January 2, 2018

Anatomy, Aromatherapy and Anchoring - How Essential Oils Can Enhance Trauma Recovery

This is a 4-part series written by Lane Therrell, who is a nurse practitioner, health coach, and trauma survivor. She has used essential oils personally and with her private health-coaching clients for more than 10 years, and she loves to educate others about them. This series explores how essential oils work, how they combine with other treatments, and which oils may work best for trauma recovery and why. We’ll also take a rational look at how best to choose and use essential oils.

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I learned early-on in my own trauma-recovery journey that the more treatment tools I had in my toolbox, the better. Without a doubt, the most delightful tools in the box have always been, and still are, essential oils (EOs). When was the last time you thought of a treatment method as delightful?!? EOs have always been fascinating to me, and they remain one of my favorite subjects. Enthusiasm aside, I’m honored to share what I know about EOs with you in these posts.

This article is for you if you’re interested, curious, and ready to add something new to your treatment plan. In this article, you’ll learn:
  • How human anatomy sets the stage for aromatherapy to work powerfully on multiple body systems
  • Why essential oils are an ideal aromatherapy tool
  • The simplest way to integrate EOs into existing plans and strategies
  • A simple tip to try
My goal is to help you discover whether and how EOs might work for you.

Human anatomy allows aromatherapy to work
Have you ever wondered why the smell of baking bread reminds you of Sunday afternoons at grandma’s house? Or maybe you have some other (hopefully positive) smell-related memory from childhood you can recall.

The reason we have these powerful olfactory memories is because—get ready for the science lesson—aroma-producing molecules have direct access to the part of your brain responsible for memories and emotions.

Our anatomy makes this possible. The olfactory nerve (in your nose) is connected directly into the limbic system (in your brain). Here are a couple of pictures to help explain the complex relationships.

This picture shows the olfactory nerve (in yellow). Notice how it sits at the top of the nasal cavity, ready to intercept aroma-producing molecules as you breathe them

This picture shows the complexity of the olfactory-limbic system. The endpoints of the olfactory nerve are called the olfactory bulbs, labeled OB in this diagram.


The limbic system is a complex network of brain structures, including the amygdala, the hypothalamus and the thalamus, among others. These structures have powerful roles in the functioning of multiple body systems. In other words, the limbic system does way more than control our memories and emotions.  The amygdala affects the fight or flight response of the nervous system and the hypothalamus and thalamus affect hormone creation and flow via endocrine system. And this is just the tip of the iceberg.

So, if the limbic system is responsible for all of that, in addition to our memories and emotions, it’s a powerful system indeed. And since the olfactory nerve provides direct access to all of that complexity, can you see how scents and aromas hold incredible, almost super-hero-like, potential for influencing our bodies in multiple, powerful ways?

But wait, there’s more: When scents activate the limbic system, the process bypasses the cerebral cortex, where most of our higher thought processes—like logic and analysis— take place. This means you don’t have to think about aromas for them to affect you. Of course, you can choose to think about and analyze fragrances if you want—that’s what perfumery and wine-tasting are all about…but that’s another article, not in this series. The point for trauma survivors is, sometimes you want to stop thinking, but you still need to do some inner work, and aromatherapy allows for that kind of thing.

If anyone has ever admonished you to “get out of your head,” or “get out of your own way,” aromatherapy can be an ideal tool because of that direct-access pathway to the brain’s emotion and memory centers it provides. This makes aromatherapy an effective treatment in its own right for the myriad symptoms that can accompany trauma and trauma recovery. It also expands the possibilities for effective integration with other modalities. 

Essential oils as vehicles of aroma
We just talked about anatomy, so now we need to talk a little about chemistry. You didn’t know this was going to be a science lesson, did you, but what do you expect from a nurse? The types of chemical compounds present in EOs matters immensely when exploring which oils work best – but that’s another article.

Many people equate aromatherapy and essential oils. They often go together, and are sometimes used synonymously, but I prefer to think of EOs as a primary tool of aromatherapy, because aromatherapy is a larger, more encompassing concept. There are other ways to deliver aromas, but EOs are the most potent and arguably the most effective, so they get top billing.

While some sources will use the terms “aromatherapy” and “essential oils” synonymously, I prefer to differentiate the two.  Aromatherapy is about treating a symptom through inhalation of an aromatic compound. Essential oils are ideal aromatherapy tools because they are so highly aromatic.

The aromatic chemical compounds from plants are classed chemically as “volatile” compounds. It doesn’t mean they explode into fiery flames, it means they quickly dissipate into the air at room temperature. This volatility, or quick airborne dissipation is what allows them to be so effectively inhaled and therefore accessed by the olfactory nerve.

As specific tools for aromatherapy, EOs are unparalleled. They are pleasant, portable, and when used correctly, can be a very effective enhancement for your trauma therapy practices or any aspect of your balanced, healthy lifestyle. I have also noticed when using them for myself and with my clients that using EOs can be particularly empowering. Learning about them, experiencing the different oils and how they make you feel can help to put you in touch with your own preferences and needs, and allows you to make small, pleasant choices that put you back in the driver’s seat. This was certainly an added bonus in my own personal recovery journey, and I’ve seen this happen with my coaching clients in numerous cases over the years.


EOs and anchoring
Many of our olfactory memories are formed in childhood. We are still forming them all the time. Whether the olfactory memories we have stored away over our lifetimes are positive or negative, the fact that scent is linked to memory is significant, especially if you experience recurring symptoms that are triggered by memories and associated emotions. You can use EOs and the concept of anchoring to literally reprogram your emotional responses.

The same way that the aromas trigger the memories, aromas can be harnessed or reprogrammed by association to affiliate with new, more pleasant memories and emotions. This is where EOs come in because they are pure and consistent markers of the association. This is very similar to a process called anchoring, which you might already be familiar with, especially if you’ve ever experienced neurolinguistic programming (NLP). The object of anchoring is to establish associations between certain gestures or behaviors and certain emotions. The way it works is to think of something that evokes a positive emotion, and then link that feeling with a specific “anchoring” behavior. You can then perform that behavior in the course of daily activities whenever the positive emotion is needed.

Anchoring can be an effective method for controlling the intense emotions which can give rise to the rollercoaster effect post-trauma. While anchoring is effective, there are numerous occasions when it might be helpful to strengthen the anchor. EOs can be harnessed to strengthen anchors for emotional control.

Most of the decisions we make on a daily basis are motivated by emotions, not by facts. Since EOs speak directly to the emotional center in the brain, it means they can provide a strong and effective way to strengthen an established anchored association and prevent you from short-circuiting it with analytical thoughts.

Now Try This...
If anchoring has been part of your treatment plan, try inhaling an EO along with your established anchor, and see if it helps you strengthen your anchor. (This is sometimes referred to as “stacking” anchors, because your established anchor behavior and inhaling the EO could be considered as independent anchors.)


  • Next time you are in a treatment session, or otherwise achieve a truly relaxed state, inhale a specific EO that you already know supports and induces relaxation for you. 
  • Put a few drops of this EO on a cotton ball and carry it with you throughout the day. 
  • Take the cotton ball out and inhale it whenever you feel the need to recall your relaxed state.

Cotton balls or disposable makeup removal pads work well, or you could try an old fashioned handkerchief or a small piece of cloth. Keep your EO saturated material in a covered container to both save the aromatic experience for anchor-time when it’s needed and to prevent the oils from volatizing off the cloth.

Summary and sneak preview:
I hope you enjoyed this brief exploration of how EOs work, and how they can enhance anchoring. In upcoming articles, we’ll talk more about how oils can be integrated with other treatment types and which oils work best and why.

Questions for comment:
Have you tried EOs before? How have they helped you on your journey? What did you learn from this article? What else would you like to know?

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Lane Therrell is a family nurse practitioner, health empowerment coach, trauma survivor, and self-described EO aficionado. She uses EOs as tools in her health coaching programs whenever appropriate and leads an EO study group (starting in February 2018) for those who want to learn more details about how EOs work. Lane is a distributor for a popular EO brand, and is dedicated to sharing basic EO use and safety knowledge with anyone. Connect with Lane at www.BestHealthInterest.com







Disclaimer: *These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. These products are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease. The information provided here is for information purposes only.





