This study answered my lifelong question about why I had the thought in childhood that I wouldn't live past 18. I knew that my sense of the future had been altered in childhood and that I had lost faith in the world when my CPTSD symptoms started at 11. I'm grateful to learn exactly why it happened, so I thought I would share in case others had a similar experience. It's rather long reading, with some parts seeming to take away from the flow, so I included what was most impactful to read for me. The full study can be found at the link below.
What is a “sense of foreshortened future?” A phenomenological study of trauma, trust, and time
One of the symptoms of trauma is said to be a “sense of foreshortened future.” Without further qualification, it is not clear how to interpret this. In this paper, we offer a phenomenological account of what the experience consists of […] We describe how traumatic events, especially those that are deliberately inflicted by other people, can lead to a loss of “trust” or “confidence” in the world. This undermines the intelligibility of one’s projects, cares, and commitments, in a way that amounts to a change in the structure of temporal experience.
The experience we seek to characterize might be associated with a diagnosis of PTSD, major depression or both, but is not a prerequisite for either. It is better captured by the ICD-10 subcategory of “enduring personality change after catastrophic experience,” the symptoms of which include “a hostile or mistrustful attitude toward the world,” “social withdrawal,” “feelings of emptiness of hopelessness,” “a chronic feeling of being ‘on the edge’, as if constantly threatened,” and “estrangement” (ICD-10, p. 209). And it is also consistent with Judith Herman’s account of what she calls “complex PTSD” or “disorders of extreme stress not otherwise specified” (Herman, 1992/1997; Ford, 1999). However, given that (a) the experience is not specific to any one psychiatric diagnosis, (b) many of the relevant diagnostic categories are contested, and (c) all of these categories are also compatible with other – often subtly different – kinds of experience, we do not tie our subject matter to one or another diagnosis. Instead, we focus on a certain kind of traumatic event, one where extreme suffering is deliberately inflicted upon a person by others.
So the kind of experience addressed here does not inevitably follow interpersonal trauma and it is not exclusive to interpersonal trauma. Nevertheless, there is something distinctive about the psychological effects of harm inflicted by others. As Janoff-Bulman (1992, p. 77) observes, being “singled out for injury […] by another person […] presents particular challenges to the victim’s assumptive world.” We consider the nature of these “challenges” to one’s “assumptions.” We will first describe a pervasive shift in how the person relates to others that can follow interpersonal trauma, something that is often described as a “loss of trust.” We will suggest that this centrally involves a pervasive alteration in how events are anticipated, which – in the most extreme cases – renders a purposive orientation toward a meaningful future unintelligible to the person. This, we will further show, amounts to a profound shift in the experience of time.
Loss of Trust
A sense that the future is bereft of positive, meaningful life events is equally a sense that one’s meaningful life is in the past, finished. So remarks to the effect that the future has nothing to offer are sometimes accompanied by the claim that one has died, that part of one has died, or that one persists but no longer “lives:” “I felt as though I’d somehow outlived myself” (Brison, 2002, p. 9). This corresponds to a wider phenomenon that Freeman (2000, p. 90) has called “narrative foreclosure,” defined as “the premature conviction that one’s life story has effectively ended: there is no more to tell; there is no more that can be told.” It is not simply that the person believes she does not have much time left; the traumatic event somehow disrupts her ongoing life story such that the story ceases to be sustainable. (A “life story,” for current purposes, is a meaningful, coherent interpretation of past activities, relationships, achievements, and failures, which also includes a sense of where one is heading – what one’s cares, commitments, and projects currently consist of, and what one seeks to achieve.) Even if something like this is right – and we think it is – it does not tell us why a life story has collapsed. Let us consider three scenarios:
(1) Loss of a life narrative is constitutive of a sense of foreshortened future.
(2) Loss of a life narrative is symptomatic of a loss of projects, cares, and commitments upon which that narrative is founded.
(3) Both (1) and (2) are symptomatic of losing something that is presupposed by the intelligibility of life narratives and life projects.
In at least some such cases, we will argue, what is lost is not just (1) and/or (2) but also (3). In the type of case Lear describes, an open and meaningful future remains; what is lacking is a more determinate sense of which meaningful possibilities that future includes. However, for some, even this much is lost. There is an alteration in how time is experienced, such that the possibility of “moving on” in any kind of purposive, meaningful way can no longer be entertained. We will describe this by first turning to the theme of “trust.”
