The Night I Slept with a Wild Animal (Or, My Great Aunt)

If you grew up as a Missionary Kid (MK) or a Third Culture Kid (TCK), you know the specific, disorienting chaos of "Furlough." It’s that strange limbo where you are technically "home" in your passport country, but you feel like a tourist who forgot to read the guidebook. You’re dragged from church to church, living out of suitcases, and sleeping in spare rooms, guest houses, and occasionally, in the same bed as relatives.

The summer before my freshman year of high school, my family was back stateside for a six-month furlough. We were doing the rounds, visiting my dad’s side of the family out in the country. It was a full house—cousins, aunts, uncles, the works. As the sleeping arrangements were being negotiated (a complex algorithm involving air mattresses and sofa cushions), it was decided that due to a shortage of beds, I would be bunking with my Great Aunt.

She had a queen-sized bed, and she was lovely. I didn't think much of it.

Because it was a holiday, the house was buzzing late into the night. My Great Aunt stayed up to prep food for the next day, but I was exhausted from the travel and the general fatigue of trying to act like a normal American teenager. I crashed early.

Sometime in the deepest, darkest hour of the night, I was jolted awake. The room was pitch black. I lay there, frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. There was a sound. A guttural, rhythmic, terrifying sound.

Snort-gurgle-HUUUUUUHHHH.

My brain, still foggy with sleep and disoriented by the new environment, immediately cycled through the options.

1. Bear?

2. Wild boar?

3. Demon?

I lay there for what felt like an eternity, listening to the beast. It was right next to me. I could feel the vibration of it. Finally, summoning every ounce of courage I had, I reached out and clicked on the bedside lamp.

I was not prepared for what I saw. Lying next to me was not a bear. It was a woman. But it wasn’t the woman I had said goodnight to. That woman had perfectly coiffed hair and a made-up face.

This woman had a plastic cap over a head full of curlers. Her face was bare, stripped of the familiar makeup. Her mouth was open, and she was emitting a roar that would have sent a lion running for cover.

I stared at her. I knew logically this was my Great Aunt. But my brain refused to connect the dots.

I sat there for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall, trying to reconcile the terrifying noise and the unrecognizable figure with the sweet lady who had offered to share her room. It was a profound moment of: Who are you? Where am I? And is this safe?

The "Alien in a Strange Land" Phase of Healing

I laugh about that story now (and I still can’t look at hair rollers without giggling), but that feeling—that visceral, confusing, "wild animal in the room" panic—is actually a perfect metaphor for what it feels like to heal from trauma.

When we start the work of processing trauma—whether it's religious trauma, complex PTSD, or childhood wounds—we often expect a sense of relief. We expect to turn on the light and see a tidy, organized room. Instead, we often wake up in the pitch black, hearing noises we don’t understand.

1. The Unrecognizable Self

Just like I didn’t recognize my aunt without her "mask" on, trauma recovery often involves stripping away the layers of coping mechanisms, fawning, and survival strategies we’ve worn for years. When we look in the mirror during this process, we might not recognize ourselves. We might feel raw, exposed, and messy (metaphorical hair rollers and all). It feels alien. It feels wrong. But it’s actually just the truth underneath the performance.

2. The System Malfunction

My brain could not compute that the noise was coming from a safe person. It registered the snoring as a threat. Trauma does the same thing to our nervous system. In the healing process, safe things can feel dangerous. Healthy boundaries can feel like rejection. Kindness can feel suspicious. You are essentially waking up in a new world, and your internal GPS is still shouting "recalculating."

3. The Furlough Feeling

Healing is like being on furlough. You aren’t quite back in the old country (trauma), but you haven't fully settled into the new country (healing) either. You are a transient. You feel like an alien. You are sleeping in a strange bed, waiting for the sun to come up so you can get your bearings.

If you are in that phase right now—where everything feels loud, scary, and unrecognizable—please know that you aren’t crazy. You haven’t made a mistake. You just turned on the light.

Give your eyes (and your heart) time to adjust. The "wild animal" might just be your own healing process, snoring loudly, messy and unkempt, but ultimately, safe.

References & Further Reading

For more on the disorientation of trauma recovery and nervous system regulation, I recommend the following resources:

• Walker, P. (2013). Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving. Azure Coyote Publishing. (Specifically the chapters on the "Outer Critic" and abandoning the self).

• Van der Kolk, B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking. (For understanding why your body reacts to "noise" as a threat).

• Fisher, J. (2017). Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors. Routledge. (Excellent for understanding the parts of us we don't recognize).

©Lisa King, LPC