Sources:

Body Maps: Olfactory Nerves

Anchoring

Anchoring to Control Your Emotions – How to Make it Actually Work


Aromatherapy for Survivors of Trauma

How Smell Works

PTSD – Can Essential Oils Help Heal The Trauma?

The Olfactory Limbic System: Sex, Emotion, Pheromones, Learning, Memory

Understanding Essential Oils

What Are Essential Oils?

December 19, 2017

How to Be a Recovering Overachiever

This week, we continue our series with Amy Paulson. In this week's post, she shares about her journey as a bulimic resulting from an overwhelming need to achieve and then achieve some more and how she healed from this.

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A couple years ago, I had a conversation with a wise woman who used the term recovering overachiever to describe the ideal qualities of people that her organization likes to hire. A jolt of energy ran through my body as I heard those words. Yes! That’s me!


Many people like me who suffer from abandonment wounds or other kinds of childhood trauma can link their obsessive perfectionism to that childhood pain of guilt and shame from feeling unworthy and unlovable.  


My mom tells me stories of being a worrier, even at 3 years old.  She’d give me a crayon and paper and show me how to write a-m-y.  I’d stand there next to the end table in the living room, crayon in hand, for over an hour - worried about making those a-m-y letters perfect.  Uh-oh, she thought, this one is going to be a real worry wart. Yes. I was.


Not surprisingly, as a dancer for nearly 20 years, my obsession with perfection led to bulimia. Sadly, there is indeed a high correlation between obsessive perfectionism and eating disorders. And, I sure as hell wasn’t going to fail at bulimia - I was obsessed with doing even that perfectly.  


The rituals - washing the hands, carefully placing my towel on the floor, then a large tupperware bowl on top, perfecting what foods I could vomit easily, hiding the tupperware in my closet so no one would know, then sneaking into the bathroom to flush it down the toilet after everyone was asleep - all of that I did with a level of perfection that made me feel proud and very much in control, while my emotions and the world around me spun out of control.  


Until one day, after I shoved my finger down my throat, I looked down at my hand and it was covered in blood. How could this have happened? I had calculated everything so precisely. I thought I was the perfect bulimic. And, the validation from my dance instructors made it all worth it. They complimented me on rapid my weight loss - all that extra jogging I was doing on top of hours of dance practice very day (oh, and the secret vomiting) must be the winning formula to my slimmer dancer body. Yay for me!


Looking at the blood and saliva running down my hand, I felt both panic and utter failure. I didn’t realize then that that moment was the first step towards my recovery.  


It would take well over a decade to stop the bulimia altogether, through a combination of medication, individual therapy, and group therapy - and another decade to continue treatment for the depression that goes hand in hand with eating disorders.


But alongside that, I started learning how to embrace the imperfection that is life. Changing my job from one that encourages obsessive perfectionism (as a CPA) to one where I must surrender to chaos (in a nonprofit that works in global trauma recovery) has forced me to let go of over controlling everything and everyone, and to start looking at failure as an opportunity for learning and growth.  


And… I’m still in overachiever recovery.  Here’s what that looks like for me:


Self-compassion above all


I took Stanford’s 8-week Compassion Cultivation Training (CCT) and it changed my life.  Learning self-compassion was like learning a new language - it was hard, required baby steps, and opened up doors to connection. I still have to work at it every day (some days are harder than others). But, I can now soften towards myself - and not just towards my wounded child self - but also towards the adult version of myself who I’m good at judging harshly. She also gets to be human, make mistakes, and in doing so, connects more deeply to her own humanity and that of others around her.  


Compassion for others


Any judgement or resentment that I may feel towards others is often just a reflection of my own insecurity and need to be perfect in order to be loved. Ever heard that quote: When you point the finger at someone, there are three fingers pointing back at yourself…? I hate to admit it, but it’s true. CCT and lovingkindness meditations helped me see those around me in a whole new way - as complex humans who inherited trauma, just like me, and who have their own coping mechanisms, just like me.  


Notice when I’m fixating


Even if I embrace the chaos, I still find other ways of trying to exert control. Sometimes, it can feel liberating or even helpful - like stopping in the middle of my workday to clean the inside of the microwave or taking a 5-minute brain break to meticulously color mandalas in my adult coloring book.  


