05/26/2026
There’s something invigorating about off-roading, paving the way where there was no way, conquering the unconquerable mountainous terrain. The engine growls beneath me, and the earth itself feels alive—mud splattering against the sides, rocks clanging beneath the tires, the wheel jerking in my hands like it has a mind of its own. The trail twists and bucks, daring me to lose control. Every shift of the gear, every flick of the wheel, every breath I take is a calculated choice against the madness of the terrain.
The trail looked innocent enough at first—just a stretch of soft ground after a rocky climb. But the moment the tires hit, the earth swallowed them whole. The roar of the engine turned into a frustrated whine as mud sprayed in every direction, painting the sides of the truck and clouding the air with the smell of wet earth and burning rubber. I rock it forward, then back, feathering the throttle with precision, but the mud clung like quicksand, sucking the truck deeper with every move.
Trauma is a lot like getting stuck in the mud. Just as the trail pins you down, trauma can grip you in place, holding you with a weight that feels impossible to shake. The harder you fight against it with brute force—ignoring it, denying it, or trying to power your way forward—the deeper you sink. The wheels spin, the noise rises, and yet nothing changes. Chaos surrounds you, and it feels like the harder you try, the more trapped you become.
Like the mud, trauma doesn’t respond to raw strength. It demands something else—patience, awareness, and strategy. You have to stop, breathe, and take in the reality of where you are instead of pretending it’s solid ground. You study the terrain of your own pain, notice where you’re sinking deepest, and recognize what needs support before any movement can happen. It’s not about speed or force—it’s about knowing how to work with the weight instead of against it.
In clinical terms, trauma often triggers a freeze response—an adaptive but immobilizing reaction where hyperarousal, dissociation, or emotional numbing take over. The harder you try to force progress without addressing underlying dynamics, the more entrenched the response becomes. You’re like those wheels: slipping, spinning, stuck.
The psalmist described a similar place, calling it “the miry clay” (Psalm 40:2). David knew the feeling of being stuck—trapped in circumstances, grief, and fear that felt as if they were pulling him under. He cried out to God, not because he could claw his way free, but because he understood that in the pit, strategy begins with surrender. Jeremiah, too, was lowered into a cistern of mud (Jeremiah 38:6), left to sink into the mire. His struggle wasn’t solved by brute force either; it required outside help, wisdom, and God’s providence to see him through.