I want to send a special thanks to Laura Sebright at Trigger Publishing for sending me Mind Over Mountain-A Mental and Physical Climb to the Top by Robby Kojetin to review.
About the Author
Robby Kojetin lives in Johannesburg, South Africa, and is a high-altitude adventure. Since his accident in 2006 which resulted in him breaking both of his ankles, he has gone on to become one of only a handful of people to have stood on top of the world’s highest mountain, Mount Everest. He has also climbed Kilimanjaro nine times, completed the Ironman triathlon, and scaled five of the Seven Summits. Known as an inspirational and engaging speaker on stage, he presents on the topics of failure, self-doubt and persisting against all odds, in the hopes of inspiring people of all ages and backgrounds facing the daunting mountains and obstacles in their own lives.
Robby is a proud husband and father who also coaches people to reach their personal summit goals. He is a regular contributor to a number of radio programmes, magazine articles and TV features, including DiscoveryChannel’s Everest: Beyond the Limit.
Blurb
A simple mistake at an indoor climbing gym sentenced 28-year-old Robby to a year in a wheelchair, shattering his aspirations of becoming a mountaineer. In the months that followed, Robby faced depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts and a complete loss of his sense of identity.
But from somewhere deep inside him, he summoned up the strength to keep going even when all seemed lost; he embarked on a monumental journey, a feat of mental and physical strength. His weakness became his power. This story is more than a biography or an account of a mountaineering expedition – it showcases the human spirit and shows us all how it is possible to rewrite the definition of what is possible. From those dark days, Robby has become the embodiment of perseverance and possibility, overcoming the odds to join the handful of people who have summited Mount Everest.
One reviewer said “I laughed, I cried, got angry at why something so terrible could happen to someone so good, but most of all I was in awe of what Robby overcame!! A must-read for anyone!!”
My Thoughts
At 22 years old Robby’s identity and self-confidence were tied to rock climbing and all the adventure it brought. He was paving away in a career that he enjoyed that gave him the time off needed to continue his climbing adventures.
Until one fateful day, while practicing on a climbing wall, he jumped off as he had done many times before, the floor gave way causing Robby to shatter both ankles, fracturing several bones and rupturing the tendons from the shin down.
This is a devastating blow to anyone but for an avid rock climber, this could be the end of the adventure. With the love and support of family and friends, Robby concentrates on recovery and walking again. The recovery period is slow, very painful, and takes a toll on his mental health. Some days are dark with no light at the end of the tunnel but he pushes forward.
What Robby does from here is miraculous, not only does Robby walk again but goes on to climb the highest mountain in the world Mount Everest. This book is a fast and very enthralling read. It’s a story of grit and what the mind can allow us to accomplish. I would recommend this book to anyone.
Trigger Publishing
TriggerHub.org is the first mental health organization of its kind. We are bringing mental health recovery and balance to millions of people worldwide through the power of our books.
We have built a first-class resource of curated books produced and published in-house to create a unique collection of mental health recovery titles unrivaled in quality and selection. We work with experts, psychologists, doctors, and coaches to produce our books, but we also work with real people looking to share their stories to reach out to others and provide hope, understanding, and compassion. These brave authors also aim to raise awareness of mental health’s “human” face and its impact on everyday lives.
I’m so proud my family history includes Native Americas from the Cherokee tribe. I don’t know who exactly married a Cherokee in the 1800’s, I think it was my granny’s grandfather. The best I can determine is I’m 1/16th Cherokee. I encourage you to read the brutal story of The Trail of Tears, it’s best book I’ve found that truthfully shares the inhumane treatment while being forced from their homes. Expect a few tears.
The American Indians have been raped fron the land since mankind landed in what became America. Years later our government took all their land and made them live of Reservations with little to no help from the American Government. It was vicious, making the tribes march to their new reservations. Many were killed, women were raped and when the Rolls of Cherokee’s were opened to prove they were American Cheerokee’s so many were distrusting of the government they refused to sign. I can only find one relative who is registered. If you didn’t register, you were not considered a member of the tribe and you and family received no benefits later offered to the American Indians.
