The Darkroom of My Mind by B.N. Lawson

The surviving brain is resilient, innovative, and resourceful. Someone surviving trauma is going to find a way to get through. Some of these coping skills are to our detriment and the effects catch up to us later in life, trickling little reminders of the terror we had to tolerate throughout our lives. Some are quite productive. We’ll often find ways to cope with our survival through music, art, or academia. For me, I reach for cameras. I have since I was thirteen (that’s almost 20 years). After years of looking through viewfinders, my mind began to think like a camera and by my adulthood, I could read a photograph and tell you what time of day it was captured within a 10 minute window of error.

When enduring trafficking, I reached for the camera in my mind. Capturing rolls of dark, under-exposed, blurry film with frightening subject matters. Those rolls of film were captured and tucked away (dissociation). Alternatively, I would observe my surroundings paying attention to depth of field and how many ways I could capture a scene as a grounding technique. My coping skill as a teen turned into my survival skill as an adult, and later, an artistic form of therapy. The years subsequent to my trafficking experience changed my relationship to photography. While I still practiced, it wasn’t the same. All those frightening rolls of film dissociated, or put away, filled up the shelves of my mind. Everything I did and tried was heavily bogged down by that full shelf and slowly, photography became something I no longer enjoyed. In 2019, I suffered a sudden medical complication and I had to cease photography just three years after leaving my trafficking situation.

Fast forward to the present day and I find myself in another depressive episode, bogged down with grief over the trauma I endured. I feel frustrated with this story that never seems to end. So, what did I do? I reached for a camera. It is this digital camera that looks like a disposable camera. It felt like holding a film camera and the blanket of peace that draped over my heart reminded me how at home I am behind a film camera. I began to creatively cope and as I chased the beauty of my sage flowers, I cherished the moment, and captured an understanding of how I could still be working through my trafficking-related trauma.

In photography, Composition — how you capture the story — is what carries the quality of an image. The photographer must have an understanding of light, depth of field, time, exposure, focus, subject, and boundaries. The balance or imbalance of these things creates either a jarring or harmonious photo perceptive to the viewer. For the individual composing their narrative, the brain is far more complex than a camera. There are multiple rolls of film that contain different elements of sensory detail for a singular event and it takes time to sort through all of that information. But, undeveloped film is just a strip of brown, tucked out of sight and any exposure to light will destroy it. The film must be developed properly — our trauma must be processed properly.

We are constantly composing our narrative as we exist. But, when our narratives contain something traumatic, the story changes drastically. The Composition is disrupted and creates a jarring photo or an impartial one. Bad Composition is displeasing to the brain. It is disgusted with irregularities and imbalance. It feels frustrated with the inability to find consistency or clarity. Washed out images or under exposed photos create boredom and disdain. The brain doesn’t understand what’s in the image and, therefore, can’t resolve it. This is how trauma is captured and initially developed. What emerges from those early steps of escape from their situation are images that are washed out, underexposed, blurry, contain an unclear subject, lack boundaries, or the subject is the only thing visible. So, in a metaphorical sense, a victim creates ‘bad’ composition of their trauma when they:

1. Lack correct Depth of Field (it is too soon to process)

2. Unclear Subject (they are unsure what their experience was or unaware it was wrong)

3. Imbalanced Position (it takes up their lives/decisions)

4. Uncertain Boundaries (poor relationship to the subject and self)

5. Lack of Focus (they have no idea what to look at)

6. Imbalanced Light (leaning on toxic optimism or pessimism)

Generally speaking, a photo with Good Composition has a clear subject, balanced positioning within the frame, concise focus, clear boundaries, and balanced light. Each of these elements require an understanding of light, depth, and the camera itself. When the subject is emotionally provoking, the mind can still find some semblance of curiosity, motivation, and resolution in a ‘bad’ subject with good composition. The brain feels settled when it perceives harmony. It can make sense of the story. So, in a metaphorical sense, a victim-survivor creates a ‘good’ composition of their trauma when they have:

1. Implemented correct depth of field (distance from the situation)

2. Clear Subject (an understanding that their experience was wrong)

3. Balanced position (it isn’t the only focus of their lives)

4. Clear Boundaries (knowing limitations of what they can handle)

5. Concise Focus (it has the clarity it needs through therapy)

6. Balanced Light (the trauma isn’t washed out by toxic optimism, but isn’t drenched in pessimism)

It takes time and practice to not only compose a good image, but develop it properly. The composition of my Trafficking Experience took years of my time and tremendous effort to really grapple with. I blamed myself for everything. I had all these dark and blurry photos. My subject wasn’t in focus, exposed properly, or given enough time to develop. The last four years have truly been a tedious and excruciating process of finding my narrative autonomy and composing (by way of therapy) what truly happened, who was at fault, and what should’ve been done. In the Darkroom of my mind, I’ve had to develop rolls and rolls of film with adjusted depth of field, subject, boundaries, focus, and light. Eventually, I gained some consistency and my terrible subject matter gained a concise focus — my Composition improved. I could finally see a broader picture of abuse and exploitation that wasn’t my fault.

