Monthly Archives: July 2025

healing, My struggles, Poetry

Another Notch on the Belt

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By: Maham Abid

The creaky office felt sterile and cold.

My brimming anxiety grew into something bold.

One more visit down—another notch on the belt,

What’s wrong isn’t always clear to see, but it is deeply felt.

It keeps being suggested that it is “all in my head.”

But if that’s really so, why is my body responding with distress?

I admit I can be neurotic and full of unnecessary fear,

But I’ve lived most of my life with anxiety looming near.

That’s precisely how I identified these new symptoms as severe.

I am no stranger to silently analyzing the absurdity of my worry.

So, how ironic is it that when I finally speak up, I’m dismissed in such a hurry?

Why won’t someone validate the sensations that I feel?

I have no ulterior motive; I just want to heal.

So today, as I sit stiffly in yet another sterile waiting room,

My mind can’t help but wander off to similar memories of gloom.

This doctor, too, shall say that he can’t specify what’s wrong.

And refer me for more poking & prodding–which will only prolong–

–me suffering silently, trying to make sense of what is really going on.

This entire process has felt like crazy-making at its worst,

The constant dismissal of my symptoms feels like a curse.

Is it ungrateful of me to almost hope they find something soon?

So I can finally get some reprieve from the sense of impending doom?

Of course, I don’t want it to be something that doesn’t have a cure.

What I desire is external proof to validate my intuition for sure.

At any point now, another physician will walk in.

He will talk at me in medical jargon that’ll make my head spin.

I know our dear doctors see innumerable patients every day,

but communicating genuine care is not an ethic to be pushed away.

I understand that sometimes answers are complex and hard to find,

But perhaps being transparent with me won’t leave me feeling as resigned.

How is it that the people with the most knowledge of all,

–are the very ones that leave so many feeling unheard and small?

“Something is wrong!”, my intuition cries.

“I’m truly not here based on fabricated lies.”

It is okay for professionals to not have all the answers quite yet,

but empathy and care are traits that no human should forget.

If we continue to view our patients as “just another one”,

We will, carelessly, add more damage to what was already done.

#NotAnotherNotchOnTheBelt

Love you always, all ways

IG: @mahamabidtalent

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@mahamabidtalent

Free Therapy, healing, I ponder about life..., psychology, Trauma

Part II: The Body Keeps Score

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“The greatest source of our pain lies in the lies we tell ourselves,”

Gulp. What lies am I telling myself? 

The Moment that Sparked This

A few weeks ago, a friend looked at me mid-conversation with a strange, tilted smile. She gently asked, “You’ve told me this before—three times, actually. Do you not remember?”

I laughed it off. Again.
But later that night, in the quiet, I didn’t laugh. I stared at the ceiling and asked myself the question I’d been avoiding:

What am I not remembering…and why?

I’ve always thought of myself as self-aware, maybe even hyper-aware. I’ve studied psychology, therapy, trauma, neuroscience—you name it. So how could I, of all people, not see my own blind spots?

That question is what started this post.

What Lies Am I Hiding From Myself?

Here’s the trickiest part:
I think I do know.

Not in the way you’d expect—
I’m not lying to you.
But I might be lying to myself.

Because deep down, I feel it.
There are gaps. Blanks in the story I tell myself.
Parts that feel foggy—like I lived them, but only in theory.

And every time someone close to me—someone who’s paying attention—points out my repetitive and frequent memory lapses or the inconsistencies in my timeline, I brush it off.
At least, I used to.

You see, the brain is wired to protect us. Survival, at all costs.
Darwin nailed it.
When the stress is chronic, intense, and unrelenting, your mind steps in and starts hiding things.
It buries what you can’t afford to feel.
And eventually, the body keeps score… and starts fighting back.

Mine is.

