The Privilege of Telling The Truth: Trauma Recovery Should Be Available to All

By. Anne Lauren 

My truth telling began not as a bold and beautiful expose, but a secret and sacred pushing of Post-Its on the wall behind the clothes in my closet. I had just graduated with a Bachelor of Theology, finished reading The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, and felt inspired by the fictional character, May Boatright’s creation of her very own Wailing Wall. When she felt sad, or angry, or overwhelmed she would write fiercely and furiously on a note, fold it fast to keep it safe, and stick it in a crease between the rocks to hold it steady. I, too, wanted a secret and safe place to tell my stories. So, I began: every feeling and experience that felt unwelcome on the inside or the outside was written and placed on the wall behind my clothes in the closet of my childhood home.  

This is often how recovery begins for the privileged few who can find safe enough places to tell their truths. Eventually, the secrets within grew stronger and I less resistant to releasing them. I began to tell my story verbally to spiritual directors in private rooms behind closed doors. Then to friends, then to teachers, then to mentors, then to therapists: all of whom I could easily relate to as I shared similar cultural and racial identities as them. With their support, eventually the biggest secret arose: the reason for all the other secrets. 

Ten years ago my body, brain, and being shut down from years of repressed, unprocessed memories of childhood incest and illness. Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), or a developmental form of PTSD that affects those forced to live in violent environments for long periods of time with no means of escape (i.e children in violent homes/communities, prisoners of war, genocide survivors, etc.), reigned the neurological pathways in my brain always telling me to stay still because nowhere and no one felt safe. My limbic and endocrine systems succumbed after years of overstimulation: constantly releasing fight, flight, and/or freeze emotions and hormones. My body kept the score by holding the weight of these memories in my muscles. My soul, or as I define it- my passion and purpose for life, grew dim. It turns out that my system, too, had made me into a Wailing Wall and kept lots of memories of violence and illness hidden away until I was ready to read them. It has taken me a decade to find each secret note, read it, process it, purge it, and possess it. 

In that process, I lost my entire family as their toxic Catholic framework glorified suffering and expected me to forgive my perpetrators, all family members, without accountability or assurance that they were no longer abusing the next generation. They were not interested in reading my sacred notes stuck to my battered body. Instead, they required that my truth about treatment during my childhood remain hidden in order to not disrupt the patriarchal order. 

So, instead I engaged a number of psychological, spiritual, physical, and creative healing modalities to purge the pain, piece back together a sense of identity, and pursue a purpose beyond victimization and survival. The Wailing Wall behind my closet, then attached to my person, became a public outcry for rehabilitation, resources, and rest. But rest I did not find, as I had to begin a career and rebuild a new family system simultaneously. Slowly, my system let new truths in, as it released old toxic generational patterns passed down to me. Gradually, I replaced the untruthful notes of manipulation, malaise, and misogyny with competence, compassion, and care. 

Today, I still manage symptoms, but much of the time feel happy, loved, and grateful. So many internal and external people, pedagogies, and powers led me out of an abusive family system, accompanied me in recovery from spiritual, psychological, and sexual violence, and celebrated my arrival to a peaceful and present micro world where I am safe and my wants and needs can be met. Love, comfort, health, and happiness seem to be stuck to me now no matter where I go, as I continue to become unglued of all of the old narratives.

 But as I find healing, I still confront a world in so much pain. I am not the only one with a secret Wailing Wall, I am not the only one who has become a wall of wailing. The #MeToo Movement founded in 2006 by Tarana Burke and made viral in 2017 proved that sexual violence is a global epidemic that needs immediate action. Additionally, Kaiser Permanente released a study at the turn of the century called the Adverse Childhood Experience Study (ACE) that examined the role that early childhood trauma plays on the health of persons as adults. The findings not only validated the connection between adult illness and childhood trauma for people with stories like mine, but also proved how common childhood trauma is in the United States as a whole.

Two-thirds of the study’s participants reported at least one childhood traumatic experience, which can include verbal, physical, and sexual abuse, as well as neglect, mental or physical illness, substance abuse, incarceration, poverty, or divorce in the family system. It turns out, that so many of us are walking around with unprocessed and repressed trauma glued to our bodies, brains, and beings that is negatively impacting our lives, our families, and our society.

 The good news is: recovery is possible. Brilliant and devoted minds like Judith Herman, MD, Francine Shapiro, PhD, and Bessel van der Kolk, MD, have studied the micro and macro effects of trauma on individuals, cultures, and communities, and have influenced or invented treatment programs like EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), TRE (Tension and Trauma Releasing Exercises), EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique), and other tools to address the psychosomatic symptoms caused by trauma. These tools can be practiced alongside ancient spiritual traditions like Reiki, meditation, prayer, and mindfulness. These can be combined with physical therapies and lifestyle changes, like exercise and dietary routines, to ensure an integrated and holistic healing process. Free online and printed resources of these practices are becoming more widely available for individuals to seek healing through self-study. Lastly, the power and persistence of safe community presence and validation to break patterns of cognitive dissonance and create new experiences is critical to the success of the recovery process. These can be found in group therapies, conferences and workshops, or simply supportive and empathetic relationships. This list is a compilation of only a few of many modalities available for those seeking to discard old Post-Its on their own Wailing Walls and rewrite new ones.

