an endeavor.
I have not done as well with acknowledging my emotional limitations. I didn’t see the same parameters as there are for physical limitations. At least not for me. With proper training, I could keep going. With the right skillset, there was no reason I couldn’t “run” longer, faster each day. I became a seasoned hurdler of emotional challenges.
There are many ways residual trauma is manifested. I don’t live with fear, distrust, anxiety and isolation as daily realities. My trauma baggage looks much more admirable. But looks can be deceiving.