Chapter 7: Rebuilding Trust in the Present

In Chapter 6, we brought an intense memory up to the surface.

We talked about how, after something traumatic, our survival brain stays on guard, watching closely in case it happens again.

This is called ‘hyper-vigilance’: our survival brain’s way of trying to help by keeping us constantly ready, even when there’s no immediate danger.

Our nervous system keeps reacting to the present as if the past is still happening, or as if it could happen again without warning.

It keeps scanning for signs of that same kind of danger and won’t stand down until it feels certain we’re safe enough, and strong enough, to handle what once overwhelmed us.

In other words, intense memories—the ones that still feel unresolved—aren't just stuck in our minds. They’re survival blueprints etched into our nervous system...

In daily life, these blueprints echo through us:

‘Stay alert. Don’t forget. Remember how bad it was? We can’t let that happen again.’

Sometimes those echoes rise up as thoughts. But more often, our survival system doesn’t use words. It gets our attention in other ways. It signals. It communicates through the body, through feelings.

It speaks through flashbacks, anxiety, nightmares, chronic tension and pain. Racing hearts, restless nights, aching limbs. Tight jaws. Shallow breathing. That knot in the gut we can’t explain. These signals tell us our nervous system is burnt out and asking for our care.

To stop reacting as if the past is still happening, we need to rebuild trust with our survival brain. We need to help it understand what really happened and show it we’re safe now.

Writing helps our nervous system catch up to the truth: we made it through.

Now, we bring our story into the present, so our body can stop preparing for a fight that’s already over.

Embodied Wholeness Storytelling

Step Eight: Rewrite in First-Person 

We have a first draft. Now it’s time to bring our words into the present.

Most of the time, we tell stories in past tense, not like they’re happening right now.

In this step, we’ll shift the story into present tense.

We do this by placing ourselves back into the moment and rewriting it as if it’s happening right now.

Here’s a short example from the story I shared in the last chapter.

—

Past tense writing

It still bothers me how I confiscated weapons from Iraqi civilians who hadn’t done anything wrong. I remember one guy in particular. He was just another middle-aged Iraqi local passing through our checkpoint. I used my limited Arabic to ask if he had any weapons in his car. He shook his head no. I asked him to open the glove compartment, but he seemed confused and nervous. That’s when I noticed the barrel of a rifle poking out from under the passenger seat. I remember thinking, "Ahh shit, c’mon dude... why not just say something?" The old man didn’t seem like a threat, but I couldn’t take any chances. I pointed my rifle at him and called to my squad leader for backup. It was uncomfortable to watch him get increasingly worried because, in my gut, I didn't sense he was a 'bad guy'. He looked like a father. It didn't hit me until later that I might’ve been taking away his ability to protect his family. I just couldn't risk him using that weapon against one of my team. 

Rewritten into present tense (First-person view)

A car is pulling up to me at the checkpoint. Looks like another Iraqi local. Middle-aged, male. I lean my head down to the passenger side window, point to my M4 and ask, “ayu 'aslihatin?” <any weapons?> . He shakes his head no. I point to the glove compartment and say,  “Aiftah hadha” <open this>. He seems confused. My eyes scan around while I wait for him to respond. Wait, what is that? Is that a rifle barrel poking out from under the passenger seat? Ahh shit, c’mon dude, why not just say something? A voice in my head says ‘He’s not a threat. He looks like he's a father. Let him go to his family’. Another voice says “What if I’m wrong? What if he shoots someone on my team?” I notice he looks worried. I raise my rifle, point it directly at him and shout down the road to my squad leader, 'Need some help here!'

That’s one example of shifting a past-tense memory into present tense.

Your story might be longer, or it might be just as short.

Either way, we make the shift one line at a time:

turns into,

turns into,

turns into,

and so on,

one line at a time...

Present-tense storytelling can unlock details that past-tense left behind.

As you rewrite your story sentence by sentence, you may notice this shift sharpening your memory. Details becoming clearer.

When I closed my eyes and stepped back into that moment, I remembered Arabic phrases I hadn’t thought of in years. I had to look them up. I also remembered small movements, like leaning down, pointing to my rifle, and scanning the car.

These details matter. The clearer our memory becomes, the easier it is for our survival system to separate the past from the present.

Put another way: the more vividly we bring our story back to life, the more clearly our body learns—that was a separate situation. We’re no longer there. The past is truly behind us. We're safe now.

Not everything fits into the rewrite. Some parts get left out, like thoughts I had afterward rather than during the event. That’s okay. This writing is about what was real in the moment, not how we’ve judged it since.

The example I shared was about moral injury. Your story might come from combat, sexual trauma, moral injury, or something else. Whatever it is, writing it in first person helps unpack the full experience

We tell the story as if it’s happening—so our survival brain can learn it’s not.

Remember that these ‘trauma stories’ aren’t who we are. They’re protective strategies that became beliefs, formed when we were overwhelmed and our nervous system was trying to understand chaos. These outdated stories helped us survive, but they aren’t our identity.

If we don’t update these stories, our memories can stay stuck, like images frozen in time. This keeps part of our nervous system trapped in a reactive loop, believing the old threat is still present.

But as we rewrite these stories, we start turning fragmented images from the past into clear whole pictures that are understandable. This gradually shifts how our nervous system sees the world

That’s why, when we change our story, our life changes too.

Return to the story you wrote in Chapter 6. Step back into that moment, and feel what it’s like to be there. Let the details come back to you vividly, in real time. And, rewrite it in first person, present tense.

Then continue to Chapter 8: The Body Becomes the Storyteller

Note: You might've noticed that I use different terms to describe the part of us that stays on guard after trauma, such as survival brain, nervous system, alert system, etc. That’s on purpose. There's no single perfect name for this protective part of us, because it’s not just one thing. It’s a network of responses: physical, neurological, emotional, ancient.

Some people call it the fight-or-flight system. Others call it the limbic system, or the lizard brain. You may have your own name for it. Ultimately what matters isn’t what we call it, but learning to notice how it communicates and what it needs in order to relax its guard and live fully in the present again.