American Indians lived in America for several hundred years and lived all over the United states. My perception about the tribes is they are survivors, were handed the worst and have made the best life with it. I won’t say it a good life because reservations have the highest rates of alcoholism, drug abuse and suicide. The casino’s look like and you would think the employees are paid nice, not true. Most live in extreme poverty.
It’s a sad in history for America, if the governments wants something, like land, they will take it.
No Fourth River is a must-read for anyone who has experienced a dysfunctional household with domestic violence, child abuse, humiliation, electroshock therapy, boarding school, and most importantly survived to see much better days.
Reviewed in the United States on February 28, 2018
Verified Purchase
This is a candid memoir in which Christine confronts all her demons and inspires readers to do the same. Her family life was an open secret in the small town where she lived, yet she received little to no help from the outside world. Her father’s extremely strict and abusive ways made the whole family, including Christine’s mother and brothers, live in fear. The punishments he invented for them ranged from beatings to being forced to kneel for hours on end.
The boarding school Christine attended was not much better. It was a system of endless humiliation and abuse.
Growing up with these burdens, Christine reached a turning point where she knew things needed to change, and she took control of her life. Readers will cheer her on as they discover how she overcame many years of feeling powerless and not good enough to become a successful businesswoman.
Dysfunctional families are a complex web that continues to affect people even into adulthood. It was really interesting to see Christine’s relationship with her father impact every part of her life, even though she left home intending to be free of his influence. Whether we like it or not, our parents make us who we are to a great extent. Ironically, Christine became driven and successful in business, just like her father.
Throughout the book, she describes some truly disturbing scenes, but what keeps you reading is knowing she survived in the end. This book is a real inspiration for anyone who has suffered from abuse or anyone who simply wants to make a change in their life. It shows that once you resolve to change, things can only get better.
I’m thrilled to take part in the Blog Tour for Christine Clayfield’s first novel “No Fourth River”. Christine, it’s great to talk with you this morning. Let’s jump in.
Your novel “No Fourth River” is incredibly personal. Starting with the brutal abuse from your father to all the siblings. What convinced you now was the right time to write your story?
There are four influencing factors that made me decide to write my story.
1) My husband and daughters kept telling me, over the years, that I should write a book about my life.
2) I don’t usually share my story with others. However, sometimes when I unintentionally mention things from my past, people are intrigued. They want to know more about my life. I’ve often been told that I should write a book because my struggles would resonate with others and my life story could be an inspiration.
3) I had been jotting down ideas for a while but never started to write. When I collected enough courage to speak on stage, people often burst into tears during my speech. They came up to me after my speech to thank me for sharing my story and to tell me how inspired they were. That moment was when I decided to write my life story. I didn’t realize until then that my life story was an inspiration to others. Very shortly after that, I started writing No Fourth River.
I transformed my life and I wanted to spell out valuable messages in my book too. If I can change one person’s life who will read my book, I will have achieved my goal. I have shared my life experiences, deeply personal ones too, and hope to make a difference in someone else’s life. I want people to know that you can change your life, no matter what you have been through. I am a living example.
4) I am not getting any younger so I needed to do it sooner rather than too late when I perhaps won’t remember all the details of my life.
Your fans responded to “No Fourth River” by rating the book with five stars on Amazon.com. What was your first reaction?
I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of my first review as I was curious to read people’s thoughts about my story. When I saw my first review, I was pleased as punch and totally overwhelmed with happiness. The review confirmed what I wanted my book to be: an inspiration to others.
How long did the writing process take?
From the moment I started jotting down dates of events in my life until the manuscript was totally finished, 2 years went by. However, I wasn’t writing full-time at the beginning, just a few hours per week. Once I’d written a few chapters, I started thinking: “I can actually do this; write a novel”. I had written five business books prior but this was my first novel. From that moment, I started writing most days of the week and I finished the book one year later but had a long break in between as my mum moved in with me and I looked after her in her last stages of dementia.
“No Fourth River” is your first novel, what’s your next book?
I am planning to write a book about “How to market a novel” , based on my experiences. I believe there is a big gap in the market for an informative book on this subject.
I am also scribbling down ideas for my second novel: a fiction novel.
Writers are often avid readers. What type of book do you read for pleasure?
Aside from reading books about all aspects of doing business, I love true stories and inspirational stories.
What are some of your other personal leisure activities?
