Parenting is often a challenging endeavor. From early mornings and preparing meals for picky eaters to maintaining composure when Play-Doh inevitably finds its way onto the carpet for the millionth time, every day presents its own set of hurdles. However, when I embarked on my parenting journey, I was unprepared for the additional challenge of coping with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) — a battle I never anticipated to face.
Growing up, I experienced trauma that many would consider becoming increasingly common. My childhood was marked by distressing events, compounded by parents who were unable to provide the support I needed. At just ten years old, I found myself contemplating suicide for the first time, and shortly before my twelfth birthday, I began self-harming. The weight of my pain felt insurmountable, and at such a young age, I could not fathom the finality of taking my own life.
Support was simply not an option. Throughout my teenage years, I remained bewildered as traumatic memories replayed in my mind, and more distressing incidents continued to occur, even into my early twenties. When I became a mother for the second time, I made the tough choice to undergo a tubal ligation, mistakenly believing that my mental health struggles stemmed solely from postpartum depression and anxiety.
The two years following my youngest child’s birth were filled with turmoil. Medical professionals minimized my condition, dismissing me as “just” depressed — a grave understatement of my reality. My husband, overwhelmed by the dual responsibilities of caring for our two young daughters and my deteriorating mental state, began to distance himself from me. My increasingly erratic behavior reached a critical point on December 22, 2012, when a coworker discovered my written suicide plan for January 1. I was transported from work in an ambulance, and in a moment of desperation, I called my husband.
“They’re taking me away. I don’t know where I’m going,” I sobbed. His response was devastatingly cold: “Sara, I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. You’re on your own now. I have to take care of these girls. Good luck.” The line went silent. I felt abandoned.
That night, I didn’t go far. After hours of isolation in the hospital, I underwent a brief evaluation that deemed me a low threat, and I was released into my mother’s care until Christmas Eve, when my husband reluctantly allowed me to return home.
Even as I write this, I can feel the numbness and profound sorrow that enveloped me that day. PTSD doesn’t just manifest as flashbacks; it instills a crippling fear of life itself and can even rob you of joyful memories. Despite my love for my daughters, I struggled to connect with them — a battle I still face five years later. Occasionally, when they approach me for a hug, I instinctively pull away. At times, their affection triggers anger and withdrawal in me. I know on an intellectual level that they are my children, and I yearn for their love and success, yet deep down, my subconscious warns me of the pain associated with such desires.
I wish I could offer a solution to turn this cycle off, but if such a remedy exists, I have yet to discover it. After years of searching, I have learned that even when my mind forgets how to love or accept love, my heart holds onto that truth. On my good days, I can embrace the joy that family and relationships bring; on my bad days, I feel like a ship lost in tumultuous seas, an empty vessel at the brink of falling apart.
I don’t expect my struggle with PTSD to vanish completely. Instead, I look to the future with a mix of realism and hope. I envision my children graduating and the pride that will swell within me at their achievements. I see my husband evolving into a more confident version of himself, and I can feel the joy that will accompany his growth. I dream of grandchildren, flourishing daughters, and the sight of my husband’s silver hair against the backdrop of a sunset reflecting in his blue eyes. I remind myself that while today may be hard, tomorrow can bring better days. I am a living testament to that resilience.
For anyone navigating similar challenges, know that there are communities and resources available to support you. For those interested in exploring family planning options, you can find valuable information on artificial insemination kits or visit Johns Hopkins Fertility Center, a fantastic resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
Parenting with PTSD can be an overwhelming journey filled with both good and bad days. The struggle to connect with loved ones while managing the effects of trauma is complex, but hope and resilience are key to navigating this path.