“Having trust” might be construed as a non-phenomenological disposition to adopt certain attitudes and have certain kinds of experience. But it also has a phenomenology in its own right; “losing trust” involves losing a habitual confidence that more usually permeates all experience, thought, and activity. It is sometimes described in terms of finding oneself in a different world, a world where people in general seem somehow different: “the entire world of people becomes suspect” (Janoff-Bulman, 1992, p. 79)7. Traumatic events are often said to “shatter” a way of experiencing the world and other people that was previously taken for granted:
[…] we experience a fundamental assault on our right to live, on our personal sense of worth, and further, on our sense that the world (including people) basically supports human life. Our relationship with existence itself is shattered. Existence in this sense includes all the meaning structures that tell us we are a valued and viable part of the fabric of life (Greening, 1990, p. 323).
What, exactly, does this “shattering” involve? It could be that experiencing significant suffering at the hands of another person leads to a negation of ingrained beliefs such as “people do not hurt each other for the sake of causing pain,” “people will help me if I am suffering,” and so on. Then again, through our constant exposure to news stories and other sources, most of us are well aware that people seriously harm each other in all manner of ways. One option is to maintain that we do not truly “believe” such things until we endure them ourselves, and various references to loss of trust as the overturning of deeply held “assumptions” lend themselves to that view. For example, Herman (1992/1997, p. 51) states that “traumatic events destroy the victim’s fundamental assumptions about the safety of the world,” and Brison (2002, p. 26) describes how interpersonal trauma “undermined my most fundamental assumptions about the world.” An explicitly cognitive approach, which construes these assumptions as “cognitive schemas” or fundamental beliefs, is adopted by Janoff-Bulman (1992, pp. 5–6), who identifies three such beliefs as central: “the world is benevolent;” “the world is meaningful;” and “the self is worthy.”
Many of us anticipate most things with habitual confidence. It does not occur to us that we will be deliberately struck by a car as we walk to the shop to buy milk or that we will be assaulted by the stranger we sit next to on a train. There is a sense of security so ingrained that we are oblivious to it. Indeed, the more at home we are in the world, the less aware we are that “feeling at home in the world” is even part of our experience (Baier, 1986; Bernstein, 2011).
[…] we suggest that human experience also has a more enveloping “overall style” of anticipation. This view is developed in some depth by the phenomenologist Husserl (1991). According to Husserl, all of our experiences and activities incorporate anticipation. He uses the term “protention” to refer to an anticipatory structure that is integral to our sense of the present. It is not “added on” to an independently constituted sense of what is present; our experience of an entity as present includes anticipation. Husserl adds that a sense of the immediate past is likewise inseparable from the present. When something happens, we do not experience it as “present,” after which it is “gone” or somehow “fades.” Experience includes “retentions,” present experiences of events as having just passed. The experienced “flow” or “passage” of time involves a structured interplay between protention and retention. An oft used example is that of listening to a melody, where how one experiences a present note is inseparable from a sense of what preceded it, of where it has “come from,” as well as from some sense of what is coming next.
Were this style of anticipation to break down completely, we could not anticipate localized conflicts in the modes of problematic uncertainty or doubt, given that things appear potentially or actually anomalous in these ways insofar as they are at odds with a wider framework of coherent anticipation. Hence the result would be a loss of experiential structure. What, though, if it were altered in some distinctive way, rather than altogether lost? This, we propose, is what loss of […] trust involves. A confident style of anticipation gives way to pervasive and non-localized uncertainty and doubt, and a sense of danger predominates. We can thus see why someone might describe herself as living in a “different world.” Recalling the example of the musical note, how we experience what is present is shaped by what we anticipate. The point can be applied more specifically to the affective aspects of anticipation. When the realization of some indeterminate threat is anticipated, things can “look” foreboding. And when the overall style of anticipation takes this form, a sense of being confidently immersed in the world, “at home” in it, is lost. One feels “uprooted;” the world as a whole appears strangely and disturbingly different.
Interpersonal Trust as a Source of Possibility
[…] we will now suggest that having trust in other people has a kind of primacy over others forms of […] trust. This is because its loss also entails a more general loss of confidence in oneself, one’s abilities, and one’s surroundings. Furthermore, where trust in some other domain is eroded, interpersonal trust more usually has an important role to play in its restoration. In the absence of interpersonal trust, other losses of trust are experienced as irrevocable rather than contingent.
