From behind the PTSD Goggles, this is how I experience the holiday season.
Face-surfing: Normally, when out in public, I face-surf as part of my hypervigilance. I *normally* perceive faces as having more hostility than they do, which triggers me into feeling irritable. During the season, when so many faces actually *have* hostility, it makes my internal alarms ring all. the. time.
Church: For those of us having been subject to abuse thanks to Church dogma such as ‘honor thy mother and thy father,’ ‘pray and ye shall receive,’ ‘Father's love,’ and ‘God Loves All’ the season is a constant reminder of the abuse. Messages blared into public spaces - where I can’t escape them even in public restrooms! - drives me absolutely freakin mad. I feel like I want to chew my arm off to escape this cultural trap.
Lights & Outdoor Decor: Sudden movement/unexpected peripheral vision movement triggers my startle response. During this season, there are tons of lights making a simple drive home akin to running through a bizarre fun house where nothing looks familiar or comfortable.
I especially HATE moving lightshows. The shadows change constantly - conjuring the feelings of the terrifying memories based upon the terrors of my childhood.
The constantly changing landscapes rob me of the comfort of the 'known, and hence, file away as safe’ category that normally exists & allows me to function better. Even simple driving through town to do basic grocery shopping is as exhausting to my adrenalized brain as driving through a new city during rush hour. Makes me numb myself out just to avoid having a daily cardiac event.
The ‘Auditory Landmining’ of Public Spaces: Honestly, not even the bathrooms to which I normally retreat as the ‘safest I can find’ space to compose myself after being tripped into flashbacks are safe. The onslaught of ‘oh, nice, yeah, this song was playing when [insert traumatizing painful memory here]’…
…and people love to drag out ‘the oldies’ which to a traumatized person, are a bullet train back to the worst places we’ve been. Who wouldn’t want to have that popping up randomly all month long where you never know when it’ll happen?
'Love, Peace, & Joy' Messages: The constant 'be happy' & 'enjoy your family,' 'traditions,' 'nostalgia' messages being piped through commercials, radio, television, the net, restaurants, stores is a constant trip back through 'bizarro land' where I was forced to hear messages of love while receiving (and having to survive) actual experiences that were far from the holiday adjectives constantly crammed into our consciousness.
‘Nostalgia’: Seriously, if I *have* no 'happy memories' from my first 23 years of life because there WEREN'T any? Yeah, hard to get into the holiday mood. Or want to take part in ANY of it.
Having to listen to the constant pressure to ‘look back’ is like a constant pounding. Nothing hurts more or less…it all has the same pounding quality. Whether delivered by a loved one or not…it’s all the same pressure to me, and all overwhelming.
I do try to numb out enough to be able to wear a half-smile mask for my kids and friends to not kill their fun, but I’d rather be home doing a colonoscopy prep. Seriously.
‘Gifts’: Gifts have many meanings to traumatized people. In my past, they were used to; buy my silence; alleviate the perp’s guilt; maintain the false screen of ‘normalcy’ in my family; put on a ‘show’ while the sentiments were empty and silently screaming ‘BEWARE OF WHAT’S NEXT.’
In my sick dysfunctional upbringing, gifts were the opening act in a yearly theatre of broken dreams; a poor replacement in lieu of everyday safety, comfort, support, and emotional nourishment. I can give gifts to my children easily enough - and my hubby now; but I can’t receive without fear of what ‘it means’ – the hardwired response which - thus far - no amount of work nor wishing has fixed. It steals the joy from my carer, so I try to put on a brave face and keep the pain to myself.
Really, the overload is a nauseating, teeth-grinding, headache-producing, barely-getting-through-it-without-going-crazy daily marathon. I try so hard not to spill out on someone’s happiness, but if I finally get enough self-awareness & courage to say something and I’m not listened to, it just adds to the stress.
Having PTSD at the holidays feels like I’m a hurt family pet that adores it’s owners so much, it’ll try to do tricks even when hurting terribly. I’ll try so hard not to snap, but when it hurts so bad to do a ‘trick’ that I yelp, I feel like I deserve to be kicked. …and believe me, when it happens, I’m biting and kicking myself hard enough inside that you don’t need to.
Being asked to perform tricks – like trying to pretend to feel joy, to suit up and show up, or smile, or be spontaneous, or even to laugh and ‘make everyone happy’…I will try. But instead of putting that energy to healing my wounds, it’s put to performing.
I feel guilty someone decided to ‘adopt me.’ But speaking as a ‘wounded pet,’ if I could give a set of instructions to go with every adopted family of a wounded pet like me, they’d say something like…
Encourage, don’t obligate.
Love, don’t manipulate.
Nurture, don’t enable.
If I’m performing, I’m not healing.
Expecting me to be a show dog - instead of the injured mutt I am - won’t get either of us a blue ribbon.
Allow me to be wounded.
Ignore my yelps and whimpers unless it seems I’m in immediate need.
Allow me to lay near even if I don’t participate.
Small moments of joy are enough for me. Please don’t limit yourself to the portions I can handle, however.
Feed & care for…yourself first.
At the end of each holiday season, I always have a feeling of ‘…yeah! ONE LESS TO LIVE THROUGH!!!’
