When Your Brain Feels Like It Has To Fight.

 

When Your Brain Feels Like It Has to Fight

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” — Proverbs 15:1

“A person’s wisdom yields patience; it is to one’s glory to overlook an offense.” — Proverbs 19:11

“My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” — James 1:19

“Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” — Colossians 3:13

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” — Ephesians 4:32

When we read Scriptures about patience, gentle answers, forgiveness, and being slow to anger, it can sometimes leave us carrying a heavy weight of guilt.

For someone living with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, like me, a husband’s grumpy mood or sharp tone isn't always just an inconvenience. Sometimes, my body experiences it as a direct threat to my safety.

My logical self knows the difference.

But my nervous system doesn't always get the message.

There are moments when a tone of voice, a slammed door, or a few frustrated words can bring back the physical fear of being a young girl walking toward an abuser's home, knowing I was going to be hurt and feeling like I had no say in what happened to me.

I don't want to live that way.

But sometimes my brain doesn't ask me what I want.

It reacts.

Living with C-PTSD means my nervous system can become extremely sensitive to changes around me. When something triggers me, my brain's survival system can take over. In those moments, it can be incredibly difficult to separate what is happening now from what happened then.

A door slammed in frustration can feel like a declaration of war.

Silence can feel like abandonment.

A sharp tone can make my body believe that danger is coming.

And even when the reality is simply that Ross is having a bad day and handling it poorly, my body may not understand that.

My heart races.

My thoughts become confused.

My muscles tighten.

And suddenly my survival instinct is screaming, PROTECT YOURSELF!

That is when James 1:19—being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger—can feel almost biologically impossible.

Sometimes I cannot even pinpoint exactly why I am so upset.

Then I feel petty.

I feel stupid.

I wonder, Why am I reacting like this?

But somewhere inside, my damaged brain has decided that tonight might be another sleep-in-the-tree night.

And that is when I have to remind myself:

I am not back there.

I am here.

I am safe.

And God is with me.

Grace for Your Nervous System

There is a Hebrew word that comes to mind when I think about what God offers us in those moments: raḥam (רַחַם), connected with the idea of deep compassion and tender mercy.

God doesn't look at our broken places and say, “You should be over this by now.”

He sees us.

He understands us.

He knows what happened.

And He knows what it takes to heal.

Another beautiful Hebrew word is šālôm (שָׁלוֹם), often translated as peace. But biblical peace is bigger than simply having a quiet afternoon. It carries the idea of wholeness, well-being, and restoration.

That is what I want God to continue doing in me.

Restoring the places that were broken.

Making whole the places that were shattered.

Teaching my body that I don't have to live in survival mode forever.

And there is a Greek word in James 1:19 that is especially meaningful: bradys, meaning slow. James isn't telling us never to experience anger. He is teaching us not to rush into our response.

That matters to me.

Because sometimes the most godly thing I can do isn't to immediately find the perfect gentle answer.

Sometimes the godly thing is to stop.

Step away.

Take a breath.

Grab my keys.

Get in the car.

Let my nervous system settle.

That isn't a failure of Scripture.

Sometimes it is wisdom.

Proverbs 19:11 speaks of overlooking an offense, and that can be difficult when our emotions are screaming at us to defend ourselves. But wisdom doesn't always mean staying in the middle of the conflict until we figure everything out.

Sometimes wisdom means knowing when to walk away for a little while.

Forgiveness and gentleness don't require us to deny our pain or pretend that something didn't happen.

They don't mean we have to quietly absorb someone else's anger.

And they certainly don't mean we cannot have boundaries.

Sometimes we can say:

“Right now, my body doesn't feel safe. I can't think clearly. I need to step away, calm down, and come back when I can talk without reacting from fear.”

That can be an act of love.

It protects us from reacting out of trauma.

It protects the other person from words we may regret.

And it gives God room to work in the quiet.

I know for myself that once I get away from the situation and my brain and heart begin to calm down, I can usually find a way to accept what happened and move forward.

Sometimes I realize I misunderstood what happened.

Sometimes I realize I was reacting to something from long ago.

And sometimes I realize there really is something that needs to be calmly discussed so we can hopefully handle it differently the next time.

That's where Ross and I are learning.

We are learning each other.

We are learning ourselves.

And, honestly, sometimes we are learning God in the middle of our crazy life together.