Other times, it can be counterproductive - like throwing a tantrum at 11pm because someone left a dirty dish in the sink (No wire hangers!), or realizing that I’ve changed the color of a particular cell in Excel 6 different times because I can’t find the perfect shade of green - meanwhile I had a deadline to get that spreadsheet to someone yesterday.


When I try to stay present and notice what’s going on, I can see it and name it: Oh, I’m fixating. This must be about something else. What’s the worst thing that will happen if I let this go and move on?


Practice imperfection with intention


When I started grad school, I reverted back to my 3-year old self trying to write my name perfectly. I spent so many extra hours on assignments, where that extra time had no benefit to my actual learning process. I got a 99.25 out of 100 in my first class and found myself writing an email to my professor to argue for that last 0.75. Luckily, I called myself out (and by I, I mean my husband) before I sent that email.


I’ve now started to intentionally just do what’s necessary to get by. No, not with everything. But with the many things where it doesn’t fucking matter. Like letting the kitchen be messy when I know people are coming over, throwing away those papers that I will never file and don’t need anyway, and leaving those spreadsheets an unsightly black and white when they don’t need color coding!


These may be small things but they are symbolic. They’ve helped me to surrender and built that muscle that helps me cope (most of the time) when the bigger, more important life things happen.


Remember that recovery is a lifelong process
If recovery were school, I’d try so hard to get an A. But it’s not. It’s messy and imperfect (sigh). Oftentimes, my overperfection hurts people, and I need to own up to it, apologize, and practice compassion for myself and others. Mostly, it hurts myself. And, if I can stay in the process, notice, acknowledge, and not fall into shame, then I can build new neural pathways to heal those old wounds.


Luckily, I have a dozen chances to do that every day.  


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Amy Paulson is the co-founder of Global Gratitude Alliance, a nonprofit organization working to heal individual and collective trauma through innovative training, mentoring, and leadership programs around the world.

Once an orphan herself, Amy is passionate about healing and transformation for children who have lost their mothers and for those who most need to reclaim their inner mother.  She's served in the nonprofit sector as a volunteer, international program manager, finance manager, and board member focusing on projects benefiting orphans and vulnerable children in the U.S. and abroad.  

Based in San Francisco, Amy is also working on her first book, The Wound Myth (working title) - a story about her journey through trauma, growing up as an adoptee in a biracial family, reuniting with her birth parents, and learning to embrace her trauma as a powerful catalyst for change.

December 5, 2017

The Abandonment Wound

I'm beyond thrilled to introduce you this week to Amy Paulson. Not only is she a powerhouse woman, but I have the honor of counting her as a friend. She is beyond skilled when it comes to working with trauma, one of the most authentic people I've ever met, and her heart is huge. I know you will be inspired by her words.

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Confession: I am the original martyr.  

It’s true. Just ask my husband. Or my parents. Or my friends. I always have to do it alone. No one ever helps me. In fact, I’m just alone all the time.

After 41 years and decades of psychotherapy, medication, meditation, healing circles, and all the things I am supposed to do to take care of my inner child, it still hurts. But, childhood wounds are deep. And, my healing journey is not linear.

For me, abandonment isn’t a myth. It was a true story. At least, my adoption paperwork said so: Abandoned at a police station in Seoul, Korea. No family history attached.

My adopted parents always reassured me that I was loved - otherwise, I wouldn’t have been left at a police station where I could be found and cared for. That made sense in my head. But, I couldn’t reconcile that in my heart. I tried to visualize my birth mother leaving me at the police station and being able to walk away. Did she cry? Did she look back? How could any mother do that?

I grew up feeling a profound sense of loss, an overriding fear of being alone, and the deep shame of feeling unlovable.

But, abandonment issues aren’t just for adopted kids. Anyone who has experienced loss, neglect, abuse, or lack of attunement (physical and/or emotional responsiveness) from a parent, caregiver, or loved one - especially during childhood - may suffer from abandonment wounds, even later in life.

As a child, my wound looked like trying to win the love of my adoptive parents by being perfect - straight A’s, dancer, musician, volunteer, and all the school clubs - then as a young adult, lashing out by engaging in risky behaviors (sex, drugs, and alcohol).

