September 2025
One of my first clients years ago when I was starting out as a therapist was a Vietnam veteran. He had just retired as an aircraft mechanic when he came to see me in a state of deep anguish. He had been a helicopter pilot during that war responsible for picking up broken bodies in Vietnam jungles. He said that at the time he just did his job, just got on with it. Didn’t feel much. After he returned home from the war, he settled into his job with a couple of airlines: went to work, came home, showered, cooked dinner, watched a bit of television, and went to bed. Same thing day after day for decades. No hanging out with friends, no intimate relationships. And then he took early retirement and suddenly found himself standing on a bridge about to throw himself in. Instead he went to his doctor and, after that, came to see me. Suddenly he was feeling all those emotions that he cut himself off from for all of his working life.
I get this. In the past month or so I’ve been suddenly feeling the deep sadness from nearly dying this time last year when I was hospitalized with blood poisoning that damaged my kidneys. Suddenly sad, coupled with recurring iterative memories of being in three hospitals with tubes in me for blood transfusions, temporary dialysis and other indignities.
I feel for those in the Northern Rivers, and particularly Lismore, who lost their houses, livelihoods and animals after the 2022 floods. I was lucky, living as I did in Lismore Heights above the devastation. The floods and aftermath are one reason I returned to my hometown of Perth, Western Australia where flooding doesn’t happen. The trauma felt, I know, was not immediately felt by all and many, I’m sensing, are feeling it now. I must admit that I’m feeling the feelings now delayed as well.
Why are feelings sometimes delayed for so long? You’d think that in the face of immediate catastrophe that feelings would be running high. They are for some, but not for others. Our immediate reactions in the aftermath of trauma are complicated and shaped by our life experiences, culture, coping skills, and community support. Coping styles are individual and variations in how a person copes (including those who just get on with life, without feeling much) is not a sign of psychopathology. There is no “normal” response to trauma. The realization of this is relatively new to those who study trauma. When I was studying for my Master of Counselling degree this wasn’t really talked about and the advice given to us was to encourage the person to talk about their experiences at the time of the traumatic event. A person like my Vietnam vet client, or me, for that matter, would not be helped by this approach – until they were ready to feel their emotions; emotions have to be felt in their own good time.
Coping styles vary from action oriented to reflective, from emotionally expressive to reticent. There are those who just get on with life, and there are those who are left exhausted, confused, sad, anxious, agitated, numb, dissociated, confused, in emotional and physical pain, and feeling nothing much at all. Of course, these feelings can become crippling and lead to long term distress: nightmares, sleep disorders, iterative thoughts, flashbacks, anxiety and depression, suicidal thoughts, as well as avoidance of emotions that are associated with the trauma.
Delayed emotional responses are not inevitable. Why this is so, is poorly understood. It could be that the event is not felt life threatening, or perhaps it is familiar to some lucky people. The thing is, though, that we cannot assume that if a person who has been in a horrible event is not showing much emotion is ok. Care and support is necessary whatever the person exhibits, or doesn’t.
Creative arts, therapy, mindfulness exercise, watching the breath, and sometimes medication helps. What doesn’t, is self medicating with drugs and alcohol. The thing is, be gentle and practice self care.