In my case, knowledge didn’t equal power.
It didn’t even turn into wisdom.
I know I’m forgetting something.
But that awareness doesn’t mean I can just will it into memory.
It doesn’t mean I can hand it to you, wrapped and processed and neatly labeled.
Because I can’t. I wish I could.

If you asked me right now:
“What lies are you telling yourself?”

My answer?
I don’t know.
Not because I won’t tell you.
Because I can’t remember them.

And yeah, that makes some distant part of me feel sad.
Not for pity or sympathy—I swear, this isn’t that kind of post.
I’m writing this to hold myself accountable.
To process the hard stuff.
To try to heal.

And if I’m going through all that torture…
Why not take you with me? 😏

A Story With Missing Pages

Here’s the thing: I want to tell you the whole story.

Not just the chapters where I was the victim, but also the ones where I was the villain.

But how do I do that when I know I’m missing pages?

Because maybe… my mind can’t remember.
But my body does.
I feel the ache of what’s been hidden, even if I can’t name it.

How can I be aware that I’m forgetting something… and still not remember it?

“The greatest source of all our suffering are the lies we tell to ourselves”

As I continue to re-read “The Body Keeps Score”, the preceding question keeps following me around like a dementor from Harry Potter. It looms eerily over me as I try to absorb the information, page by page. 

What lies am I hiding from myself?” 

It’s a deceptively simple question—and yet, deeply complex. Here’s where it gets tricky: I think I do know. Or at least, I know that I don’t know—and that matters.

Not Forgotten; Just Buried

What I mean is this: I have a sense that parts of my story are missing. Not erased entirely, but inaccessible. Like fragments of a puzzle that refuse to fit, or worse—aren’t even on the table yet. And while I may not be able to consciously retrieve repressed or painful memories at will, I’m not oblivious to the empty spaces they’ve left behind.

The Survival Mechanism of Forgetting

The crux of Darwin’s theory of survival is that the human being has been created to fight, at all costs, to survive. This means that if the brain is subjected to chronic amounts of stressors repetitively and frequently, psychological symptoms ultimately pass the “threshold” that divides the psychological and physical borders of the human make-up.

When pushed to its limits, the body not only keeps score, it also starts to fights back.

Mine is.

When the brain is exposed to overwhelming stress, especially in early developmental periods, it may suppress, distort, or fragment memory—a phenomenon known in clinical literature as dissociative amnesia (American Psychiatric Association, 2013). Over time, these psychological stressors often manifest physically, leading to what trauma scholars call somatization, or the expression of emotional distress through the body (Scaer, 2007; van der Kolk, 1994).

As Dr. Bessel van der Kolk puts it in: “The Body Keeps Score (van der Kolk, 2014), even when the mind shuts down access to traumatic material, the body often retains implicit memory through physiological symptoms, emotional reactivity, and behavioral patterns.

In my case, knowledge didn’t equal power. In fact, itt didn’t even lead to clarity.

I can’t simply “choose” to remember. My awareness of the gaps in my memory does not mean I can access what’s missing. And this disconnect—between cognitive awareness and emotional recall—is something many trauma survivors know all too well.

Dissociation: A Psychological Defense

“What lies are you telling yourself?”

The question won’t leave me alone.

The lies, I believe, have to do somewhat with the psychological concept of dissociation.

Psychologists have long identified dissociation as a protective mechanism. Pierre Janet was one of the first to describe dissociation as a process by which unprocessable experiences are split off from conscious awareness. Today, dissociation is understood as a continuum—from mild daydreaming to severe forms like Dissociative Identity Disorder (Putnam, 1997; Spiegel et al., 2011).

When the mind perceives that a memory or experience is too overwhelming, it may block access to it entirely. This is not a flaw; it’s a survival strategy. It’s a way the psyche says: You can’t hold this right now, so I will.

But there is a cost. Resilience always comes at a cost.

The price of safety can sometimes be the loss of narrative coherence. You begin to sense that your story—your identity—is fractured. You know something’s off. You feel the ache of what you can’t remember.

