Of Magical Wardrobes and Yellow Brick Roads---The Time Travel of Trauma

 

It is so magical in movies and books—
A character is living their ordinary life when they are suddenly transported to another world, time, and existence.

For instance, there are the four siblings secreted in the country far away from their parents, escaping through an ordinary wardrobe to the magical land of Narnia
OR perhaps Gulliver who four times finds himself in other lands
OR perhaps Alice who tumbles into the land of the Cheshire Cat—
OR perhaps Dorothy who is taken by a chance tornado and dropped into the land of the Munchkins, traveling with her three companions (and Toto) on their way to Oz.

OR, to think of more recent magical time and space travel, you could hop in the DeLorean with Michael J. Fox or step into the TARDIS with Dr. Who.

All are so magical—-
But as you  know, real life is so different from fantasy.
There are no DeLoreans or TARDIS trips,
No magical wardrobes or rabbit hidey holes.

Instead, as you are living your ordinary, hum-ho life,
All it takes is a smell, a spoken “magical” word, a familiar situation, the sight of a specific item—
AND SUDDENLY,
And without a conscious thought,
Your body—brain—nerve endings—emotions—
ALL are vacuumed into another time and place.
Years disappear.
Confidence wanes.
Once again, you find yourself in fight
OR flight
OR freeze.

That moment . . .
That moment you felt in that single space between tick and tock
The people and place and situation
All flood, surge, overwhelm—taking over every thought and breath,
Breaking open your heart and soul and mind.

Or in that moment between tick and tock,
The people and place and situation all get sucked out in a second in a black hole or wormhole,

Leaving you scared and helpless all over again.


Alone.


Vulnerable.

You stand, straddling the present and the past,
And no one in the present knows or understands this time travel or this space locked in time,
This space stored carefully within the wrinkles and crevasses of the brain,
This space hidden in the muscles and veins of the heart,
This space locked away in the emotions of the soul.

* * * * * *

You are middle aged,
And yet, the sound of giggling girls,
Or the sight of a tall metal trash can,
An image of a gorilla,
The sound of a praise song,
Or the unexpected knock on your front door . . . .

And you have time traveled, and you are suddenly, in a split second,
13 and awkward, stumbling and hiding your true self from vicious attacks,
17 in a band hall, desperately wanting love and accepting abuse instead,
35, feeling helpless and stripped naked of all dignity,
37, leading worship right after you have been threatened by false CPS accusations,
53, facing the reserved and downcast glances of two sheriff deputies at 2:00 a.m.

* * * * * * * * *

Time travel is always unexpected.
It is always incomprehensible,
Mysterious,
Uncontrollable,
You are whisked away in the time it takes for one heartbeat to transition into the next.

However incomprehensible or mysterious or uncontrollable, it is anything but magical.

Instead, it is bewildering,
Confusing,
And utterly debilitating.
In that moment,
You are helpless to stop the time travel.
You cannot halt the way the emotions overwhelm or are frozen in place.
There is no Wizard who will send you on a quest to find those red shoes to happily get you home.

As debilitating as it is,
There is one truth you should know, a truth this time traveler has learned after years of time and space travel: 
Just as the four siblings returned wiser because of their encounters with Aslan and the White Witch,
And just as Gulliver and Alice found their way home, altered by new perspectives,
Or Dorothy awoke in her bed, glad to be back in Kansas,

Just like them,
With time—and with frequent time travel practice—
You can find your way home,
Forever changed,
But perhaps a bit less cocky and sure of yourself,
More empathetic,
And more grateful for your present time.

As you arrive back from the wormhole,
Or step out of your DeLorean,
You see familiar landmarks,
You recognize the beaten-up mailbox and long, windy drive,
And as you follow the turns of this dirt path,
You see the paving stones that lead to your front porch.

You find that your front door is already open,
With Current You standing there with arms outstretched,
Hugging you and welcoming you home—
Just as you are.