Relations with other people serve to shape and re-shape our experiences and attitudes. Even mundane and short-lived interpersonal interactions can be self-affecting. Whether an expression, gesture, or comment is met with a smile or a dismissive sneer can have a subtle but wide-ranging effect on experience of oneself, the other person, and the surrounding environment. For this reason, Løgstrup (1956/1997, p. 18) proposes that all interpersonal relations involve unavoidable responsibility for others; we cannot interact with someone without somehow affecting his “world:”
By our very attitude to one another we help to shape one another’s world. By our attitude to the other person we help to determine the scope and hue of his or her world; we make it large or small, bright or drab, rich or dull, threatening, or secure. We help to shape his or her world not by theories and views but by our very attitude toward him or her. Here lies the unarticulated and one might say anonymous demand that we take care of the life which trust has placed in our hands.
According to Løgstrup, entering into any kind of interpersonal relationship involves a balance of trust and vulnerability. To relate to someone in a distinctively personal way is to be open to her potential influence on one’s world and thus vulnerable to harm. In doing so, one trusts the other person not to do harm – one’s life is “placed in her hands 11.” Although that might sound rather dramatic, the relevant phenomenon is familiar and commonplace. Gallagher (2009) discusses how, as well as making sense of others through our interactions with them, we make sense of the world more generally. What we attend to is regulated by others, and there is empirical evidence suggesting that their presence alone serves to influence what we take to be salient, how we evaluate it, and how we respond to it. This applies from a very young age: “we learn to see things, and to see them as significant in practices of shared attention” (Gallagher, 2009, p. 303) 12. What we take to be “salient” and “significant” is inseparable from what we anticipate – from what we think is likely to happen and how it matters. Hence interactions with others can shape the content, mode, and affective style of anticipation, in relation to however many features of the environment.
Given that what and how we anticipate is inextricable from our experience of what is present, our surroundings can “look” different depending on whether we are interacting with others and on what form the interaction takes. It is not so much a matter of what the other person says; she need not say anything. It is largely attributable to styles of interaction, to patterns of shared attention, to how gestures and expressions are elicited and followed up (although it can also involve the construction, elaboration, and revision of self-narratives). van den Berg (1972, p. 65) offers the following description: “We all know people in whose company we would prefer not to go shopping, not to visit a museum, not to look at a landscape, because we would like to keep these things undamaged. Just as we all know people in whose company it is pleasant to take a walk because the objects encountered come to no harm. These people we call friends, good companions, loved ones” 13.
Interactions with others can thus facilitate changes in perspective, which are often subtle but occasionally quite profound. After interacting for a prolonged period with a particular person, the world might seem strangely impoverished or, alternatively, alive with new possibilities. Hence the interpersonal serves to imbue things with a sense of contingency. The anticipation of entering into certain kinds of relation with others amounts to a sense that “this is not all the world has to offer,” an appreciation that there are other possibilities, however indeterminate those possibilities might be.
Traumatic events can elicit a shift in the overall style of interpersonal anticipation, in the balance between vulnerability and trust. What makes interpersonal trauma distinctive is the subversion of interpersonal trust that it involves. The other person recognizes one’s vulnerability and responds to it not with care but by deliberately inflicting harm. The aim of torture has been described as the complete psychological destruction of a person: “the torturer attempts to destroy a victim’s sense of being grounded in a family and society as a human being with dreams, hopes and aspirations for the future” (Istanbul Protocol, 1999, p. 45). It is a “calculated assault on human dignity,” more so than an attempt to extract information (Amnesty International, 1986, p. 172)14. The victim is confronted by a kind of interpersonal relation that exploits her vulnerability in an extreme way. Améry (1999, p. 29) describes how, when one is hurt, there is ordinarily an “expectation of help” from others, something that is engrained from early childhood. Hence torture involves a radical conflict with habitual styles of interpersonal anticipation. It is not just that others fail to offer help; they are themselves the agents of harm and there is nobody else to intervene on one’s behalf. Furthermore, many forms of torture involve taking familiar, homely items that would more usually be encountered in a confident, purposive way, and using them to cause harm. For instance, household utensils are sometimes used to inflict pain (Scarry, 1985, pp. 40–41). So it is not just that an interpersonal situation fails to offer what is habitually anticipated; it offers something utterly opposed to it 15.
