The Healing Power of Self-Witness after Trauma

by Melissa Dagenhart

Listen to Executive Director Gabriel Nathan read this post aloud:

Last year was one of the loneliest of my life. Over the Christmas holiday in 2023, I traveled out-of-state by myself to attend a wedding. On Christmas Eve, I was strangled from behind—without warning or provocation—by someone I’ve known most of my life. Jolted in his grasp, I froze, unable to fight back, paralyzed. When he decided to release me from his chokehold and I was able to breathe and speak again, I feared for my immediate safety. My priority was to get home; quickly.

Connection is key for me because, at my sickest, I can’t reach out and, at my best, I still need someone to check in with, to know I’m not alone. Once home, I reached out to my core friends, family, and longtime psychiatrist. My best friend called the National Domestic Violence Hotline (800-799-7233) on my behalf despite it not being a DV incident. I was persuaded to get checked out medically because of the information she gathered, but I was only able to do so with a trusted friend to be my advocate.

I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder after a suicide attempt and hospitalization at age fifteen. In the past forty years, I have been hospitalized several more times, been in therapy much of that time, taken medications when necessary, and amassed several tools and skills to aid with these illnesses and prior traumas.

Being strangled affected me profoundly, on multiple levels. This trauma shut me down. I didn’t want to be alone, but I had very few people I trusted enough to be around. I just wasn’t able to be comforted. I canceled three months of upcoming appointments. I sat alone in my house every day with the curtains closed and the doors locked. When I could manage it, I would order groceries. I lived in my pajamas, occasionally gave my teeth a cursory brushing, and bathed when it became dire. Laundry, dishes, cleaning, and other chores were ignored entirely.

The ensuing days were long and disorienting. Something as innocuous as someone daring to ring my doorbell palpably startled me with a piercing vibration in my chest, thrusting me into panic. I permanently disabled the damn thing. Not being able to leave the house was problematic. But I didn’t push myself, and I wouldn’t let anyone else push me either. I needed quiet, I needed stillness, I needed safety, and I needed time. I needed to listen only to myself and to trust only myself.

With daily contact with at least one of my core friends and regular check-ins with my psychiatrist, I forged my own way to healing without realizing that that’s what I was doing. It wasn’t planned or intentional. It was intuitive and initially directed by my overwhelming fears.

It looked like depression, with me holed up in my self-imposed near sensory-deprivation environment. But I didn’t feel depressed, helpless, hopeless, or worthless. Notably absent—and this is key—were the red flags of suicidal or self-injurious thoughts. I wanted justice; I filed a police report. I felt upset, angry, shocked, and overwhelmed. I felt violated. I felt scared. I realized that these emotions were appropriate for the circumstances.

No, this wasn’t depression—this was healing. This was calming my nervous system while I worked my way through it. I rested, got quiet, got still. I cried, I ached, and rested more. What worked for me in the past—talk therapy, journaling, meditation—were not effective with this trauma. I had to figure things out as I went along.

I talked and talked about being strangled. In addition to daily contact with a core friend, each day I called someone I hadn’t before and told them about the trauma. Sometimes I called an acquaintance rather than someone I knew well. I felt like the more people who knew what happened, knew I was in a fragile state, knew to ask before hugging me, the better it would be for me. I needed to talk about it to get it out of me. I didn’t have shame about it; I didn’t strangle myself. I needed people to know the truth.

Responses ranged from sympathy to people being uncomfortable with what I was sharing and not knowing how to respond. After about a month of calling people, I no longer needed to share it every day. I felt like I talked it out of me, enough to keep it outside of me. By this point, I had shared my trauma with over fifty people. Now, I’m sharing it with you.

Not everyone could or would understand what happened to me or how I was suffering. Several family members just could not understand why I was struggling; they clearly didn’t get it. I tried for over a year to get them to understand strangulation trauma and PTSD. I explained that it has no timeline, is not linear, it’s not a choice; that it ambushes those afflicted with it and makes everything difficult.

Before a month had passed I was told that I was “letting fear control my life,” that I should “forgive and move on,” and to “stop living in the past.” I persisted in trying to get them to understand, always provoked into yelling the specific details of being strangled at them, which just made things worse for me. I desperately needed them to believe that I was telling the truth about this, and that being strangled is serious—I could have died from it.

A breakdown in communication with my dad caused a huge rift between us. After a month of no communication, at my insistence, I decided to try making a video message for him to fully convey my point of view. We wouldn’t be screaming at each other or hanging up. He could watch it as many times as he chose, or not at all. My hope was that he would hear what I said and take it in so that our relationship could be restored.

Making a video was harder than I thought! I got frustrated. I also realized that I had no control over whether or not he would even watch it or glean from it what I hoped. What was the point? Was it worth my time and energy? It took me three days, but I made a video and watched it back several times, deciding if I should send it. Then I let it go. I wanted a response, but I understood that I might not get one or not get the one I wanted. I was working on accepting all of the unknowable and unchangeable things, what was, and was not, in my control.

Something incredible happened as a result of watching myself in that video. It had a serendipitous, profound healing effect on me. Because every time I watched it I saw myself calmly telling my dad what I needed. I thought, “Look at me clearly stating that I need to be seen and heard, accepted and understood, and respected. I’m not shutting up about what happened. I’m not letting him minimize or dismiss me. I’m amazing!”

I saw myself in a way I never had before. Strong. Powerful. Confident. Whole. I watched myself stand up for myself and trust myself. I believed myself! A weight lifted. I realized I didn’t need the albatross of wanting his approval, permission, or even his understanding and acceptance any longer. I had something more important: my own approval, acceptance, and permission. I hated that he didn’t understand, but I knew the truth and I was proclaiming it. I was standing upright and centered on my grounded feet, full of myself in a fiercely protective way, a self-aware way, as someone who will go after what I need until I get it.

Over a year has passed and I am better than I have been in at least two decades. In healing from this trauma, the oppressive burden of my prior traumas lifted as well. I have never been myself as I am now. I’m socializing with friends and I go on solo excursions. I recently turned my living room into an art gallery with paintings my daughter and I painted. I’m learning to play the banjo, painting on canvas, writing again (songs, poetry, musings… this essay), cooking (after a long hiatus), and experimenting creatively. I’m even cleaning and repairing my house.

This technique of making a video to my dad and watching it was transformational. I hope that it will be useful to others. Maybe you have a message you need to tell someone, or even yourself. Make a video. Watch it. Watch you. I encourage you to try it whether you send the video or just use it for yourself. It’s similar to writing a letter that you may or may not send, but much more powerful.

Go ahead, empower yourself.

​EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR / EDITOR: Gabriel Nathan | DESIGN: Leah Alexandra Goldstein | SITE ORIGINATOR: Bud Clayman