Meditation for Trauma Healing

a woman sitting on a dock in front of a body of water.

Sometimes, when people ask me what I do for a living and I’m in the right kind of mood, I tell them I’m a tour guide through the realm of emotional pain. This is a sassy and, perhaps, slightly macabre way of describing myself and my work, but it’s an honest one. As a mindfulness-based psychotherapist and self-aware wounded healer, I know that keeping people company while they make contact with their own wounds is the most significant part of what I do. And it’s something I do with great reverence for the people who choose me to take the journey with them.

These people, my beloved clients, often seek me out in the midst of great suffering. Many of them have gone through dramatic and traumatic life experiences that interrupt their lives and negatively impact their functioning. When they arrive to their first session, many of them fight to hold back tears; they make visible efforts to hold themselves together, showing just how much life energy they’ve been expending to avoid falling apart. Once they know it’s safe to surrender, they allow themselves to reveal the pain they’ve been holding—and it’s heavy. In this beautiful clearing, they allow me to join with them and begin the healing process.

Often, clients come to see me because they know I incorporate mindfulness and meditation in the therapeutic process. Some of them have heard about meditation or been encouraged to try it, and they arrive eager to access anything that will give them some relief. Naturally, they assume that meditation will help them clear their minds and get free from the internal chaos that’s causing them so much anguish. This heartens me, as I know the abundant healing potential meditation holds. But in almost every case, I bookmark that chapter of our work together until a later time. Here’s why.

Meditation can be a remarkably effective tool that aids in the healing process. A regular practice has been found to calm the sympathetic nervous system, thus reducing the fight-or-flight response associated with trauma and post-traumatic stress. It’s also been shown to produce structural and functional brain changes that support healing. But it isn’t always advisable for survivors of trauma to hop onto the cushion right away. In fact, practicing without attending to other things first can actually interfere with and complicate the healing process.

If you practice meditation, you know that the notion of the mind getting quiet is a complete fallacy. Our brains simply aren’t wired to go silent whenever we want them to—if they could, traumas could be resolved pretty rapidly, and a whole lot of human suffering would be eliminated. Instead, what tends to happen when we enter the practice is that we become even more aware of what’s swirling around inside us. For people who’ve experienced traumas, this can be terrifying. Thoughts, emotions, and memories that are already troubling under normal circumstances can become overwhelming in the silent space that meditation opens.

The experience of trauma is characterized by intense fear that comes from a real or perceived direct threat to our survival. This kicks our nervous system into high gear and has a lasting psychological and emotional impact. After the initial event, trauma survivors often experience severe anxiety, intrusive thoughts, unpleasant physiological symptoms, emotional detachment, and unwanted flashbacks of the initial event. Without a proper foundation in place, meditation can amplify these experiences instead of alleviating them.

Here’s where that thing I said earlier about being a tour guide comes into play. It isn’t always safe to turn inward unaccompanied until we’ve done some work on being able to settle into ourselves. Research supports that meditation can be an integral part of the trauma healing process when accompanied or preceded by talk therapy or other forms of intentional interpersonal support. By consciously addressing the trauma, survivors learn how to revisit the traumatic event without become re-traumatized by it. They learn a variety of tools that help them cope with daily life and reestablish a sense of safety and security. While therapy isn’t a panacea for trauma, it provides a solid foundation that can be built upon and bolstered by practices like meditation.

Having had more than one traumatic experience in my own life, I can say that meditation is something I was able to adopt and embrace only after I did some conscious sorting out of my internal material. Through therapy and other more deliberate and directive healing modalities, I prepared myself to sit in silence, be present to my experience, and make direct contact with my thoughts and emotions. This is the space I aim to co-create and hold for my clients. Once they’ve walked through the pain and gotten familiar with the landscape, they can access the power and potential of meditation, cultivating serenity and taking their healing to new depths.

When we’ve done the work of acknowledging and addressing our traumas, meditation and mindfulness can help us get back into our bodies. These practices can serve as a profound form of empowerment, revealing to us the capacity we have for healing ourselves and learning to thrive again. They invite us to begin shining light over the parts of ourselves that were cast into darkness; they allow us to reclaim those parts and become whole again.

Serving as a means of retraining our brains and deepening our connection to ourselves, meditation offers significant benefits for anyone who’s experienced trauma. It helps us safely self-monitor, notice our thoughts, soothe ourselves, anchor our attention, breathe into discomfort, confidently encounter strong emotions, and securely inhabit our bodies and minds. Through a combination of therapy and meditation, I’ve seen countless clients move from victimhood to empowerment. I’ve seen chronic drug users who’d do anything to numb the pain release their attachments to substances and learn to comfortably live in their own skin. I’ve seen suffering transformed through the power of the practice, wielded by individuals who know they’re ready to turn the gaze inward.