It’s a strange paradox: how can I be so sure I’m forgetting something, and still have no idea what it is?

Why Share This?

Because I know I’m not alone. I can’t be the only one going through this.

This post is not an attempt to gain sympathy or pity or influence. In fact, I think it’s about the opposite– it is my way of ASKING for help.

To some degree, I am being selfish. I am writing these posts, and making the podcasts because I’m terrified to do it alone.

I don’t want to navigate the murky waters of health issues by myself. They say there is power in numbers, and we are a relational, tribal species. I want to share this journey with you so that, much like Dory in “Finding Nemo”, maybe you all can help guide me, support me, and encourage me in finding my way back to myself.

The Brain That Lies to Me

How do I navigate the world with a brain that lies to me?

How do you begin to walk through the world, gauging people and their motives, or even your own, when you can’t trust your mind?

UGH! Can one of the pesky emotions from “Inside Out” just hit the “un-repress button“, so that all my emotions can return? Right now, they control me. I don’t control them.

I know that my trying to externalize my “mind” from my whole “self” is an extension of polarized, all-or-nothing thinking–a very common cognitive distortion I learned about in graduate school. I know it is a distortion–a maladaptive, inaccurate way of viewing the world. But, as you’ve noticed—knowledge does not mean power. Knowing about it doesn’t mean I’m immune to it; after all, I am just human.

How curious is it that some may even consider me adept in helping others navigate their beautiful and puzzling lives; it is a pity that I can’t seem to utilize the same interventions to help myself?– help myself in a way that is sustainable, wholesome, and hopeful.

The Body Knows What the Mind Can’t Say

“The greatest source of our suffering is the lies we tell ourselves.”

Sigh. This quote is going to be the death of me.

I really don’t know.
And I don’t say that flippantly. I mean it in the most honest, emotionally raw sense possible.

I may not know what the lies are.
But I do know they are not rooted in ignorance.
They are rooted in protection.

So instead of asking, “What lies am I telling myself?”—maybe we start with:
What truths are too painful to carry?

This shift doesn’t eliminate the discomfort, but it reframes the question from one of self-deception to one of survival.

Why is my mind wasting so much energy to make me forget certain truths?

My hunch says it has to do with emotions.

Big, painful, nimbus-cloud, feelings.

“Shame, terror, guilt, grief, powerlessness”, my brain enumerates.

I smile because, as much as my brain infuriates me, I do appreciate all that it has done for me; it is, in part, the reason why I’m here.

[SIDE NOTE: I even wrote a poem to honor the brain, His Arrogant Highness, it’s posted a few blog posts below and is titled “Loquacious Logic”. My poems are much less pedantic than posts like these—ones that butt their heads against a wall, in an attempt to understand myself. ]

I get the feeling that my brain is not half wrong. Notice that I didn’t say “thought.” It truly is an intuitive feeling–a “knowledge” that the human mind has no knowledge of.

I believe the answers lie in uncovering some of the memories associated with those big feelings.

It is scary, however, to think that in trying to protect me–my brain may be engaging in emotional censorship, presenting plausible half-truths, not allowing me to experience my current reality in all of its fullness.

*Shudder*

Ya’ll, I really need to find the “greatest source of my suffering.”

So, I need to find these lies, hidden truths, like… they are Pokemon. Gotta catch ’em all.

and soon (I hope).

Knowledge is not the Same as Wisdom

Despite all my training—all the academic credentials, psychological frameworks, and intellectual insight—I still can’t name the exact lies I may be telling myself. Not because I’m avoiding them. But because I genuinely don’t remember them.

This suggests something profound: that forgetting is not always passive. Sometimes, it’s an active, neurological process—a form of self-preservation

Unless my upcoming EEG tells me otherwise, I’m increasingly convinced that the psychosomatic model is right: trauma, when unresolved, doesn’t just live in the mind—it embeds itself in the body (van der Kolk, 2014; Ogden, Minton, & Pain, 2006).

