I came across a moving video recently about how baby chicks hatch. In the three-minute clip, we see Mommy hen sitting over her eggs keeping them warm, fluffing her feathers and clucking. She's actually communicating to her unborn babies, who chirp back from inside their eggs. The scene is mesmerizing: mother and unborn babies in dialogue. The babies continue their chirping as they poke through, using a special "egg tooth" at the tip of the beak to chip away at the shell. All the while their mother sits by, offering her unwavering presence as they struggle through their hatching process and finally tumble out, wet and bedraggled.
Watching this, I was transfixed. In my work as a therapist, I witness this wondrous and painstaking process of "hatching" on a daily basis. The raw scene spoke profoundly for what takes place in my office, and had much to teach me.
From incubation to hatching
The "shell" is the space inside us where parts of us stay safe and protected. Perhaps those parts hold unprocessed pain that would overwhelm us if released. But with them safely tucked away, we're comfortable showing up and engaging with the world.
This is actually an important arrangement: were it not for our innate ability to adapt to hardship by compartmentalizing our pain, we wouldn't be able to cope with traumatic experiences.
The shell is the right place for these parts of us to be, for as long as it's the right place for them to be.
Then something happens that challenges the status quo. Maybe the vulnerability of being in an intimate relationship. Maybe becoming a parent. Maybe navigating a parenting challenge.
Maybe a "normal" milestone or an unanticipated crisis. Maybe a life transition such as a move, career change, or retirement. Maybe a loss, of a loved one, a dream, an identity.
Maybe a challenge has passed and now, on safer shores, we can process what we went through.
Whatever the catalyst, the shell is starting to feel constricting. Our usual coping skills are no longer enough. The pain is no longer able to remain in its tight little space. And so the little one inside the shell begins to call out, seeking a presence on the other side.
The dialogue
There are so many ways life can become disrupted once this call is sent out. Sometimes it's in the form of anxiety or depression. Sometimes it's through persistent somatic symptoms or insomnia. A person may be plagued by intrusive thoughts, panic attacks or nightmares.
Often one finds themselves driven to thoughts, feelings or behaviors that feel alien or uncontrollable. "I don't get why I feel this way, it makes no sense." "I know I'm supposed to feel/think XYZ, but I just can't." "I'm so drained from fighting myself all the time."
There can be a sense of living out of alignment with one's own values. Beneath it all is often a heartbreaking expression of deep loss: "I don't recognize myself. I don't know who I am anymore."
And so, sitting in the therapy room, we listen, to the words and symptoms, but also to the parts beneath. Those parts may be sending out signals, gesturing, letting us know they're there. Together, we begin the sacred process of holding space for these parts to emerge from their shell.
And we start to communicate back. We're here. Our hearts are open to you.
You may be just a small voice; you may not "make sense" in ways we're used to making sense of things. But we believe you're there, holding unknown stories and unborn potential.
We trust your pacing. We'll stand by you, witness and support you.
Breaking apart
If only it were as simple as chicks hatching from their shell. Trauma therapy can be a messy process. It can feel like dissolution. There's a sense of breaking down, falling apart, coming undone. Memories surface, feelings may flood the system. It can feel less like becoming, more like "un-becoming." This can be terrifying.
We can't avoid the mess; the only way through it is through it. And no one can "deliver" the chick but the chick itself. We hold space for the unknowns, trust and respect the process.
And yet we also can't deny the fear and fragility around it, as well as the other existing roles and relationships in a person's life as they go through trauma recovery. Part of safely attending to trauma is offering the right systemic support.
For someone processing trauma this can mean many things. One factor is self-care outside of therapy, more careful attention to sleep, nutrition, exercise, and creative pursuits. They may benefit from spending time in nature, engaging in sports or hobbies, listening to music, joining a class or support group. Medication can be an important resource too.
Spiritually, the trauma survivor may find themselves grappling with their relationship with HaShem, seeking clarity and chizuk. Like all aspects of their identity during their recovery process, their spiritual identity will likely undergo its own evolution.
Marriage
The right systemic support also involves the external family system of the client. For a married adult, the main person affected by their trauma therapy process is their spouse. He or she is undergoing a complex journey of their own. To refer back to our chick metaphor: during the process of brooding (warming her eggs), the mother hen becomes so focused on her task that she's prone to weight loss and overheating, and requires focused caretaking.
For the individual whose spouse is going through trauma recovery, this time can be deeply unsettling, confusing and scary. He may not recognize his wife; she may feel she's losing the man she married. The trauma survivor may show up differently: less active, more needy, easily triggered. They may withdraw emotionally or physically, leaving their spouse feeling rejected, resentful and lonely.
The spouse may fear things will never go back to normal. And at some level, they're right; things are shifting, a new normal is being created.
The spouse of the trauma survivor is in a vulnerable position and requires their own support. Their self-care needs attention in much the same way as their spouse's. They may benefit from joining their spouse's therapy sessions intermittently, or from having their own therapist. If the two therapists can collaborate, the couple benefits from even greater security in their support system.
Trauma recovery can become so all-consuming that a couple can easily lose sight of who they are as a couple and what brought them together. Now more than ever, they will benefit from connecting and nurturing their relationship in simple, consistent ways: spending time together at home, going on small dates, taking walks, doing a shared enjoyable activity. With the right care, their friendship can become a resource of its own that can help them weather the complexity of this challenge, and grow together through it.
You're not a problem to be solved. You carry an untold story that is breaking into being.
Being a student of the process
I wouldn't quite say that everything one needs to know about trauma therapy can be learned from watching chicks hatch. But there's definitely a lot of wisdom there.
This process is sacred. It has its own time frame.
It hurts. It's scary. It can be trusted. It requires the right support. And the supporting characters require the right support.
So if at any point along your journey you find yourself in a hatching process, here's my wish for you: I hope you know that in spite of how you feel, you're not a problem to be solved. You carry an untold story that is breaking into being.
May you receive all the support you need as you find your voice, your footing, and your wings.
Kintsugi: the broken vessel, repaired with gold — more precious than before.