Ghosts by Dr Elizabeth McCardell, M. Couns., PhD

 Recently  I attended a weekend workshop on Death and Dying Consciously. It was held in the Beacon Yoga Ashram in Beaconsfield, a  southern suburb of Perth and run by a beloved mentor of mine. That place was full of ghosts for me. My own ghosts, the ghosts of the place and the ghosts of the workshop participants.

The ashram was established by a yoga teacher and friend of my parents named Nancy. My parents ran the Yoga School of Perth and both taught yoga. I helped clean up the building when a  twenty three year old and attended satsungs and other such things. Nancy converted to Hinduism and took the name Swami Lakshmi. She was a devotee of Swami Venkatesananda from Rishikesh, India. Swami  Venkatesananda had first visited Perth in 1956 under the auspices of the Divine Life Society. My mother had gone to a talk and yoga demonstration of his. He helped my parents and another person set up the Yoga School of Perth when I was four years old, and visited us practically every year, so I grew up with him in my life. He was kindly towards me and as a little child I sat on his lap.

My brother and I definitely had an unusual childhood. We were surrounded by those who saw themselves as enlightened, or if not quite that, on the road to enlightenment. We had to learn to sift through all that stuff. And, I suppose, this is why I now work in psychotherapy: a job that requires a lot of sifting, sorting and identifying the real from fantasy. And yet, I, as we all do, still have to do the work of consciousness, of becoming aware.

Remarkably, given the propensity for things to come and go rapidly in this country of ours, the Yoga Ashram is still there  50 years later and looks grand these days. The building previously, I think, was a nursing home  or possibly a children’s home of some kind but in the early 1970a was very run down and unoccupied. Now the gardens are beautiful with roses and flowering plums and the rooms are well kept, with air conditioning. All very comfortable, at least on the outside. It is, though, full of ghosts – all concentrated there. There are numerous pictures of Swami Venkatesananda (who died in 1982), his teacher Swami Sivananda Saraswati, Lakshmi, Krishnamurti, and others – even Jesus (the enlightened and the ordinary Joe Blows of us all). There are corners with religious objects, incense, a statues, altars and hangings everywhere. The place is full of stuff. Just like all of us.

Before our workshop began, someone asked me if I felt a rush of energy from Swami Venkatesananda. I replied, no I didn’t. He was a good man, but he was not holy. Kindly, intellectual  (a Sanskrit scholar and author) and a good speaker, but that’s it. He was, though, a prime mover in getting a lot of people to consider consciousness. A very useful first step.

What are these ghosts of which I speak? These are not the disembodied  post-death entities floating around still attached to the earth that we consider in the West, but ghosts as Tibetan Buddhists see them. They are projections of the people, attachments we all have to what we identify as ourselves, our ego, our beliefs about ourselves, of past suffering and trauma, memories, of feelings of longing and desire. 

It's very interesting to know that in Traditional Chinese Medicine acupuncture, they speak of ghost points. These are thirteen specific acupuncture points designed to treat disturbances of the mind, trauma, psychological blocks, addictions, sleep disturbances, and the like – recognizing that the matters of the mind are found in our bodies. Ghosts materialize literally in ourselves.

The work, then, is not to identify with the ghosts but to recognize that they are there, and there and there. But we are more than ghosts. We are becoming awareness.

Delayed Emotion after Trauma By Dr Elizabeth McCardell, M. Couns., PhD

 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.

 

 

Trauma by Dr Elizabeth McCardell, M. Couns., PhD

      It is timely to write about trauma. After all, we have experienced horrendous floods this year and fires three years prior and many people suffered directly and indirectly the effects of these. On social media many were saying that everybody affected have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). It needs to be said right here, that this isn’t true. Not all who went through these experiences are affected in this way.

     Our responses to threat are primarily instinctive and biological, and secondarily psychological and cognitive. We go into fight, flight, and freeze mode, common to all mammals. First, we enter the arousal cycle. Our muscles tense, as we identify the source of possible danger. Then we enter the mobilization stage where  our bodies begin to produce adrenaline and cortisol, the two primary chemicals that energize us to fight or flee. In the third stage, we discharge this energy by completing the appropriate defensive actions (fighting or fleeing). The fourth and final stage happens when the nervous system, no longer aroused, returns to a state of equilibrium. If we are overwhelmed by the threat and are unable to fight or flee, we instinctively employ the third action plan, the "freezing response”. Here we are in a dissociative state where our minds seem to separate from our body, but we are still highly aroused, setting the stage for high anxiety which may continue for awhile.

     I note here that PTSD is identified as the ongoing experience of trauma lasting more than three months. Less than three months, and this trauma response is identified as Acute Stress Disorder (ASD).  Not all experiences of stressful events become disorders (a very important point here). 

