Some of you may have heard of the fight, flight or freeze response to danger. The terms fight or flight were described by WB Cannon in the 1920s to describe a physiological reaction to the perception of danger. Later, in 2002, Barlow expanded upon this theory by talking about another response that sometimes happens: the freeze response or otherwise known as: ‘tonic immobility’.  

I was a philosophy major in school. Put simply: I learned skills and then specialized in articulating and deconstructing arguments using logical structures. This is a skill that involves talking or otherwise engaging with others using critical thinking and logic (usually those who don’t agree with you about difficult and complex things) as well as copious amounts of reading. I say all of this to be clear about one single point: the response I experienced and then describe below is not a lack of understanding of how to engage in conversations with people who I disagree with. This thing I experience is grounded in trauma; it is a symptom of my mental illness.

We’re so afraid of those two words: mental illness, especially given the political rhetoric right now, but I think it is important to be open about: I have several mental illnesses. I have been diagnosed with anxiety, CPTSD, and severe clinical depression. I am not homicidal. I am not something to be afraid of. I am not a danger to society. I have experienced and survived terrible things, and these illnesses are my mental ‘battle scars’. The problem with these scars, even for me, is that they are not always visible, and not easily seen- like my burn scar or other physical wounds. Sometimes I imagine what I would look like if you could see everything I’ve been through on the outside. What if I had tally marks of broken bones, the number of times I was told ‘you should just be quiet’, or the times I was raped? To be honest, I am not sure there is enough room on my body. But I still think: ‘if they could see- maybe they’d just… be kind’. Something that could say: ‘LOOK, I have been through some shit, okay ( so, fuck-off, leave me alone, or just ‘be kind’). I know that you may see this as ‘playing the victim’ or defining myself by my trauma or something and maybe that’s true, but in these moments there is nothing I wish for more, because of how I’ve been treated because of my mental illnesses. Sometimes I wish for these things not to prove to other people what I have been through but as a reminder to myself that: I want to be more kind and understanding towards myself.

I have gone to therapy (on-and-off) for 6 years now. In that time, I have worked on coping skills to manage my triggers and to process what has happened to me. Despite that, I still experience this tonic immobility, and it is devastating to me in those moments no matter how many years of therapy I’ve gone to or how many years I put between me and ‘the last time’ (it’s 7 this year, but who’s counting).

One of my internal triggers is feeling like I need to say something, but I can’t. I want to be clear that this is not when I feel like someone says something and I want to tell them they’re wrong about a fact, or a time where I want to say the truth- that this webinar is boring- but where it would be inappropriate or unprofessional to do so. This happens to me when I need to say something. NEED, like it’s imperative that I do this for my own safety, sense of well-being, or to defend someone else. I experience tonic immobility primarily in the former two cases- where I essentially wish I could tell someone ‘get the fuck away from me’!  

Tonic immobility is a state that occurs in animals and is evolutionary helpful- especially if it helps prey to blend in with their surroundings. To an outside observer looking at my reaction alone, it might look like I got frustrated because I couldn’t say what I wanted to say but that’s not what happened. Often the full truth is that: I thought of him, taking away my blankets because I quietly said no. I thought of the moments when my abuser took away my one semblance of comfort. When I was younger- if I spoke out or said ‘no’ to Alex, I’d be hit, he’d hit me. Sometimes he would take the blankets away from me, because I found it comforting, and he knew it. I want to be clear that Alex would do this in response to me fighting him physically, but also from something like me saying ‘no’. For me, tonic immobility happens when my body feels like I am about to be attacked.

A few days ago I heard someone say: ‘how do you control someone like that (without using some device to physically control their mind)?’ and I wanted to scream: ‘like that!!!’. You take away their one source of comfort when they do something you don’t like in response to you hurting them. Then repeat- that is how. I knew I had been triggered, even at the moment (thanks to therapy) but I still felt trapped. I didn’t feel like I could say anything, I barely knew this person, and on top of that, I didn’t want to share my history. I had previous to this exact conversation decided that I wouldn’t and that I didn’t want to.  I sat in near silence for the rest of the conversation, only chiming in occasionally to just get not make anyone else uncomfortable. I had a panic attack in my car outside. Then, I went home and I cried. The person who said this didn’t mean anything by it and it was in the broader conversation of something worth exploring… but my brain couldn’t handle it.

If you are a survivor of abuse, I gently encourage you to check in with yourself and skip this next paragraph if you want to or need to. I describe some of the abuse that happened of what Alex did to me. I also describe what I did. If you feel up for reading it, I try to be honest about my experience, and that might be helpful to you, too. Otherwise, you can skip to ‘Recently, I’ve heard…’

Once I asked him ‘what, you don’t get any from your wife?’ He told me to ask him to have sex with me, and I did. Once, he threw burning water at me and I shielded my face with my arms but I didn’t fight him. When he let me, I took off the sweater I was wearing and drove myself to the hospital. I lied about what happened.  Once I let him into my home because the door was locked and he told me to. Once he raped me in a public place and I walked home. Once I bit him, then he smashed my head into my dresser. When he asked me if I liked it- I told him ‘yes’. But mostly, I was silent during the abuse. I didn’t tell my people. I tried to keep it to myself. I stopped telling him ‘no’. I stopped fighting back.

Recently, I’ve heard a lot about people encouraging women to be rude, kick, scream, bite your way out if the person doesn’t listen- whatever you need to do to escape. If your response to the trauma is this fight response, and this feels safe to you- do it. Please, by all means, survive. I am trying to be clear that this tonic immobility is not a choice- it is an automatic response. I have been conditioned by years of abuse (and it is my natural disposition) to have this response- and you think by telling me ‘it’s okay to fight back’ or ‘just scream’ or ‘just say this’ is going to change that? While I am genuinely glad to hear people telling women and girls that they have the right to defend themselves, I also think we need to be conscious about the victims that have experienced violence already and the responses their bodies may have had to that violence.

It’s important to be clear and informed about how the body can respond to violence and the automatic nature of that response in order to do the least harm to victims and survivors. Also, reminding survivors that regardless of how you respond at that moment: I believe you and you were/are strong. I think one of the reasons we’re afraid to admit that the body can have this response is because we don’t want to believe that we will ever be helpless like that.

Whatever you think of the ‘decisions I made during the abuse, I survived. I am here today and that is enough.

The average person interacts with 80,000 people in their lifetime and has nine close friends. Imagine holding something like this from every one, no one to talk to, no way to learn you’re not the only one. It sucks. It’s hard and it takes incredible strength and force of will. I am not saying that this is how I hope people experience abuse because I don’t think there is a right way to respond to abuse and I don’t think the person experiencing abuse is entirely in control of it. But, I do think we need to stop valorizing fighting back or talking back and using that as the only metric to explain why victims survive. I survived because he didn’t kill me, because I was silent at times, and at others, I fought back, and all of that is enough. It is enough that I am here.

Survivors of abuse are incredibly resilient and regardless of the way that they survived their abuse and the aftermath (or didn’t), they are strong and there is no right way, and the best way to have prevented all of this is for Alex to never have abused me.

You and I are here, I am grateful for that, and all the things you did to survive, yes ALL of the things you did. I am sorry this happened to you- but you did what you needed to, to survive.

PS: Some practical thoughts still to come- I’d like to put forth some ideas about how we can reframe these conversations and help those who may experience violence but for now, I need a break from writing and my husband is reminding me I have to work in the morning… So, another post for another time. Goodnight!