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if you’re dealing with a profound loss, the after effects of tragedy or post traumatic stress you may be feeling spiritually dead. Maybe you think you’ve lost your faith or that God has left you. It may be helpful for you to know there are neurological reasons for this apparent loss of your spiritual senses.

When there is a traumatic event or a terrible loss in our lives, our brains are actually affected. Trauma can disrupt the brain’s ability to process spiritual experiences by affecting its prefrontal cortex, amygdala, hippocampus, and temporal lobes. These areas are also involved in emotional regulation, memory, and our sense of self, even our feeling of connection with something greater than ourselves. Dysfunction in these regions can lead to a disconcerting loss of or distortion in a person’s spiritual life. It’s difficult for us to feel God with us, or to reach the peace we used to find in prayer and the practice of our faith.

The prefrontal cortex is responsible for self-reflection and focus. It helps us in practices like contemplative prayer and meditation by supporting awareness and attention. When this part of the brain is dealing with trauma we can’t seem to relax. We may feel void of any spirituality at all. Even the sacraments we believe in feel oddly empty as if we are merely spectators. Everything may seem meaningless to us now because the brain is preoccupied with stress and survival due to its injuries from trauma.

The amygdala and hippocampus process emotions, especially fear and joy. It gives us a sense of our life stories, of our own history. Spiritual experiences often evoke intense emotions and build on a relationship with God that we have developed over time. Trauma can even shrink the hippocampus . It may be hard to remember the love we once knew with God. Without this memory of the lived experience of God’s love and mercy, it’s hard to trust the Lord or that he is still there at all.

With post traumatic stress the amygdala becomes hyperactive, keeping our brains in a state of fear and hypervigilance. We might also feel emotionally overwhelmed and dysregulated making daily life difficult let alone communion with God.

The temporal lobes of the brain are associated with mystical experiences, and our perception of religious imagery. They also help us integrate our sensory experiences in life into spiritual meaning. Sustaining trauma can cause either overactivation or underactivation of the temporal lobes. This can lead to either intense visions or else fear-based religious thoughts. On the other hand, we may feel emotionally and spiritually blank. Where is God?

“God my God, why have you forsaken me?” Mark 15:33-34

Our anterior cingulate cortex helps us feel empathy and compassion. It’s also involved in the regulation of emotions and our sense of the Divine.The damage of trauma can impair the ACC. We may feel lost, cut off emotionally from our friends. We feel empty and alienated from people and God.

“Friend and neighbor you have taken away.

My one companion is darkness.” Ps. 88:18

The insula processes sensations and emotions, contributing to a sense of the nearness of God or a feeling of transcendence during prayer or meditation.Trauma can impair the functioning of the insula leading to either low body awareness or too much of it. We can feel a strange detachment from our bodies, unaware of even our physical needs. Conversely we may be overwhelmed by physical sensations, making it hard to relax or focus when we want to pray.

The good news is that contemplative prayer and meditation have been shown to be healing and even restorative to these areas of the brain impaired by trauma. Interior prayer practices and meditation can calm the amygdala, improve prefrontal cortex regulation, and enhance the connectivity of the ACC and insula, restoring emotional balance and renewing our sense of connection.

It means a lot to me that Jesus experienced trauma and that he allowed himself to descend into the depths of the abyss of abandonment when he cried out from the cross his desolation.

St. John of the Cross taught about the “Dark Night of the Soul,” a phase of the spiritual life of many Christian contemplatives and mystics, which seems to have similar effects as trauma does on our prayer life. St. John of the Cross wrote that “in the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.” He teaches us that God is nearer than ever before at times we feel he is farthest away. He says to go on “naked faith” and not to give up.

I have found it true that “God is close to the broken hearted, those whose spirit is crushed he will save.” (Psalm 34:18)

So if you are grieving a tragedy, experiencing trauma or post traumatic stress, and your’re having trouble with spirituality as a result don’t blame yourself. You haven’t done anything wrong. Nor have you lost God.

We know Mary and Joseph were holy and faithful people but they still lost Jesus for three days. Maybe you feel bereft but he is still there in the temple of your heart and you will find him again just as they did.

It’s ok to pray in ways you can handle. Don’t hold yourself to what you used to do. For me emotional overwhelm kept me from deeper methods of prayer after a tragedy in my life. I talked to Jesus about it. I told him, “I still love you. I just need you not to come so close for now. Can you sit farther away but still nearby?” So he sat with me but not too close. I chose what felt to me a less personal or emotional method of prayer. I memorized psalms, set prayers or passages from the mystics I love like St. Teresa of Avila and Julian of Norwich. When I could handle it I sat quietly and slowly went over them in my mind as a form of prayer/meditation. Other times all I could do was hold my rosary. These things slowly began to bring me peace again.