A leisure activity is doing what you like and as I like working, I consider that as one of my leisure activities. When you enjoy what you are doing, it doesn’t feel like working. I also enjoy watching my husband play drums in his touring theatre show. Apart from that, I love traveling, watching a good movie, and dining with friends and family.
The morning after you killed yourself, we went to secure the house. I knew immediately you suffered slowly. Among the papers, trash, and clothes and I found your lockbox. The divorce paperwork to my mother, every card I gave you as a child. I found the pad you were writing on. Your Bible on the coffee table, dried tears as you were reading Job in the Bible.
The note had 11:30 a.m. written in the corner. I could see you called your best friend and the phone number to a suicide line. There were words and a drawing that made no sense. Granny paralyzed, crying, asking why. The house ransacked, nothing anything made sense to her.
Dirty dishes piled high, nothing in the refrigerator, how did you live like this, how long? You phoned me several times in the months before your death. Delusional and highly paranoid each time. Someone was tapping your phone, they were trying to get you and the rest I could not understand, you were already gone. As much as I hated you, I cried, begged you not to kill yourself, trying to reason with him that Granny would never be the same. I paid your bills for months. You weren’t in touch with reality.
The outcome will not change if determined. I knew you would take your life and told no-one. I’ve wondered what went through your mind in the hours doodling to writing the note, then killing yourself. I received the call at 10:00 p.m., Gramps said your dad has done away with himself. I called right back to see if you were dead or going to the hospital.
The boxes of cassettes next to your bed, taking months to listen to. You were mentally ill, not under the care of a Psychiatrist, no medications. Your temper went 1-10 in seconds, obnoxious, loud, racist, screaming, out of control.
You had hit the bottom and I didn’t know because we were estranged,
I’ve experienced being suicidal more than once, God and my husband saved me. If you are thinking about suiside, call your Psychiatrist right away or go to closet hospital, be open with your doctor and follow all medications instructions, these actions may save your life. I’ve stayed in Psychistratic Hospitals multiple times, I had 21 ECT Treatments, and I feel no shame. My mental heath is critical to living a balanced life.
I was a child, six months old. You left me in the bathtub while you answered the door. Did you want me to drown?
I was a child, a baby, running a high fever in the middle of winter. You pushed my highchair in front of an open window to cool me down. Did your mother teach you that?
I was a child, a toddler, You dug your nails into my underarms so none would see the bruises. Granny didn’t understand why I cried so hard when you grabbed me by the arm.
I was a child, a teenager. You slapped me for the last time, I fought back. One swing and your husband punches me in the mouth with his fist. Were you glad he came to your rescue?
I was a child, a teenager. You told Child Protective Services I was mentally ill and you were trying to get me admitted to the state hospital. Crazy, who me?
I became an adult, no longer a child, and realized the manipulation and pain you caused and severed all ties. Why do you still send my Birthday and Christmas cards?
Child Abuse Awareness Month is another awareness month that hits home for me. My abuse started when I was a child and lasted until I was 12 when I went to live with my father. My mother and stepfather not only physically abused me, they emotionally abused me and each were equally painful. I have worked with my Therapist for over 30 years and still have not totally processed the pain and anger. No child deserves to carry this burden and I know firsthand how it plays on your mind.
U.S. Child welfare authorities look into the safety of more than 7.5 million kids annually
Of those, around 3 million children received an investigation or alternative response from child protective services agencies.
How big is the problem of child abuse?
1 in 4 girls and
1 in 13 boys in the U.S.
are estimated to experience child abuse
Source: CDC
1 in 5
children in Europe
are estimated to experience sexual violence
Source: Council of Europe 2022
1 billion
children globally
are estimated to experience sexual violence
Source: World Health Organization 2022
More than 550,000 children are known to U.S. authorities to be abused.
An estimated 558,899 children (unique incidents) were victims of abuse and neglect in the U.S. in 2022, the most recent year for which there is national data. That’s 8 children out of every thousand.
These statistics make me weep, how can so many children carry the deep pain around with them? Keep your eyes open and if you see something that looks out of line report it.
I want to thank Margie for sharing her story with me. She is a special woman who wants to help others who experience Postpartum Psychosis. Please share this post with someone who’s given birth recently.
