THE BACKPACK
Childhood Trauma, Emotional Survival, and the Weight We Carry
Some backpacks hold more than clothes—they carry the invisible weight of fear, memory, and resilience. For individuals in Maryland and DC, this reflection explores how childhood trauma shapes emotional survival, and how healing begins with being seen, heard, and held.
She is twelve years old. Her parents have been fighting for as long as she can remember. One image seems emblazoned in her brain. She was five and huddled in the corner of the hallway outside the farmhouse kitchen. This is her favorite house. This is her third house in 3 years, and she remembers each one. Her parents have jumped from one state to another, and now they have landed in Arizona. It is hot here. Blazing hot. The bushes are not bushes; they are pincushions that will stab you if you get too close.
Her parents are fighting again. They seem to fight all the time now. She can’t quite remember when it started. She doesn’t remember shouting in the Indiana house, and she liked the snow in the winter. She and her Dad made a giant snowman that winter and the neighbors came out for a snowball fight. That was fun. Dad took the city bus to work, and Mom made jams that she sold at the local farm market. That was a good house, the smell of jam filled the downstairs. Strawberry was my favorite smell, and blueberry tasted the best.
Florida was a struggle. She knows many people look forward to going to Florida, but she has sworn she will never set foot in that state again. That’s where the fighting got intense. At first, they would wait until I was in bed, and the intensity would start in the living room. The concrete block house made the sound bounce from one wall to another. The living room was down this long hall, but the sound seemed to bounce from wall to wall all along the hall until it wound its way into her room, where it again bounced from wall to wall. She remembers hiding her head under both of her pillows and biting her lower lip to transfer the pain.
Here in Arizona, the fights have gotten worse. Things are thrown and get broken. The sound is intense. The threats are violent. Sometimes, Mom has bruises. Grabbing my knees and cowering in the corner feels like the only way to be safe. I will be safe if I can scrunch myself up and get smaller. Or maybe I will disappear like the girl escaping the witch in the movie. I wish to disappear. No place is safe. No one is safe. My backpack is stuffed with my PJs and George, the lion with his fur almost rubbed off, a pair of underwear, extra shorts, and one T-shirt. No socks, as I hate socks.
I know how this will go. The screaming will stop; the kitchen will be a mess; the father will collapse on the couch; the mother will go to her room and cry. I will sneak out the back door, down the alley, and three blocks later, I will be at the bus stop: the big one. I will disappear on the Greyhound. They will probably not even notice I am gone.
Want to explore how trauma shapes emotional development and survival strategies? Visit Dr. Christina Watlington’s guide to the invisible backpack of trauma, Resonance Ed’s reflections on trauma-informed care, and Resilience.org’s insights on emotional burdens and healing.
If you’re reflecting on childhood trauma, emotional safety, or healing, therapy can help. Learn more about individual therapy in Maryland and DC or explore therapeutic approaches that support insight, resilience, and recovery.
By Dr. Gloria K Vanderhorst
