Don’t Be A Prick
My family and I moved into a house last fall, which came with a garden full of a variety of perennials. As we slide into mid-June, these flowers have begun to bloom. Pops of color now erupt on a canvas of lush green leaves, and a sense of tranquility accompanies the sight of them.
One of the more peculiar plants we’ve inherited is a patch of prickly pear cacti. It’s the only species of cactus that grows native to Minnesota. I’m dumbfounded about how a cactus can make it through the bitterly harsh winters of the Upper Midwest. To survive and then thrive doesn’t seem possible.
As you can see in the photo, this cactus produces a vibrant yellow flower. It has a silky feel, like running a hand across the shoulder of a prom dress. Its look and texture starkly contrast the cactus’ sharp, piercing needles. It provides both pleasure and pain.
Of the dozen or more flowering plants in the garden, I would relate to the prickly pear cactus best. (I’m sure most of my family and friends would agree.) Struggling post-trauma survivors often bring the sweet and the sour to relationships, or in this case, the beautiful flowers and the jabbing spikes. Daily triggers instantly send us into fight-flight-freeze mode. We can be delicate and nurturing in a moment—the next, prickly to the touch. We can be there for you for a time, and then at others injure you in ways that leave you scarred and distrustful.
Trauma survivors who act this way don’t WANT to act this way. It leaves us guilt-ridden, shameful, and out of control. As we participate in these triggered reactions, it can feel like an out-of-body experience. We feel helpless as we watch a relationship burn to the ground even as we hold the lit match. It leaves us scarred and distrustful also.
This situation sounds dire, and it can be. Left unmanaged, this post-trauma behavior can and does poison relationships as it eats the trauma survivor from within, like an ash borer to a tree. It can be managed, however.
While the trauma survivor can’t reverse the infliction, relationships can bloom again if trauma survivors can accept the responsibility for their role in the damage they’ve created and ready themselves to do the work. (Note that I didn’t say they own the responsibility of the trauma; that was forced upon them. But they are responsible for how they react to trauma triggers and the resulting damage, even when those responses can be knee-jerk.) I’ve written about managing triggers in other blog posts on this site.
If you’re a trauma survivor who experiences triggers, know that these triggers never fully go away. You’ll have them moving forward indefinitely. But by managing them effectively, you can neutralize them and spare the relationship from the prickly needles.
I don’t enjoy being a prickly pear cactus, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that, post-trauma, it’s what I became. The great news is that I have the ability to bloom, to produce beauty that those around me can feel. By continuing to work on managing my trigger reactions, my loved ones will, over time, experience more of the flowers and less of the pricks.
