Eight million people have PTSD. I am one of them.
Soldiers. First Responders. Warriors. Those are the folks who quickly come to mind when you think about PTSD. It happens when you or someone you love is in imminent danger of serious harm or death. I’m a suburban mom with two awesome kids and a great husband, and I also live with PTSD.
The details of how I developed PTSD aren’t unique. I endured heinous childhood abuse. My body and mind froze when I saw those I loved being beaten so badly I thought they would die before my eyes. That scene was repeated. A lot.
Life got much much better when I grew up, sought treatment, and made healthy friendships. I now have a family I love more than Krispy Kremes right out of the oven. I earned a degree from one of those fancy universities. Hell, I’ve even got a great dog. What more can a person ask for?
Life is exceptionally good for me. Cue the PTSD. It invades my peace like some drunk, crashing my party, damn near wrecking the place. Still, I’m lucky. It’s usually dormant for me. Until it isn’t.
Now is one of those times. I’ve had three or four active episodes in my life. I’m in one now, but I’m doing something different this time. I’m telling people.
My usual m.o. is to army crawl my way out without a world to anyone. PTSD makes me feel ashamed. Defective. Burdensome. This leaves me searingly isolated.
The first person I reached out to was a friend whose only words were on my way. She’ll never understand how much those 45 minutes meant to me. I wish we lived in a world where everybody had at least one ‘on my way’ friend.
Turns out, I’m blessed with more than one! It’s strange to be anxious and quivering and grateful all at the same time, but I am.
I don’t know how long this one’s going to last, but I’ll bet it’s quicker than usual. Showing someone your pain, feeling their compassion and concern, it’s healing.
I’ll be posting as I stumble through this episode, sharing what I learn, and celebrating when this experience is just another part of my complex history.
