The Ukraine War and Intergenerational Trauma
I was just thinking about writing this blog post, when someone close to me wrote, in response to an article about Putin’s willingness to go nuclear, “I can’t finish it. My anxiety is through the roof.” I felt really bad about that. He had other worries, much closer to home, and more immediate, but the news didn’t help. I might have considered that before sharing.
Bad news layered upon an already full plate of stress, and cause a tipping point situation. One strategy, that has a lot of merit, is to stop reading the news. Maybe not forever, but let’s be real: we are only people, with a limited capacity to tolerate stress. If we are stretched to deal with the immediate stressors, then adding more stress on top of that is totally counter-productive.
If you have been watching the news, then there is a high likelihood that you have experienced some anxiety about the geopolitical situation. Older men and women, like me, who grew up in the post WWll era, hearing stories from parents about the war, and who suffered the effects of being raised by traumatized parents, have an added layer of stress. The reason why is because the brain is organized by patterns. When war erupts, the “war file” gets opened, automatically. Once open, we begin searching through that file, unconsciously and consciously, for information that might be useful.
War is one of those existential threats that mobilize survival mechanisms. We can do our best to avoid the news, avoid thinking about it, but once we become aware that war is actually taking place (perhaps in the very region where your parents experienced the war), the brain will begin it’s pattern matching routines. Dreams change. Odd thoughts may arise. Stress tolerance decreases. The usual operations of the mind shift to allocate bandwidth for searching for survival stories, and any information that may increase hope, find meaning, and inform plans.
These days remind me of the time in 1999, when the Y2K problem was making the news. There was speculation that the Y2K problem would cause a catastrophic crash of computer systems worldwide, and plunge civilization back decades or worse, because we had already lost the knowledge of how to operate without computers. I took the stories seriously, and phoned my father, a veteran of WWll. He listened to my concerns, and chuckled, saying, “no problem! I have already been through the collapse of society. All the dogs and cats disappeared (eaten, presumably). After the war, we had nothing: no roads, no bridges, nothing.” That didn’t exactly cheer me up, but, oddly, his insouciance rubbed off on me, and I realized that, in a worst case scenario, we would find a way forward.
There was another time, decades ago, when I had made progress countering my unhealthy habit of ruminating about possible disasters. That kind of disaster rumination is a symptom of intergenerational trauma. Then, out of the blue, I received a phone call from my father. He said, “I am concerned about the world situation. You would do well to have a piece of land where you can grow some potatoes.” Well….my anxiety instantly spiked, undoing the good work I had done in overcoming my fear or anticipation of impending disaster. That good work wasn’t wasted, though. The skills I had developed helped bring me back to a more realistic assessment of threat and danger.
One habit that helps is to consciously discriminate between possibility and probability. Yes, many disaster scenarios are possible, but the question to ask oneself is, “is how probable is this?” The mental act of stepping back to make that calculation creates distance between yourself and what is causing anxiety. And distance is the essence of healing: when you are not inside a problem, you have the chance to inspect the real or imagined problem, assess, problem solve, and take action.
The action we take depends upon our unique situation. In my case, I turn to writing. It fulfills two functions: I get to share something that might be useful to others, and by writing this article, I gain some distance from the inter-generational trauma pattern that is activated in my mind. Distance is the essence of healing. Through writing, I become more aware of what has been simmering. I become more aware of the fact that I have been reading the news much more frequently that usual, to a degree that is not helpful. Now I can decide to limit my exposure to the news. Shining the light of consciousness on what was previously semi or fully unconscious, blunts the power of underground emotional currents. Consciously experienced emotional currents can be studied, navigated, and channelled.
Other people might want to dance out their anxiety. Or participate in a protest against war. Or choose to seek out and admire stories of hope and unity in the face of adversity. I marvel at the global unity of opposition to the war. Only a few psychopathic corporate types and other war mongers seem to relish the war. I take heart that so many people, probably for the first time ever, are so united in their opposition. Even during the Mongol invasions there was not a unified horror and opposition to their policy of devastation, because the Mongol people were unified in backing their Khans. In this situation, even a large segment of the Russian people are opposed to the war.
I choose, for my own mental health, to focus on that. I am aware of possible worst case scenarios (and I encourage my brother in Poland to have a Plan B), but I also am aware that there is a high probability that something good will happen to defuse the situation. Besides, this is one of those things that fall in the category of “things I cannot control”. So I allow myself the luxury of relaxing, remembering to breath consciously, and taking notice of the opportunities to spread some light and peace into my immediate surroundings.
Remember, thoughts are things, that we can choose to think along certain lines, and avoid thinking along other lines. It takes effort and practice, but the results are felt not only by yourself, but by those around you, both near, and perhaps, farther away than you might imagine.
0 Comments