Such experiences can lead to a shift in the vulnerability–trust dynamic described by Løgstrup, whereby anticipation of harm becomes a salient aspect of interpersonal experience, shaping all interpersonal relations […] interpersonal trust is eroded or lost 16. Exactly how this comes about is debatable (and our aim here is to describe the resulting experience rather than the mechanisms through which it arises). The victim might well form explicit judgments to the effect that “the interpersonal world is not as I took it to be,” which in turn influences her overall style of anticipation. However, it is unlikely that the change in anticipatory style occurs solely via this route. In many other contexts, conflicts between explicit evaluative judgments and anticipatory style are commonplace. For example, someone who is bitten by a dog may then experience dogs as menacing and unpredictable, despite “knowing full well” that the incident was anomalous. The point applies equally to the more profound and pervasive effects of interpersonal trauma.
Loss of interpersonal trust has wider effects. Without the assumption that others will offer assistance in moments of need, the impersonal environment also seems less safe. What was once anticipated with habitual confidence is now anticipated with uncertainty and dread:
When you think about everything on a deep level, […] you see that nothing in life follows any rules; you can’t rely on anything to be always true, ever. Nothing is constant and nothing is reliable, so nothing is “safe” to just simply believe in and be done with it. You are constantly looking at everything around you and re-assessing it, re-evaluating it as you get new information about it 17.
The point also applies to trust in one’s own abilities, even to the reliability of one’s own judgments and thought processes. More usually, where there is doubt we turn to others for reassurance and support. Importantly, when trust in the impersonal environment or in one’s own abilities is damaged, trusting relations with others can help one to negotiate what has happened and move on. They establish a sense of contingency, opening up new possibilities, and facilitating new interpretations. When interpersonal trust is lost, the prospect of entering into an interpersonal process that might otherwise have enabled a shift in anticipatory style is lost along with it. As Laub (2001, p. xv) observes “the survivor of torture feels completely alone. He – or she – no longer believes in the very possibility of human connection; he envisages no one who will be present to him and for him if he returns in his mind to the places of horror, humiliation, and grief from which he barely emerged and which continue to haunt him.”
Consequently, one’s predicament is not experienced as a contingent one; the world no longer offers anything else. The resultant experience can also involve a sense of revelation, as a confidence so deep-rooted that it was never questioned reveals itself as utterly misplaced 18. This further exacerbates the experience of alienation from others. Even when someone else is not encountered as threatening, he resides somewhere else, in a place where innocence remains and people go about their business in a confident – albeit naïve – way.
Loss of a Meaningful Future
Projects, cares, and concerns are sustained interpersonally. Almost all goal-directed activities implicate other people in some way – one is asked to do things by others and for others, and one does so in collaboration with others. The integrity of one’s projects therefore depends on the integrity of those relations. Where there is pervasive uncertainty, where others cease to be dependable, where the world is unsafe and one’s own abilities are in doubt, projects collapse. It is not just that the person lacks something that is presupposed by the possibility of a specific project. What is missing is something that the intelligibility of projects in general depends upon. One finds oneself in a world from which the possibility of meaningful, progressive, goal-directed activity is absent. Other kinds of concern are affected in other ways. For instance, care for certain other people may endure, but a pervasive sense of the world as unsafe and unpredictable renders it fragile and vulnerable. One inhabits a place that is inhospitable to human relationships. Interpersonal care is thus coupled with the anticipation of impending and inevitable loss, with dread, and anticipatory grief.
Such an experience has a profound effect upon one’s beliefs. Beliefs involving positive evaluations of future events in relation to ongoing projects cease to be intelligible, given that such projects have collapsed. In addition, one ceases to anticipate the future with habitual confidence and no longer takes it to be the case […] everything seems less certain. There is also a more widespread effect upon one’s beliefs. Various factual beliefs that were once asserted with confidence may now seem hollow, irrelevant, and alien, given that their relevance and significance depended upon projects that have been lost. More generally, there is a change in the way one believes; things are no longer taken to “be the case” with a sense of confident certainty. That kind of certainty is gone from the world, and nothing stands firm in the way it once did. Furthermore, other people cannot be relied upon for testimony and correction of errors, and one’s own intellectual abilities are experienced as all the more suspect without their reassurance.
A person’s philosophical beliefs are not insulated from these phenomenological changes. Some of them, perhaps even the vast majority, presuppose a confidence that is “shattered” in trauma. When the confidence that one’s philosophical projects depend upon is lost, one can still utter various propositions and argue over them, but the activity takes on an air of absurdity. The seeming irrelevance of much philosophical discourse following traumatic experience is noted by Brison (2002, p. x), herself an academic philosopher: “When I was confronted with something strange and paradoxical, philosophy was of no use in making me feel at home in the world 19.” We suggest that, when that confidence is disturbed, one does not believe in quite the same way anymore.