Hopefully, I will have more answers after my follow-up appointment tomorrow.

Coming Up Soon: Dory and Dissociation

In my next post in the series, I’ll be diving into something seemingly lighter (but surprisingly deep): a comparison between the beloved character Dory from Finding Nemo and trauma survivors who live with dissociative symptoms.

Yes, there will be tangents.
Yes, there will be science.
And yes—there will be some uncomfortable truths.

Because if I’m going to dig into this mess, I might as well bring you with me. Until then, remember:

At the end. it will all be okay. And if it’s not okay…its not the end yet.

also… welcome to the neurotic, neurodivergent nuisance of a mind. #alliterationwins

Love you always, all ways.

IG handle: @mahamabidtalent

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@mahamabidtalent

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Random Tangent: Neurologist Appointment

PS- I have a follow-up with the neurologist tomorrow; It’s in regard to my EEG results. I’m kinda scared.

But…

Can I tell you something, without you judging me?

Okay–so is it terrible and really ungrateful of me (yes I know, a part of me knows that it is) to almost hope that they find something? That I finally get a diagnosis? Nothing fatal, I mean. But…like…serious enough to be taken seriously?

I mean, I feel as I’ve been complaining about feeling like crap for so long that I’m kinda starting to get frustrated with people not giving a crap. I a aware that it is not life-threatening, and nothing that requires immediate attention. I truly am grateful for that– the fact that it is nothing serious.

At the same time, though, I want someone to acknowledge that my symptoms feel real to me. Even though healthcare professionals may not know the etiology of my symptoms, they can still validate that the symptoms have really drastically changed the quality of my life.

They have affected my livelihood.

Trust me—passing out on the side of the road was not by choice. Having seizures that I don’t even remember are not fun. But, unfortunately, in today’s world, we have EMS called, they do a superficial check-up, recommend going to a hospital (which will cost you your whole life)…just so they can run the routine scan and labs—stabilize you, and off you go. Let’s just chalk it up to dehydration, anxiety, stress, me being dramatic, major depression, PTSD, malnutrition…have your pick.

It’s the same symptoms–that keep getting dismissed. “Oh, it’s just a fainting spell”…”…just an isolated seizure or two”…

I feel like very few people are truly listening to me. In the last two months, I’ve had at least 8 of these fainting spells. And more, if you consider loss of consciousness accompanied by seizure-like activity.

Try having syncope (fainting episodes) every week–with little to no warning–at any time, anywhere. It’s frankly debilitating and terrifying.

I was let go from work due to a liability issue. Apparently, it’s not cute to pass out mid-sentence at a client’s house or on the side of the road on a shoulder.

In my experience, it is all too easy for contemporary healthcare professionals to chalk up fainting episodes or seizures to anxiety and neurosis. It sucks. Also, did ya’ll know they have a special code they use in the EMS to communicate when someone has an extensive mental health history? Giggles.

When I say that these episodes are happening and I’m scared, please don’t be so quick to chalk it up to my long struggle with anxiety or depression. Sure, there is probably a surge of neurotic patients seen in the ER. Yet, the irony is, it is because I’ve dealt with mental health conditions most of my adult life that I know when things feel drastically worse. Depression? Anxiety? PTSD? At this point, they are like little annoying nephews and nieces that are just along for the drive. I’ve dealt with them my whole life. So if I thought it was just symptoms from years of going through the conditions, I wouldn’t ask for help in the first place.

Passing out? Yes, I know her very well, too. She and I go way back to my panic disorder days. I am acutely aware of the symptoms associated with vasovagal syncope. I haven’t had one of those spells in years. I remember exactly what they feel like, and they don’t feel like this.