His secrets were oriented into God-honoring loyalty and respect.

His abuse was postulated as God-warranted, thus demanding tolerance.

His love was presented as a Saviors Compassion, thus expecting gratitude.

His provisions were God’s gift, thus I musn’t be disgruntled.

Nine years later, the film strips I am currently developing are tragic. They hold an extremely dark moment of my experience and, as I now realize, is where my terrible argument with God began. It is the moment my faith (the one thing I had left) had finally been obliterated by my traffickers. Why my depth of field had to be so large is a mystery to me, but I can confidently say that there is no time between now and then that I could have invested in developing this moment.

Under the cover of the Darkroom (therapy), securely depressed, the shelf of my mind has been largely cleaned off as I have tediously loaded reel after reel in a changing bag and developed the film. A Changing Bag is a black bag that you operate in blindly because light exposure will destroy the film strips. With your hands inside the sides of the bag, you have to feel your way around to cut the flimsy film from its canister and set it in the narrow grooves of the reel and then set those reels in the developer tank with water. You can think of this like subconscious processing as it is done blindly. This is what therapy was for me — the handling of my trauma that wasn’t quite ready for exposure. We talked around it while I sorted through everything that made me vulnerable to trafficking: childhood sexual assault, parental abandonment and rejection, and abuse of every shade. To be able to dunk these dissociated memories into the developer, I had to develop my resilience and face the biggest question: how did I end up in this situation?

I want to paint you a visual. Imagine yourself in a black room with one or two red lights. There are silver top counters lining the walls, a large sink, and large containers on the counter that are roughly 6 inches deep. There is a large device that looks like a microscope, stacks of paper, and string hanging across the room with photos and coils of film pinned to it. This is what my mind felt like as I went through therapy developing film, hanging it dry, and exposing it to photo paper to create a well-composed image. By the time I was ready to face my trauma, my darkroom was filled with black and white photos pinned to the wall, hanging on the string, and even tucked away on the shelf. And now, I had these trafficking-related memories that had been loaded onto a reel, removed and dunked in developer, ready for the next steps. But, none of this Darkroom development is done by me alone.

Developing film is highly organized. Each step is crucial to exposing the images on the film. So, you can’t skip any steps or cut corners or the roll is destroyed. When the brown strips of film are in the developer tank, the chemicals work to show what was captured. The photographer must slowly shake the tank during this process for a predetermined amount of time. Then, you pour stop bath into the tank to disrupt the chemical process. Next, you pour a fixer solution into the tank to stabilize all these reactions. This step cannot be skipped or skimped. After the appropriate time, you rinse the film in the tank with water and the film is no longer at risk of destruction when exposed to light. The final step is to hang them up to dry. To the point of my metaphor:

Processing trauma in therapy is like pouring developer on film strips. The images become discernible. Just because the image was coated in brown (self-preservation) doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. It took the correct, safe environment to bring the image through that brown barrier and initiate a chemical reaction that developed a concise focus. My therapist, priest, and trusted confidants provided that safe space for that chemical reaction and development of focus. Shaking that developer tank was akin to how I emotionally felt and my loved ones had to remind me to slow down — take my time. Rushing through was not going to help me see my subject any better. These chemical reactions took time and energy and there were times I had to set it to the side, or add stop bath, to develop my sense of boundaries and create a balanced approach. Cessation of all the reactions with a fixer solution was a state of rest. Be it through medication, prayer, community, or friendships. The development process of my trauma required a pause. After pausing and really sitting with this new sense of clarity, I rinsed the film with water, finding refreshment in letting go, forgiving, and acclimating to the grief laden images.

Notice how many people and therapeutic skills I listed. My trauma wasn’t caused in isolation and my healing isn’t taking place in isolation. The long-suffering of each participant in the development of my tragedy-filled film images, with good composition, is not lost on me. There is no way I could ever develop my film — process my trauma — without immense support, serendipitous timing, and an established sense of resilience and determination. It took a long time for me to find the proper depth of field, clear subject, balanced position, clear boundaries, focus, and balanced lighting. Most of those moments have now been printed on paper, hung to dry, and then brought out into the light for everyone to see. Having consistent, supportive community to lean on while I wept prepared me to turn this film into photos with good composition -- a well-composed narrative that is consistent, focused, and concise.

As you can see, the longevity of care is vital for the trafficking survivor. Beneath that red light in the Darkroom of my mind, community members who chose to stay were the chemicals, support people were the wire I hung out to dry on, and the light that makes them visible is Christ. Thanks to all this care and support, I have taken what was once a poorly composed tragedy and transformed it into a well-composed narrative that can enlighten, edify, and encourage the person observing my developed photos. Without support, we stay in the Darkroom. So, be our chemicals. Be the wire we hang on. Be the Light in our lives when we’re ready. And don’t give up on us. We are just a delicate work of art in progress — honor whatever time it takes. If you stick around, you will have a special part to play in a well-composed story.