On the outside, I looked like little miss overachiever. On the inside, I felt alone, miserable, and unloved, suffering from depression, bulimia, and self-hatred.

As an adult, my abandonment wound looks like (still) trying to be perfect - then beating myself up when I’m not. Stressing over the small stuff. People-pleasing. Taking personally other people’s shit. Feeling like a martyr - or even putting myself into situations where I can be the martyr (then complaining about it later).

Sound familiar?

The good news is that it can get better. At least, it did for me.

The first step: acknowledge the abandonment wound.

While I’m not one for labels (that’s a lie actually, I have a deep love for my electronic label maker), naming my abandonment wound made me feel like it was valid - and that my resulting emotions and behaviors were justifiable. As someone who has always felt crazy, the impact of acknowledging my wound helped me feel normal.

Notice, with curiosity how it shows up… then honor the wounded child.

For me, this started with a list of the ways in which my childhood wound has affected my life. Though I love making lists, this one was painful, eye-opening, and like the naming exercise above, liberating. I listed out all the emotions, the people-pleasing and self-sabotaging behaviors, the fear-based career moves, and even the ex-friends and ex-boyfriends who meandered into my life, and who left, painfully and dramatically.


Sure, maybe not everything can be wholly traced back to my abandonment wound (there were certainly other wounds too), but noticing patterns - and trying my damndest to do it without judgment - has been super fascinating and highly educational. I now get to see myself with a whole new level of self-compassion for the wounded child that I once was. And, I get to notice, with much more awareness, when that wounded child shows up at my doorstep and wants to be acknowledged and loved.

Resource, resource, resource.

In the world of healing, resourcing is doing something that feels good, regulates the nervous system, and reminds the brain that I am not in danger in the present moment, so calm the fuck down and reeeeeeelax. So, when my wounded child shows up, and that familiar feeling of panic, scarcity, and fear of being unloved rises up in my chest, I do something resourcing.

For me, that looks like breathing, meditation, music, dancing, yoga, hiking, cuddling my cat, getting a massage, taking a bath, or watching movies that help me release my sadness.

Once the chatter in my brain and the pain in my heart subsides, I can, from a more regulated, state of mind, body, and heart, think about what might have triggered my abandonment wound. Then, I can move to the next step...

Own what’s mine. Dump what’s not.

With abandonment trauma (and most other traumas, for that matter), one of the most painful feelings is the lack of agency. I had no choice in being abandoned. Someone did it to me. And it fucked me up for years.

But, with healing, I get to reclaim my sense of power. When I find myself building a narrative about how I always have to do it alone, or how I’m always failing at being perfect, I get to (from a resourced state) acknowledge that my wounded child was triggered, own my own feelings, and then release anything that doesn’t belong to me (like someone else’s guilt, usually the result of their own wounded child).

Resource, resource, resource.

And, then I come back to my resources. Again, and again, and, again. Because healing, for me, is a lifelong, never-ending process of my wounds showing up, acknowledging and honoring them, owning my own shit, releasing what is not mine, and taking care of myself with self-love and self-compassion every step of the way.

When I pay attention, I get the opportunity to heal even the tiniest part of my old abandonment wound. And when I don’t pay attention, without fail, it’ll come back to teach me a bigger lesson next time around.

Ironically, when I finally did look my trauma in the face years ago when I reconnected with my Korean birth mother, I learned that I was never, in fact, abandoned. At least, not in the way that my paperwork said I was.

Learning the truth of my story hasn’t lessened the pain from my abandonment wound. But, it has helped me reframe my abandonment trauma into intergenerational trauma. Tracing back the legacy of trauma in both my biological family and my adoptive one, and seeing how those cycles impact me today, has been, in many ways, resourcing. It’s a poignant reminder that, it’s not all about me and my wound. It’s about healing generations of wounds - for my ancestors, and for my future children. And, that, is a gift.


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Amy Paulson is the co-founder of Global Gratitude Alliance, a nonprofit organization working to heal individual and collective trauma through innovative training, mentoring, and leadership programs around the world.

Once an orphan herself, Amy is passionate about healing and transformation for children who have lost their mothers and for those who most need to reclaim their inner mother.  She's served in the nonprofit sector as a volunteer, international program manager, finance manager, and board member focusing on projects benefiting orphans and vulnerable children in the U.S. and abroad.  

