The definition of reality is “the state or quality of having existence or substance.” But while it is clear that memory exists, it is often not viewed as substantial. Memory is popularly understood to live solely in the mind, without a physical form or impact. Yet recent science shows trauma turns memory into something not just substantial, but connected to our entire bodies. In Christine Quintana’s Espejos: Clean, the memory of Sarah and Adriana’s individual traumas are so substantial they metamorphose their respective experiences into part memory and part present consciousness. The characters ache, itch, and feel the intensity of events lived long ago. With that weight upon them, both characters move in between the memory they are re-experiencing, and the present they are trying to live. The research-able term for this experience is somatic memory, or the concept that stress and trauma can be stored in the body, not just the mind; it is a common side-effect of PTSD from any form of trauma.
A quick run through on somatic memory:
Somatic memory connects our logical and emotional experience to our physical one
Somatic memory often forms and exists outside of conscious awareness: you might not know what experiences have left what impact without further discovery work
Somatic memories are physical in nature and can manifest in a wide variety of different ways
Somatic memories can be externalized subconsciously in the body through certain movements and postures or generalized physical feelings of unease and discomfort—all unique to each individual
In Quintana’s play, Adriana, a manager of housekeepers in a resort in Cancún, lives forcefully in her present. She focuses on her job, her staff, and the cleanliness of what’s around her. Her need for clean and orderly environments can seem benign until Quintana reveals the extent and strain of her need: place Adriana in chaos, and she quickly loses her footing. Yet what we see as the cause of her unraveling doesn’t seem to warrant her heightened response. A messy room is just a messy room, a muddy floor something to be mopped. But Adriana’s past experiences color her present differently than what we see. The somatic memory of what would occur in her past when there was a mess now dictates how she responds to one in the present.
Sarah, the maid of honor and “family fuck-up,” lives a similar yet vastly different experience. Where Adriana responds to what occurred, Sarah’s somatic memories are based on what didn’t happen. Sarah outlines the trauma of secrets and the pain they cause to their holders. While her trauma causes specific pain points, her somatic response is to step in and speak up for those she feels cannot. When she believes that someone who needs justice is not able to help themselves obtain it, she oversteps boundaries and propriety to help. Her gesture holds kindness and solidarity, but its core is a feeling of unease with her past memories. In her attempt to help someone by speaking up now, we see guilt over not speaking up for herself in her past. The person she wants to save is likely not Adriana, but actually herself.
Somatic memories live deep in the subconscious until trauma work, healing, or sometimes triggers, pull them sharply into focus. Much like Sarah and Adriana don’t realize what they’re truly running away from until they run smack into it, survivors (of many forms and severities of trauma) dealing with the physical memory of trauma may not know what they’re experiencing until it occurs. The reality of memory is as multifaceted, yet simple, as its definition: the encoding, storage, and retrieval in the human mind of past experiences. Past experiences, good and bad, remain in the mind and body, sometimes within clear reach, and sometimes so far down we may not know they’re present. What looks like the absence of reason when we see or feel a strong reaction, may in fact be a memory so deep, we didn’t even know it was there with us.
—Divinia Shorter
To learn more on somatic memory, as well as paths to healing and treatment, see the resources listed below: