Traumatic memories are often fragmented – a psychologist explains how and why that happens

 Young Asian woman sits on a sofa looking sad and worried.
Traumatic memories are not recalled the same way pleasant memories are.
Filmstax/E+ via Getty Images

Michele Patterson Ford, Dickinson College

When survivors of trauma recount their experiences, they are often questioned because of how they relay their stories. They may have problems remembering what happened, or their memories may be jumbled or even contradictory. People hearing those stories – attorneys, reporters, healthcare workers or friends – may expect a clearer, linear narrative.

Those unaffected by trauma may also be surprised to hear how the person acted in the moment. It’s easy to assume that someone experiencing a traumatic event would have a “fight or flight” response, instinctively fighting off a perpetrator or fleeing the scene – but that might not be the case.

Understanding the science of how trauma affects memory and behavior reveals why these responses can actually be expected and are not contradictory.

In both my academic and clinical work as a psychologist, I have witnessed the impact trauma has on people’s memories and behaviors, especially when an event in their present life triggers something from their past.

Research shows that taking a trauma-informed approach, which prioritizes understanding and curiosity about someone’s experience as opposed to judgment or critical evaluation, increases empathy for survivors’ thoughts, feelings and behaviors.

How trauma affects the brain

According to the World Health Organization, approximately 70% of people worldwide report experiencing a traumatic event in their lifetime. The majority of these people do not develop PTSD, a clinical diagnosis of symptoms, such as having nightmares and flashbacks about the event, avoiding places that are reminders of it, and increased arousal that can make concentration and sleep difficult. Many survivors don’t meet criteria for PTSD but struggle with feeling distressed, depressed or anxious.

In traumatic situations, people often respond in unexpected ways, and they may second-guess themselves. This may happen particularly when someone experiences a repeated trauma, which is more likely than not due to how many people experience traumatic events.

Trauma also distorts how memories are stored and retrieved.

Research indicates that people experience traumatic memories differently than memories of other significant events, such as sad or positive experiences. Two of the main brain structures scientists believe are involved in storing traumatic memories are the hippocampus – responsible for memory storage – and the amygdala, which is responsible for processing emotions.

During trauma, the amygdala becomes highly active, processing emotions such as fear, and the hippocampus becomes overwhelmed by stress, leading to problems with memory storage.

Traumatic memories do not follow a neat, linear story. Instead, people may experience the memory as disconnected fragments of sensations, emotions, smells or images. Such memories cause the body to reexperience the past threat as if it is happening in the moment. This may cause a person to feel like running away or fighting back – flight or fight. Or they may freeze.

In other words, people don’t have the distant perspective they often feel with other memories from the past. Rather, they may feel they are reliving the original experience.

Single working mother and her teenage daughter talk with much emotion in the kitchen.
Emotionally intense conversations can bring up past traumas, causing a person to freeze or feel numb.
Olga Rolenko/Moment via Getty Images
Misinterpreting victims’ behaviors

With this understanding, consider someone who experiences a trauma at the hands of a professional during an appointment. They may appear outwardly calm while it happens and then leave the session as they typically would – checking out, providing payment and possibly even scheduling the next appointment. While their response to act normally may seem odd, such behavior makes sense for someone trying to escape a threat.

Fight, flight or freeze responses have become widely known in popular culture. In a freeze response, a person’s mind goes blank and they may be unable to speak, leading to a “deer in the headlights” behavior.

On the other hand, a person may act paradoxically – perhaps by going on about their day as if nothing happened. They may not report the event or may question whether the incident even occurred. This represents another survival response – the lesser-known fawn response. This way of handling stress occurs when someone acts calm, appeases the threatening person and retreats to de-escalate the situation. Instead of literally backing away, in this example, the person metaphorically backs away by completing the session and exiting as expected without further conflict.

Outsiders may misconstrue these behaviors as evidence that a trauma did not actually happen or that a survivor lacks credibility. But that logic reflects common misconceptions about how people “should” remember or respond to trauma.

If this was the person’s first experience with a traumatic situation, afterward they are likely to feel afraid, disoriented or hyperalert. However, if they had previous similar experiences, this scenario may trigger past memories in the moment. This can muddy the experience even further, making it difficult to recall the incident later, especially under stressful circumstances.

When a survivor reports an incident and ultimately testifies against someone who harmed them, memory recall might be uniquely affected. Most people in this situation would be highly stressed, especially if the perpetrator were in the room.

To make matters worse, the feeling that the recalled memory is actually happening in the moment and not in the past may cause a survivor to convey a more fragmented story. They may also have either a more intense or detached emotional experience, depending on their own trauma responses.

Legal and other professionals unaware of the range of natural responses to trauma can easily misinterpret these behaviors as signs of lying or malingering.

In reality, the percentage of people who falsely report sexual assault, for example, is low – between 2% and 10%.

Two middle-aged men of diverse racial backgrounds engage in an intimate conversation while sitting in a living room.
Empathy can build trust and safety.
AzmanL/E+ via Getty Images
Providing better support

Research shows that people who better understand nuances of trauma and mental health in turn are more empathetic toward survivors. Some healthcare settings have adopted a trauma-informed approach to prevent retraumatization and build safety. Studies show that even being attentive to word choice can help ensure effective care for patients that avoids victim blaming.

