If you have survived to at least teendom, you can likely name some sort of trauma you have experienced. According to a January 2022 article by the US Department of Health & Human Services, “more than 2/3 of children reported at least one traumatic event by the age of 16”.  I imagine the results of the same research asked to people well into life would yield some pretty staggering data. For that reason, I assume most of us can call up some traumatic experience and how we felt in the aftermath.

Maybe like me, you struggle with knowing what to do for someone going through a traumatic time in life. The truth is some people drag their monsters around their whole lives. Most of us are not in the position to set anyone free, but we can learn some tools to at least be a blessing to them in the midst of their pain.

Recently, my beloved long-haired Siamese suffered a traumatic experience. I learned some things while coaching him through it.

When I found Murphy, he had pressed himself into the final few inches of the deepest, darkest part of the basement, under the stairwell. The war he had waged with the monster led him to a dark, musty place, suitable only for spiders and years-old drywall dust. His pupils, dilated from fear and heightened by darkness, had obscured almost all of his cerulean eyes. Instead of his usual warm, pliable flank, he felt to the touch as if he were in full rigor mortis. I wanted, badly, to laugh at his predicament, but he was in clear distress. In those moments, even after he was freed, he believed the monster was still alive and surely closing in on him.

For a few minutes, I made his situation feel worse. I was tasked with freeing him of what remained of his monster, a paper gift bag. He had somehow managed to get one handle fully around his neck like a noose. His curiosity had bested him and caused an epic battle spanning three floors of the house. I was there to save him, but he didn’t immediately see it that way. I have thought about that night a good bit. He was literally stiff with fear. Though Murphy is a cat, I could not help, as I sat with him in his trauma, draw some parallels to our human experiences.

Offer Grace

He needed our understanding.

Somewhere mid-battle, before he wildly plunged down the basement stairs, I attempted to call to him as I would under normal circumstances. We understand one another, but it has taken work. Our relationship is like that of good friends. We trust one another, but we still hold secrets. Still, I am the human in his world he can trust the most. Any other time, he would have come if I called, or at least acknowledged my presence with attitude, as sassy cats do.

When I caught up with him, he looked at me as if I were a total stranger. I had to crawl under the stairwell and find my way past all the loaded storage bins to get to him. I had to drag him to me by his scruff so I could free him. After I had cut off the handle and let him go, he dove back under the last stair and let out a mighty hiss. He hurt my feelings. I wasn’t kneeling with scissors on cold concrete in the dark for fun. I was there to save him, but he made me feel like the enemy.

I cared for my Mother for the last several months of her life. When she died, it was traumatic for me. I don’t remember well all that transpired in her last days and after. What I do remember is something a close friend said to me a year or so later. She said, “I had never seen you like that. You didn’t look good. You weren’t acting like yourself.”

During the trauma I experienced in Mother’s final days and after her loss, I lost friends. I had the opportunity to talk to one of them at length. The reason she gave for the breakdown of our relationship, in a nutshell, was I wasn’t acting like myself. She felt shut out. I hurt her feelings. She was there for me, but I just couldn’t recognize it. I made her feel like the enemy.

I think one of the most gracious things we can do for a person (or cat) dealing with trauma is hold space for what we cannot feel or understand. We can allow them to just be, even if it hurts our feelings. I did not mean to hurt my friends. I didn’t know. I was hurting. When people are hurting, they do or don’t do, and say or don’t say things as they normally would.  Hurting people hurt people. The world of psychology bears that out. We need not allow them to abuse us, but we can offer grace.

When we encounter people in our community that are not acting like themselves, we can take that as a clue. They may be battling a monster. We can smile more and judge less. I can double down on prayer for that person. You can offer a hug. We can all get over ourselves and understand that we don’t always know what another person is walking through. That understanding may well lead to the connection we are struggling to make.

Remind Them They Are Loved

He needed to be reminded he is loved.

