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- #13
onebravegirl
Gold Member
My insights into PTSD are my own. What my therapist did was create a safe place for me to think. I haven't mentioned my specific traumas yet, but When my mother said the above words to me, it made me realize that I had been raised to think and feel only with their permission. I looked at their lives and realized that they by no means had happy lives, they really didn't know what the hell they were doing with their lives at all. That made me realize that it was up to me to decide what hurts, what doesn't. It was that moment that I knew I was injured. Who was she to say I could not grieve my own daughter? That made me question the entire frame of logic I was raised with.
I really believe that this is the moment I gave my PTSD permission to be heard. Not consciously of course, but it was like that thought opened a door. I had No idea what was happening when a smell or a phrase or a thought would transport me into all sorts of uncontrolled responses. I had never been given permission to realize my life had been hard and terrifying. So I had to give it to myself. I looked back on my life and saw that I had not been living, I had been in survival mode from one experience to the next. It was exciting and scary at the same time. So once I finally got my therapist it was relieving to know that their was a name for all that I was going through. Complex PTSD.
I don't think my parents meant to do any harm to me as a kid growing up. Their lives were horrible growing up too. But I was a mom with two boys at home. There was no way I would make the same mistakes due to inherited ignorance. The cycle would be broken. The most difficult thing I have ever done in my life was to leave home to "go figure this all out". To put myself first was horrifying. All I could do is hope that one day they would see what their mom had done for them.
My revelation about PTSD is my own. It was not from a therapist. No one loved me as a child should be loved. My injuries started as a child so How could I be upset at those injuries needing attention? I would be part of the abuse if I denied those wounds. So I went slowly. Very slowly. I imagined myself as a person with scars all over her body. The Ones that were weeping were the ones I soothed. The more I soothed, the more that wept for a while. But I wasn't punishing myself for hurting and grieving. I deserved to grieve after being victimized. Those flash backs and triggers were like naive children inside me asking to make sense and come to terms with what happened to them. I was an adult and had to find words they needed to hear. This was you have to understand a long drawn out process. I made mistakes but gave myself permission for that too. I was teaching and learning at the same time. Kinda like being my own parent. But once I started welcoming the triggers as a signal that something else needed answers inside me, the quicker they would pass. I wasn't standing in my own way anymore. I even learned to embrace the nightmares.
When I felt a storm coming (usually a increased hyper vigilance) I would prepare for it. I would go into the hospital if I need too. I would say I didn't feel safe with myself until I could figure it out. I even remember going into the Hospital once with "battle fatigue", because so much would happen at once. But the more I could put a name to what a trigger was trying to tell me, the sooner it would go away. Then little by little there were less triggers, less hyper vigilance, less nightmares, less medications and so on. Pain needs to be tended to. The way I see it PTSD is pain that no one attended too at the opportune time but should have. We all need someone to help us make sense of what we are going through. But we have to make a choice to do the work involved. For me PTSD was a gift. It made me stop and really think about what I was living with and carrying around inside me. I am a better person for having been forced by PTSD to slow down, listen and give myself the time and love I needed to heal. I am no longer a human doing, I am a human being.
I feel I must add a disclaimer to this though. I am in no way a professional councilor or therapist. My way and my perspective are solely my own, and I do not want to in anyway disrespect anyone else's pain or view of PTSD. What makes sense for one may not be appreciated by another. What ever helps you survive a day at a time is obviously a step in the right direction.
I really believe that this is the moment I gave my PTSD permission to be heard. Not consciously of course, but it was like that thought opened a door. I had No idea what was happening when a smell or a phrase or a thought would transport me into all sorts of uncontrolled responses. I had never been given permission to realize my life had been hard and terrifying. So I had to give it to myself. I looked back on my life and saw that I had not been living, I had been in survival mode from one experience to the next. It was exciting and scary at the same time. So once I finally got my therapist it was relieving to know that their was a name for all that I was going through. Complex PTSD.
I don't think my parents meant to do any harm to me as a kid growing up. Their lives were horrible growing up too. But I was a mom with two boys at home. There was no way I would make the same mistakes due to inherited ignorance. The cycle would be broken. The most difficult thing I have ever done in my life was to leave home to "go figure this all out". To put myself first was horrifying. All I could do is hope that one day they would see what their mom had done for them.
My revelation about PTSD is my own. It was not from a therapist. No one loved me as a child should be loved. My injuries started as a child so How could I be upset at those injuries needing attention? I would be part of the abuse if I denied those wounds. So I went slowly. Very slowly. I imagined myself as a person with scars all over her body. The Ones that were weeping were the ones I soothed. The more I soothed, the more that wept for a while. But I wasn't punishing myself for hurting and grieving. I deserved to grieve after being victimized. Those flash backs and triggers were like naive children inside me asking to make sense and come to terms with what happened to them. I was an adult and had to find words they needed to hear. This was you have to understand a long drawn out process. I made mistakes but gave myself permission for that too. I was teaching and learning at the same time. Kinda like being my own parent. But once I started welcoming the triggers as a signal that something else needed answers inside me, the quicker they would pass. I wasn't standing in my own way anymore. I even learned to embrace the nightmares.
When I felt a storm coming (usually a increased hyper vigilance) I would prepare for it. I would go into the hospital if I need too. I would say I didn't feel safe with myself until I could figure it out. I even remember going into the Hospital once with "battle fatigue", because so much would happen at once. But the more I could put a name to what a trigger was trying to tell me, the sooner it would go away. Then little by little there were less triggers, less hyper vigilance, less nightmares, less medications and so on. Pain needs to be tended to. The way I see it PTSD is pain that no one attended too at the opportune time but should have. We all need someone to help us make sense of what we are going through. But we have to make a choice to do the work involved. For me PTSD was a gift. It made me stop and really think about what I was living with and carrying around inside me. I am a better person for having been forced by PTSD to slow down, listen and give myself the time and love I needed to heal. I am no longer a human doing, I am a human being.
I feel I must add a disclaimer to this though. I am in no way a professional councilor or therapist. My way and my perspective are solely my own, and I do not want to in anyway disrespect anyone else's pain or view of PTSD. What makes sense for one may not be appreciated by another. What ever helps you survive a day at a time is obviously a step in the right direction.