Based in San Francisco, Amy is also working on her first book, The Wound Myth (working title) - a story about her journey through trauma, growing up as an adoptee in a biracial family, reuniting with her birth parents, and learning to embrace her trauma as a powerful catalyst for change.

November 7, 2017

The Moment I Became Larger Than My Abuser

This week, we continue our series with Amy Oestreicher, who shares with us how she broke her silence, healed from the secrets that had made her sick, and created a life that leaves her abuser small and in the shadows.

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At 18 years old, I was prepared to make a lot of life-changes.  After all, I was about to venture into the world of independence – that April, I had received my college acceptance letters. When an unforeseen blood clot caused my body to go into septic shock, my life really did change forever.

It turned into six years before I’d ever be able to put food into my own body, rather than relying on intravenous fluids.  I eagerly waited for the day I could finally eat again, which came after a 19-hour surgery requiring three shifts of nurses and doctors. I’d be happy, normal, and finally feel like me again. Eating food made me feel again, but it also made me remember, even the things I didn’t want to remember, things that I thought a coma had permanently repressed.…like the hurt and confusion I had felt burning in my gut, but was too afraid to tell anyone about. Suddenly I was flooded with alarming memories of having been sexually abused by my voice teacher, also my godfather, for months before all this began. This huge role model in my life shattered my trust in an instant, plaguing me with anxiety that grew worse and worse until that stomach ache changed my world overnight. 

My mother always used to say our secrets made us sick. If I told a little white lie about what the latest cafeteria meal tasted like, she’d tell me that my body was really the one who’d be sorry if I didn’t eat the steamed vegetable trio of carrots, peas and cauliflower that kept Wednesday’s magic meatloaf company. If I told her I had done my chores when I was really diving head-first into the latest Harry Potter novel, she’d tell me I’d have to live with that guilt when she ended up having to do yesterday’s laundry. When I didn’t tell her what my friend had called me when I came home from school with a sniffly red nose and tears lining my eyelids, my mother said it’s not good for my soul to bottle up feelings so tightly.

My family keeps a lot of secrets. In a household with three older brothers romping around, someone was always looking to stir up some good-natured sibling rivalry or pull a harmless prank. Some secrets were more serious, I’m sure, but as the youngest and only girl, there were probably many things I didn’t know about, although I was always curious.  

I remember feeling exasperated as a child, feeling extremely loved, but not very “relatable,” because of the huge age gap between me and the rest of my family.  I learned that some things made the most sense to keep to myself.

If we didn’t talk about things, they didn’t happen — even if they had happened already.

While I sensed my family kept their day-to-day “secrets,” I kept a secret far more burdensome. When I was seventeen, my voice teacher started molesting me after promising to be my mentor, my godfather, and a man I could always trust. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret, but I was so naïve that I didn’t even realize what a pedophile actually was.  

I had no idea I was being molested and couldn’t fathom the idea of such a tremendous betrayal. I was just confused. Our family didn’t talk about things like that.

When I was betrayed by someone whom I really trusted, I didn’t know what to do. I was hurt, betrayed, confused, and afraid to tell anyone about these frantic, tumultuous feelings that were suddenly tormenting me every waking second.

I learned that our secrets do keep us sick. We lock emotions, memories — any terrible things we might try to suppress — in our fragile, mortal frames.

For months I kept that secret inside — the secret of something so horrific, I couldn’t even comprehend it.

My secret made me sick. All that anger, guilt and confusion. I felt it in my stomach.  And two weeks after I turned 18 years old, my stomach exploded due to a blood clot, which later was hypothesized to be caused from a stress ulcer.  My molestation was a very stressful secret.

Suddenly, my family could keep no secrets.

When the glowing baby girl of the family suddenly ends up in a coma for months and lands on the cover of every local news story, it’s hard to keep everything quiet. If you don’t share your secrets, people will tell your secrets for you — even if they’re the wrong secrets.

As my health worsened, the whispers of others grew louder. In an effort to stomp out concerns, theories and rumors about everything from anorexia to cancer to getting hit by a bus, my mother spoke the secret I had told her in confidence just two weeks before. Amy was molested.

