When Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Brought Healing

Saying the words "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" was something I associated with war veterans, not a simple girl like me. When my counselor proclaimed this was going on inside me, a flash of light brought focus to my decades-long struggle. Naming something can be almost as important as the cure. At least now my enemy was identified, and I wasn't crazy. This was the first step to a new life.

I've been familiar with triggers for many years. As a sufferer of migraine headaches, I know most of the triggers that cause my head to pound at the left temple. These headaches have ruled my life for many years, sending me to bed in a dark room, and to the hospital for morphine.

I now understand the kind of triggers that thrust long-buried memories into focus. In the spring of 2004, I was a normal wife and mother on the surface. By the fall, I was wearing a monitor that recorded the activity of my racing heart. An incident I witnessed sent me into a frenzy that triggered my past to scroll through my mind in blinding clarity. Unable to handle the fallout, I crammed all my feelings and emotions back where they came from. Thus, the heart monitor.

I didn't even connect the two issues so how could I expect anyone else to recognize what was happening. No one but my family knew the details and I got to the place where I thought I'd conquered. I tucked away all those ugly memories, tidied myself and everything around me. Whew, that was a close one. I was back in control now, except I wasn't. I was never in control, but fooled myself into thinking life was good.

Then came the spiral. D o w n w a r d. Because my family didn't respond in a way my heart needed, I built walls so I wouldn't be hurt. Ever. Again. One year became ten and I was isolated and miserable. After years of keeping my past at bay, I was crumbling inside. I felt like a pot on the stove, lid rocking from the intense heat, contents spilling over the sides. Making the call for an appointment to begin therapy was one of the most difficult things I'd ever done, but that call in March of 2013 probably saved my life. Week after week I spewed the contents of my heart, the damage to my soul and body, the rejections that controlled my life.

Not completely healed, the next trigger sent me over the edge. Trigger number two was a rejection I still don't talk about in public, but it was the final blow.

Through time, I began counseling with someone new, due to my original counselor moving to a different part of the state. After two or three visits she said I suffered from PTSD. God provided exactly who I needed all along my journey to healing. Charles, my first counselor, was kind and compassionate and listened with godly love and biblical truth. He focused on my worth in Christ, and simply acknowledged the horrible things I experienced without turning away from my pain. I was finally heard. He gave me the freedom to use my voice, one I'd suppressed all my life.

Theresa entered my life at a critical point. Because I hadn't fully healed, I was losing ground I thought was conquered. We spent many hours in intense therapy. My husband and I had been separated for some time when he joined me in November of 2016. Theresa led us down the necessary path of painful recovery. She taught me how to name the trauma in the presence of the one who loved me. She explained the way the brain works and what happened to me as a result of my childhood experiences. She united the physical and spiritual aspects of my body that eventually led to wholeness.

Learning how PTSD works made sense and gave me closure. Now I could tie up the loose ends of confusion and self-hate. Suffering without a diagnosis was like having migraines, yet calling them headaches. Over-the-counter meds didn't touch the pain of a migraine. But, oh the relief when the right medicine was prescribed.

And that's what happened when she named my illness. Relief. Blessed relief. The Bible says in John 8:32,  "Then you will know the truth and the truth will set you free." And it's true. The truth of who I am in Christ has given me hope and abundant life. My marriage was restored, and the future looks promising. It was worth all the pain to get to this place.

If you suffer in a similar way, help is available. You don't have to live another day in darkness. Talk to someone who will listen, really listen. Don't succumb to the darkness. The light is shining on the other side of your pain.

My Father's Day Tribute

A father is supposed to be the first boy a girl loves. And mine was.

A father is supposed to protect and love with abandon. Mine did. And then he didn't.

I've spent many years focused on the "didn't" part. Choosing to forgive and focus on the "did" has changed my life.

I choose to remember my dad as kind and caring, because he was. I choose to remember that when he had to make a choice late in life, he chose me. He. Chose. Me.

I choose to remember how funny he was and didn't even know it.

I choose to remember how he taught me to ride a bicycle and drive a car, or actually a truck, since that's what he drove. He taught me how to love someone who is dying. He taught me the meaning of perseverance when faced with a choice of giving up. He taught me the importance of life-long friendships.

I choose to be thankful he took me to church every time the doors were open. Because of his, and my mother's faithfulness, I gave my heart to Jesus at the age of five.

I choose to remember our long talks on the back porch as he prepared to die.

I choose to remember his face as he breathed his last breath. If that's the face of looking at Jesus on the other side of eternity, then I want to follow him.

Thank you, my precious dad, for allowing me to find you again.