My friend Jim had said “the devil will try to kick you when you’re down and darkness tries to overwhelm you at times like this so keep doing the things that are of light: the rosary, going to mass, whatever you can do.” He said that would keep my lamp alight no matter what I was going through. He was right.

And after all:

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5

The first day of “clinicals” for CNA training (Certified Nurse Aide) my class showed up to the nursing home in our white scrubs at 6am. We would do this for three days in a row. We were to shadow the established CNA’s and sometimes follow our teacher around with the class, observe and also try out our skills we had learned in school.

I changed my first few adult diapers that day, with an acute realization of how embarrassing it must be for a patient to have that done until they were used to it. My teacher observed and made suggestions. I tried to make conversation with the people as I served them. It was awkward and weird and I think my face sweated with nervousness but I suppose that’s normal.

One guy I changed was aware and oriented but nonverbal. He graciously let me change him for practice but apparently I made a big mistake. Later in the day I noticed he glared at me whenever he saw me. I found out later that this was because the next time he had peed after I changed him pee went up out of the top of his diaper and got his shirt all wet. With a male patient you have to make sure – er – that there is a downward course for pee. I found him and told him I was sorry about that but he mean mugged me the rest of the time I was there. Oh well.

Later in the break room we had a chance to chat with the CNA’s that worked in the nursing home. To our complete surprise they urged us not to go through with doing this. “She broke her arm,” they said, nudging one of the group, who said, “My arm’s broke, my hearts’ broke, my backs’ broke. It ain’t worth it. It ain’t worth it.” They explained that they loved the patients, and that they each had at least one they were very close to that among themselves they referred to as their baby. “Of course you love them. You have to love them but when they die, it about kills you. “

It was really too late to turn back and we had done too much work and paid our tuition. All of us stayed on and finished our training.

I met some interesting people. There was a married couple who were able to room together. I remember their room had regular furniture in it and looked really cozy. There was a man who had filled his room with books and loved talking to us. There wasn’t time though. There never is. One caregiver has ten patients. By the time you finish getting everyone up and dressed fed changed and cleaned up in the morning it’s time for lunch. I didn’t like how even if one of them was crying there was no time to talk to them and try to help. Someone else in the next room had a physical need to be met. You had to keep going.

i remember one lady liked to play rap on her radio with the volume all the way up. She sat in her wheel chair with her forehead on the speaker with the music blaring all morning until lunch. Sometimes she would really get her head moving. It was impossible not to smile watching her.

Some of the people there were very tragic, very disabled, helpless and alone. It was hard to see that. I wanted to track their families down and yell at them when I heard they seemed to have no one.

Institutions always feel like timeless, placeless places to me, impersonal and eerie in a sense. There’s a lot going on but seemingly little warmth or connectedness. However if you’re there long enough they start to seem more human. Such was the case at the nursing home. I have heard the denizens of nursing homes described as “limp, faceless people in wheel chairs.” It really offended me. It isn’t true. The first time you see someone wheeled into the lobby who seems listless and unaware maybe it seems scary. Maybe they seem practically dead to some people? Lean into the experience, move toward them and not away and like me maybe you’ll find out there is a person there with a lot more going on than you thought. Maybe they are nonverbal or have trouble holding their head up or they’re babbling but that doesn’t mean they can’t receive or even express love. In fact a lot of them had such a need to love that the staff gave them baby dolls to hold. I saw several people carrying baby dolls.

A lady stopped me in the hall and told me how tired she was. “Please I’m so tired. Can you find me a bed?” I didn’t know where her room was and nobody around me knew. So I led her to a vacant room and tucked her into bed. She thanked me. “I worked so hard today,” she said. I said, “I know. You rest now.” I thought to myself that she had probably worked hard all of her life.

One day at lunch I was told to go and hand feed the people at a certain table if they needed it. I sat next to one lady who seemed pretty out of it. I greeted her but I couldn’t get her attention. So I scooped up some food in a spoon and held it up to her mouth. She looked at me and then grabbed a spoon, scooped up some food, and held it up to my mouth. I laughed. “Well you showd ME,” I told her. Apparently she could eat on her own if she wanted to.

I met a saintly man during that few days who became a friend. His name was Jim. I’ve written about him before.

I decided during those days that I was not going to work in a nursing home. The pay was only a couple dollars more an hour than minimum wage. I wanted the opportunity to spend more time with people I helped. I also like a less rushed kind of day.
However, I would go back many times to that nursing home. I took my final exam there. But I also spontaneously went over there to visit because it made me happy. if I was in a sad mood I would stop by and hang out in the lobby and watch a checker game. Or just hug people. Or go pray a rosary and have some coffee with my friend Jim.
Going there always made my day.