The PRT Chronicles: Part 1

The Tornado and the Science of Safety

The panic attack I had recently wasn’t the failure I believed it was. It was actually the release of weeks of tension I had held tightly within my body.

During the first 25 years of my adult life, I was diagnosed with insomnia, depression, and anxiety. It never occurred to me (or any of my doctor) that there was a root cause to those symptoms. The insomnia started the moment I lost our fourth pregnancy and lasted for 20 years. In light of that trauma, the sleeplessness makes perfect sense now. It was the beginning of a brace that didn’t let go for decades.

I was desperate to find relief from the chronic back and neck pain that had become my constant, unrelenting companion. About four years ago, a friend sent me a podcast interviewing Alan Gordon, the author of The Way Out. I was so tired in general I didn’t even listen to it at first. Then I bought the book as a hard copy (we had it on Audible) and let it gather dust on the bookshelf.

It was actually Kris who listened first. He finished it and told me

You need to read this.

While I was still processing the idea that there might be a real way out, Kris went to the website, found the only therapist in St. Louis who specializes in Pain Reprocessing Therapy (PRT), and made the appointment for me.

That’s how this leg of the journey began.

PRT is the process of teaching your brain that the pain it’s creating is a false alarm. My brain had become an expert at sounding alarms. But finally, at age 42, it was time for something differnt. It was time to learn something new about how to move through this life.

During all the turmoil, as Kris began to pray, my old habits took over and tried to lead. I saw the tornado swirling around my head as I stood on the raft I saw in my mind, and my immediate instinct was to fight. I was internally screaming at myself to get it together and stop shaking. I was trying to will the storm to move on.

But then, something shifted. With the support and physical closeness of my husband, who entered into the madness with me, I did something counterintuitive. I stopped the internal screaming. I let my hands go empty. Raphah. I was still.

When my nervous system finally received the signal of safety (the moment I stopped fighting myself and allowed myself to be supported) the pain stopped. It wasn’t until the pain was gone that I realized my brain was creating that physical pain to protect me from the emotional storm. But the more I fought, the louder the alarm sounded. I didn’t need to brace for impact anymore because I was no longer at war.

I’m still pulling on this thread to unravel the old me, but I’m starting to realize that I don’t have to fight the storm to survive it. I just have to be found in it.

We have to do better. I’m convinced if we could all collectively heal our trauma and begin breaking generational curses, we would see a world people have only hoped for thus far.

I’m breathing through this with you. See you in the stillness,

Jamie

The Weight of Stillness is a reader-supported ministry.
There will never be a paywall blocking you from full
access to what God is teaching me as I embrace
stillness. But if you are led to donate to this ministry
God is birthing out of my journey, you can become a
paid subscriber.

---

---