Postpartum Depression accompanied by Psychosis
This is not a war to win. It cages a soul and will not allow reason of any kind. I prayed, I begged and I pleaded. You can have me, but you cannot have my daughter.
On this particular morning, I thought I’d heard a knock at my front door, or was that coming from the back door? I trusted nothing. I sat in the nursery until the pounding stopped, and the sound of what I thought was my name being called, ended. Rocking my angel. I sobbed so violently. I wanted the voices and the visions to go away. I wanted nothing more than to save my baby from myself.
Something made me pause. Was that the front lock-set being opened, the door flinging open, were those real voices?
They found me. Jo and Priscilla. They found me, and they did not let go of me. One took the baby, and the other took the phone directory.
And every chance I get, I tell them, “Thank you.”
I spent the following three and a half months in a locked Psych ward.
Each one of us has a story that shames us, it can trap us in a sort of hell, but sometimes to escape hell, we must find words to express our grievance. I used to think this would be one that I could not share for fear of losing someone whom I love(d). Now I fear that if I don’t share it, someone may lose their way, they may find themselves lost, alone, aberrant, and of course, crazy. I would rather lose every friend I have for the sacrifice of gaining that one that reached out to me in need. The one that discovered hope, when they felt there was none left. But, if you can find clarity if you can trust that there are people in this world that care first for others, and second for themselves, then you, and they will walk with you through hell. When we have true friends, they don’t leave us when the going gets rough. They stop at nothing to see that we realize how important we are, in their life. They don’t call you, Pyscho, MisFit, or Crazy. They call you, Friend. That having us is a joy, a blessing, a God-send. A true friend does not judge, does not keep a scorecard, and knows that we are them, should they ever need us, and not out of guilt or because a favor needs returning. No, a true friend stands by knowing that without our connection we are only half of ourselves.
When others walked out, you walked in. You asked for nothing in return. You never used my illness to shame me, to discount me, to write me off. You stood beside me and carried me through my darkest hours. Priscilla, Senn, and Jo McCormack thank you for seeing me when I could not see myself. But more than anything, thank you for saving my Megan from the psychotic lunatic that I had become. We have fought hard to win, and without each of you, I would have lost. It took three and a half months, out-of-state, in a mental institution, a number of medications, and therapy sessions, but I came home, loving and vowed that one day I would share this story.
Never give up hope. When you are at your weakest, grasp for straws. Dial for help. Swallow your pride. Do not fear that you will be labeled, CRAZY, for the rest of your life, even by those you thought would stand behind you through thick and thin. One of the best pieces of advice given to me was these words:
“They already think you’re crazy. Nothing you do, or say, will change their opinion. Absolutely nothing, therefore, be yourself. Only you know the journey and the victory.”
To Megan,
I promised you I would finish a tale that I had begun earlier in one of my posts. I think I even noted Day 16 as the day that I would write it. Day 16, arrived, but the time didn’t feel ‘just right’. Today it does. I believe you will recall the post, original, and if not, I’ll help you retrieve it.
I spent three full days in bed making Pom-Poms out of tissues. And not intentionally. “No, Martha, I did not use your official cut-and-twist guide.” I fashioned mine while I tried building a dam to nowhere, for my sinus drainage. I took my temperature so many times I killed the battery in the thermometer. I’ve never slept so many hours in my life! This comes from someone who suffers extreme bits of insomnia. Food? I found two cans of soup at the back of the cupboard and considering we don’t eat processed canned items I can’t help but wonder where they came from, much less, why I consumed them.
I’d had enough of this Chit, so by 10:00 a.m., I drug my lazy self out of bed and into the steaming shower, threw on some clothes, and asked Hannah if she’d like to go for a walk.
I thought I’d heard a lot of commotion over the roar of my blow dryer, but I wasn’t in the mood to go ‘seek-and-find,’ what all the mischief was. Once dressed, and out the door, I looked up the street to see the fire truck. What the heck?!#&@
Okay, right off the bat I have to confess. I’m not into seeking out horror. I can’t handle it. Put me in a car, drive me down the freeway, and have someone shout, “Look! There’s been a car accident!” What do I do? Slither down in my seat and turn my head in the opposite direction. If I’m the one who happens to be driving, you won’t find me rubbernecking.
