Hereditary Trauma, Not what I wanted to pass down.
What is the best trait you past down to your kids? My kids, well at least the two oldest, inherited my frugal ways. None of my kids got my (my mother’s) brown eyes. But I can tell you that my daughter got my short stature and a whole series worth of my trauma. I wish I could tell my story in order, but this one, this is the most important one. The one where I acknowledge that I GAVE MY DAUGHTER TRAUMA.
At First You Will Be Denied.
It was 2018 when my daughter, Alyssa, confronted me about the trauma she sustained when she was a child. I was a little shocked, but a little not. I knew that I wasn’t the best mom, but I was like there is no way you could have trauma. Your childhood was WAY better than my childhood. If I don’t have trauma, you don’t have trauma. She was very hard on me. She placed a lot of blame on me for the damage she sustained as she grew. I accepted some of the blame, but I didn’t acknowledge the trauma.
I Want You To Love Me
When Alyssa was little, we were very close. She was my sweet pea. I loved her so much. Alyssa was my only child for thirteen years. She did not like losing that title. Alyssa did not like becoming a big sister and having to share her mom. She started to pull away from me. By the time 2018 rolled around, we were not super close anymore, but I knew I wanted to work hard to show her that I loved her, and she meant the world to me. Even though I made mistakes when I was younger, I loved her the whole time.
So, THIS is What REAL Depression Is.
2018 was the start of a bunch of hard years for me. My dad died. The next year my mom died. 2020 came covid. I was plagued with work-place trauma. That is a whole blog on its own. For almost all of 2020, every single day, I just wanted to kill myself. I was experiencing workplace trauma that was causing my c-PTSD to go into hyper overdrive. I could hardly function. The years ticked by, and I got some medication and we fell into a rhythm and I became meh, okay. I no longer left the house, but at least I no longer fantasized about killing myself every single minute of every single day.
Somebody Save Me, I Think I am Dying.
After menopause and dealing with severe brain fog and falling into another giant hole of depression and then dealing with more issues at work that were triggering my workplace trauma. I finally went into REAL therapy. I had to. I felt my job was at risk. I was back to crying every day, wanting to die, losing random words out of nowhere. I had never talked to anyone about my childhood before. Whenever I chatted with a therapist it was about my current life. How I was a teen mom. I needed to get it all out.
I Never Saw It Coming.
When the therapist told me I had Depersonalization-derealization disorder it made sense. I thought that what I felt was normal, but I guess, flying through the sky, sitting in the corner watching yourself play or feeling almost drunk when you are completely sober and seeing things as cartoon when you were little was not normal. Not sure if it is still part of this or not, but a few weeks ago at a Brewer game I walked around a corner and looked someone in the eyes and said excuse me and then realized it was my reflection when I moved to the side and they followed me as I tried to let them pass. I was looking right at my face and didn’t even know it was me.
Late to the Trauma Party, But At Least I Brought Extra to Share.
When I finally got in to see my psychiatrist, she doubled my meds and diagnosed me with c-PDSD. I started researching it. I realized that I had remember pretty much everything that ever happened to me as a child, I just never put it into context. I kept the facts from the logic. My brain built up walls. I was 48 years old and never once told anyone I found bugs in my hair or that I had to wash with a special soap because I was so dirty. So much more to tell on another day. The doctor told me I HAD TRAUMA. WHAT?
Dealing With My Trauma and You Better Like It.
After learning about my diagnoses and putting together everything that happened to me as a kid and how my brain processed it, I wanted everybody to know that I was abused and neglected. I started telling everyone my story. I wanted everyone to know that I acted weird or cried or yelled for a reason. I am getting help, but there is a reason I couldn’t maintain that friendship. There is a reason I acted weird or didn’t say the right thing. I didn’t feel the right emotions. I wanted every single person that ever turned a blind eye to neglect to see what the end result can cause. YEARS of depression and anxiety.
Go Directly To Jail, Collect Your Trauma
Did you know that PTSD can be hereditary? I was sixteen when I had Alyssa. I brought her home into the same toxic household that I grew up in. My mom was even worse by this time. She was post-menopausal. Her bipolar one disorder was way worse. She was really bad in the wintertime. Better in the summer. At 20 months old, Alyssa stood at the top of the stairs and screamed at her grandma to stop hitting her mom as her grandma had her mom pinned down on the stairs grabbing ahold of her bangs and banging her over the head with a Tonka Truck. Trauma. My mother calling me a fucking bitch and us both screaming at each other at Red Lobster, and I walked out leaving Alyssa there with my sister. Later that night Alyssa sleepwalking to save the lobster in the yard. Trauma. Me,6-year-old Alyssa and my dad all upstairs trying to sleep as my mom has really loud sex on the couch. Trauma.
The Second Shoe Drops, I Accept My Part
But there are also all of the times I yelled at her. I screamed at her. That is how I was raised. I didn’t know any better. At least loved her and gave her everything. Too much. Ask her. She will tell you I gave her too much and now she is mad because she can’t have everything she wants, and she isn’t used to not getting everything she wants. But I had unknown trauma, and I gave it unknowingly to my beautiful, wonderful, loving daughter. She didn’t deserve it. I didn’t try. I did my best. I provided her with healthcare and clean clothes. What I didn’t give her was a mentally healthy mother.
Can I Help You Carry Some of That Trauma?
The minute I realized this, I called her and told her that I caused her trauma, and I accepted my responsibility for it. I can’t believe my daughter was strong enough to confront her trauma at such a young age. She is so much braver than I was. Now, I am fierce. I am a force. I can face any storm. I can handle any damage that comes my way. It will not cause me anymore trauma because I can handle it and I am strong enough that I will not be anybody’s victim ever again. It is crazy that once you have damage and trauma, that weakness makes you a target for others to prey on you because you can’t fight back. You don’t see you are being abused. That is why when you see something say something. That person can’t help themselves. Help them carry that trauma.