      According to the DSM-IV (a bible of psychiatric diagnoses), for trauma disorder to be diagnosed, the person must experience at least one of five cluster symptoms: recurrent and intrusive distressing recollections, nightmares, flashbacks, intense psychological distress in response to memories or reminders of the trauma, and physiological arousal cued by memories or reminders of the trauma);  three or more of seven  symptoms of persistent avoidance (of memories or reminders of the trauma) and emotional numbing (dissociative or psychogenic amnesia for important parts of the trauma, loss of interest in important activities, feelings of detachment or estrangement from others, restricted range of affect, and a sense of a foreshortened future); and two or more symptoms of increased arousal (sleep difficulties, irritability or outbursts of anger, concentration difficulties, hypervigilance, and an exaggerated startle response).

 

     PTSD doesn’t necessarily occur after ASD and ASD doesn’t necessarily occur after a stress event. Why is this so?  Length of duration may be a consideration, as frequency could be also, but the data is inconclusive. The anxiety response is not the same across all potentially traumatic events. Some events, such as random rape, are transient, while domestic abuse is usually repeated. Hand to hand combat can be transient, but can be repeated many times. Floods and their ongoing destruction go on for a long time, but the time factor isn’t necessarily sufficient to bring on an ongoing trauma response. Other things are at work, and we still really don’t understand everything about this stress response. Some people are more resilient than others, some have better networks and can express their feelings more openly, perhaps.

 

     Several studies have found that low cortisol levels in the acute aftermath of the stressful event and an elevated resting heart rate shortly afterwards tend to result in a stronger and more sustained stress reaction, which is hypothesized to contribute to the development of PTSD. Also an extensive prior history of psychiatric problems and/or substance abuse may make  a person  particularly vulnerable to the development of PTSD. Prior traumatic history also contributes to the development of a stress disorder.

 

     So how we live our life now matters in terms of how we respond to stressful events. Now is the time to communicate and connect with others and learn to manage our issues without abusing alcohol and drugs. Working through our anxieties and concerns through counselling is really useful in preventing the development of the debilitating conditions of ASD and PTSD because they are not inevitable. Therapy for existing trauma really does matter.

 

 

 

 

 

Being Present with Another’s Traumatic Experiences by Dr Elizabeth McCardell, M.Couns., PhD

 

April 2021

     “Trauma is not what happens to you, it’s what happens inside you as a result of what happened to you.” Gabor Mate.

     We all react differently to things that happen to us and what can feel catastrophic to one person may not be felt that way by another. Some people just seem to ride the waves without being too much affected by what they experience. That said, we can misjudge a person’s reaction when all we see is how they are behaving.  A person showing outwards signs of distress may not be in the same degree of shock as the person who is simply sitting staring ahead in silence. The silent one may continue to feel distress many decades after the event, but still not show it. They might be experiencing sleeplessness, nightmares, panic attacks; they might resort to excessive alcohol consumption and taking drugs, or none of these things, but still give the appearance of coping perfectly well.

     I’m reminded of one of my first clients many years ago who came to me because he was feeling suicidal. He’d taken early retirement as an aircraft mechanic and a week after giving up work was suddenly inundated with memories from his time in the air force where his job was flying helicopters picking up bodies during the Vietnam war. He’d kept it ‘together’ throughout his working life after Vietnam, not showing any emotion, just pressing on, doing his job. He maintained a holding position, until he couldn’t anymore.

     The person yelling and sobbing after traumatic events may be coping better than the silent one. Yet we, in our society, judge the former as being more traumatized than the latter. Thinking here of the quick condemnation of Lindy Chamberlain on the tragedy of losing her baby to a dingo at Uluru in 1980. She showed no emotion at all and was judged as being a cold, calculating child killer, when in fact she was frozen in utter shock.

     The Perth psychologist and trauma counselling specialist Michael Tunnicliffe who taught trauma counselling in  my Master of Counselling degree explained that the crying person was already adjusting and adapting to the reality of what they have just experienced. The silent person might be numb, not feeling anything, as if the event did not happen. The silent person has got stuck, as it were, along the path to adjusting and adapting to their new reality.

     Stuckness in shock is felt bodily. Freezing in fear is what animals do (called ‘tonic immobility’), and it is a survival response, but unlike other animals, people can get stuck there.  We do this by repeating our fears in a sort of emotional loop and thus continue the frozen response. If you watch a cat encountering something frightening, they freeze, but then shake it off. Too often we humans recapitulate our fear response by overthinking it. This is where counselling comes to its own. If such a person can talk their experience through, with plenty of emotional and somatic support, then the fear response doesn’t tend to get stuck.

