By Sofia Vasi (Vasilakos) and Despina Ploussiou
A single fact can shed immense light on the path to genuine healing and trauma recovery:
The most haunting aspect of trauma is the shame we feel at our action or inaction in the face of adversity, tragedy, and horror. This shame can be even more haunting than the suffering inflicted on us by others.
We all have lived in the confines and privacy of our own minds and bodies. We know our buttons and timeless wounds best. The inner judgment, criticism, tyranny and flagellation directed at our own self pins us down and paralyzes us. Unspoken “crimes against their own humanity” take place in the psyche of a trauma survivor. Perhaps if we peel back the layers of the existential onion what haunts us most is our capacity to be the monster.
The exiled monster as an embodiment of the unbearable
In ancient Greek mythology, monsters are exiled or locked away in far away, inaccessible places. There’s the cave deep within a mountain, the remote island in the midst of turbulent seas, or the dark, winding labyrinth. The hero must undergo trials and tribulations to find the monster in the first place.
According to the ancient wisdom encoded in myths, the hero does not need to look very far. For within the hero, resides the monster. It is the hero’s inability to bear the monster that forces it into exile. The monster is banished away and the hero gains the illusion of safety. But it will cost them dearly for the greatest source of suffering is the lies we tell ourselves. The hero will remain asleep and dissociated from their true nature.
The price of exiling the monster is disconnection from a sense of aliveness
The banished monster grows increasingly stronger, louder, and more frightening. It comes to represent all that is evil, dishonorable, untrustworthy, and dangerous. The hero sees and reacts to the monsters in others but refuses to contend with the monster within. The hero goes out into the world oscillating between fiery hypervigilance and frozen numbness. They live out extremes and are unable to experience the full spectrum of life. They are vulnerable to the suffering others can inflict on them and naive to the power they have to inflict suffering on others. Or they may very well be aware of their power over others. The hero who is still asleep knowingly and unknowingly can play the monster in someone else’s story. Simply put, the hero is not equipped to take on their hero’s journey. The hero is not a hero. Yet.
And then something happens.
Perhaps an intolerable world-altering and mind-bending event in which everything changes. A tragedy. A challenge. A wound. Or perhaps the tragic event is that nothing at all happens–the “stuckness” of stagnation becomes more unbearable than the fear of the unknown. The immense energy and resources it takes to keep the monster exiled overwhelms the hero for one reason or another. The hero gives up. And in this giving up there is surrender.
A liminal space opens up within the hero’s psyche
The fog is lifted. The mists separate. The clouds part and the sun that was always there peaks through. The fiery hypervigilance is extinguished, the frozen numbness is thawed out, and they awake momentarily. They are able to see the call to adventure and, instead of refusing it, this time they say yes. Because what is the alternative truly, more of the same?
The hero becomes the hero because they cross the threshold, descend into the unknown, and become intimately acquainted with their inner monster. So much so that the monster stops being a monster. The spell is broken and it returns to its original form. It was not what it appeared to be after all. When the hero finally faces the monster and draws it out into the light, the monster transforms. It is metaphorically confronted and slayed.
The monster becomes a mystagogue, a teacher or propounder of mystical doctrine
The monster becomes a vehicle for transcendence, a force that drives the soul into the light, where a full remembrance of who the hero truly is can occur. In ancient Greek, the word for “hero” ἡρωας and monsters “τἐρατα” can both be traced back to the same root, ἑρατα/ἑρως/ἑρωμαι, which mean fierce love or deserving of fierce love. Both our hero and monster natures require our fierce love in order to transform. This transformation is akin to a purification process catalyzed by love. It permits us access to deep resources we’ve been disconnected from as a result of the monster’s exile.
The hidden treasures within the monster
We can see the hidden treasures within the then-monster-now-mystagogue through the myth of Medusa, the monster with writhing, venomous snakes for hair whose gaze could turn anyone to stone. Within Medusa’s slain, decapitated body sprang up two magical beings: Chrysaor, a one-eyed warrior, and Pegasus, a winged horse. Chrysaor’s golden sword penetrates truth with the power of thunder and gives clarity and insight. Pegasus offers hope and liberation as well as an endless source of creative inspiration and flow. Furthermore, Medusa’s blood has the power to both destroy and give life or resurrect the dead.
The hero needs the monster
We need the full mosaic of our Being–our inner gods, heroes, and monsters–in order to embody the highest version of our Self. We especially need our monsters to reconnect to our aliveness and vitality post-trauma. They call us to venture into the unknown. They beckon us to reconnect to our capacity to slay the monster. The metaphorical death of the monster symbolizes the act of bringing forth into the light of fierce love what has been exiled in the dark. We can reclaim the hidden treasures and harness the powers in what has previously haunted us. This is the post-traumatic growth that awaits us.