I guess all I’m saying is…I want someone to sit down with me (instead of using Telehealth or a phone) and try to hear me as a person. A central point for coordination wouldn’t be a bad idea. Why not compile all these different test results from various specialists together, analyze them holistically, and help point me in the right direction? I want someone to understand my concern because I can tell something is off (in comparison to baseline, which may, in fact, be highly neurotic).

It comes down to validating my own knowledge of my own body.

My asking for help because something feels more wrong is also not due to my pain threshold; It’s not because I’m “being a baby.” When it comes to pain, I had my daughter- 32 hours of labor with no epidural, on purpose. Worst decision ever. But that’s neither here nor there.

I think what I’m really seeking is someone who communicates respect for my own knowledge and awareness of my body, while staying confident in their own expertise. I didn’t realize how important autonomy is to me till I realized that my brain discreetly associates it with the loss of control I felt during my sexual abuse. It is that same loss of control, and helplessness that I carry with me to this very day. So, as much as I want everything to be alright at my appointment tomorrow, and as much as I truly desire for it to be nothing too serious or “unfixable”, is it inexplicable for me to want some proof on some sheet of paper to reassure myself of my own intuition? & If I’m being completely honest..a part of me also wants it as a way to say “f*ck you” to all those who made me doubt myself…and to EACH individual who treated my body like they knew it better than I did.

It’s often trying to reason with very successful and loveable left-brained doctors and lawyers, especially when they are in your family system. My whimsical right brain gets defeated pretty effortlessly when its only weapons are the very invisible “intuition” and elusive “emotional acuity.”

“black sheep”, anyone?

Anyway, until next time, keep me in your prayers. My appointment tomorrow is at 10 am ET. I have scheduled this blog post to publish at the exact same time as my follow-up appointment

Till then…

Never forget that you are the expert in your life. Every specialist, life coach, counselor, teacher—everyone outside of you simply serves as an ally to help add depth, vocabulary and detail around your real experience.

Till next time, do not forget that ~*you are iconic*~.

Love you always, all ways.

IG: @mahamabidtalent.

philosophy, Poetry, Trauma, Uncategorized

Death’s Delightful Doorstep

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this poem captures how I felt during my near-death experience…after the car wreck that nearly took my life away. It’s been years since then, but the feelings I describe below are still palpable. I remember the experience as it if were yesterday.

Darkness, go away; Let me be!

You have always felt unsettling to me.

But this time, you don’t seem as eerie as could be.

A million warm candles around me I can’t see,

cradled in the arms of my Creator, I finally felt free.

In His Presence, all the “whys?’s” disappear,

because the everlasting Truth becomes glaringly clear.

I was never alone—not for a single day–

even when I was stumbling along, trying to find my way.

The moment I met God, “I” ceased to exist.

When there was no more “me”, there was nothing left to resist.

So naturally, I merged with everything that was True,

—finally giving up my quizzical quest to learn and pursue.

There is a beautiful Power in surrender, indeed.

Merging with Oneness is what it truly means to succeed.

Love you all ways, always

@mahamabidtalent

philosophy, Poetry

Relativity

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Resistance always precedes revelation.

Remorse always precedes retribution.

Restraint always precedes replenishment.

Removal always precedes reward.

Respect always precedes reverence.

Reflection always precedes resolution.

Rebuke always precedes reputation.

Rupture always precedes resilience.

Repair always precedes renewal.

Restlessness always precedes rescue.

Remembrance [of Him] always precedes restoration.

Recognition [of Him within us] always paves the road to redemption.

Love you all ways, always.

@mahamabidtalent

Free Therapy, I ponder about life..., psychology

The Body Keeps Score

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And track of your bullshit too (unfortunately)

Ya’ll I started reading again. I immediately regretted it. I came across this rattle snake quote:

“The greatest source of our suffering is the lies we tell to ourselves.”

Dr. Kolk, you nearly gave me a heart attack with that quote.

And then…you used it twice?

To make sure repressed memories had not just one–but two chances to pester me?

