Operation Caffeination

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Here Comes The Sun

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A friend of mine recently shared the story of her recovery from PPD on her blog, over here. It was an inspiring post that helped me process a few more threads of my own recovery from PTSD triggered by birth trauma, and when I am helped by something I like to try to pass it on.

I don’t have anything eloquent or insightful to share, really. PTSD stole my son’s babyhood from me, put my marriage through the wringer and left me feeling untrustworthy, unlovable and completely alone. At the worst point, I thought that PTSD was going to ruin my life.

This is the only picture I have of myself from this phase of my life, and sadly it’s one of the few pictures I have of Darren at this age as well. I was simply not well enough to take photos. I almost deleted this one when I first came across it, because the image is blurry and I look like crap. It was only on my second glance that I realized the significance of this picture. The world outside was watching the Olympics in Beijing, reeling its way through a global financial crisis and electing Barak Obama to be the first non-white President of the United States. I missed it all, too numb to engage in anything outside my own head and too crushed to care about the life I was missing.

Healing came to me slowly, and sometimes in unexpected ways; it came to me through friends, through strangers, through family members and eventually, when I was ready, through medical professionals.

Sometimes it came to me in a trickle, in the form of lunch dates, quick hugs, and once, a mystery check in the mail that reminded me that not all surprises are sinister. Sometimes help came in torrents, in the form of therapy sessions and reprioritizing and cutting out the harmful elements of my life to make room for healthier things to grow.

Sometimes I didn’t feel like getting better, and that was okay; I needed the rest. Sometimes I pushed myself too hard to recover too quickly and collapsed under the pressure. That was okay, too. I needed to learn my limitations, get a handle on where my strengths and weaknesses lay and reconnect with that quiet inner voice that knew that I had it in me all along.

I guess all I really have to say is this: help may take time to find you, and recovery may be slow…but it gets better, and it is worth the wait.

“Healing takes courage, and we all have courage, even if we have to dig a little to find it.” –Tori Amos


Written by GRSeim

September 6, 2011 at 5:22 am

One Response

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  1. […] Finally, after Darren’s birth and my collapse, we moved our family into my old bedroom at my parent’s dilapidated house behind the 7-11. Jon walked an hour each way to work each day while I remained stranded in the house with my son, alone, until my parents came home from work each night. There was no bus, no library, no park, no friends, nothing but me, my son, and whatever alcohol I could get my hands on. It was, without a doubt, the darkest point of my life. […]

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