Healing Trauma: Trusting the Button Analogy

Lets say there's a button. And you push it. And when you push it it takes all the skin off of your hand. just exposed muscle and fat and tendons and shit. all your skin gone. hurts. and you're like shit, guess i shouldn't push that button again. and eventually it heals and scars over. now, lets say someone reassures you that their identical button won't do that to you. they beg and plead with you to push it . they say it's safe do you push the button ? maybe not. but maybe they're someone you trust and you think to yourself , it has only happened the once. why shouldn't i trust it. and you push the button. once again, skin gone. now you're living your life and you realize the world is booby trapped with buttons that'll take all the skin off your hand. each time you accidentally push one, skin gone and the pain is overwhelming and it's really inconvenient because you can't really use that hand and each time the scar tissue grows back a little tighter. and you meet people with identical buttons who claim it is safe. you're not gonna push that button, are you? let's say this goes on for 20 years. occasionally losing skin. avoiding buttons. getting really good at it. and you move and trust someone. and they tell you that you can push their button for a nice cup of peppermint tea. do you push it? probably not. but you see other people push the button and getting tea. you remember the way your hand felt. you remember the physical therapy to make sure you could still use it. you don't press the button. you're sick and a cup of tea would be nice, you don't press the button until one day it was left on the counter and you accidentally press it when setting down your friends groceries. and your heart skips a beat. you brace for the pain and discomfort, you're already planning on scheduling an appointment. wondering where your first aid kit is. a cup of hot tea appears besides you. and all you can think is the tea must be so hot it would burn you. how many times of accidental pressings would it take for you to press it on purpose. how many times would the button have to not take your skin before you trusted it wouldn't. could you ever trust it wouldn't? completely? especially if other buttons still do it to you? how long before you muster the courage to press it on purpose and thank yout friend for the tea?

This post uses an extended analogy of a 'skin-removing button' to explore the complex nature of trust and healing after trauma. The narrative illustrates how repeated negative experiences with similar 'buttons' create deep-seated fear and hesitation, making it incredibly difficult to trust new, potentially safe experiences, even when offered positive outcomes like peppermint tea.

@being another one i think about in relation to triggers is the "shave and a haircut" knock. it's a common way people knock, and people hear it all the time. how long before you can stop your brain from completing the knock with the 'two bits" part if everyone stopped doing it today? how long until you stopped expecting it to finish. if everyone in the world stopped saying 'statefarm is there" after "like a good neighbor", how long until you could hear "like a good neighbor" and not mentally expect something about statefarm?

Your analogy beautifully highlights the profound way our brains create and reinforce patterns, whether from deep trauma or common cultural cues. It speaks to the power of conditioning and how deeply ingrained associations can become, making them incredibly resistant to change even when the expected outcome no longer appears. To truly "unlearn" such an expectation might take a significant period of consistent, contradictory experiences, perhaps years, as the neural pathways gradually weaken and new ones form. It's a testament to the mind's intricate dance between anticipation and reality, and how even subtle shifts in expectation can profoundly impact our lived experience.

@towardbethlehem for me: I would find my own tea. I wouldn't push the button to begin with. Not because I don't trust but because I have no need to. As for trauma, it is. It happened. It is done. I can't fix it. I can't change it. It just was. It is no more. The thoughts are released.

I love this for so many reasons. I’m sitting here feeling the burn and hating it saying “fuck the button I’d never touch it again” and sure maybe I’d find my own tea but there’s something in the idea of receiving that love that feels so gentle. You either get the tenderness you hope for or you get burned. Eventually I fear I’d begin to love the burn just for the anticipation of receiving something gentle.