u/Choice_Ad7133

I’ve never fully written this story out before.

I’ve talked about it with therapists, family members, pastors, and a few close friends, but I’ve never sat down and explained everything from beginning to end. Maybe because part of me still feels like I’m that little kid standing on the side of the road trying to understand why everybody was screaming.

I’m posting this here because I’ve seen other people share childhood trauma stories and somehow it makes me feel less alone. Maybe somebody out there understands what it’s like to remember something from such a young age and still feel it in your chest years later.

This is all based on a true story.

I’m the second child in my family. My older brother is severely autistic and non-verbal. He’s older than me by a few years. Growing up, he needed constant supervision and care. Even back then, when we were little, everybody always watched over him carefully because he couldn’t really communicate or explain when something was wrong.

When this happened, I was either 2 or 3 years old. I can’t remember the exact age because memories from that time are blurry and strange, like flashes of a nightmare mixed with random details your brain refuses to let go of.

But some parts are burned into me permanently.

My mom was driving her car that day, and one of my aunts was with her. I don’t remember where we were coming from. I don’t even remember where we were going. I just remember being in the back seat with my brother.

I remember it was daytime.

I remember trees.

I remember hearing adults talking.

And then I remember the feeling.

Something suddenly felt wrong.

Even as a toddler, I could tell the car was moving too fast.

The best way I can describe it is that the entire car started feeling “out of control.” The movement changed. The sound changed. My mom and aunt’s voices changed. You know how adults usually try not to panic around kids? That disappeared instantly.

I remember hearing yelling.

Then swerving.

Then the loudest sounds I’ve ever heard in my life.

Metal screaming.

Glass breaking.

Branches snapping.

The car went off the road and into the woods.

People think car crashes are just one impact, but sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes it’s like being trapped inside a giant washing machine made of metal. The car kept hitting things. Trees were getting knocked down. Everything was violent and spinning and loud.

I remember being thrown around.

I remember dirt.

Leaves.

Broken glass.

I remember my brother making noises I had never heard before.

And then suddenly…

Silence.

Not complete silence. More like that weird muffled silence after something catastrophic happens. The car had stopped moving.

I don’t know how long I sat there.

Seconds maybe.

But I remember realizing something terrifying:

My mom and aunt were gone.

Me and my brother were the only ones still inside the car.

To this day I still don’t know if they had been thrown out during the crash or crawled out themselves. I only know they weren’t in there anymore.

And somehow…

I wasn’t hurt.

Not seriously anyway.

No broken bones.

No major injuries.

Nothing that should’ve made sense considering how bad the wreck was.

I remember looking at my brother, trying to figure out if he was okay. Since he was autistic and non-verbal, he couldn’t exactly tell me. I just remember feeling confused and scared.

Then survival instincts kicked in, even though I was barely old enough to form sentences.

I crawled out of the wrecked car.

I still remember how the ground felt under my hands.

Cold dirt.

Leaves.

Broken pieces everywhere.

When I got outside, that’s when everything became horrifyingly real.

I saw my mother injured and bloody.

I saw my aunt injured too.

Adults were screaming.

People were walking and running around.

And then I looked up toward the road.

I remember seeing an ambulance.

Flashing lights.

A crowd of people.

Some people were helping.

Some people were just standing there.

And yes, I remember people recording.

Even back then.

That part bothers me more now. Imagine seeing a destroyed car deep in the woods with injured people and deciding your first instinct is to film it.

But I was too young to fully understand any of that.

I just remember hearing my mom calling for me.

She was yelling my name.

I could hear panic in her voice.

But for some reason I didn’t go to her.

And this is one of the hardest parts for me emotionally.

Instead of running toward my injured mother, I walked away.

Or crawled at first.

Then walked.

I walked toward the road.

I think my brain just wanted safety. I think I was in shock.

I eventually got up onto the road and saw my grandmother there.

I still don’t know who called her or how she got there so fast. Maybe somebody contacted her immediately after the crash.

I just remember seeing her and feeling like everything would somehow be okay.

I think I hugged her.

That memory is blurry, but I remember her crying.

Then I remember being put into an ambulance even though I wasn’t injured.

I remember EMTs checking me over.

I remember adults asking me questions I didn’t understand.

I remember hearing words like “miracle.”

I remember hearing that we should’ve died.

Apparently the crash was bad enough that people genuinely believed nobody would survive it.

The older I got, the more details I learned.

The car was mangled and damaged badly.

Trees had literally been knocked down.

People were shocked me and my brother survived.

Especially with almost no injuries.

My mom and aunt were hurt pretty badly, but they survived too.

And before anybody asks:

Yes, my brother survived.

Thank God he did.

I honestly believe God protected us that day.

I know some people don’t believe in God and I respect that, but after everything I’ve survived in life, I personally can’t ignore moments like this.

There’s no reason that crash should’ve ended the way it did.

No reason.

I should not have crawled out of that wreck untouched.

My brother should not have survived.

But we did.

