The Trauma Spinner

The Trauma Spinner

John Paul Derryberry

They spun around on the floor like a spinner for a board game. Only there was no chance of it stopping on anything good, like move ahead three spaces. I was at a point where I would have loved to move forward three spaces. In hour two of behavior intervention, all the yelling began to grind me down. Just about everything had been removed from their room for safety reasons. The only option they really had left to sow discourse was to scream as loud as possible and attempt to spin to the next light socket and try to stick their finger in.

It was beyond the point that either the person acting out or myself could form a coherent sentence. We were just two people existing in the same orbit: one hoping their antics would garner a reaction, and the other doing their best not to give a response. And so two people did the behavior outburst dance, but the adrenaline had worn off and it set into motion; who was going to give in first, well at least in their mind it did. Trauma is brutal to understand, even a more daunting thing to work out. So as much as I wanted this to being over, it was probably more important to allow the time for them to work it out of their system, free of judgment. Yes, I had a migraine, but how long had they carried their migraine without support.

So the spinning continued and continued. Minutes passed as fast the glaciers melted pre-climate change. The pounding in my head intensified, and I battled my own inner demons to try to force this behavior to stop or continue to let it work itself out. It is not for the faint of heart to hang on the good side of your compassion, three hours into a behavior fit. I just kept leaning into the mantra; it's only hour three for me. How many years for them? Too often, society at large forgets the notion that people are wounded deeply and need the space to work it out, even if that space interferes with the plans of the rest of the world.

It stopped abruptly at hour four. They looked at me confused and stated: "no one has ever hung in this long without uttering a mean thing to me". Their other workers before our program, their loved ones, their therapists all eventually showed contempt for their trauma. To not know a single compassionate person in the world must make it a lonely space to hang out in. No wonder the behaviors lasted four hours. I feel most of us would act out that long too.

My co-workers granted me a break. I retreated to a private spot and sat on the floor, completely drained of energy, devoid of compassion for a brief couple of minutes. Then, with my hands shaking, headache in full throttle, I sipped on some water as I stared at a spot on the wall, trying to process what I just experienced. You can't let moments like this stick to you. They cause stains on our thought processes. I've got trauma in my past, and I, too, worked in poor ways.

That has always been my guiding light, through all of my work. If a couple of people didn't bear my burdens for a minute to lessen the load, where could I have ended up? We often forget that part of the equation when we pass judgment on others. We leave out the part about the person who cut us some slack, who lightened our load, who showed us compassion when we didn't deserve it. My break ended, and I headed back to do the job I adored. The headache was receding; I hoped I had l helped their trauma heal just a little. Four hours for me, but a lifetime for them. Don't ever lose sight of that.