It’s 7:30 PM—also known as bath time, bed time, the witching hour. My daughter races around the house, fueled by sugar and the exuberance of “I’m not tired” energy. My partner, Mark, is hot on her heels, reminding her it’s time to head to the bathroom.
But, like any spirited four-year-old, she ignores him. She continues her joyful chaos, giggling and shrieking until Mark reaches his limit.
“Ella,” he calls out, “bathroom. Now.” After a couple of reluctant whimpers, she responds with a cheerful “okay.” But while their little showdown comes to a close, my internal struggle is just beginning. I find myself sweating, trembling, and gasping for air.
This is my reality as one of the five million Americans grappling with PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder. One of my key triggers? Yelling. Raised voices send me spiraling.
When people think of PTSD, they often envision soldiers and the horrors of war. However, according to the United States Department of Veteran Affairs, PTSD can arise from various life-threatening experiences, including combat, natural disasters, car accidents, or sexual assault. My own trauma stems from the latter—years of abuse that have shaped my existence.
As a child, I faced verbal abuse. My mother’s ridicule made me feel inadequate. In my teenage years, a trusted friend turned boyfriend sexually assaulted me. My adulthood has seen its share of violence: I’ve been beaten, shoved, and choked. While many things can set me off—bath time, criticism—nothing rattles me quite like yelling.
When voices rise, my body goes into a state of hyper-alertness. My hands and legs shake, my heart races to a point where I fear it might burst. I feel the instinct to escape. I search for exits, yearning for a way out. This heightened state of anxiety lingers for minutes, hours, or what seems like an eternity.
Before I embraced motherhood, managing my triggers was somewhat easier. I could avoid situations or distract myself by going for runs or talking to friends. But now? I’m faced with my triggers head-on; parenting itself is a trigger.
My own child, Ella, who I love dearly, becomes a source of anxiety. I harbor no resentment toward Mark or her; it’s simply the reality I navigate. What amplifies my struggle is my own voice. There are moments when I lose my temper and raise my voice, and those instances are particularly painful. Not only do they trigger my PTSD, but they also fill me with guilt—guilt for potentially being a bad person, a bad parent, a verbally abusive mother.
I fully recognize the difference between my behavior and my mother’s. I strive to ensure Ella never endures the same pain I experienced. I fight daily to be the parent she deserves. Healing is a gradual journey, and I’m learning to cope with my past, even if it remains a part of me. My triggers will always linger, but I’m committed to healing—albeit slowly—with therapy and unwavering determination. Today, I choose to confront my challenges instead of running away.
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In summary, while parenthood presents unique challenges for those of us with PTSD, it also provides an opportunity for growth and healing. By confronting my past and striving for better, I hope to create a nurturing environment for my daughter.
Keyphrase: How Parenthood Influences My PTSD
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