A Peek Inside...
It was just three days ago, that long illusive tears poured down my face...as I asked the same questions I've been asking for years. The questions that have no answers.
It's no surprise that it's that same night that I had the most horrific nightmare ever. I woke at about 3am and shook Dean and spilled it all. I said there was no way I could sleep and I didn't want him to sleep either.
I was terrified.
I laid there with my eyes so wide, as if blinking would make it all reality. Eventually, I glazed over and slept. I woke with a jolt and relived it all.
After a business meeting, I sat in the car with Dean and sobbed all over again. I couldn't shake it.
Then the questions. The same questions. The haunting questions that have no answers.
There have been so many times I have begged God to just shut my brain down for one day. To just not remember. For one day.
.........
We walked into a beautiful empty bathroom. Her shoulders went up. Total panic. She saw the hand dryer and the automatic flush on the toilet. She's sobbing. Everyone of us can feel all the things she's feeling. She really has to go. But she can't. I have learned all the tricks how to block the sensor from sensing movement so it doesn't flush. Everything was going perfectly...we are talking, singing, doing all the things to pull her into the present moment...when a stranger walks into the next stall. Panic. Tears. Freaking out, to try to get off the toilet in time...plugging ears, trying to stand up...and the toilet next stall over flushes.
She hasn't finished going potty. Now she can't. And won't be able to do for quite a while. We leave the bathroom with hand sanitizer in hand.
This was a good day. This was a good bathroom trip. This was day well-over-1000 of the same thing.
............
We are doing school. She's reading so well. Everything is going great. Until we look at the alphabet to practice. Eyes go wide, she tenses, I'm rubbing her back telling her how smart she is and how Mommy is not in a hurry..."I can't do it. I can't think of what these letters are called. I don't know. I don't know if I'll ever know."
...........
We are downtown. They are holding hands and giggling. It's so beautiful. Life is so beautiful. All of a sudden I sense something...shoulders hunch up, eyes lock on her face, it's panic. I get in front of her. "Look at Mommy. Can you tell me where we are? Who are we with...?" All of a sudden there's a jolt back to the present, eyes shift, the tear falls...and she answers. She's back. What did she see? Hear? Think...in that moment that took her from the present? Sometimes we can tell...other times, we don't know.
...........
We are at a playground. There's no older kids there, we sigh with relief. It's just a few toddlers. Not much older than babies. They don't yet talk, they are waddling around with Mama nearby. Everything is going so well. I'm standing by the slide, coaching every movement. "Yeah, so fun!" All of a sudden, she panics to get off the equipment, grabs my leg, she's stiff as a board. The toddler has walked towards her. She can't distinguish between a threat and a harmless toddler.
..............
He lays in bed. He's tired. He's too afraid to close his eyes. What if an image appears from the past that he still isn't ready to see? He determines to lay in such a way that he has full few of the room. The bed is awkwardly positioned so there are no blind spots. Full view of the window. The door. The closet. His mind is racing, he's trying to stop it. The more he tries...the more it's swirls. If only he would close his eyes and rest. Instead he waits until his eyes close on their own. He's so tired. But sleep is hard to come with your eyes open. Eventually, somehow...it's morning. Sometimes...he walks downstairs and asks to sleep on the floor beside our bed.
The answer is always yes.
................
She's standing at the fridge, there's lots of chatter. Someone snaps their fingers, she can see them snap, there's no surprise. Yet she jumps so dramatically and quickly places her hand over her chest to calm her pounding heart.
She's sitting on her bed. I lightly tap on her open door, "hey, can I come in?" She jumps a mile. As if I blew a horn...in the dark. She again holds her chest and tries to control her heartbeat.
She knows why...but she doesn't. "Why am I so jumpy? I hate this."
None of us would ever tap her on the shoulder, or alarm her in any way. She would fall apart.
...............
She stumbles out of bed. Her eyes fixed. We know what's coming. "There's something in my mouth..." she starts gagging. We take her in to the bathroom...we show her nothing is there. She starts scraping her tongue. We get her a cool cup of water to rinse with. Try to get her eyes to focus, "I just need it out of my mouth" she says.
