What Do We Do With the Time Between Trauma and Growth?
Trauma has a way of suspending time. One moment, life feels familiar, and the next, everything shatters. In the wake of loss, disappointment, or deep sorrow, we find ourselves in an unfamiliar space—no longer who we were, yet not quite who we are becoming. This in-between is painful, disorienting, and often unbearably silent.
I remember the silence all too well.
A month after we lost Julian, I dreaded going home. Every morning, I dropped Wesley off at school, only to return to an empty, aching house. For weeks, I had been swallowed by grief, unsure of what to do with the weight of sorrow pressing in on me. Then, one morning, something unexpected happened—I had the sudden urge to learn to paint.
It made no sense. I had never painted before, but within hours, I found myself at Michael’s, spending far too much money on supplies. Every day for months, I sat with those paints, learning not just to blend colors but to lament. My tears mixed with the brushstrokes as I cried out to God with my anger, my confusion, my why.
Lament is the bridge between pain and promise, a path that moves us from devastation toward hope.
What is Lament?
Lament is more than sorrow; it is sorrow directed toward God. It is the raw, unfiltered cry of the soul that dares to bring pain into His presence rather than turning away. It is both grief and faith—a wrestling that acknowledges suffering while refusing to let go of God.
The Bible is filled with lament. Over a third of the Psalms are laments, and books like Lamentations, Job, and portions of Jeremiah give voice to deep distress. Even Jesus Himself lamented—crying out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).
Lament is not just complaining. It is naming what is broken while believing that brokenness is not the end of the story.
What if this space between trauma and healing is not just empty waiting? What if it is sacred ground?
The Neuroscience of Lament: How It Helps the Brain Process Trauma
Psychologists call the transformation after trauma post-traumatic growth, a process where deep suffering leads to renewed strength, perspective, and even purpose. But growth is not automatic. The time between trauma and growth is where many of us get stuck—numbing the pain, avoiding our grief, or feeling abandoned in the silence.
This is where lament becomes not just an emotional release but a necessary transition. Lament is the bridge between pain and promise, a path that moves us from devastation toward hope.
Trauma changes the brain. When we experience loss, betrayal, or deep emotional wounds, our nervous system shifts into survival mode. The brain’s limbic system, particularly the amygdala, becomes hyperactive, signaling danger even when none exists. This is why trauma can leave us feeling stuck—living in a state of heightened anxiety, avoidance, or numbness.
However, neuroscience shows that the way we process our pain can determine whether we heal or remain trapped in it. This is where lament plays a vital role:
- Lament activates the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for processing emotions, problem-solving, and making meaning out of suffering. When we put our grief into words—whether through prayer, journaling, or speaking aloud—we engage the rational part of the brain, helping integrate our pain into our story rather than being controlled by it.
- Lament regulates the nervous system. Trauma keeps the body in fight-or-flight mode, but voicing our sorrow—especially in the presence of God—helps calm the stress response. Studies have shown that expressing difficult emotions in a safe environment can lower cortisol (the stress hormone) and increase oxytocin, the hormone that promotes feelings of comfort and connection.
- Lament prevents emotional suppression. Many people try to push grief aside, but unprocessed sorrow doesn’t disappear—it manifests in anxiety, depression, and even physical symptoms. Lament allows emotions to be felt and released rather than buried.
Lament doesn't erase suffering. But it allows God to take what is shattered and make it sacred.
How to Begin Lamenting
If lament feels foreign or even uncomfortable, you’re not alone. Many of us were never taught how to sit with grief—let alone bring it before God. But lament is not about performing the right words; it’s about being honest. Here’s how to start:
1. Name Your Pain
Lament begins with acknowledging what is broken. Be specific. What hurts? What loss are you grieving? Where do you feel disappointed, angry, or abandoned? Naming these emotions helps the brain process them rather than staying in a cycle of vague distress.
Example: "God, I don’t understand why this happened. My heart feels crushed under the weight of this loss. I don’t know how to move forward."
2. Bring Your Pain to God
Many of the Psalms begin with raw cries of anguish—accusations, confusion, even despair. God is not offended by our pain. He invites us to bring it to Him. Instead of holding your sorrow inside, direct it toward Him in prayer, writing, or even speaking aloud.
Example: "Lord, You say You are near to the brokenhearted, but I don’t feel You right now. Where are You in this?"
3. Wrestle Honestly, But Hold On to Hope
Lament is not a complaint that leaves us in despair; it is a process that leads us toward trust. Biblical lament often moves from grief to confidence in God’s character. Even if you don’t feel hopeful yet, declare what you know to be true.
Example: "I don’t understand this, but I choose to believe You are still good. I choose to believe You see me, even when I feel unseen."
4. Repeat the Process
Lament is not a one-time event. It is a rhythm. Healing happens gradually, and lament allows space for grief to unfold in its own time. Some days, all we can do is cry. Some days, we wrestle. Some days, we take small steps toward praise. All of it is part of the process.
Lament Leads Us to Trust God's Promises
Never has the Lord answered my why, but lamenting taught me much.
Lament taught me that God can handle my anger. Like thick layers of paint, I spread my pain before Him, over and over, until bitterness lost its hold. In lament, sorrow did not fester into resentment but became something I could release—one brushstroke at a time.
Lament keeps me from being swallowed by the future. When my mind is consumed by the unknown, drowning in what-ifs, lament calls me back to the present—to the hand of God sustaining me today.
Lament reframes the lies I believe. When my thoughts distort reality—about myself, my faith, even about God—lament exposes them to the light, where truth gently takes their place.
God is near to the brokenhearted. I cannot explain the peace that met me in those painting sessions. The way He dried my tears, lifted my burdens, whispered hope into the silence. But He did, over and over again.
Lament does not erase suffering. But it allows God to take what is shattered and make it sacred.
And lament is not confined to our knees. It happens in journals and on long walks, in the strum of a guitar or the rhythm of running feet. It can be the first thought upon waking, the prayer we whisper as we drift to sleep.
Some days, our tears are the only prayer we have.
But even those, God collects. He catches every tear in His bottle, dips His brush into the well of our sorrow, and begins writing a redemption story we cannot yet see.
And while my why remains unanswered, God has reassured me of one thing: He is with me through it all. And one day, when the masterpiece is complete, it will all make sense.
Until then,
We cry, we mourn, we wonder, we bow. – Alistair Begg
Like a painting in progress, God is transforming us—one stroke at a time.
xo
2 Comments
Feb 26, 2025, 12:06:37 PM
Dawn Sparks - Thank you for reading and for your kind words, Sug. Lament takes no talent at all! Just lay it all out before God in whatever way feels best and He'll take it from there! Thanks for being here.
Dawn
Feb 26, 2025, 10:50:42 AM
Sug - I don’t know where you get it from but thank you because it’s just what I needed I can’t journal, I have trouble talking with God, but I’m in your mom‘s grief share group and she suggested you may help and you have. Thank you. Love your signature and your flowers. If I can learn to lament