I see your subliminal messages, Kolk, I see you. Lol.

Anyway, I started re-reading “The Body Keeps Score”, a book by Dr. Kolk (MD) who offers sturdy evidence supporting the psychosomatic model of wellness. I admire how the book reminds us to view the human being through a wholesome, holistic lens– especially when tailoring treatment and interventions from a psychological, spiritual and physical standpoint. Furthermore, in his book, he manages to brilliantly unpack trauma in a way that is accessible to the touchy population that struggles with it, day in and day out. It is easy to follow, written objectively, and therefore, most importantly, explains and “unpacks” trauma and its effects in a a way that is NOT retraumatizing.

THE FIRST YUCKY EXPERIENCE

So anyway, back to my first re-stab at figuring out why this quote elicited such a disharmonious yet congruent feeling from deep within a crevice of my soul?

“The greatest source of our suffering is the lies we tell to ourselves.”

In this revered book, “The Body Keeps Score”, Dr. Kolk refers to the preceding quote, not once–but twice. I wish I could say that the first time I saw it, I just glazed over it, giving it no attention; I truly wish I could tell you my mind’s ability to repress sh*t was stronger than my body’s ability to react to the sensation it evoked. I think that I would have found some solace is NOT being able to relate to the quote, despite how abstractly I did. It would have confirmed my bias because I could use my detachment as “proof” to myself that it really is “mind over matter” and in this case, “mind over body and trauma.” But…that would keep me in denial (which is an area I apparently love hanging out in)… and it would also kinda go against the very premises of the book he wrote 🙄

Dr Kolk’s very research builds its case on an overarching and (most likely true) assumption. Like many other social scientists and neurobiologists, Kolk implies that no matter how arduously the mind tries to make us forget about big feelings, the body doesn’t just simply follow suit and “forget” too. This phenomenon is so evident in the recollections of relentless flashbacks experienced by so many PTSD warriors. It is such an odd feeling. One second, our day can be going fine and dandy then one flipping sensory cue later–like a certain quote, a phrase, a sound, someone’s voice, a fragrance, a temperature fluctuation, a visual cue, the cadence with which one talks… any sensory “trigger”– which may seem miniscule and relatively insignificant has the capacity to bring with it a torrential tsunami of sensory and affective overload that is so typical to trauma.

So…. long story short–no. I can’t, with full honesty, say that I was able to simply skim over that quote without feeling any connection to it, regardless of how distant it felt at first. The truth is the words literally caught my attention. The first time I saw the quote was on page 11.

“The greatest source of our suffering is the lies we tell to ourselves.”

I read it, it made me stop. That means a lot to me.

I also know that when it comes to quantifying something, phrases like “a lot” and “a little” are subjective measurements of that are so variable and therefore unhelpful. So let me rephrase– for me, having a random “quote” elicit some abstract “sensation/feeling” out of me that I couldn’t even pinpoint long enough to make me cranky was pretty remarkable.

I don’t think you realize how severe my inattentive subbrand of neurodivergence is.

On that topic, for something to really stop my inattentive, million mph mind in its tracks, even for a few seconds--it means a lot. It was the first sentence in this book that made me truly pause. It left me speechless.

The first time I came across the quote, it simply resonated with a repressed subconscious part of me. It’s almost as if when I read it, a deeply buried part of myself echoed back out, noting, “hmm…how peculiar–I wonder what parts Maham’s brain is hellbent on hiding from her…and why?”

The quote read me. I didn’t read the quote. 

I swear, I’m not trying to sound like Yoda; I’m trying to use words and language to effectively capture and hopefully, convey the eerie experience of association i had with that quote. Reading it…reminded me of something very familiar–like deja vu. Okay, so most of ya’ll will understand this example–its the same, unexplainable, intuitive feeling that you get when you meet an absolute stranger–and in that moment, you don’t know how and no reason to logically think why, but you FEEL and KNOW that this person is going to come to mean something so important to you one day. Maybe the experience is a result of Carl Jung’s “collective unconscious” giving us a kick in the behind saying we’ve experienced their energy in a past life…or maybe the experience is to activate our fight or flight reflexes to run because we are running into the next Ted Bundy reincarnated–I don’t know. I deflect. 

