I have been having recurring memory nightmares for years. There are several different scenarios involving years of physical abuse at the hands of an ex. They are exact replicas of certain fights. Sometimes I also have bad dreams that are not memories. They bring the same fear, they also involve the abusive behavior, but they aren’t memories. It is a though they are happening now. I have not been with the ex in 12 years but in the bad dreams he invades my home and hurts my children. Any suggestions on how to stop the bad dreams?
I’m so sorry that this is happening to you. I’m sorry you suffered that abuse many years ago, and am sorry that you’re still experiencing these memories and nightmares today. I have written before about trauma and dreams, and what Carl Jung said about it back in the ’30s. In that post, I explain a bit why nightmares resulting from trauma are so distinct from normal dream function. I also link in that post to another I wrote about some work being done on “re-dreaming”, that is, working with a clinician while awake to transform the nightmare imagery into healing imagery. This is similar to Jung’s notion of Active Imagination in which dreams, even very difficult nightmares, can be reengaged to find the healing function inside the dream. For instance, while re-engaging a specific dream you might practice discovering ways you can protect yourself: Look at the sword in the corner! Notice the devoted lion crouching by the bed, ready to pounce! See how strong you are! See how capable you are of protecting yourself and your children.
For people with recurring nightmares, the innate function of imagination has been severely damaged or destroyed. Trauma makes life overly literal, ruining our natural capacity of symbol making and the experience of awe in the world. This also leads to depression and a general dissatisfaction with the world, the contrast of Harry Potter living in the muggle house versus at Hogwarts — all gray and sad, no magic or mystery or fun.
Anything you can do to consciously support your imagination to flourish is a good thing. Novels, fairy tales, free painting, sculpture, dance, music, story-telling, writing. Have you ever written about your experiences in that relationship? Have you ever tried to transform that terrible period of your life into art? I know, it may seem an insane notion at first, but if you go for it, and trust that it will take time, you’ll notice a change down the road. This is the alchemy of life: turning the yuck into gold. These nightmares are demanding your attention. The more attention you pay to it all, consciously, instead of trying to make them go away, the more completely they’ll shift.
I know it seems counter-intuitive, but I want to repeat this: don’t seek for solutions to make the dreams go away. Don’t avoid, numb, or ignore them. Embrace them. Like you would with a very sad child, look them in the eyes and tell them you’re listening. This is your own wounded soul you’re speaking to. Listen. Ask it what it’s trying to say. Spend time with the imagery so that you can hear what it is saying.
Since this work can be so difficult on one’s own, I encourage you to find a therapist who works with dreams and has experience in trauma treatment. You’ll want to both process through that time of your life when the abuse actually occurred (perhaps you have already done this a lot), but also to engage in kick-starting your imagination.
I encourage you to also explore treatments like Somatic Experiencing and EMDR. These are two body-oriented trauma treatments that have strong proven results for healing trauma of this sort. There are some books you can read, including In an Unspoken Voice, by Peter Levine; and The Body Keeps Score, by Bessel van der Kolk. Both of these books speak to the fight/flight/freeze responses or trauma, and how our bodies often default to “freeze” states in situations where we are powerless. Women in situation of abuse and rape very often experience a kind of paralysis, after which they wonder desperately why they didn’t do more to protect themselves. If you’ve ever seen a small creature stuck in the paws of a cat, you can see this physiological response in action: when the balance of power is not in one’s favor, the body knows that to stay alive it’s often best to play dead. This is not a conscious choice any more than inhaling and exhaling is a conscious choice. It’s a mechanism for survival. As long as these nightmares continue to haunt you, it suggests that your physiology is still (at least in part) stuck in a freeze state. In conjunction with re-activating the imagination, you’ll want to reengage your body with the support of trauma treatments. Therapeutic Yoga, QiGong, and other martial arts can be other good methods of treatment.
Keep in mind that there is no silver bullet for trauma treatment. You’ll need to be a very active participant in your own healing. The participation is part of what your soul and body need for you to completely come out of the the freeze state and sense of powerlessness you experienced back then. This does not mean stressful activity, however. It means mindfulness, love, effort, devotion to yourself, and the search again for play and comfort. You’ll find it. And those nightmares will go away.
Have you had a dream like this? Leave a comment and share!