A trauma-informed approach can also improve legal and justice systems so victims are better supported. This includes understanding why accounts aren’t linear and not equating memory inconsistencies with lying.

Research also shows that trauma-informed responses are equally important in everyday relationships. In friendships and close relationships, or in the workplace, patience and empathy convey a sense of respect, safety and trustworthiness. These offer a strong foundation for positive social and working relationships, which can lower a survivor’s distress and support their healing.

When people have a greater understanding of how trauma affects the brain, they gain insight into how survivors think, act and process their memories. What initially looks confusing or inconsistent is actually behavior that flows logically from a traumatized brain.

Having a trauma-informed perspective helps people to be better friends, co-workers and professionals. By extension, responding from this awareness may even help survivors understand their own reactions and experiences, which may ultimately aid their healing and ability to lead fulfilling lives.The Conversation

Michele Patterson Ford, Lecturer in Psychology, Dickinson College

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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When You Can’t Write

For a long time, I used to joke that I couldn’t afford writer’s block. I began writing professionally when my first child was a baby and I learned to use very small amounts of time. This involved “pre-writing,” going over the next scene in my mind (while doing stuff like washing the dishes) until I knew exactly how I wanted it to go; when I’d get a few minutes at the typewriter (no home computers yet), I’d write like mad. I always had a backlog of scenes and stories and whole books, screaming at me to be written. The bottleneck was the time in which to work on them.

I kept writing through all sorts of life events, some happy, others really awful and traumatic. Like many other writers, I used my work as escape, as solace, as a way of working through difficult situations and complex feelings. I shrouded myself with a sense of invulnerability: I could write my way through anything life threw at me!

Unfortunately, I was wrong.

I hit an immovable wall during a PTSD meltdown following the first parole hearing of the man who raped and murdered my mother. For weeks at a time, I battled flashbacks and nightmares. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t stop crying. Also, I couldn’t write. That creative paralysis added another dimension to the crisis. If I couldn’t write, who was I? Where were my secret worlds, my journeys of spirit and heart where people healed and things got better? Gone…and I didn’t know if I’d ever get them back.

I was fortunate to have a lot of help, professional and friendly, during those dark weeks and months, some of it from fellow writers. No pep talks, just friendship, constant and true. Eventually, as I recovered, I was able to return to fiction writing as well, although by then, I found myself a single working mom and had a new set of demands on my time.

Writers stop writing for all kinds of reasons. In my case, it was personal and emotional, part of a larger crisis. Other times, however, the well runs dry when the rest of life is going smoothly. Quite a few years ago, I ran into a writer I greatly admired (at an ABA convention), and I’d not seen anything from this writer in quite a few years. I introduced myself and asked when the next book would be coming out. Only when I saw the change in the writer’s expression did I realize how difficult the subject was. I was probably the hundredth person that weekend to ask. (Eventually, this writer came out with several new books; I wonder now if the appearance at the ABA wasn’t a way of trying to get the head back into writerly-space.)

Sometimes, a writer feels they’ve said everything they have to say. Or that one book or one series is it; there are no new worlds begging to be explored. They can rest on their laurels with a feeling of satisfaction and closure. For the rest of us, though, not writing is anywhere from excruciating to devastating.

I  think it’s not at all helpful to try to “cheer up” a writer in the middle of a dry period. The specific reasons–creative paralysis, personal crisis, discouragement–vary so much. I think it’s safe to say that each of us has to find our own way through. For me, it’s helped immensely to know I’m not the only one to go through it–and that’s the operational term “go through it.” Come out the other side. Talk about what happened, in the hopes of being the light in the darkness for someone else.

Revisiting Nightmares: Fantasy/Horror Crossovers and Trauma Recovery

Fantasy and horror have a natural affinity, one that goes back to the pre-literate times when people sat around the campfire, terrifying each other with stories of ghosts and skin-walkers and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night or that-are-not-quite-dead. Supernatural elements infused these tales with delightful spine-tingling shivers. One might speculate that way back then, the entire world must have seemed a perilous place, filled with phenomena beyond human understanding. I think that does a discredit to peoples who might have a much lower level of technology than we do but were nonetheless extremely sophisticated in their conceptualization and emotional understanding of the world around them. For all our computers and skyscrapers, we are just as enthralled by the uncanny and that jolt of adrenaline.

Of course, as individuals we vary in what is pleasurable to us. One person’s fun may be the trigger that causes months of terrifying nightmares for another person. This is especially true for people who have themselves been the victims of trauma, whether the assault has come in the form of physical violence or from psychological or emotional abuse. Reading horror or dark fantasy is not an approved method of psychotherapy, but encountering these stories mindfully can shift our perspective. Good fiction of any kind does not “stay on the page” but has the power to change the way we see ourselves and our lives. Horror, by its focus on frightening elements, carries a particular emotional punch.