THE SECOND, EVEN YUCKIER EXPERIENCE

Anyway, the SECOND time I happened to “stumble” upon Dr. Kolk’s accidental use of the same eerie quote on page 27, it came together. I felt, understood, and remembered why the quote struck such a deep discordant chord within me. My thoughts, feelings, and sensorimotor recall reintegrated to form a cohesive memory that I could call upon.

That’s the irony in trauma–the very experience of it impairs our prefrontal cortex functioning, which is responsible for a lot of higher order thinking skills. Sometimes I feel like trauma created this weird delay between my right and left brain conversations. Anyway, on page 27, the second time I read the quote, had given my right brain sufficient time to get in contact with its left counterpart, very temporarily turning on my and my executive functioning skills.

What the pedantic jibberjabber above pretty much says, is that my mind finally caught up to my body, and I understood why the same quote had evoked a disconcerting and gut-wrenching feeling when I first read it on page 11.

“The greatest source of our suffering is the lies we tell to ourselves.”

“Well,” I had initially thought, “what lies am I telling myself?”

“Um…none–” is what my my frantic flight-or-flight response had impulsively interjected, fearing that we may be getting “warmer” to the truth.

The book talks about how since the greatest sources of our suffering are the lies we tell ourselves, then healing must essentially lie in us becoming rigorously honest with ALL parts of ourselves. That can be particularly hard in individuals whose chronic struggle with cPTSD has resulted in large degrees of dissociative episodes that are sprinkled with larger and larger time periods they have no recollection of. Because, to be completely honest, I feel like I have realized the “lies I’m telling myself” before in therapy…I just think, they are too painful to sit with. We are all strong enough to face our demons for a brief period, until the human brain launches its super power of self-preservation power and despite realizing what’s holding you back, you also simultaneously know that you WILL MOST CERTAINLY FORGET any truth that can help you make true progress very SOON.

So, putting my judgement aside, I reread the quote, and thought about it. “Seriously, all bull**** aside, Maham,” I asked myself, “What is going on?” What am I hiding from myself? I mean, clearly knowing me, if I’m hiding it that strongly from myself, it probably has something to do with a lot of shame–like a crippling amount of shame that I can’t psychologically handle without the possibility of fracture. Dr. Kolk talks about this agonizing shame as a hallmark among most PTSD survivors, despite the inherent variability seen in their respective traumas. The complex nature of trauma does not help, as oftentimes, survivors snap and react in ways that are not characteristic of themselves immediately after a trauma; it is usually the aftermath of the moment in which the psyche fractures. (Yall, there is a great Tyler Perry movie on Netflix about this called “Straw”–>Watch it!)

Shame could come from the actions one did/did not do to protect themselves in their situation, and yet shame could also come from dealing with with isolating stigmas, and ostracizing cultural narratives. The sources for the tormenting shame felt by trauma survivors are myriad in nature, however, the palpable presence of the dementor that is shame in all those who have experienced PTSD is a great starting point for further research.

As I sat with the quote longer, my stomach dropped.

Why do I refuse to eat? Why do I not want to live? What am I not forgiving myself for?– so much so that I want to punish myself by barely getting by?

The intrusive thought/s just popped into my head, and gave birth to a million other equally disturbing tangential thoughts. Because clearly, the one thing all my doctors, despite their specialty, can agree on is that:

I am slowly killing myself by depriving myself nutritionally in a chronic manner; it is not suicide that is imminent. It is a confounding and tragic type of slow existential death.

And it is a painful and slow death.