When I cut the handle off Murphy’s neck, I expected him to be immediately better. He wasn’t. He continued to cower under the stairs. I decided to give him some space for a bit in hopes he would come back upstairs on his own. After about 30 minutes, I went down to check on him. He was still tightly curled under the stair. I stroked his flank, and he was still stiff. I reached around and found his furry cheek and gave it a gentle scratch. He turned to look at me, and I still saw panic in his eyes. He curled into an even tighter ball signaling his unreadiness to emerge.

I gave him another 30 minutes and went back down to check on him a second time. He had come out from under the stair and had stuffed himself in a corner surrounded by storage bins, etc. I forged a space big enough for me to sit among the storage bins.  I sat within arms reach and started talking to him. Eventually, I reached out and petted his cheek again. It was then that he started purring and moved closer to me. He still looked very spooked but finally started looking at me. I continued petting him until he felt safe to come completely out from under the stairwell.

He had remembered who I was, the person that loves him best. That gave him the courage to emerge from hiding.

I can remember plenty of times in life when I was hurting. I desperately needed reassurance that I was loved. Do you remember times like that? Perhaps it is every day for you. I can relate to that as well. A little love sounds like a trivial thing, doesn’t it? I assure you, in the midst of trauma, a little love goes a long way.

Love on your tribe, your community, even strangers. Sometimes our simple gestures are the thing that gives another person the courage to head in a healthier direction. A simple act of love can save a person’s life.

Give Them Time

He needed time.

When I had crawled out from under the stairs myself, he had taken off. When I found him again, he was behind the washing machine. I will admit to being frustrated by that. I felt like, by then, he should be good to go. Granted, he had made it all the way to the laundry room. He made definite progress. There was still a piece of me that wanted to drag him out so I could be done with the incident. I selfishly wanted him to operate on my timeline. I had other things I would rather be doing.

I sat down on the laundry room floor and started talking to him again. It became clear he had no immediate plans to come out. He looked better, in general, but was not yet ready to get back to life. Can you relate?

Once there is some distance between a person and trauma or something that triggers a traumatic memory, we lose patience. We forget what it is like for the shoe to be on the other foot. We get selfish.

Because I love him and I knew I would not be able to sleep until I was certain he was alright, I sat there on the cold basement floor and waited.

I decided to grab a laser toy, we call it “the bug”. Murphy loves playing with the bug. I ran it back and forth between the washer and dryer, so I was sure he saw it. He didn’t budge. Then, another cat joined me in the laundry room. She chased the bug to where Murphy was sitting. When I ran it out again, she followed it out. He started peeking around the corner. About that time, 2 more cats joined in on the bug chasing. Pretty soon, Hubby Guy came down to the basement. When Murphy heard Hubby Guy’s voice, he came all the way out to where the other cats were playing.

For a few minutes, Murphy sat and watched the other cats play. I watched him relax. I saw the moment when he realized he was alright. The monster had gone, and he was safe. He trotted around the corner to grab a snack and then padded back upstairs to normal life.

The event, in total, took about 3 hours. In terms of people, it could be days, weeks, months, or for some, years. We don’t get to set the timeline on another person’s process. We can recognize it for what it is. We can love them through it. Best of all, we can be patient.

Continually Encourage

That evening, when I went upstairs to bed, Murphy hopped up with me as if nothing at all had happened. His spot on the bed is exactly where he encountered the gift bag turned monster. He showed no signs of remembrance. I was so proud of him.

I was happy when he came out from under the stairs. My joy increased when he finally rejoined the rest of the house. When he hopped up on the bed, though, I was over the moon. I realized all he had accomplished since the last time he had hopped up in that spot.

I am terrible about walking through all the stages with humans. It was easy with a cat because Murphy’s trauma didn’t happen over days, weeks, months, or years. I encounter people all the time, though, that are walking through hard times. We live around these people every day. Sometimes we ourselves are that person.

Most of us do not have a degree in psychology. We do not need a degree to offer grace, show love, grant time, and continue to encourage the people around us. You and I have more to give than we let ourselves.

So, all that said, pay closer attention to those in your realm of influence. I will do the same. Perhaps set a goal to encourage someone daily. When someone is not acting herself, give grace. Offer a little love, a smile, a hug. Remember that some things take time to heal. Hold space for the people you have been entrusted with.