Trauma is a Thief, Neal King, Halo Publishing International, 2024, Hardcover, ISBN-13: 978-1637656457

Dr Neal King’s Trauma is a Thief is yet another entry in the booming genre of grievance literature. It is a memoir of suffering, padded out with psychological jargon, laced with high-minded references to Carl Jung, and wrapped in the solemn insistence that pain, once experienced, must be forever indulged.

This is not to say that King’s childhood wasn’t awful. It sounds like it was. Abuse, abandonment, addiction running through the family like a hereditary curse—grim reading. But misery, however genuine, does not necessarily make for an illuminating book, and Trauma is a Thief is yet another example of a man who has done rather well in life—psychologist, academic, college president—spending hundreds of pages convincing himself, and the reader, that his past traumas are still the central defining force in his life:

Whatever its form or context, trauma is invariably a thief. It steals something essential from you that you can never fully recover.

And here is the great failure of books like this: they glorify introspection at the expense of action. They tell us that to feel better, one must endlessly dissect the past, turn personal suffering into an object of solemn study, and, preferably, turn the whole exercise into a book for others to consume. What they do not tell us is that, quite often, the best response to pain is to stop wallowing and to start moving.

This is where King—and most of the modern “trauma” industry—goes so wrong. Pain, even the worst kind, is not an immutable force. It can be diminished, reshaped, even forgotten, if one puts one’s energies into something beyond oneself. And this is where diet and exercise come in.

The simple, unsexy truth is that a well-fed, well-exercised body produces a well-regulated mind. The connection between physical activity and mental health is well established. Regular exercise releases endorphins and dopamine—natural antidepressants that do a far better job than dwelling on childhood horrors. Strength training has been shown to reduce symptoms of depression and anxiety. Proper sleep, facilitated by physical exertion, regulates mood and cognitive function. A diet free from sugar and processed rubbish stabilises blood sugar levels and prevents the kind of emotional turbulence that King’s book seems to wallow in.

In other words, if King had spent more time lifting weights, eating steak, and getting eight hours of sleep, and less time excavating his past, he might have found a better way to move on. Instead, we get 326 pages of introspection, none of which seems to lead anywhere, except an apparently burning desire to share it with everyone else:

I have battled mightily to be here today to share this tale with you — in hopes that if you or someone you love has suffered their own trauma, my tale might render some comfort, serve as a resource, or help you feel seen and understood.

This is not to say that trauma should be ignored or dismissed. But there is a fundamental difference between acknowledging hardship and making it your life’s defining feature. The old virtues—discipline and a refusal to let the past dictate the future—have been replaced with the new religion of self-pity. And like most modern religions, it is built on indulgence rather than self-improvement.

King has achieved much. He has travelled the world and made a name for himself. That he chooses to dwell on what was stolen from him rather than what he has built is his loss. But there is little reason why the rest of us should indulge in the same mistake.

For those who enjoy reflecting on their suffering, Trauma is a Thief will be an excellent companion. For those who want a more effective way to deal with hardship, I recommend a barbell, a proper diet, a full-length mirror and a refusal to let past misfortunes dictate the present.