And I give glory to God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit for that every single day.

The thing about trauma though is that surviving something isn’t the same as escaping it.

Because even though my body survived, part of my mind stayed in that wreck.

I developed PTSD from it.

For years I didn’t even realize that’s what it was.

I thought I was just “sensitive” or “paranoid.”

But certain sounds would trigger me instantly.

Tires screeching.

Metal crashing.

Cars swerving suddenly.

Even riding in vehicles sometimes made me anxious.

I’ve had nightmares about being trapped.

Nightmares about woods.

Nightmares about hearing my mother screaming for me again.

And trauma doesn’t usually come alone.

Life after that wasn’t exactly easy either.

I’ve gone through a lot over the years.

Loss.

Fear.

Pain.

Mental struggles.

Moments where I felt abandoned.

Moments where I felt angry at the world.

Moments where I asked God “why?”

I still struggle sometimes even now.

PTSD is weird because people think you “get over it” eventually, but sometimes your brain keeps replaying things whether you want it to or not.

Sometimes I’ll randomly remember tiny details that make no sense.

The smell of dirt.

The color of the ambulance lights.

The sound of adults yelling.

The feeling of climbing out of the car.

And sometimes the memories hit so hard it feels like I’m right back there.

But despite all that, I’m still here.

And honestly?

I shouldn’t be.

There have been multiple moments throughout my life where I truly believe God protected me.

Not because I’m special or perfect. Far from it.

But because He wasn’t done with me yet.

My faith became one of the only things keeping me grounded during certain periods of my life. Even when I was angry. Even when I doubted. Even when I felt broken.

I still believe Jesus carried me through things that would’ve destroyed me otherwise.

And I know some people reading this might roll their eyes at that part, but that’s okay. I’m just telling my truth.

One thing trauma taught me is that life can change in seconds.

You can be sitting in a car one moment and crawling out of wreckage the next.

You can hear your mother laughing one minute and screaming your name the next.

Nothing is guaranteed.

So if you have people you love, please appreciate them while you can.

And if you’re somebody dealing with PTSD or childhood trauma, I want you to know you’re not weak for still being affected by things that happened years ago.

Especially if those things happened when you were little.

Childhood trauma changes the way your brain develops. It changes your sense of safety. Sometimes it changes who you are completely.

But surviving it also means something.

You made it.

Somehow, through all the pain and confusion and fear, you’re still here.

And for what it’s worth, I’m grateful I’m still here too.

Even on the hard days.

Especially on the hard days.

Thank you for reading.

I’ve never fully written this story out before.

I’ve talked about it with therapists, family members, pastors, and a few close friends, but I’ve never sat down and explained everything from beginning to end. Maybe because part of me still feels like I’m that little kid standing on the side of the road trying to understand why everybody was screaming.

I’m posting this here because I’ve seen other people share childhood trauma stories and somehow it makes me feel less alone. Maybe somebody out there understands what it’s like to remember something from such a young age and still feel it in your chest years later.

This is all based on a true story.

I’m the second child in my family. My older brother is severely autistic and non-verbal. He’s older than me by a few years. Growing up, he needed constant supervision and care. Even back then, when we were little, everybody always watched over him carefully because he couldn’t really communicate or explain when something was wrong.

When this happened, I was either 2 or 3 years old. I can’t remember the exact age because memories from that time are blurry and strange, like flashes of a nightmare mixed with random details your brain refuses to let go of.

But some parts are burned into me permanently.

My mom was driving her car that day, and one of my aunts was with her. I don’t remember where we were coming from. I don’t even remember where we were going. I just remember being in the back seat with my brother.

I remember it was daytime.

I remember trees.

I remember hearing adults talking.

And then I remember the feeling.

Something suddenly felt wrong.

Even as a toddler, I could tell the car was moving too fast.

The best way I can describe it is that the entire car started feeling “out of control.” The movement changed. The sound changed. My mom and aunt’s voices changed. You know how adults usually try not to panic around kids? That disappeared instantly.

I remember hearing yelling.

Then swerving.

Then the loudest sounds I’ve ever heard in my life.

Metal screaming.

Glass breaking.

Branches snapping.

The car went off the road and into the woods.

People think car crashes are just one impact, but sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes it’s like being trapped inside a giant washing machine made of metal. The car kept hitting things. Trees were getting knocked down. Everything was violent and spinning and loud.

I remember being thrown around.

I remember dirt.

Leaves.

Broken glass.

I remember my brother making noises I had never heard before.

And then suddenly…

Silence.

Not complete silence. More like that weird muffled silence after something catastrophic happens. The car had stopped moving.

I don’t know how long I sat there.

Seconds maybe.

But I remember realizing something terrifying:

My mom and aunt were gone.

Me and my brother were the only ones still inside the car.

To this day I still don’t know if they had been thrown out during the crash or crawled out themselves. I only know they weren’t in there anymore.

And somehow…

I wasn’t hurt.

Not seriously anyway.

No broken bones.

