Some say time is a spiral, and round and round we go toward the end of our existence on this plane, grazing the pains and traumas of our earlier years, and trying to stay focused on a future we can’t see. In the trauma recovery world they say to be gentle with ourselves when the anniversary of a great trauma grows close, and understand that our body and central nervous system holds on to all that has happened to us. I do think our bodies remember the hurt, and as the days of past traumas grow close we feel it, whether we recognize it for what it is or not. For me the reminders tend to come in physical aches and pains, a sense of impending doom as my body prepares itself for the chaotic shock of violence or loss that seem to come abundantly in dysfunctional families, and a sadness that life can be so challenging and unfair down here.
This time of year the calendar inside my body recalls losing my sister when I was on the cusp of my 9th birthday, the loss of her radically changing my life overnight. My body also recalls the loss of my son on the cusp of my 37th birthday; a loss so vast there is no returning to who I was before he died. Coincidently my son passed at 18 years old just like my sister, in the same season, and just miles apart in vehicular accidents, my sister a passenger, my son a pedestrian. My birthday is coming around once again, and I usually find the day rather depressing, my body holding onto those other birthdays when the shock of loss was fresh and sharp. I tend to sink into the depths with the reminders of so many things at this time of the year. I don’t plan to dip below the surface, it just happens, and I’ve learned to accept it and attempt to make room for it and give myself a little forgiveness for not being as strong as I was always expected to be.
It’s said that our cells also hold memories and there have been several studies over the years, from insects and animals to humans who survived terrible situations, and it’s been found that later generations seem to remember traumas on a cellular level. We know that abuse is usually handed down from one generation to the next, consciously or unconsciously, but studies have shown trauma can leave a mark on our DNA. Scientifically this has been explained through DNA methylation, histone modifications, and protein shape templating, which are just fancy words to explain the mechanisms that allow cells to respond more strongly to repeated stimuli (like how immune cells respond faster to a second infection) and maintain specialization over many divisions and pass them along. This is not the same as our brain remembering personal experiences, but is deeper and etched onto our cells. We are sensitive and delicate creatures in many ways, created by a loving God to be creators ourselves, created to seek beauty and truth and express it in a myriad of ways to honor His glory and goodness. The world wasn’t meant to be as brutal and harsh as it has become, and we carry the invisible scars internally of all that has occurred in our family lines.
In studies done on the descendants of the survivors of the holocaust and the Japanese internment it has been found later generations were more likely to show signs of PTSD than the control group whose families didn’t experience those things. The descendants, having never stepped foot into a prison camp, were more prone to depression, anxiety, and mood disorders. I read those studies years ago, but it stayed with me for the ramifications of all it meant. Some of us work diligently not to pass on our trauma to our children, to raise them with kindness and fairness, and attempt to give them the healthy home life we never experienced ourselves, but these studies show it may not be enough. Cruelty experienced in one generation may be felt by the following generations, events occurring before a child was even conceived could be passed along by some intergenerational pathway that we don’t quite understand.
We may not understand it, but that doesn’t mean the decision makers of this world don’t understand it. I look at the long list of wars our nation has been involved with, sending our young men to and fro, and exposing them to the most hideous brutalities. Then they are sent home to raise families as though the experiences will just run off like water off a duck. I think of the assassination of JFK, the Challenger explosion, 911, and Lindsey Clancy. I think of all the violence and national tragedies played over and over on our screens to ensure everyone is exposed to it. I think of the pecking order of our school system where the strong, the pretty, and the cruel seem to rise to the top, while the weaker ones, often smarter and more creative, become the object of bullying and abuse. Who decided the best way to educate children was to trap them in a room with their same aged peers where the strongest and loudest end up setting the standard for the rest? I think of how just scrolling through social media exposes us to a myriad of upsetting and dark images and how desensitized we’re all becoming. I think of how my phone suddenly shifted to autoplay the day Charlie Kirk was killed and how, without intending to, I saw his murder. Was it just a glitch that my phone suddenly played that video without my consent? Or is there a deeper agenda working under the surface to keep us in a traumatized state?
Our body and our cells remember the past, and the world’s agenda works hard to ensure that those ingrained memories are traumatic for us, but what if we remember other things as well? Not just the hurt, pain, and shock, but can our cells also remember the goodness, righteousness, light, and hope? I sense deeply that we must, we must also retain those things on a cellular level. Why else would the world work so diligently to make those cellular etchings harsh and traumatic? I believe the Millennial Reign of Jesus Christ is in our past and we are living in the apocalyptic remains of a much better world, and I believe our cells, our genetic memory, recall the time. Our distant ancestors lived through one of the most glorious times on earth, a time with no worry or stress, a time where cruelty was not allowed to fester and grow, a time of great beauty and creation, and a time where love flowed freely. Our ancestors lived in an era when the light and spirit of God graced each person, and I believe deep inside we all remember it.
We remember it with the strange homesickness we feel at times. We remember it when we’re stopped in our tracks by the sight of something beautiful and pure. We remember it when a piece of music sends a chill along our spine. We remember it in the childlike excitement we still feel at times, sometimes for no visible or logical reason. We remember it when we’re kind to someone, when a baby giggles and draws a laugh from us, when a butterfly flutters by, or when a sunset or sunrise sparks a sense of wonder within us. We remember it down to our literal cells.
The world remembers it too, which is yet another reason it operates as it does. Satan, our adversary, doesn’t want us to recall the beauty and light of God. He wants our attention focused on his darkness, his lack, and his ugliness, and he wants us to call his world beautiful when it is anything but. He’s growing frustrated by those who still hang on to the light, irritated that we just won’t give in, and he hates that we still seek the goodness, righteousness, and beauty we only recognize due to memories etched into our cells. He despises the creation that we are, the way we still long for God, and how he can’t simply break us all and have us accept his definitions of what is acceptable and good. I suspect he’s about to go on a rampage soon and throw some tantrums as he knows his time is quite short, and he knows the ending.
As for us, we just need to remember, and keep seeking.
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