This same exact story has repeated dozens of times.
Yet she has no memory. None.
Her heart does. And it's unlocking in the night...as the memories come back.
As she gets back into bed, we pray over her. We come and sit out on the couch and just sit. Together. Silent.
................
I texted Dean. He didn't reply. I hear a siren. Instantly I feel weak. My heart is pounding. I need to sit to catch my breath. My mind goes all the way there. I envision the entire scenario. The police coming to the door. The rest of my world crashing.
He texts me back. There's hardly been a delay...yet it was enough to pull me back into terror.
.................
We walk into Sunday School. She has talked excitedly the entire way there. She's ready. We walk into the class, her entire body language changes. She's stiff, she's locking eyes with me. The teacher is urging "you'll be fine, we'll have fun...come on in." The more you push, the more the panic takes over. We step out. I kneel down. Her eyes are dancing, wide but not tracking with me. "How about you come with us today?" I say, as if it's a new idea. She nods rapidly. She grips my hand as we explain that we'll try again next week. As we sit in church, I feel her lead on me and I can feel the sadness. She wants to go, but she can't. Not yet.
..................
Just a tiny glimpse into the life of survivors.
There is so much healing. So much beauty. And so much brokenness. Even if ... you spend a day...or a week with us...and we seem fine. There is so much pain.
I have been sent this link many, many times. And appropriately so. I do ask that you read it. Complex PTSD is ... quite honestly... a sad story. It's most often from profound childhood abuse. When development was still in progress...and deep, confusing, horrific pain was happening. It alters the brain.
This is another story of both-and.
Healing that has exceeded many professional's expectations and even dreams for our family. Yet lingering brokenness and pain...that you couldn't possibly be the one to remind us of. In other words...asking about it...does not cause us pain. In fact, most of the time...helps healing. Pretending it didn't happen...well...yeah. That's a whole new level of pain.
Every night ends with the same prayer over our children. "Tonight...please only give us good memories. Good thoughts. Good dreams. Save the bed memories for daytime..."
https://www.beautyafterbruises.org/what-is-cptsd
It's no surprise that it's that same night that I had the most horrific nightmare ever. I woke at about 3am and shook Dean and spilled it all. I said there was no way I could sleep and I didn't want him to sleep either.
I was terrified.
I laid there with my eyes so wide, as if blinking would make it all reality. Eventually, I glazed over and slept. I woke with a jolt and relived it all.
After a business meeting, I sat in the car with Dean and sobbed all over again. I couldn't shake it.
Then the questions. The same questions. The haunting questions that have no answers.
There have been so many times I have begged God to just shut my brain down for one day. To just not remember. For one day.
.........
We walked into a beautiful empty bathroom. Her shoulders went up. Total panic. She saw the hand dryer and the automatic flush on the toilet. She's sobbing. Everyone of us can feel all the things she's feeling. She really has to go. But she can't. I have learned all the tricks how to block the sensor from sensing movement so it doesn't flush. Everything was going perfectly...we are talking, singing, doing all the things to pull her into the present moment...when a stranger walks into the next stall. Panic. Tears. Freaking out, to try to get off the toilet in time...plugging ears, trying to stand up...and the toilet next stall over flushes.
She hasn't finished going potty. Now she can't. And won't be able to do for quite a while. We leave the bathroom with hand sanitizer in hand.
This was a good day. This was a good bathroom trip. This was day well-over-1000 of the same thing.
............
We are doing school. She's reading so well. Everything is going great. Until we look at the alphabet to practice. Eyes go wide, she tenses, I'm rubbing her back telling her how smart she is and how Mommy is not in a hurry..."I can't do it. I can't think of what these letters are called. I don't know. I don't know if I'll ever know."
...........
We are downtown. They are holding hands and giggling. It's so beautiful. Life is so beautiful. All of a sudden I sense something...shoulders hunch up, eyes lock on her face, it's panic. I get in front of her. "Look at Mommy. Can you tell me where we are? Who are we with...?" All of a sudden there's a jolt back to the present, eyes shift, the tear falls...and she answers. She's back. What did she see? Hear? Think...in that moment that took her from the present? Sometimes we can tell...other times, we don't know.
