Last Time with the PTSD Specialist

Today I met with the psychologist for the last time. He said a lot of nice things, and told me I was handling my son’s violence correctly, too. Which was good validation that I did not know I needed until I heard it. I felt as if I had taken all his practical advice, and had learned what he had to teach, and that if I waited any longer to switch back to my talk therapy, that it would just be a delay tactic.

I have to talk about my life to get better. In coherent large pieces, not jokes and short references. I have to remember it, relive it, and go through it again, in order to rob the memories of their untouchable, powerful status in my brain.

My life is not extraordinary. I don’t hint around and give bits and pieces because I am building up to anything. I do that because I have PTSD, and I do not want to remember.

I have to. I am going to force it. Because if I wait until I am ready, it will be too long, with too much time wasted reacting to a past that should be behind me, and not in the forefront of my brain. I don’t want to be emotional about things that are not actually related to the past. Triggers are a huge hindrance to parenting.

The more progress I make, the healthier I will be to deal with the trauma when he (our abuser) finds us. I don’t want to be paralyzed by fear. If he is coming, he is coming prepared. I have to be ready. I have to be thinking clearly, not seeing myself trapped and powerless, held hostage again, as in my nightmares.

Today one of the caregivers at the daycare brought in her wedding dress. She is marrying in two weeks. Marriage is not attractive to me, so when I got over my shock (I really like her), I told her I only received one piece of advice at my wedding. At any of my weddings. I told her she should never follow it, as it is the worst advice to give a bride.

¨Keep what happens between you and your husband between you and your husband.¨

My son was listening. He is five. He says ¨Because your husband, I mean, my daddy, he attacked you, that is why this is not good advice, right?¨

I tell him ¨Yes, because if you are not safe, you have to tell someone about it, don’t you?¨ He says yes and turns back to picking out his lollipop, which is an involved Friday ritual.

My son can talk about it. He has PTSD, too. It has taken him a long time to get to this point. I should be able to reach it, and I have to show him we can heal.


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