My roommate had already left for spring break, and I knew I had the morning to sleep in, so when I woke up to frantic, thunderous knocking on our heavy wooden dorm room door, I was really confused, and honestly annoyed. I don’t like being woken up unexpectedly by other humans, and I wasn’t wearing pants, so I attempted several times to roll back over and go back to sleep. But the knocking wouldn’t stop yelling at me, so I rubbed my tired eyes, slid down from my elevated bed, and threw on pants just in time for the knocking to stop. When I opened my door, my neighbor across the hall, who had beef with my roommate, so I don’t think she really liked me, looked at me with wide eyes from her doorway.
“Brennan is looking for you,” she said quickly, “There’s a shooter on campus.”
The memory gets really blurry after that as I transcended into shock and panic. I believe I thanked her and locked my door. Brennan, my close friend and neighbor down the hall, was desperately trying to locate me because there was an active shooter on campus, and I was the only one not responding to any group chats. In hindsight, I’m very grateful for those few hours of peaceful rest because what ensued the rest of the day was far from that.
I clicked open my phone to find 13 missed calls and several unopened messages. I quickly bolted the door, and I locked myself in my tiny prison-cell-like dorm bathroom that constantly smelled like piss and mildew no matter how many times you deep cleaned it. I began responding to messages through hyperventilation as I sat crunched and tensed surrounded by sea foam green tiles held together with yellowing caulk.
I have seen and felt a lot of fear throughout my life, but these were the scariest moments of it so far. It was the not knowing that messed with me the most. While responding as quickly as I could to the messages assuring everyone I was fine, I was being hit by several brick walls of information.
“Someone was shot in the Towers Residence Halls this morning.”
“The Shooter has yet to be located, and he is considered armed and dangerous.”
“He was last spotted on north campus.”
That’s exactly where I was. Alone, shaking, shocked, and petrified, locked in my north campus dorm. Soon, the Helicopters started circling low to the ground nearby. Later that night, in my hotel room, I remember the sound of the air conditioner kicking on startling me because my brain assumed the low hum of the helicopters was back.
The most traumatizing moment of that day for me was trying to take a shower. Sure, once I became courageous enough to leave my room, the dining hall was eerily quiet, both on edge and silent. That was scary. And watching out the glass doors of the lobby as a bunch of students sat around with their spring break bags packed listening to the CMU president and law enforcement begin a press conference was also scary. But there was something so vulnerable, exposed, and triggering about the thought of being naked in the shower with so many unknowns.
Processing that with my counselor later, was the first indication I had that I might have PTSD. Looking back, I remember clearly sitting in class after break as each of my professors attempted to create space for us to talk about what we experienced that day. In one particular class, I must have zoned out pretty hard as my favorite professor explained just how centrally located our building was, how we were the first classroom in the building, and how there was no way of locking our door from the inside. I know I wasn’t acting like myself because this professor actually stopped me to ask if I was doing okay, and she offered a hug that I desperately needed.
I got away safely that day, and so did everyone that I knew and loved on campus. Unfortunately, it didn’t end that way for everyone, and if you’re interested in the details, they aren’t hard to find. It all ended tragically for one family. No students were physically harmed that day, but two adults did lose their lives, and the shooter was found and put in custody. It was a truly tragic day for our university and community. It was a very scary 24 hours, but I made it out okay. I checked myself into counseling as soon as I got back to school, and eventually I survived the emotional turmoil that time brought with it as well.
This week, as I sat on the dock of the lake cabin we were at on our staff retreat, I was reminded of the version of myself that used to find solace sitting on the dock outside of my grandparent’s lake house. The version of me that was on this side of the dock was so different from the girl who sat at Hess Lake all those years ago. She’s survived so much since then. She’s overcome so much since then. She has grown and evolved dramatically since then. That girl has seen some stuff, felt some stuff. HARD.
I wouldn’t wish the difficult learning moments of those years on anyone, but I do know that they have done a lot to shape me into the person I am today. Living through the difficult things that I have lived through has not only helped mold me into the person that I am, but it’s created a hopeful, beautiful story of survival that God is using to help other people. I just have to be willing to share that. I just have to be faithful with it all.
The trauma you experience, the bad things that happen to you, aren’t your fault, but your mental health and your responses are your responsibility. As awful as some of our human experiences can be, that doesn’t have to be the end of the story. Rising from the ashes of destruction and chaos isn’t possible unless you intentionally make the choice to stand and brush yourself off. Healing doesn’t just happen. You have to make space for it, and often you have to put in some really intense work to get to the beauty underneath the rubble of it all.
After that really scary and mentally altering day on campus, I went back to counseling for several weeks. I opened up to my counselor about things I had never explored with another person before. I discovered new things about myself, both validating and difficult. I learned new steps to take in becoming better, in surviving. And I did. I survived, and I came out on the other side as what I believe was a better version of myself. But I didn’t get there coincidentally. I got there with hard work, prayer, and supportive people around me.
Terrible things are going to keep happening in this world, and we will continue to need skills to cope with it all. But to learn those skills, to access the beauty on the other side of trauma we have to consciously put in the work. We have to make the effort. We have to choose to be survivors over victims if that’s the outcome we want.
And I believe you are and can be a true survivor. I don't know what the next step looks like for you, but I know you can take it, whatever it is. Personally, my next step is vacation from work and home life, and then I am probably going to schedule some regular appointments with my therapist for the fall. I haven't seen her in a while because I've been doing really well lately, but it's time. That's what I need to keep being a survivor of the difficult season I am in and walking toward.
Whatever that step is for you, I am praying that you find the courage to take it today. I believe in you, my friend.
You are truly and deeply loved.
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