...........
We are at a playground. There's no older kids there, we sigh with relief. It's just a few toddlers. Not much older than babies. They don't yet talk, they are waddling around with Mama nearby. Everything is going so well. I'm standing by the slide, coaching every movement. "Yeah, so fun!" All of a sudden, she panics to get off the equipment, grabs my leg, she's stiff as a board. The toddler has walked towards her. She can't distinguish between a threat and a harmless toddler.
..............
He lays in bed. He's tired. He's too afraid to close his eyes. What if an image appears from the past that he still isn't ready to see? He determines to lay in such a way that he has full few of the room. The bed is awkwardly positioned so there are no blind spots. Full view of the window. The door. The closet. His mind is racing, he's trying to stop it. The more he tries...the more it's swirls. If only he would close his eyes and rest. Instead he waits until his eyes close on their own. He's so tired. But sleep is hard to come with your eyes open. Eventually, somehow...it's morning. Sometimes...he walks downstairs and asks to sleep on the floor beside our bed.
The answer is always yes.
................
She's standing at the fridge, there's lots of chatter. Someone snaps their fingers, she can see them snap, there's no surprise. Yet she jumps so dramatically and quickly places her hand over her chest to calm her pounding heart.
She's sitting on her bed. I lightly tap on her open door, "hey, can I come in?" She jumps a mile. As if I blew a horn...in the dark. She again holds her chest and tries to control her heartbeat.
She knows why...but she doesn't. "Why am I so jumpy? I hate this."
None of us would ever tap her on the shoulder, or alarm her in any way. She would fall apart.
...............
She stumbles out of bed. Her eyes fixed. We know what's coming. "There's something in my mouth..." she starts gagging. We take her in to the bathroom...we show her nothing is there. She starts scraping her tongue. We get her a cool cup of water to rinse with. Try to get her eyes to focus, "I just need it out of my mouth" she says.
This same exact story has repeated dozens of times.
Yet she has no memory. None.
Her heart does. And it's unlocking in the night...as the memories come back.
As she gets back into bed, we pray over her. We come and sit out on the couch and just sit. Together. Silent.
................
I texted Dean. He didn't reply. I hear a siren. Instantly I feel weak. My heart is pounding. I need to sit to catch my breath. My mind goes all the way there. I envision the entire scenario. The police coming to the door. The rest of my world crashing.
He texts me back. There's hardly been a delay...yet it was enough to pull me back into terror.
.................
We walk into Sunday School. She has talked excitedly the entire way there. She's ready. We walk into the class, her entire body language changes. She's stiff, she's locking eyes with me. The teacher is urging "you'll be fine, we'll have fun...come on in." The more you push, the more the panic takes over. We step out. I kneel down. Her eyes are dancing, wide but not tracking with me. "How about you come with us today?" I say, as if it's a new idea. She nods rapidly. She grips my hand as we explain that we'll try again next week. As we sit in church, I feel her lead on me and I can feel the sadness. She wants to go, but she can't. Not yet.
..................
Just a tiny glimpse into the life of survivors.
There is so much healing. So much beauty. And so much brokenness. Even if ... you spend a day...or a week with us...and we seem fine. There is so much pain.
I have been sent this link many, many times. And appropriately so. I do ask that you read it. Complex PTSD is ... quite honestly... a sad story. It's most often from profound childhood abuse. When development was still in progress...and deep, confusing, horrific pain was happening. It alters the brain.
This is another story of both-and.
Healing that has exceeded many professional's expectations and even dreams for our family. Yet lingering brokenness and pain...that you couldn't possibly be the one to remind us of. In other words...asking about it...does not cause us pain. In fact, most of the time...helps healing. Pretending it didn't happen...well...yeah. That's a whole new level of pain.
Every night ends with the same prayer over our children. "Tonight...please only give us good memories. Good thoughts. Good dreams. Save the bed memories for daytime..."
https://www.beautyafterbruises.org/what-is-cptsd
Hugs. So glad you're writing again. xo
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