Satya is a psychotherapist in private practice in Portland, Oregon specializing in Jungian psychology and the years of Quarter-Life. www.QuarterLifeCounselor.com
The following posts are guest authored by Peter Rinko, a Portland writer, and a participant in my recent seminar on Jung’s Red Book, held through Literary Arts and in collaboration with Portland’s Art Museum.
[Guest post by Peter Rinko]
Here, Michonne—the battle-hardened, katana-swinging, loner-vigilante-turned-heroic-group-leader—puts the young upstart Heath in his place for questioning the group’s marching orders and acting like he’s above it all and could make it back to base—through a rising sea of zombies, mind you—all on his own.
It’s not just that kind of typical but ultra-entertaining scene wherein a gritty senior officer chews out a cocky junior cadet. Sure, Michonne is doing just that, but it’s without ego. Her words are 100% wisdom-based. She’s not simply flexing her commander muscles to put Heath in his place for the sole purpose of rank-and-file. She’s fired up, yes, but her eyes are full of tenderness and deep concern. Why? Because in confronting Heath she is also confronting her younger self—Michonne, the lone wolf, who believed she could (and could only) make it through this world on her own. Between that belief and what she knows now is an abysmally dark sea of blood and guts, misery and mayhem, pain and loss, remembrances and regrets, nightmares and never-agains. Hers is the voice of war-worn wisdom, of knowing over believing. It is not opinion, it is fact:
“Have you ever had to kill people because they had already killed your friends and were coming for you next? Have you ever done things that made you afraid of yourself afterward? Have you ever been covered in so much blood that you didn’t know if it was yours or walkers’ or your friends’? Huh? Then you don’t know.”
Basically, you don’t know shit, Heath. All you got is belief, and that’ll kill you.
Just before our fifth get-together, Satya sent out a really beautiful 4-minute video clip of a British interviewer asking the octogenarian Jung what his thoughts were on death and dying. As I was watching the above scene, what Jung says about believing and knowing, and the stark difference between the two, came flooding back. For me, The Walking Dead scene is a perfect dramatization of what Jung was getting at—not only in the interview, but in The Red Book in general. And, in both Michonne’s case and Jung’s, one must go through hell-and-back to turn what you believe into what you know. That is the hero’s quest for those who venture to know thyself.
Knowing vs. Believing. This is not just a matter of semantics. There is, indeed, a stark difference between believing and knowing. Oftentimes, the two are thrown around rather casually as somewhat synonymous pairs, with believing being the slightly more elevated of the two because it brings more gravitas to the speaker’s sentiment, often appealing to a higher order or lofty ideal. After all, when was the last time you heard someone say, “I know God”? Rather, what you always hear is, “Yes, I believe in God,” or “No, I do not believe in God.”
This is because to believe—as a word, act, and concept—is deeply rooted in hope, faith, and wishful thinking. “Belief used to mean “trust in God”,” writes the etymologist Douglas Harper over at Etymonline.com,
“…while faith meant “loyalty to a person based on promise or duty” … But faith, as cognate of Latin fides, took on the religious sense beginning in 14c. translations, and belief had by 16c. become limited to “mental acceptance of something as true,” from the religious use in the sense of “things held to be true as a matter of religious doctrine” (a sense attested from early 13c.).”
So then, when the interviewer asks Jung, “Do you yourself believe that death is probably the end?”, Jung immediately gets tripped up on the word “believe”, and rightly so. “Well I can’t say,” he says,
“You see the word “believe” is a difficult thing for me. I don’t believe. I must have a reason for a certain hypothesis. Either I know a thing, and then I know – I don’t need to believe it. I don’t allow myself, for instance, to believe a thing just for the sake of believing it. I can’t believe it. But when there are sufficient reasons to form a certain hypothesis, I shall accept these reasons, naturally. I shall say, We have to reckon with the possibility of so and so.”
I love what Jung is saying here—that at its best a belief is a hypothesis, and so we must test it in order to know (and we must do so in order to find out for ourselves). But at its worst, belief is a roadblock, a blinder, a dogma that pretends to know but really knows nothing other than what and how it wishes the world to be or seem. This is the challenge at the center of The Red Book, for both Jung as its writer/experimenter and, never forget, for us as its readers. This is Socrates shouting “Know thyself!”. Jung tests and re-tests that shout—that truth of truths, of which there are only a few—takes it apart and puts it back together again, and by the end, covered in blood and carrying his own katana, calls it Individuation.
[Guest post by Peter Rinko]