Where was I going with this?
The Walk…(and not on the wild side.)
Finally, on our way, we journey toward the coffee shop. I realize I can’t enter, doggie and all, but then I remember the new app I have downloaded on my phone. Hannah and I mosey up to the patio and sit down. Attempting to order, I realize this app needs a few software upgrades, but I’m not in the mood to hack up the menu in broad daylight, much less try to find a work-around on the store’s wi-fi firewall. Dang, I can’t just walk away, the pup is looking at me with those sweet, begging eyes as if to ask, “How much longer, Mummy?”
Thinking comes quick when smitten by a man’s best friend. I lasso a chair with her harness and tie the pup securely to it, placing her in full view of any area I’ll find myself at once inside the store.
…..Admit it, you’re just a wee bit bored, but you just can’t seem to pull yourself away from all the action. Consider yourself a rubbernecker and let’s get moving…..
We are at a junction in the road. If we take the route we came, we’re out 1.5 miles, but if we journey the alternate route we are out 1.5 miles. Decisions, decisions, oh, and the trick math question at the end. (Find your calculators.)
Let’s go rogue. I’m caffeinated and jet-packed by toxic chemicals from eating rancid soup. What could go wrong?
The Traffic Light!…(into the jungle)
The sucker must have been rigged for red-light runners! Hannah and I were caught in the median of a crazed intersection. Everyone dreams of a cuppa joe or a fuel tank of $2.35 gasoline. I think the only thing that saved us was the California Highway Patrol t-shirt my son (in-law) gave me. I looked, OFFICIAL!
Okay, I was only a third grey, now color me white-headed. I match the dog now. Lesson learned: Rubberneckers. “You folks are everywhere!” One of you almost put tire tracks on my bright orange and pink sneakers. Tell the truth, “We’re you wanting my eye color or that close-up of fear earmarked across my face?”
…..This painstakingly will end at some point. Why don’t you take a snooze and check back later for the mischief of the last mile and a half?….
Safely in a green space, we walk among the oak trees listening to the sound of acorns dropping in our midst. (Note to self: Bring bike helmets in the future.) Meandering along and I look up to see we are at the high school. My heart skips a beat, and then another. “Wasn’t it just yesterday?” Oh, how time does fly. But I won’t let this moment go. I grab my phone and take a couple of photos. I zip them off to my two beautiful daughters. They’ll open their messages and go back in time themselves. I wonder at what moments their day will stand still? I knew mine. I know it well. I’ll cherish it forever.
There I sat awaiting the dismissal bell. The bell echoes. Oh, I miss that bell. I miss all the ringing of that far-off bell.
Saturday my youngest daughter moves away from home. Off to her grown-up home. Not a dorm room, no, those days are gone, too. There’s part of me that wants her to go, but then there is that part of me that knows how far away she may one day travel. And yet, I must give her the pieces of the apron strings, the wings to fly, to soar, to dream and dare.
Did anyone find me a pen and some paper? Did you find your calculators? Get ready, here she blows:
If I live 1.5 miles in one direction, yet I am able to travel in an opposing direction 1.5 miles and arrive at my origination, what direction am I traveling? We set off to run errands. Hannah’s errands, actually. I should just admit that some days I simply say to hell with the housework, laundry included, and I put my best friend in the car and we set about finding mischief.
We ran thru the CVS drive-through to pick up some of my meds and beg for the usual dog biscuit. FAIL! They were out of treats.
Starbucks redeemed her spirit though when they gave her a Puppy Whip. It’s a small cup container filled with whipped cream.
Across the railroad tracks and we head into Southlake. The outdoor shopping mall is always fun. There are fountains galore and hundreds of shade trees. Unfortunately, they have no outdoor drinking fountains. Hannah drank a bit of my iced tea as I cursed myself for not having brought along her collapsible water bowl and some water. Finally, I recalled the Whole Earth Provisions Store allows dogs in their store. I took my girl in and she made a group of newly found friends, all human and eager to dote upon her. Someone snagged a dog treat for her and everyone took turns petting her.
The girl is worn out. Now resting with a full tummy of treats and back inside to the cooled air conditioning.
___________________________
Post-Partartum Psychosis has to be taken seriously. I ask you to reach out for help and keep an eye on a loved one or signs of Depression or Psychosis.
She’s a survivor and an extremely strong woman. I’ve never met someone as strong as she is. It blows my mind what she’s been through and the pain she must feel.
Thank you for all the great feedback on the Blogger Highlight series, I’ve enjoyed meeting each blogger and sharing their blog with you. This week we highlight Ephemeral Encounters. We have not followed each other for long, but I had to follow after reading a few poems. Maggie is kind and giving; her personality shines through her words.
I am Maggie Watson, an Indie Poet and Author from Scotland.
My poetry journey began at the start of the pandemic in 2020.
At that point, I had no idea it would then become such a big part of my life.
We can all agree that those years were very difficult, and I found the "lockdowns" particularly hard.
So I began putting pen to paper, merely to get my sense of isolation and frustration down on paper.
Fast forward to December 2020 and "The Madness of Corona" was published (by a publishing house).
Her lasted book is called, Pieces of Me, A collection of poems.
I am pleased to announce that my New Collection of Poetry is now available to pre-order (Kindle Version) on Amazon
The Paperback Edition will be released on 7/10/2025.
I asked Maggie a couple of questions:
M. You started writing in 2020, how did you know it was your life’s passion?
M. At that point I had no idea that writing would become my passion. Covid had just raised its ugly head. I felt very isolated at the time, so I began putting my thoughts down on paper. Living on my own with the uncertainty of what was going on in the outside world was horrendous, my mental health was not great at that time (I am prone to low mood). I could not have envisaged the huge part it would then become in my life, but I am so very happy that I did pick up that pen!
M. You have been published many times, what is your favorite piece of work and why?
M. My favourite piece is “The Mask”.
It was in my first Collection, “The Madness of Corona”, which was published by a publishing house.
The Mask really conveys what people with depression sometimes do.
We wear a mask because there are still many people who don’t get it.
People also wear masks to hide their pain (the wounds that no one sees).
Another favorite poem of Maggie’s is In the Shadow of My Pen, it’s a “fire in your belly ” poem, one which I hope anyone reading would draw strength from.
Trauma looks different for everyone, and sometimes we don’t even recognize our own. But learning to do so is important — and one of the first steps toward healing.
Last week a friend of mine reached out to me because they’re struggling. They recently broke up with their partner of 4 years and shared with me that they’re angry at themselves for still feeling depressed weeks after the initial breakup.
The thing is, my friend deserves to be kinder to themselves. For them, their breakup was extremely distressing and left them feeling overwhelmed as they worked to rebuild their life. Some might even consider this type of event “little t” trauma.
If you’ve experienced a stressful event in your life that affects you after the fact and you don’t know why, you might benefit from seeking treatment. It’s important to know that your response to any stressor is valid and deserves attention.
“Big T” vs. “little t” trauma
In the broader sense, trauma can be defined as an emotional response to any event perceived as dangerous by the person who went through it.
Some people use the terms “big T” and “little t” trauma to distinguish between different kinds of stressful experiences and responses. While researchers and most mental health professionals don’t currently use these terms, they helped me better understand that various forms of stressors can have an impact on your mental health.
“Big T” trauma
“Big T” trauma typically refers to events that are universally understood as dangerous or life threatening.
This form of trauma is what often comes to mind when we think of traumatic events, such as serious injuries, sexual violence, or natural disasters. Events like these are specifically referred to in the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
“Little t” trauma
“Little t” trauma refers to events that may not involve potential death or serious injury but can be stressful enough to negatively affect your mental health.
“Little t” traumas can include — but are by no means limited to — sexual harassment, financial hardship, or breakups.
Pros and cons
For some trauma survivors and psychologists, the terms “big T” and “little t” trauma do more harm than good.
Licensed marriage and family therapist Robyn E. Brickel believes that the terms “big T” and “little t” trauma can minimize and invalidate people’s traumatic experiences. “It’s unhelpful in mental health practice to conceptualize some traumatic events as less or more significant than others,” Brickel writes.
She explains that by doing so, trauma survivors may feel more stigma around their response to an event if it’s considered only “little t” trauma.