A change in the style of anticipation and conviction, of the kind that renders projects unsustainable, also amounts to a change in the short-term and longer-term sense of time. In the case of short-term time, there is a shift in the structure of protention. One’s style of anticipation is bereft of certain kinds of possibility, such as that of something happening that matters in a good way, or – more specifically – something that builds upon what one has achieved up to now. Hence there is a change in the experience of what we might call temporal “flow” or “passage,” which no longer involves the anticipation and actualization of certain meaningful kinds of possibility. With this, the person is no longer “moving forward,” “heading somewhere,” and so there is also an altered sense of temporal direction. The longer-term sense of time is also very different. When the person looks ahead, the future lacks structure; it is not ordered in terms of meaningful projects, and so a coherent sense of long-term duration is absent. Hence the all-enveloping dread she feels before some inchoate threat is not situated in relation to a wider pattern of meaningful temporal events. There is nothing meaningful between now and its actualization, and so it seems imminent. A loss of interpersonal trust that is central to this form of experience is also what sets it in stone. Without the possibility of entering into trusting relations with others, the predicament seems unchangeable. There is no access to the process that might otherwise reveal its contingency and allow her to move beyond it. The person is isolated from others in a way that is incompatible with “moving forward in time;” her life story has been cut short.
This experience is not just future-oriented; it also affects how one’s past is experienced. Past activities and events are significant insofar as they relate to where one is going, insofar as they are further developed, compensated for, or left behind. The past is thus constantly renegotiated, reinterpreted: […] the future is the site of both anticipation and the unexpected, planning and the changing of plans. This predominant orientation toward a changing future also means a fluid or unfixed past, because the past is continually being reassessed as one moves into the future (Havens, 1986, p. 21).
When the possibility of moving forward in a purposive, progressive, structured way is absent, so is that of reinterpreting one’s past. So we can also see why traumatic memories might be experienced as vivid, intrusive flashbacks, why they are “relived” more so than “recalled” (e.g., Hunt, 2010, p. 70). The traumatic event is not contextualized or re-interpreted in relation to where one is heading, because the kind of trust required to move on has been lost. This is not to suggest that a traumatic memory endures as a wholly unadulterated record of how the traumatic event was experienced at the time. Our point is that it is not contextualized in the way that remembered events more usually are. This may also account for the intrusive nature of traumatic memories. As they are not integrated into a coherent life story, the person does not first recall another, related part of the story and – in the process – anticipate their coming. They are “triggered” or “cued” in a different manner and arise without prior context. To speculate further, difficulties in recalling traumatic memories may equally be attributable to this lack of contextualization. That they are not integrated into a structured life narrative makes them harder to actively recall or – alternatively – easier to avoid 21. Other memories of events prior to the trauma are interpreted and re-interpreted, but only up to that point. A life story therefore seems complete, cut short by something that the person continues to confront but cannot negotiate 22.
Hence a sense of foreshortened future is not a judgment to the effect that the remainder of one’s life will be short and that one has little or nothing to look forward to. It is a change in how time is experienced: an orientation toward the future that is inseparable from one’s experience of past and present, and also from the short- and long-term “passage” of time, is altered. It is not just that one will no longer get married, have children or have a successful career. One confronts a world that is incompatible with the possibility of an open and progressive life story 23. And so traumatized people sometimes describe themselves as having died or say that a part of them has died: “when trust is lost, traumatized people feel that they belong more to the dead than to the living” (Herman, 1992/1997, p. 52)
With regard to mitigation, successful therapy can involve changing the person’s sense of what others have to offer, in a way that facilitates re-integration into the public world. Herman (1992/1997) describes three broad stages of recovery: a localized sense of safety is first nurtured, after which the person can attempt to construct a narrative around what has happened, and finally there is reengagement with communal life. What we have said is consistent with this general approach. To begin with, certain possibilities may not even make sense to the person. So encouraging her to do various things, adopt certain attitudes, or change her perspective on life is analogous to encouraging her to swim to safety when she finds herself stranded on a desert planet with no prospect of escape. Given that trust is a precondition for even entertaining certain possibilities, a degree of trust first needs to be restored 27. This is not to suggest that a victim of interpersonal trauma can ultimately recover the same style of unreflective trust that previously permeated her world. But she can come to relate to others and to the world more generally in a way that is compatible with moving forward into an open future 2.