Odysseus: The Patriarch of PTSD

Trigger Warning: Some discussion of war and abuse

If there's one thing you'll gather from reading this blog long enough,  it's that I love, LOVE music, and especially Musical Theater. My husband's joke is that I could be a Jeopardy-level history scholar if they Hamilton -ed most other major historical events.

He's not wrong. 

Naturally, when I heard about Epic, the musical telling of The Odyssey by Jorge Rivera-Herrans, I knew I had to listen to it. And it delivers. The music is phenomenal, the lyrics tell the story beautifully, and it is easy to feel immersed in this ancient tale.

However.

I often find myself torn about listening to it (like I want to, but I also…don’t), and here’s why: As much as I enjoy it melodically, the story is really, really heavy. Full disclosure: I did not have to read The Odyssey in high school. I knew snippets and pieces of the overall tale, but was largely unaware of the story’s trajectory and Odysseus’ character arc. When I initially started researching it, the prevailing view was that The Odyssey is a tale of perseverance, adventure, and finding your way home. Those are all “feel good” themes- so why don’t I feel good listening to this? With Christopher Nolan's highly anticipated summer blockbuster bringing this story to the big screen, I've been thinking a lot about why this tale makes me so uncomfortable.

Initially, I feel proud and inspired by Odysseus: we see his humanity in his grappling with the trolley problem (saving many lives versus saving one infant), he shows mercy to his foes, he does not kill indiscriminately (though I believe Homer’s and Rivera-Herran’s versions differ at least slightly in that quality), and he strives to leave no man behind. He is the archetype of the good soldier- the ancient Captain America, as it were.

Until he isn’t. 

Until enough goes wrong. 

Odysseus faces countless trials and setbacks on his quest home, sees so much suffering- his and others’- that ultimately, he decides to “become the monster, " viciously slaughtering sirens and suitors, and even sacrificing his own crew in order to return home. This is where I become physically uneasy and, frankly, sad.

As I’ve been sitting with and reflecting on that sadness, I've come to this conclusion: I thought this was a triumphant tale, but I don’t see Odysseus’ return to Ithaca as a triumph. A “success”, to be sure: making it home is not something all warriors get, and it was his goal literally the entire story, but there is such a deep grief in the compromise of his values and his loss of self along the way that it does not feel victorious. He got past his foes, but he did not conquer them.

I struggle to listen to “Epic” because it touches deep pains from my own experiences, and I harken back to the many clients I’ve worked with who have experienced trauma, especially but not limited to battle-related trauma, and I hear that pain reflected in these songs.

In the modern age, the soldier who comes back a different person after war is so common that it is treated as pedestrian; the child or adult who lives through abuse and/or assault will tell you how often they feel pieces of themselves are missing or gone forever. The Odyssey tells us what trauma survivors already know: that the cost of surviving unthinkable pain is ourselves.

One of the even more painful aspects of this, from a therapeutic perspective, is that we know that the values a person sets aside for survival aren’t actually gone. In fact, often when a conscious choice is made for survival, it is the guilt and shame of that choice that lives on in a person’s heart, exacerbating their pain. Committing to being the “man-made-beast” can be an overcorrection, an attempt to outrun the agony of betraying ourselves and what we believe(d) is right.

Like I said, heavy stuff.

And neither Epic nor The Odyssey gives us real closure on this. We do not get to see Odysseus grow back into a joyful life with Penelope once all the fighting is through. We are left with the understanding that “this is just who he is now”, but at least he’s home.

I just… don’t like that at all (feel free to give Homer my review). Call it an occupational hazard, but for me, the real story starts where The Odyssey ends because that is where the healing begins, or at least where it could. 

I believe the world grows darker the more we give in to this idea that there is no use in trying to be a version of ourselves closer to who we lost, just because we cannot undo our worst moments.

To be clear: I’m not pitching a Disney fantasy where we can magically fix other people, nor am I erasing the need for deep accountability for the harm we may have caused. You cannot magically snap back to the person you were before trauma.

But here is what I am saying:

1. We can change ourselves. When the person in the mirror becomes unrecognizable, and you have seen yourself causing harm to people you care about or failing to live in alignment with your values, you can choose to reintegrate those values back into your life and behaviors. It takes work, honest reflection, insight, and support, but it is possible.

2. There is a sweet spot between responsibility and shame. Shame can be debilitating; it atrophies our growth. I don’t wish shame on anyone. Whether you have been a perpetrator of harm or a survivor of harm, it is important that you know that separating ourselves from the shame of the injuries we have caused does not mean a clean slate, a free pass, or “forgiving and forgetting”. However, it does mean taking responsibility without letting the pain of your actions control you. Accountability can be painful enough to learn from, without preventing us from doing something different. When you can look at an injury you have caused with clarity and remorse, and have both the motivation and opportunity to do something different, you have experienced growth. In short, shame tells us, “This is just who you are now, don’t fight it”, while accountability says, “That is a thing I did, and I have the choice to not do it again.”

3. Even though we cannot be the person we were before trauma, we can move ourselves closer to being who that person was. We feel grief for the death of our inner “buoyancy”: our innocent, carefree, happy selves. However, just because we cannot unsee darkness, does not mean we cannot experience joy, lightness of spirit, or peace again. They will feel different- maybe not as light as they once were- but those feelings do not have to be gone forever.

We feel a valid grief for the death of our inner 'buoyancy'—that innocent, carefree self. And while we can never unsee the darkness, it doesn’t mean joy and peace are gone forever. They might feel different now, grounded by what we’ve been through, but they are still yours to claim.

Although Homer did technically show us perseverance in The Odyssey (because what do trauma survivors have if not perseverance, resilience?), the real story is that Odysseus may well be one of literature's earliest examples* of a person surviving PTSD. But survival is just the evolutionary imperative; it demands that we get through the night.

My hope for us is this: once we have survived, and the danger has finally passed, we can begin the real work of learning how to live again.

For more information about trauma and how nature serves as an ideal setting for healing, see my blog post from June here.

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Always remember: You’ve got this.

#MentalHealthMatters #PNW #EcoTherapy #NatureHeals #PTSD #EpictheMusical #TheOdyssey

*Literary scholars and historians, feel free to correct me on this