Like so much genre literature today, the distinctions between fantasy and horror are often driven by the requirements of marketing, with blurry overlapping areas like dark fantasy. One might otherwise lump them all together as “literature of the macabre,” today’s incarnation of the 19th Century Gothic novel. I doubt that Edgar Allan Poe would have thought of his work as either fantasy or horror, although he might have been quite delighted with macabre.

Horror, with the exception of purely psychological horror, represents a subset of fantasy. This subset is of course a spectrum, from fantasy with slightly “dark” aspects to horror that includes or relies upon fantastical elements. I would go even further in arguing that shadows –elements that partake of the spookier side of the supernatural, or inversions of everyday expectations – are what give good fantasy much of its appeal. For every Hobbiton, there is a Mordor, and not even Lothlorien with its Mirror of Galadriel is without danger. Shadows give shape to light, and risk heightens the value of the hero’s journey. After all, what is more dangerous and suspenseful than a journey into lands and times when the dead can walk (and wreak revenge), humans can take the form of animals (and vice versa), and malevolence is a real and present force.

Some stories have no point other than to horrify; they are unrelentingly gruesome and bleak. The portrayal of – adulation of — futility against overwhelming evil is not limited to the horror genre. Existentialist despair, as well as depictions of the depth of human pain and the height of human malice, have their place in the canon of literature. Fiction allows us to view and explore frightening events and to grapple with appalling things in the company of trusted companions.

Horror not only delivers a certain emotional palette but a resolution that is satisfying for the neutral reader and can be helpful to the person wrestling with their own experience of fear. Here the overlap with fantasy plays a special role, for fantasy by its very nature alters the rules of ordinary reality. The “contract with the reader” includes the premise that impossible things can and will happen, both horrible and wonderful. Fantasy is also particularly suited to the use of symbol and archetype to deepen emotional resonances. Continue reading “Revisiting Nightmares: Fantasy/Horror Crossovers and Trauma Recovery”…

In Times of War: A Flood of Horrific News

After the 2016 Presidential election, I wrote a series of blog posts, “In Troubled Times.” In them I explored my evolving feelings of disbelief, shock, horror, despair, fury, and rising determination. “Nevertheless, She Persisted” became our mantra. I hoped that my words provided solace and inspiration to others, and the process of putting them down did for me.

Now we face new, often overwhelming challenges to sanity. I find myself reacting to the news of the war in Ukraine, and yet being unable to look away. Then my friend, Jaym Gates, wrote this on her Facebook page, posted here with her permission.

Be really careful on social media for the next few days, friends. A lot of footage of Russian Federation war crimes, torture, rape, and murder just came out from Mariupol and other occupied cities. It is *horrific.* While it needs to be seen, shared, and remembered, it is going to be extremely traumatic to engage with.

If you’re a survivor of abuse or trauma, in particular, please be especially careful.

And send support to Ukraine if you can. What’s happening there is awful beyond words.

 My daughter, a psychology student, spotted this article by Heather Kelly in the Washington Post: How to stay up-to-date on terrible news without burning out.

It can be hard to look away from your phone and live your life while terrible events are unfolding, Kelly writes. There’s an unrelenting flow of images, videos and graphic updates out of Ukraine, filling social media, messaging apps and news sites.

It’s important to stay informed, engaged and even outraged. But it’s also important to pay attention to our own limits and mental health by taking breaks, looking for signs of burnout and consuming news in the smartest way possible.

That means setting some ground rules for the main portal connecting us to nonstop tragedy: our phones [or computers]. Here are some suggestions:

  1. Give yourself permission to take a break

It is okay to hit pause on the doom and go live your life, whether that means going outside with the kids or just losing yourself on the silly side of TikTok. It’s necessary for everyone’s mental health.

  1. Take time for self-care

A break is not a few minutes away from Twitter. Start with real breaks of at least 30 minutes to an hour so that your brain has time to come down from what you were last watching or reading. Ideally, you’ll put your phone down and take a technology break … or do some activities known to help with stress reduction, including exercise, mindfulness and meditation, journaling, engaging in hobbies and other activities you enjoy, spending time with family and friends, and doing faith-based activities if you practice.

  1. Change your news habits

Disinformation like propaganda is designed to capture your attention and elicit strong emotions, which can contribute to any anxiety you’re already feeling. Instead, stick with reputable sources. If you can wait, opt for deeply reported stories at the end of the day over constant smaller updates. Avoid using social media for news, but if you do, follow sources and people that contribute to your understanding of an issue rather than those that just generate more outrage.

  1. View your phone in black and white

In your smartphone’s accessibility settings there is an option to make the screen black and white instead of color. Some studies have indicated that turning this on leads to less screen time.

  1. Know when to ask for help

Look for signs that you are burned out or experiencing serious anxiety. First, consider whether you’re predisposed to reacting strongly to a particular issue. Anyone who has personally dealt with similar trauma or war in the past might find constant vivid social media posts about Ukraine to be triggering. [Italics mine.]

In conclusion: be kind to yourself, friends. Practice healthy boundaries and filters, and good self-care. Ask for help, whether it’s a friend or family member screening news for triggers, or a companion on a hike through the redwoods. Find safe people to reach out to. I’ll be writing more about our journey together.