No major injuries.

Nothing that should’ve made sense considering how bad the wreck was.

I remember looking at my brother, trying to figure out if he was okay. Since he was autistic and non-verbal, he couldn’t exactly tell me. I just remember feeling confused and scared.

Then survival instincts kicked in, even though I was barely old enough to form sentences.

I crawled out of the wrecked car.

I still remember how the ground felt under my hands.

Cold dirt.

Leaves.

Broken pieces everywhere.

When I got outside, that’s when everything became horrifyingly real.

I saw my mother injured and bloody.

I saw my aunt injured too.

Adults were screaming.

People were walking and running around.

And then I looked up toward the road.

I remember seeing an ambulance.

Flashing lights.

A crowd of people.

Some people were helping.

Some people were just standing there.

And yes, I remember people recording.

Even back then.

That part bothers me more now. Imagine seeing a destroyed car deep in the woods with injured people and deciding your first instinct is to film it.

But I was too young to fully understand any of that.

I just remember hearing my mom calling for me.

She was yelling my name.

I could hear panic in her voice.

But for some reason I didn’t go to her.

And this is one of the hardest parts for me emotionally.

Instead of running toward my injured mother, I walked away.

Or crawled at first.

Then walked.

I walked toward the road.

I think my brain just wanted safety. I think I was in shock.

I eventually got up onto the road and saw my grandmother there.

I still don’t know who called her or how she got there so fast. Maybe somebody contacted her immediately after the crash.

I just remember seeing her and feeling like everything would somehow be okay.

I think I hugged her.

That memory is blurry, but I remember her crying.

Then I remember being put into an ambulance even though I wasn’t injured.

I remember EMTs checking me over.

I remember adults asking me questions I didn’t understand.

I remember hearing words like “miracle.”

I remember hearing that we should’ve died.

Apparently the crash was bad enough that people genuinely believed nobody would survive it.

The older I got, the more details I learned.

The car was mangled and damaged badly.

Trees had literally been knocked down.

People were shocked me and my brother survived.

Especially with almost no injuries.

My mom and aunt were hurt pretty badly, but they survived too.

And before anybody asks:

Yes, my brother survived.

Thank God he did.

I honestly believe God protected us that day.

I know some people don’t believe in God and I respect that, but after everything I’ve survived in life, I personally can’t ignore moments like this.

There’s no reason that crash should’ve ended the way it did.

No reason.

I should not have crawled out of that wreck untouched.

My brother should not have survived.

But we did.

And I give glory to God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit for that every single day.

The thing about trauma though is that surviving something isn’t the same as escaping it.

Because even though my body survived, part of my mind stayed in that wreck.

I developed PTSD from it.

For years I didn’t even realize that’s what it was.

I thought I was just “sensitive” or “paranoid.”

But certain sounds would trigger me instantly.

Tires screeching.

Metal crashing.

Cars swerving suddenly.

Even riding in vehicles sometimes made me anxious.

I’ve had nightmares about being trapped.

Nightmares about woods.

Nightmares about hearing my mother screaming for me again.

And trauma doesn’t usually come alone.

Life after that wasn’t exactly easy either.

I’ve gone through a lot over the years.

Loss.

Fear.

Pain.

Mental struggles.

Moments where I felt abandoned.

Moments where I felt angry at the world.

Moments where I asked God “why?”

I still struggle sometimes even now.

PTSD is weird because people think you “get over it” eventually, but sometimes your brain keeps replaying things whether you want it to or not.

Sometimes I’ll randomly remember tiny details that make no sense.

The smell of dirt.

The color of the ambulance lights.

The sound of adults yelling.

The feeling of climbing out of the car.

And sometimes the memories hit so hard it feels like I’m right back there.

But despite all that, I’m still here.

And honestly?

I shouldn’t be.

There have been multiple moments throughout my life where I truly believe God protected me.

Not because I’m special or perfect. Far from it.

But because He wasn’t done with me yet.

My faith became one of the only things keeping me grounded during certain periods of my life. Even when I was angry. Even when I doubted. Even when I felt broken.

I still believe Jesus carried me through things that would’ve destroyed me otherwise.

And I know some people reading this might roll their eyes at that part, but that’s okay. I’m just telling my truth.

One thing trauma taught me is that life can change in seconds.

You can be sitting in a car one moment and crawling out of wreckage the next.

You can hear your mother laughing one minute and screaming your name the next.

Nothing is guaranteed.

So if you have people you love, please appreciate them while you can.

And if you’re somebody dealing with PTSD or childhood trauma, I want you to know you’re not weak for still being affected by things that happened years ago.

Especially if those things happened when you were little.

Childhood trauma changes the way your brain develops. It changes your sense of safety. Sometimes it changes who you are completely.

But surviving it also means something.

You made it.

Somehow, through all the pain and confusion and fear, you’re still here.

And for what it’s worth, I’m grateful I’m still here too.

Even on the hard days.

Especially on the hard days.

Thank you for reading.