Boston’s Trauma Conference: I Know Why the Rat Stops Playing!

Or let the rats speak!

Trauma Conference. Boston. Where has the field come in 25 years? I’ve been excited for months. I’m a writer. I write about trauma and trauma survivors and all things trauma. For a long time.

How’s the conference? Well, interesting science for sure. Not so much review of the field yet. Lots about the difference between single incident trauma (and PTSD) and developmental trauma (and Complex PTSD). Fantastically brilliant females speaking as good or better at slideshows as the boys. Yay. And science. Double yay.

There’s LOTS and LOTS to share. I will.

But today, one short and interesting story. Remember, these are a bunch of scientists and clinicians and they work in labs, and mention monkeys and rats, A LOT!

They mention how the animals can’t speak. There are lots of inferences about trauma survivors traumatized maybe having similarities, you know if you extrapolate and examine and do double blind blah. blah. blah.

A short easy to understand thing. Just one.

Rodents are happily playing for days. Mice. Rats. I honestly can’t remember. I remember what happens to them on day 4 though.

Day four, ONE CAT HAIR is introduced into the play area. Play stops. Play doesn’t stop for a minute or an hour or a day. PLAY STOPS.

The rodents get scared, as in my life might be in danger scared. Suddenly, not so playful even though they are young. Even though there’s no damn cat in sight or on the premises. There’s a cat hair. One single solitary cat hair.

6 days goes by. Still NO PLAY. The rodents DO NOT RETURN to play.

Violin. Sad for the rodents, right?

We are the rodents. At this conference. Trauma survivors I mean.

Back to the study. I will have to read the study some more. What happens when the hair is removed? When there are two hairs? ten hairs? when there’s a lint remover? Do they ever get used to cat hair? Do they sensitize? Can they be scared and learn to play at the same time? Can the rodents return to their pre-terrified playful ways ever? Do they have post-traumatic-cat-disorder? How are they with dogs?

One of the researchers, making the link between the rats and traumatized children says, “Some of our clients are living in cat hair. Some of our clients are living with the cat.”

It’s a good point. We might be living with four cats. We love the cats. The cats sometimes feed us. It’s complicated to have cat parents. Oh wait. Not exactly a working parallel. We are rodents to with parents acting like cats. But otherwise, just go with it. It’s scary.

And hey, big surprise, not so playful.

Good thing we studied that for a long time and spent lots on studies.

Yeah, I will come back and add his name and links to the studies. And it’s actually a simple and easy one that I think says a lot. And so, I will also come back and credit the people who did the study and the name of the guy who talked about it. He seemed particularly caring and mentioned patients as people. He might be open to hearing.

If he wanted to listen to me I might say one thing.

Rats can’t talk. People can. Let the “rats” speak. Meaning me and us. We can speak for ourselves and with you and describe some of our experiences if you engage us, out of therapy, as just, what’s the word…. people?

I mean rats and monkeys don’t share the same vocabulary, but damaged as we might be from trauma, we humans on the other side of the room on chairs and couches do.

Maybe, though they are super bright people they didn’t know this?

I wonder why a conference such as this one didn’t include ONE speaker, poem or essay, by a trauma survivor… not even in the lobby or as a vendor. I get it, they get to be collegial and speak to one another, without having to be all sensitive to us and our feelings. But, don’t they care what we have to say when we aren’t paying them to be nice to us?

Isn’t that important in a relational dyad re-enactment which is supposed to model, mirror and get us all warm and fuzzied up?

Not even one panel discussion, where clients and patients, for one hour or day, are included in the conversation. I mean, isn’t the conversation about the state of the field in the last twenty-five years.

My daughter said, once, “I’m the only one who can say if you’re a good mother because I’m the only one you’re the mother of.” She had a point. It’s not that simple because she might think I’m a good mother if I have her candy 24/7. But there’s some wisdom in her words. She is the only person I’m the mother of. Her insights and opinions are significant.

So, I feel a bit like my kid and want to say to the trauma experts, if you want to know what has and hasn’t worked and what is and isn’t useful, in your field, talk to the people you serve.

I mean, do you want Apple writing all of the reviews on the IPhone or do you read reviews by the people who get an IPhone to see what they have to say?

They are paying to come to a conference to learn how to better help us. Here’s an idea. Ask us what is helpful? Include us in the conversation and assume we have something worthwhile to contribute and that we can, in fact, speak for ourselves.

That sounds very victimish doesn’t it? Sh…

It’s not like we live and breathe and know this stuff inside out, not from studies, but from experience. Oh wait. We do. I know, crazy talk, must be the complex PTSD being triggered and re-enacted. Does someone have a skin sensor or a PET scan so we can see what is really going on?

Should I bring a sign next time that says, “Let the rats speak. Listen to the rats!” That would be oppositional and defensive, huh? That wouldn’t be nice – like raising monkeys in ways that damage them is.

I’ll just sit quietly and listen. I’ll take notes. I’ll write in my journal and be silent.

For today though, I invite you to free-write on this topic:

If the experts asked me what I would like them to know about trauma it would be this:

I have this crazy idea that BEING the people who have lived with Complex PTSD for the 25 years they speak of kind of makes us the experts.

We all know Maya Angelou had a lot to contribute to the world about what the caged bird sings. She was quiet and traumatized and mute for many years. She spoke for the birds. She spoke for herself.

I’m so glad she didn’t wait to be studied or asked.

I know why the rat stops playing.