Researchers avoid this terminology for a different reason. Within the field of science, trauma specifically refers to life threatening events because of the unique ways in which this degree of danger can affect our brains — such as developing PTSD — and the unique ways in which these symptoms or conditions should be treated.
Referring to extremely stressful but non-life-threatening events as “little t” trauma runs the risk of indicating that such events have the same type of impact on our brains and should be treated in the same way as “big T” trauma. For example, while both “big T” and “little t” trauma can lead to serious mental health conditions, like depression or anxiety, only events that fall under “big T” trauma can cause PTSD and might require specialized treatment.
Despite these important differences, understanding the concept of “little t” trauma was a huge step for me in my recovery.
The concept made me feel validated because it demonstrated that all forms of stressors can have a strong impact on your well-being and should be taken seriously.
If I had never learned about “little t” trauma, I would still believe that I shouldn’t be suffering because other people have it worse than I do. Learning about “little t” trauma helped me stop minimizing my pain and seek treatment.
Trauma validation as a pathway for healing
Acknowledging my trauma and facing it head-on was essential to my recovery journey. I used to have the mindset of: “why does it matter if we acknowledge our trauma? Isn’t it easier to continue minimizing it and pretending it doesn’t exist?”
Today I say, “No, not at all!” For me, avoidance and minimization were actually a big part of my own experience and what led me to be diagnosed with PTSD.
According to the National Center for PTSD, “If you go out of your way to avoid thoughts, feelings, and reminders related to a traumatic event, your symptoms may get worse. Using avoidance as your main way of coping with traumatic memories can make PTSD symptoms worse and make it harder to move on with your life.”
If you realize that you engage in avoidant behaviors when it comes to tough memories from your past, you can change that. The first step toward healing for me was validating my trauma and acknowledging that it impacted my life.
Here are some tips that helped me get there:
1. Self-validation
A great place to start is with yourself. If you don’t yet feel comfortable reaching out to loved ones or a professional for help, that’s OK. You can take some actions to feel validated all by yourself.
Grab your journal: Write down your thoughts, feelings, and symptoms to begin processing.
Get creative: If you don’t feel comfortable writing about your own life, try writing a poem, fictional short story, song, or making visual art about your struggles instead.
Learn more: Take time to self-educate. There are so many stigmas and stereotypes about mental health floating around in our society, but also thousands of resources to help teach you the facts.
2. Community validation and support
Connecting with others and being vulnerable in safe spaces can be incredibly healing.
Turn to a loved one: Talk to a trusted friend or family member about your feelings and experiences.
Use the community: Try to be vulnerable in safe community spaces like mental health support groups, creative writing workshops, art classes, etc.
3. Trauma specialty care
Reaching out to a therapist who specializes in trauma is essential. Many therapeutic practices can help you process your trauma or stressful event in a safe environment.
Individual therapy: Many therapeutic frameworks can help treat PTSD, depression, and other mental health conditions. These include:
Group therapy: Learning about what other people go through can help you feel less alone and realize that you deserve to heal, just like the other group members. However, for treating PTSD, additional individual trauma treatment would be necessary too.
The takeaway
If you’re like my friend from the beginning of this article, you might be struggling with your mental health but avoiding the pain by telling yourself that others have it worse than you.
For me, the real healing began when I stopped minimizing and started validating my painful experiences. In facing the impact of these events, I was able to move forward and start my journey to recovery.
Sharing her journey can help many people and I’m proud of her for writing.
Books are more than just a comfort. They can be a portal to different worlds, a bridge to a new past or future, an outpost for philosophies, and a support system for times of need.
In a literal sense, research shows that reading has the power to change your brain and create different patterns within it. On a practical level, reading allows you to learn new information and skills you might’ve not known before.
While dealing with a mental illness can feel isolating, 20 percent of the U.S. population experiences mental illness each year. Therapy and mindfulness are powerful steps in seeking help. For those looking to learn new skills outside of therapy, libraries and bookstores are teaming with options written by experts and licensed professionals.
Mental health books can be a useful way to process your experiences, learn about psychology, and often find techniques and tools to help you in your daily life. They can aid your mental health toolkit by providing different techniques, scientific research, and stories of others who have faced the same hurdles.
TriggerHub.org is the first mental health organization of its kind. We are bringing mental health recovery and balance to millions of people worldwide through the power of our books.
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