 Heartbreakingly, however, this process is a privilege limited to very few. Let’s put my life into context: I am a white, straight, physically abled, cis-woman born into a well-resourced family in a first world country. Most health resources available have been created by and for people who share my physical characteristics and cultural experiences. According to the American Psychological Association, 86% of psychologists in the workforce in 2015 were white. I have had health insurance for the past decade and have still invested money out of pocket in the six figure range into my recovery process, going into debt to find relief from my symptoms. Due to my excellent education, I was paid well by my first employer directly out of graduate school and was able to jump industries from education to sales nearly effortlessly when I needed to better finance my healing process.

Although I encountered challenges confronting a non-trauma informed medical system that has a natural bias towards men’s health needs, I could still show up to have a conversation. Although the justice system was next to impossible to engage as a childhood incest survivor due to lack of evidence, statute of limitations laws, and a system built to invalidate women especially sexually assault survivors, I could still do it. Although I continue to confront sexual misconduct in circumstances outside of my control (cat calling, colleagues, etc.), I can usually remove myself from such circumstances safely. Although I had to unravel layers of oppression as a woman and childhood incest and illness survivor, I did not have to also manage oppressive narratives and circumstances regarding my sexual, gender, or race and ethnic identities (I admit to feeling very confused about many of these subjects and needing time to explore this confusion, but could do so safely). I could pursue these healing modalities because I function independently without requiring ongoing care from others.

 In order to heal from PTSD, the experience of trauma has to actually end, while new narratives are written in an environment of safety. As a white, well-educated, straight, physically abled, cis-woman raised in a system of wealth, the accessibility of a safe micro world to share my truths and find recovery is much more available to me. As I celebrate my continued healing, I also find myself grieving how unavailable it is to so many others. What about those who don’t have these privileges, i.e. people of color, the LGBTQ community, those who lack health insurance and financial resources, those in remote communities without access to the internet, those with various intellectual, developmental, or physical differences, or those still living in violent circumstances? What about those who continue to confront trauma daily due to environments of chronic illness, racism, sexism, lack of resources, violence, etc.? Don’t they deserve to end the wailing, to show up with their own walls of Post-It Notes ready to be relieved of them, and become stuck with the love, acceptance, resources, and privileges that they always deserved? 

As Lee Upsher, the founder of, Seen, Heard, Believed, an editorial photography project for sexual assault survivors to share their stories powerfully,  expressed, “How do ‘others’ get help when they can't even find someone who looks like them for support?” The ACE study reveals that it is a privilege to grow up in an emotionally, psychologically, and physically safe environment. A privilege that is only afforded to one-third of the American population (I assume this number is actually lower considering the participants in the study were people like myself: white and well-educated with access to healthcare). Yes, we must work to make our homes and communities safer so that people don’t have to recover in the first place. 

In the meantime, recovery must be made more available to all populations. And recovery begins with the freedom for people to become unstuck and then to share their stories.

The good news is that the health community is becoming aware of this disparity and working to improve the accessibility of appropriate care to diverse cultures and populations. In 2015, early career psychologists were better represented with 34% being racial and ethnic minorities. An improvement, but we still have a long way to go. Organizations and search filters are being created to help people of color and the LGBTQ community find therapists aligned with their experiences. If one has access to the internet or a local library, they can look up a myriad of Resources and support groups for little to no cost. Mental health supports are becoming more available and accessible for remote communities through applications and other technologies, as well as innovative health models that meet those community’s particular needs. Scholarship funds for recovery modalities and schooling are increasing. New programs are being created to ensure safety and accountability in systems and organizations caring for those with intellectual and physical differences.  

The question is: What do we do about it in the meantime? 

When I ask myself this question, I find my memory taking me back to the woman I was pushing Post-It Notes with all of my secrets behind my clothes in the closet of my childhood home. This was a creative solution that my brain invented while I was still living with and dependent on my perpetrator. But it also marked the beginning of an incredibly powerful process of healing that has broken the cycle of generational violence in my family system.

I believe in the power of healing through the potency of storytelling. It might not be everything someone needs to recover, but it’s a damn good start. Getting what’s on the inside out not only serves as a release, but it is also a natural way to educate and advocate. Sharing stories openly and honestly allows for us to more deeply understand the creativity and complexity of the human experience. It invites us to comprehend our differences more fully and celebrate our similarities more freely. 

I recognize that sharing stories isn’t always safe, that many people living and working in abusive homes, economies, and/or socio-political environments can lose their stability, their jobs, sometimes even their lives with the simple act of sharing their secrets. Those who are dependent on constant care can’t control the actions of their caretakers and are often threatened not to share their secrets. I began writing my story publicly when I realized that I was safe enough. There came a point in my healing where I understood that I had nothing left to lose.

Today, I’ve published my Post-Its in over ten online and print magazines. I am committed to continuing to do so for all of those who must still wail behind walls. I have no idea what healing will look like for them, but I believe that it should be accessible. So, I share my story in hopes that one day they will have the freedom to share theirs. Until then, know that I am wailing with you, that I am wailing for you, and that I am adding your secret story to my wall in hopes that one day we can push past our differences in appearance and affluence, come out of our closets, become unglued of all these ugly secrets, and then stick ourselves only to love.

That is a privilege we all deserve.

Anne Lauren is a writer, creator and advocate. She shares her story of healing from childhood incest and illness to contribute to ending sexual violence, increasing community resources, and encouraging survivors to heal. She also dabbles in intuitive painting, tinkers on the piano, travels when she can, unashamedly sings at the top of her lungs in the shower, and pretends that she’s funny. You can follow her @annemlauren on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn, as well as review her other publications at annemlauren.com.