My secret leaked when I was in a coma. In my sedated, comatose trance, it was too late for my disclosed secret to heal me.  When I awoke months later and my ventilator was finally removed, the first words I breathlessly shouted were, "It was him!"

This radical realization was overshadowed by the surgeon’s subsequent disclosure. I had no stomach anymore, I couldn’t eat or drink, and he didn’t know when or if I’d ever be able to again.

They had kept this secret from me as long as they could but decided to tell me when I appeared "healthy enough" to hear it.

But I was too afflicted by my own secrets to be saved at that point.  My secrets had made me sick.

Now it was up to me to start speaking up.

As soon as I was discharged from the hospital, although weak, worn and still unable to eat or drink, my parents took me to a lawyer in the effort to bring some kind of closure to the massive traumas that had happened. When you can’t fix a destroyed digestive system, you try to fix what you can and blame the nearest person you can persecute.

As we explained my complicated case and asked about the "ins and outs" of testifying in court against my molester, the lawyer looked at me compassionately and explained to my parents that I had been through so much. Testifying would be a terribly emotional, grueling process. What was important was that I heal physically.

So this secret was put on the back burner until I got "healthy."

Ten years have passed since my stomach exploded, and the headlines have slowly changed from "surgical disaster" to "medical miracle." I’ve changed from a Ms. to a Mrs., from starving for nutrition to hungry for life. But I still have secrets, and so does my family.

Every time my father drove us to a doctor’s appointment at my hospital in New
York, my dad would leave my mother and I for an hour or two.  Then he’d pick us up, and we’d never ask a word. Until he started going back to the city more and more, like a secret compulsion.

After a bit of spying, we learned that my father drove right back to my voice teacher’s street every week, just pacing up and down the sidewalk, waiting for that one moment where my molester would come out of hiding and my father would, well — I’m not sure. That’s one secret I’ll hopefully never have to find out.

My father was waiting for that final confrontation which I had given up on years ago.

My father could never hurt a fly, and has never been one to look for a confrontation. But I know that’s not what he was looking for. He too,was left so emotionally wounded, and ached for some kind of resolution to the hurt that was caused to him, his daughter and his family.

I’ve never talked to my father about his trips to New York. We all know why he kept driving back, but we’re scared to talk about it with him, mostly for ourselves. Some things are easier to not talk about at all.

I still get asked why I don’t try to testify in court now or why I don’t try to confront him or attempt to expose the sociopath that changed my life forever. I don’t think of it as a secret anymore. I know it in my heart, and it’s my truth. Just because I haven’t shared his name or confronted him directly doesn’t mean the universe can’t hear my secret.

To the man who molested me as soon as I turned seventeen:

I am not going to tell the world who you are. I am not even going to tell you this directly or look for a way to get my message to you.

I’ve shared my story.

I’ve written a one-woman musical about my life.

I’ve painted it, sang it, yelled it, danced it, known it, felt it, mourned it, accepted it, moved through it.

I’ve gotten married. I’ve gotten divorced. I’ve been betrayed, and I’ve been hurt, but I will not let that destroy my ability to have faith in my future, and have my trust put in others. It is our ability to trust that makes a rich and vivid tapestry of pleasure and pain, struggles and triumphs, trials and lessons learned.

You are my art, my theatre, my story, my growth, my lesson learned.

But you are NOT my secret.

As my mother said, our secrets keep us sick.

And your secret will keep you sick.


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Amy Oestreicher is a PTSD peer-to-peer specialist, artist, author, writer for Huffington Post, speaker for TEDx and RAINN, health advocate, survivor, award-winning actress, and playwright.   As creator of her one-woman musical Gutless & Grateful , the #LoveMyDetour Campaign, which was the subject of her TEDx Talk, she's currently touring theatres nationwide, along with a program combining mental health advocacy, sexual assault awareness  and Broadway Theatre for college campuses and international conferences. She currently offers private coaching and consults for creativity, "detour navigation", public speaking, and social media marketing.

Subscribe to her newsletter for updates and free excerpts from her upcoming book, My Beautiful Detour, available December 2017.  Get your free creativity e-book at amyoes.com/create and a free guide to getting a TEDx Talk at amyoes.com/discover.



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