     Peter Levine, a pioneer in trauma therapy, (cf Waking the Tiger, Healing Trauma) notes that certain things can effectively loosen the frozen response. He  might  ask the client to put one hand on their forehead and the other on their chest, or put one hand under their armpit and the other on their upper arm in a kind of self hug. Tapping your whole body or tapping just their hand also works for some people. Such movements contain feelings of panic and lessens the sense of having a hole in a person’s boundaries.

     When the sense of frozenness is old, dance, massage, gentle breathing exercises or vocalizations are  good ways of releasing seized up emotion. For immediate help, just sitting listening with the person speak whatever it is they want to say really helps. The key is, gently does it. What doesn’t help is more exposure to the same sort of traumatic event.

     Just being with a person helps give a sense of safety and containment, which is a beginning to healing.

 

 

Survivors' Children by Dr Elizabeth McCardell, M. Couns,. PhD

January 2014

      A man can’t sleep at night. He’s tired all day, sometimes dropping asleep in conversation, but when night comes he can’t lie down and relax. He’s all wound up. I knew his mother was German-born and his father was English. That’s all.  Some time later I met them both and learnt that his mother was Jewish and her father took the family to Crimea for safety, but not before three bombs landed in their house and didn’t go off. The sleepless man’s father, I discovered, had been sent alone to Australia before the rest of the family followed. Since he was still a child, he was taken to a children’s home in a city here. There he waited three years before his family came to collect him. Both mother and father of the sleepless man were children experiencing huge upheavals: one knowing of bombs not exploding and an escape to the Crimea, the other wrenched from family and sent to an children’s home in a foreign country, wondering, wondering when he would safe with his family again. 

      What have his parents’ experience got to do with the sleepless man? Before I respond to that, I’ll present another couple of  scenarios.

      A little girl is in boarding school in Russia. She and all the people around her are starving. Yes, her mind is fed with languages (she knew five), art, dance, theatre, science, discovery. Her stomach gnaws at her like the rat that chews at her shoes beside her bed. She is rescued by her step-mother and sent to Australia with her brother.  She meets and marries two men. One beats her, and she escapes from him. The other is charming, suave, a bit remote, but very intelligent. They have children. The youngest,  a girl, doesn’t want to eat, yet she feels always hungry. The daughter develops an eating disorder that she recovers from eventually, but the issue of food always looms large for her. 

      Some people dream the fears of their parents and grandparents. When I was a child a recurring dream was of a Zeppelin airship flying over the house.  My father would not have seen these, but he had uncles who died in the trenches in World War I when the German airship, the Zeppelin was around. I guess my father was very frightened of these when he was a child, a fear I picked up somehow or other.

     Intergenerational trauma is very real. The experiences of therapists and research neurobiologists are showing the way in which many children have unconsciously adopted the symptoms of their parents and other relatives, at an almost cellular level. 

      A 2010  a Time magazine article describes how Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder symptoms in second-generation survivors are being found in their behaviour and also their blood. Higher levels of the stress hormone cortisol are found in the children of survivors, and the children’s children. Until recently, it was assumed that these symptoms were essentially learned. The idea was that if you grow up with parents who can’t sleep, suffer mood swings, hypervigilance, irritability and jumpiness (symptoms of PTSD) you’re likely to become stressed and hypervigilant yourself. There is more to it, though. Neurobiological research using the study of epigenetics, where environmental factors are seen to change genes in ways that can be passed to the next generation, is identifying actual changes to genetic material among subjects whose parents were traumatized previously.

      Most studies of survivors’ children have been done with the children of Holocaust survivors, and their children’s children. The uncertainty of life, the observation of death and extreme cruelty, and sometimes the disbelief that the survivors lived when the rest of their families died, deeply affected them, both positively and negatively. Positively, by instilling into their children a deep appreciation of life and an urgency to live that life meaningfully and fully. Negatively, by, as I’ve noted, creating a hypervigilance, a jumpiness, an irritability, and sleep disorders.

      How much parents tell their children of their own trauma is reflected in how the children experience that relationship they have with their parents. If the background story is not told, or surrounded by partial mystery, the child may feel drained and disconnected from their parents. If the story overflows with too much traumatic information, then the child is overwhelmed. These feelings of disconnection or overwhelm may extend into the way the child welcomes the rest of the world.

       Either way, a child whose family background story includes extreme trauma may experience some difficulty in their development, including problems at a social level. These may manifest in later life as sleep disorders, habitual smoking, under or over eating, alcoholism, and the like. At the same time, the child may gain some very essential coping skills. It really depends on how much support is given to the survivors from family, friends, and counsellors. Intergenerational transmission of trauma can be averted through the critical intervention of  counselling and clinical hypnotherapy. As a mentor said to me once, we always have a chance to heal ourselves and our families. Healing ourselves, heals our families.