Mm, I'm not too sure about this one. My mom is my supporter and after she learned more serious details about my abuse she wound up hospitalized
In my dispatch training academy we actually held a class about "what to share" because it is so common to get blow back by telling someone about the calls we took.
Fairly early on in my career I was lucky enough to be part of a team doing K&R, and watched one of the family members kill themselves… on the spot… when they found out what their “kid” had been through. Not
actually been through, just the super sanitized family brief. Including the fact that they were alive, and in hospital, and we could take them to them in a couple days.
I’m not sure if I was still 17, or had just turned 18? Like I said, early days. I hadn’t even been home on Leave, yet.
I made the decision, on the spot, never to tell, my family anything. Not the fun stuff, not the hard stuff, nothing. Just to be there for them, with them, and their lives. My life? Would be off limits.
Eventually, that meant I developed the reputation of being a self centered asshole… which my non-military friends could never parse, as I valued everyone else’s life above mine, and was THE person to reach out to at oh-dark-thirty to show up; but my mil-friends totally grokked, as they mostly did the same durn thing… as better that, than the alternative.
You don’t hurt the people you love. Full stop.
((Brief funny aside: I lived with a fire chief -housemate not lover/father/partner, but just a bloke- when I was pregnant. Bastard LOVED getting me to puke, on a whim. I’m emetiphobic, which made it an extra treat, for him. As I just don’t. Even when I should. Iron Jaw Friday. Except? When I was pregnant. OMFG. DUDE. I HAVE SEEN (almost) EVERYTHING you’ve decided to spring on me, so I’ve got fawking smell-o-vision with the shit you’ve decided to talk about as I make breakfast. Bastard. Cabron. Bite me. Lmfao

That. Man. He drove me craaaaaazy. f*ckin firefighters. Adored by the masses, but twisted SOBs, up close. I’m currently reminded of a strip club slogan: Thousands of pretty girls, and three ugly ones. That’s firefighters for you. <grrrrr> In reverse. If I’m grumpy. Or… honest. There really are good ones out there. Most? Are like musicians without a guitar. They want to be loved by strangers, but their loved ones want to throttle them. Snort. Clearly, I’m in a grumpy moment. Also? Honest.

))
Back on TARGET. My caps lock stuck. But I’ll leave it.
Two social workers showed up to my house, one day. This was about 6mo after my divorce, and my ex had been playing seeeeeeeerious games.
(Posting my address online to certain unsavory websites, IE f*ck with me, rape fantasy, etc.; telling power/water/heat I was on vacation for a month & to shut them off, cloning my phone, dropping me from my classes in school, f*cking with my jobs, list goes on).
So? My power/water/heat was off -again- and the CPS peeps on my doorstep were visibly thrown off by the fact that I just admitted that to them as they asked to come inside.
Sorry! I know it’s cold out here, but the heat is off inside and it’s colder in there. My ex is playing games. He was court ordered to pay mortgage and utilities and isn’t. So every time he shuts them off, I have to come up with half of what he’s due to turn them back on.
“We wanted to talk with you about you son hanging himself this weekend,”
I don’t know what happened after that.
My knees buckled. Light and sound both became pulses.
I came to, to the shouts of “OMG, she didn’t know! They didn’t tell her? No one told her? How could no one have… He’s ALIVE! He’s ALIVE! HE’s ALIVE! He’s ALIVE! Your SON! HE’S ALIVE.”
So I understand better… what love can do.
I have always… fought.
Except?
When I lost HIM.
OMFG. LIFE.
And what a low bar that calls.
***
Someone else’s pain… has alway been secondary to my own.
Until him.
But I cannot even begin to express hpw the pain of others has influenced my own actions.