If you have never lived with C-PTSD, you may read this and think, I don't really understand.

And that's okay.

You don't have to understand everything someone else is carrying to have compassion for them.

People like me are all around you.

We quietly carry hurts that only God fully understands.

After more than 60 years since my first abuse, sometimes I still think I should be over this by now.

Most days I'm fine.

Really.

But I cannot always stop that automatic response when it kicks in.

Sometimes I feel like I HAVE to be bigger, meaner, and louder than everyone in the room.

And then comes the aftermath.

I am exhausted.

Drained.

Ready for bed—even if my day has barely begun.

I get tired of fighting my own brain.

But then I remember something important:

God is not tired of me.

He isn't standing there shaking His head, wondering why I haven't figured it out yet.

He is patient with me.

He is compassionate toward me.

He is rebuilding me.

And rebuilding isn't always pretty.

Sometimes rebuilding is messy.

Sometimes it involves tears, mistakes, apologies, misunderstandings, laughter, breakthroughs, and starting over.

But rebuilding is still progress.

God has seen my entire reality.

He knows what happened to me.

He knows what it did to me.

And He knows that I never asked for any of it.

Yet here I am.

Still here.

Still loving.

Still serving.

Still trying.

Still choosing not to disappear when my brain tells me to run.

And sometimes that is the victory.

And then there is the cat...

Our morning can look something like this:

Ross: “Stupid cat, get out of the way!”

Me: “Don't talk to my cat like that!”

Ross: “Tell him to stay out of my way!”

And suddenly...

BOOM!

I'm losing my mind.

I'm saying things I won't even remember later.

I storm off.

I slam the bedroom door.

Once.

Twice.

Maybe ten times.

Ross is probably standing there thinking:

Didn't she just tell that stupid cat to stop getting under her feet yesterday?

Didn't she accidentally step on him twice yesterday?

I am confused.

I think I'll leave her alone.

Meanwhile, I'm sitting in the bedroom trying to figure out how I went from perfectly fine to wound tighter than a drum in less than five minutes.

I can't calm down.

I want to leave.

I feel like I MUST leave.

But somewhere underneath all that fear, I know:

I don't really need to leave.

So I whisper:

“God, help me.”

And He does.

Maybe not instantly.

Maybe not dramatically.

Sometimes He helps me by simply giving me enough time to breathe.

Enough time to cry.

Enough time to think.

Enough time to remember that I am not that little girl anymore.

I am Penny.

I am here.

I have survived.

And God has been with me through every chapter.

Maybe healing isn't about never being triggered again.

Maybe sometimes healing looks like getting triggered and eventually finding our way back to peace.

Maybe it looks like apologizing.

Maybe it looks like laughing about the stupid cat later.

Maybe it looks like learning what we need and telling the people we love.

Maybe it looks like getting in the car and driving until our heart slows down.

Maybe it looks like saying, “I'm sorry. My brain went somewhere it shouldn't have gone.”

And maybe it looks like trying again.

Because God is not finished with us yet.

He is still rebuilding.

Still restoring.

Still teaching.

Still loving.

And even when my brain feels like it has to fight...

God is teaching my heart that I don't have to.

Prayer

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for knowing me completely and loving me anyway.

You know the places inside me that still hurt. You know the memories my body carries even when my conscious mind doesn't understand why I am suddenly afraid.

Lord, help me remember that I am not back there anymore.

Help me recognize when my nervous system is reacting to an old wound instead of a present danger.

Give me the wisdom to pause before I speak, the courage to step away when I need to, and the humility to return when I am calm.

Teach Ross and me to be patient with each other. Help us recognize that sometimes we are fighting the situation, and sometimes we are fighting wounds from long ago.

Give us gentle words.

Give us understanding.

Give us forgiveness.

Give us boundaries when boundaries are needed.

And most of all, give us Your šālôm—Your peace, wholeness, and restoration.

When I am tired of fighting my own brain, remind me that I don't have to fight alone.

You are with me.

You understand me.

And You are still rebuilding me, one day at a time.

Thank You for Your grace when I get it right and Your grace when I don't.

In Jesus' name,

Amen. ❤️

The Lord's Prayer

Our Father, who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done,

On earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

And the power,

And the glory,

Forever and ever.

Amen.

BELIEVE, OBEY, BE BLESSED AMEN BOBBA ❤️

Love, Penny 💛 

#Godisgood #faith #devotional