17/09/2025

When I took up photography almost ten years ago I had no idea that it would help me reconnect to the world. Creative expression can be very healing. So too can breaking the silence that often surrounds intergenerational trauma. And allowing the space for the body and mind to heal from its deep impacts.

Trauma very much set the stage from the day I was born. As my mother gave birth to me and during her convalescence my two brothers (5 years and 18 months) stayed in Salvation Army care and my sister with relatives. My oldest brother, who participated in the Abuse in Care Inquiry, came home with an eating disorder and my other brother came home mute and stayed that way for around a year.

Then when I was 11 months old my father received news that his father had just died in psychiatric care. This would have come as a shock as my father grew up believing he was dead.

Despite coming into the world at a particularly bad time for my family, in many ways my childhood was charmed. I loved the free-range lifestyle and the long days of reckless abandon I enjoyed with my siblings.  I’d run, bike, skate, climb, kick, swim etc., which I couldn’t get enough of. I was an into life kind of kid.

That abruptly changed in my early teens, after I experienced one of many traumas that I liken to the straw that broke the camel’s back. I went through that very difficult time all on my own. I know now that if I’d been able to find some comfort, my life would have taken a very different trajectory. Being comforted and believed also comforts our nerves.

Not many people know that trauma has been at the forefront of most of my life. I guess because after each setback (and there’s been a few) I’ve managed to rebuild and keep going. Some milestones include representing New Zealand at soccer in my mid-twenties. Earning university qualifications in my thirties and then giving birth to my son.

I can talk about these important life events in order. But that’s not the story of my life which is difficult to tell in a linear way as it’s often felt messy, uncertain and just plain hard. I can point to periods when I was very unwell though, and some of those times coincide with my life’s highs.

Like how the trauma resurfaced during the time I played soccer for New Zealand and struggled to travel because of the remnants of agoraphobia and I couldn’t sleep. How I had to give up sport as I became too physically and mentally unwell. How it took me years of hard work until I felt well enough to have a child, and then developed postpartum psychosis after giving birth. How I rebuilt my life and enjoyed some of my best years with my son but I still struggled with depression and insomnia. I’d worked so hard to overcome my childhood, yet was still so impacted by it. Over time I felt increasingly disconnected and despondent.

When my friend turned up with his camera one day, it was at least six months before I picked it up. I remember aimlessly wandering around my backyard in the bright sunlight and crouching to snap bees as they landed on the numerous dandelions. When I looked through the viewfinder I was awestruck by the beauty and detail that I couldn’t see with the naked eye.

From that moment I obsessively took photos to try and capture beauty and to manage my low mood. After a while I progressed to street photography, and then also found the courage to ask people about their lives. These positive exchanges felt like a mutual opening of the heart. Each time I’d walk away feeling a little more emboldened and connected to the courage and goodness in people.

It became increasingly clear that while I loved these exchanges, I really wanted to find a way to express my own story that I’d kept hidden from the world. When I finally commenced that project, it turned into an outpouring of grief.

This opening up led me to seek help. I’d seen a psychologist before, in my late teens. But after two sessions that included long moments of silence and deep burning shame, I never returned. Looking back, I wish I’d found someone else rather than giving up and internalising it as something wrong with me.

I ended up working with a wonderful psychologist for about a year, until I moved city. During that time I felt increasingly less weighed down and the nightmares I had experienced since childhood became far less intense and regular. Having someone professional and skilled listen and validate how I felt was very important and healing for me.

She also helped me to take distance from difficult familial relationships. The clarity I gained made me want to continue the writing and photography project I had started, but had then left hanging, unfinished and unresolved.

I think unprocessed trauma sees us increasingly shut down and healing is the process of opening up. Not just to beauty, but also to feelings, such as grief, sadness and anger.  There’ll be times when you doubt you’ve made any progress at all and sometimes challenges that feel insurmountable. And when you’re on a healing journey, obstacles (sometimes big) and nudges can help steer you down the right path, if you pay attention.

Like when after moving cities a number of major stressors stacked up like toppling dominoes. I was struggling to keep it together and trying antidepressants was the only option I thought I had. But rather than help, they made me worse and I got to the point where I was unable to work.

When I reached out to a somatic therapist, the only thing I felt I had was hope. She has ended up being a huge support to me, and a godsend. I thought I’d tried everything, but there was a whole realm of body healing I had yet to discover. We talked about the latest science on how trauma can change the body and brain and ways to heal.

Because some of my conditions became chronic, it’s taken years of dedication using the likes of yoga, healthy eating, relaxation as well as trauma processing to feel good in my body and mind. I’ve also retrained myself to breathe more deeply and slowly. My mood is now lighter. I mostly sleep well. And I can do things that I wasn’t previously able to do, like travel with ease.

My recovery process has been convoluted, difficult and long. But it didn’t have to be that way. When I ask my younger self what she could have done differently, my honest answer is she was doing her very best based on the information she had and what she believed. As a teenager I couldn’t see a future or that I’d make it through. But by reaching out for help, putting in the work and taking courage and hope from other peoples stories of recovery, I’m finally in a place where I can more fully enjoy the ride.

My Story by Lynne Warring