Meditation holds the promise of opening our hearts and transmuting our pain into loving awareness and a deepened sense of compassion for ourselves and others. Through the practice, we learn to make space for the traumatic events we’ve endured and integrate them into our story. We learn to accommodate every aspect of that story. Because the truth is, our lives are richly complex experiences; they contain darkness as well as light, sorrow as well as joy. And when we learn to accept this fundamental truth, that life is everything, we can release our attachments and access our freedom.

It’s a Long and Winding Road

a train track with trees in the background.

I had a startling encounter with myself recently that came at an unexpected time, with unanticipated intensity. During a heated argument with someone I love, I found myself in dark yet familiar territory: The Shadow Land, as I’ve come to call it. This is a place I’ve known all my life—one that I decided years ago to travel far, far away from but that somehow has a way of calling me back from time to time. In the midst of this particularly painful exchange, I found myself there again and felt all those old emotions that I swore to myself (much more than once) I’d never feel again. I was out of my depth; I felt out of control. As the awful words tumbled out of my mouth and the dark emotions surged through me, I disconnected from the purest parts of myself and went completely into shadow mode. I didn’t like who I was being or where I was going in that moment, but I was compelled to keep spiraling deeper into it. What a painful experience. What an awful, well-worn path to tread. It’s tough to admit this—especially given the pressure placed on people in my position to act as if we’ve got it all together all the time— but if owning up to it makes any sort of contribution to anyone else’s process, it’s well worth it.

As someone doing the kind of work I do, I have the benefit of getting an insider’s view of the painful insecurities and disowned shadowy bits that plague most people. If we’re willing to look closely, all of us can find parts of ourselves we’re unwilling to own; parts of our stories we’re unwilling to forgive; parts of our lives we’re unwilling to accept. Some of us are at war with ourselves, unable to live comfortably in our own skin. Others—perhaps those who have ventured into the territory of healing and made the brave and radical decision to shine love and acceptance where there has been darkness—know the pain and disappointment of realizing that the work isn’t done. This was my experience as I found myself losing touch with my light. This is the experience of owning the unfortunate yet inevitable truth—that self-acceptance and self-love are a lifelong project.

We’re living in interesting times, where self-improvement is in style, and everywhere we look, someone’s offering a quick and easy solution to peace everlasting. But let’s be honest: human nature is more complex than we’ll ever understand, and the road to total self-acceptance is a long and winding one. Books, seminars, coaching, and therapy can give us direction and equip us with the tools we need to find our way; but Life, as always, remains in charge, finding myriad ways to put us in touch with the unacknowledged, unforgiven, disowned parts of ourselves. The dark matter, as it turns out, runs deep—and so does the work of shining our light there.

After spending some time battling my demons and forgetting everything I’ve ever known—or taught—about self-acceptance and self-love, I found my breath and allowed myself to re-align. I called upon my courage and committed to doing some exploring of everything that was unearthed when this person so close to me triggered something I had no idea was lurking beneath the surface. But first, I did some serious ugly crying, jotted some notes in my journal, gave myself a big hug, and got back to the business of living. Because this is what we self-helpers tend to gloss over: sometimes, we can’t just Namaste the pain away and bathe ourselves in blissful self-love. Sometimes, pulling ourselves together and wearily declaring a truce is all we can manage. The process, as I said, is a deep one, and the journey toward boundless self-love might be never-ending. So sometimes, the best we can do is stay with the process and sit with the pain of what hasn’t yet healed, trusting that shining the light of our awareness into the darkness is its own powerful form of progress.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that if only we read enough, meditate enough, go to enough yoga classes, or repeat enough mantras, we’ll be healed forever. I mean, how appealing is it to believe that we can free ourselves, once and for all, from the shackles of insecurity, self-doubt, and self-loathing? But the truth is, when we buy into the notion that the self-love project is one we can conquer swiftly and completely, we only add to our own suffering. Maybe instead, we can let ourselves settle into the lifelong journey and appreciate the process of learning as we go. Maybe we can brace ourselves for those dark nights of the soul, trusting that they’ll usually wind up being the greatest contributions to our growth.

Listen, I’ll be the first to tell you: personal development work is not for the faint of heart. It’s gruesome to face down the self-limiting beliefs and unresolved emotional drama living inside us. But despite what any late-night infomercial or well-funded Facebook ad might try to sell you on, it’s the only way transformation can happen. We’ve got to face it and feel it to heal it; and we’ve got to be ready for the lifelong project of self-growth, self-love, self-acceptance, and self-improvement. But though the journey is long and the work deep, I, for one, take great comfort in knowing that we’re in this together. All of us breathing and learning and healing and growing, side by side—all of us contributing to and gaining from one another’s beautiful journeys.