If I defend myself, I become the problem.
I know Mother’s Day can be really complicated for a lot of people with Cptsd, and tonight has been a buildup of a lot of shit for me. So I guess I just wanted to reach out instead of isolating. This will probably be a long post.
There was an incident recently where police had to do a forced entry and sweep of my apartment because they had reason to believe an intruder may have been inside. Nobody was there, but the entire situation completely shattered whatever emotional repression/survival mode I’d apparently been running on since I could even think.
I realized the depression and anxiety I had been focusing on might actually be something much deeper. I found this subreddit and honestly cried from relief because I finally found language that described what has happened to me and what continues to happen. I finally went to a therapist trained in trauma, and he diagnosed me with PTSD and said there was also a likelihood of BPD. I honestly think he’s probably right, because this has felt like one of the worst emotional spirals/episodes of my life.
Since then I’ve barely been sleeping, barely eating, constantly hypervigilant, and realizing that a lot of things I normalized growing up were things a child should have never had to feel. I keep remembering horrible things I buried over and over again, except now I’m processing them with the understanding that they were actually wrong.
To put another cherry on top, the people I considered my “support system” have mostly disappeared once I finally started being honest about how bad things have gotten.
What’s weird is that I’m still “functional.” I still go to work, and honestly, I’m damn good at it. People probably still see me as high-functioning. And part of me is proud of that, because I have survived a lot.
But I’m realizing hyperfunctionality is still a trauma response. It just looks more acceptable from the outside.
Tonight during Mother’s Day dinner especially hurt because my grandfather prepared us beforehand that my grandmother’s dementia has been progressing aggressively. She can no longer walk, and he warned us she might not recognize us anymore.
The entire dinner I was silently crying and wiping away tears because I feel stretched so thin that I can’t bury things anymore. I was having a panic attack while everyone casually talked about the night with the cops. I was already emotionally spiraling before I even got there because I had to see my exhausted grandfather trying his best to care for his wife, while also realizing I barely recognize my grandmother anymore either.
Then my mom’s mood suddenly shifted into that feeling where you can tell you’ve done something “wrong” and are about to be punished, but nobody will tell you what it is yet.
Before leaving, I hugged my grandmother goodbye, and I could feel that she didn’t really know it was me. Her hugs didn’t even feel the same anymore. She still hugged me because she realized everyone else was hugging each other, and she’s kind like that. Her house used to be the only place I felt safe away from everything else.
Then immediately afterward I was met by my silently angry, crying mother glaring at me. I was so exhausted by everything compounding that I finally said, “If you can’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m not going to dwell on it.”
My brother and dad reacted like I was the irrational one.
Long story short, my mom didn’t hear me say “Happy Mother’s Day” and “thank you for the meal,” even though I genuinely know I did. A pattern too easily recognizable now. I have failed these invisible emotional tests and been made to feel ungrateful, no matter how careful and perfect I try to be.
A few other things were exchanged, but the overall message felt familiar: once again I was expected to emotionally absorb everything while nobody notices the cost to me.
I ended up yelling “fuck y’all” “fuck all of y’all” on the way to my car. After years of being the calm, emotionally contained person, I hate that I got to that point. I don’t want to be cruel or angry.
But I think part of me is finally realizing I’m allowed to admit I’ve been hurt. I won't whimper when treated like a bitch anymore; I’m learning to bite.
And I think that’s the part that’s hard to explain to people sometimes. Trauma isn’t always one giant catastrophic event. Sometimes it’s years of emotional tension, hypervigilance, guilt, walking on eggshells, feeling like you constantly have to manage everyone else’s emotions correctly enough to avoid conflict.
Minimizing your own pain so much that eventually, even you stop believing it mattered.
I don’t really know what I’m looking for by posting this. Maybe community. Maybe wanting to feel less alone tonight.
If Mother’s Day is difficult or emotionally confusing for you too, you’re definitely not the only one