The Octopus in my Mind

...I didn't know I was carrying trauma

For much of my life, I didn’t realize I was carrying trauma. Like many people who grew up navigating instability, conflict, and survival, I thought pain was just part of life—something you push through and bury deep. I wore toughness like armor. I believed shutting down was strength. I believed anger was control.

It wasn’t until I began healing that I realized I hadn’t left those past experiences behind. They were still with me—not as memories I could revisit with reflection, but as reactions that showed up in moments when I felt attacked or didn't feel comfortable or safe.

I was never taught the language of trauma, let alone how to recognize it in myself. For years, I dismissed it. Until it started showing up in ways I couldn’t ignore.

Trauma and PTSD: What's the Difference?

Let’s clear something up: trauma and PTSD are not the same.

Trauma is the impact of a distressing or overwhelming experience. It could be a single moment, like an assault or accident, or ongoing exposure to harm—like growing up around violence, being incarcerated, or enduring neglect. Trauma affects how we see the world and how safe we feel moving through it.

PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) is what happens when that trauma doesn’t get processed. Instead, it lingers and rewires how the brain responds to stress and emotion. PTSD isn’t just remembering something painful—it’s reliving it, reacting as if it's happening again, even when you're physically safe.

According to Harvard Medical School, about 60% of men and 50% of women will experience at least one traumatic event in their lifetime. But not everyone develops PTSD. So what makes the difference? It often comes down to support, timing, and whether the body and mind ever had a chance to fully process what happened.

In carceral settings, trauma and PTSD are widespread. Research shows the lifetime prevalence of PTSD among incarcerated men is around 17.8%, and among women, it's as high as 40.1%. That’s nearly half of all incarcerated women carrying unresolved trauma that continues to shape their behaviors, emotions, and responses to the world around them.

the Octopus: A Metaphor for PTSD

I began to really sit with myself, trying to understand my responses to words, conversations, and situations. That examination allowed me to see a similar thread that continued to appear - I wasn't responding to the present moment, rather a feeling that related to a past event.

I needed a way to explain what PTSD felt like—not just clinically, but emotionally.

...The Octopus in the Records Department of my mind... His name is Earl.

Imagine your mind looking like a vast records room. Every experience you've had is stored away in a file in this room. Some are good, some painful, but all experiences and memories are filed away and waiting. That’s how most memories work...

But PTSD doesn’t let the past stay filed.

When something in the present reminds you—even just a little—of something from your past, Earl wakes up. He uses all eight arms to grab for different memories in order to flood your thoughts and overwhelm you in that moment.

Pulling memories and experiences from everywhere:

• One arm grabs the file from solitary confinement.

• Another pulls the argument from when you were 10.

• Another yanks the betrayal you never processed.

• Another reaches for the helplessness you felt when no one came to help.

  
  

All of these memories flood your system at once, as if they're happening now. That’s what makes PTSD so exhausting. It hijacks the present with old files that were never closed properly.

This is why someone can react with rage or completely shut down in a situation others find simple. It’s not about the moment—it’s about what that moment is tied to inside of them.

Their own Octopus is trying to protect them using outdated, painful information.

When you try to push past it, he'll ink you, causing a black cloud of confusion so you can't see the reality in front of you.

As clear of a picture that paints in a humorous way of understanding such a painful cycle, this isn’t just a metaphor—there’s real science behind it.

The amygdala, the brain’s threat detector, becomes hyperactive in people with PTSD. It scans for danger constantly, even when none is there. The hippocampus, which helps organize memories, can shrink under chronic stress, making it harder to separate past from present. And the prefrontal cortex, the rational part of your brain, gets overwhelmed, making it difficult to calm down or think clearly.

In short, PTSD is your brain trying to protect you with all the wrong tools.

When we don’t understand trauma, we judge people for how they respond to it. We call them "difficult," "angry," "unmotivated," or "shut down."

But what if we saw those responses for what they really are?

• A man who avoids connection may have been hurt every time he trusted someone.

• A woman who seems aggressive may be living in a constant state of fight-or-flight.

• A returning citizen who keeps relapsing may not be weak—they may be managing untreated trauma with no support.

  
  

That is why I say it's "PTSD + ME". The PLUS is important to understand, because the PTSD is not me. It was developed and birthed out of survival needs only.

I've named the Octopus (my PTSD), Earl, this is to further define the difference between my personality and my trauma response to situations.

This has allowed me to separate the two mentally and notice more when I am responding with trauma or autopilot versus presently understanding and responding to what is occurring live in front of me.

When we understand the Octopus metaphor, we stop blaming the person and start addressing the pain.

Learning also to ask: “Is this now, or is this my past pain talking?” In the beginning it can be a bit more challenging to decipher then we anticipate. But being present with ourselves is key to detecting these thought patterns and reactions.

Therapies like EMDR, trauma-informed CBT, peer support, and mindfulness practices all help calm the nervous system. They help you refocus your attention on the present—where your power actually is.

Healing, though, doesn’t mean the Octopus just disappears... It means you become the one running the records room again. (You understand how to hold yourself in the present.)

If anything in this resonated with you, I want you to know this:

You’re responding to what you lived through. And now you have the opportunity to respond to it differently.

Understanding trauma and PTSD is how we begin to break cycles—in ourselves, in our families, and in our systems.

Start with awareness.

-Troy Rienstra