It looks like a period of it “just staying all in your head”, until it isn’t. Then, much like it happened for me, cute new little symptoms start emerging as physiological manifestations–but they are just psychosomatic manifestations of the same age-old psychological struggles I’ve been going through for the last three decades.

Maybe my shame lies in knowing how avidly I pursued higher education grasping at any information about trauma and its insidious impacts. I think I did in this in an attempt to “get ahead of it” and not let the trauma I felt brimming under the surface affect me. Perhaps the source of my shame results from KNOWING better and yet choosing not TO DO better…even though I think some part of me always knew there was a different way…. one that had worked for many before me.

Accumulating all the “academic knowledge” about human behavior and life after trauma, my mind still remains just as hellbent on unseeing the fact that I am literally the textbook case of the subjects we read about in our graduate courses who presented with CPTSD!

My stubborn mind refuses to believe that yes–trauma can even catch up to me, Maham Abid. My comprehension about it on a “cognitive” level does not imply that my knowledge of trauma ever translated into wisdom.

If it had, I would’ve been able to help myself from repeating the same agonizing cycles that have left me crippled with shame. “Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, expecting a different result,” right?

So when I read the quote on page 27 again, I tried delving past that initial recognition, and tried to connect to it more intimately. Leaning into it was not fun. It created that nasty, “crawling out of my body” sensation whose origin my mind couldn’t quite connect to or trace. I think the sensation highlighted the stark difference between how “well” I convince myself I am handling my trauma versus how “unwell” I’m actually coping with it… like, at any given moment of time. I mean, a lie I definitely perpetuate is that I, unlike all the other people I have studied about, can somehow magically go through years and years of jarring trauma and come out of it, unlike everyone else, completely unscathed.

The assumption I’m trying to highlight is the inaccurate notion that knowing better or cognitively understanding something better results in doing better. I always tend to underestimate how deeply pervasive the effects of my own residual trauma are. Likewise, I tend to overestimate how “fast” I can have recovered from some really horrific things–while in actuality, I’m only ever really putting band-aids over a gaping wound.

My amazing psychiatrist (yall, she’s put up with me for almost a decade), has told me before, so eloquently and concisely what the problem is. Years ago, she told me:

“Maham, I can keep your body alive (to some extent) using these medicinal interventions…but that’s not saying much. The rest is up to you.”

Alright, brain = explode

More deep dives into the dearth of dreary discordant dissonance later.

Hasta luego,

More bones to pick with you later, Dr. Kolk 😋

Uncategorized

Loquacious Logic

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By: Maham Abid

Heed, at the times of chaos and loss–

–the voice of logic–although its cold concision may appear cross.

Sure, Logic has a sterile stature that may appear stoic and stern–

but it is that very characteristic of his that keeps his masses from getting burned.

The thing to which logic seems to remain forever aloof–

is that knowledge can only be your ally in matters that require worldly proof.

Faith is not a matter to be thought about or dealt…

It is a mystery within us waiting to be felt

It is a type of “knowing” to which knowledge is unaware.

Experiencing God is too much for cognition alone to bear.

Finding Him is not an outward journey for which we must prepare,

It feels more like remembering a Truth we simply forgot was always there.

The difference between true knowledge and that of mere “human belief”,

is that everyone who truly experiences Him will always be led to Relief.

Love you all ways, always,

@mahamabidtalent

philosophy, Poetry

Immortal

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Matter cannot be created or destroyed. 

& yet when loved ones “pass”, we are left with a growling void.

Energy can only be transferred & transformed.

So, lament not over ephemeral “death”–

For- it is the omnipotent opportunity to be reborn. 

I ponder about life..., philosophy, Poetry, Uncategorized

Head or Heart

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Emotion, without logic, is anarchy;

Logic, without emotion, is dictatorship.

In the confounding “combat” between intuition and intellect,

it is the human psyche that fractures and eventually becomes wrecked.

#LetsStopTheWar

Love you, all ways, always.

@mahamabidtalent.