Life after Trauma

A Glimmer of Hope - advice from my therapist

Be not afraid of growing slowly. Be afraid of only standing still.

Chinese proverb

Sunrise (alternatangle, flickr)

 

Two visits to my therapist

Last week my husband and I both went to see my therapist - on separate occasions. Partly, she doesn't do couples counselling, partly we wanted to talk to her separately anyway. My husband went first and two days later, I followed. My husband gave permission for my therapist to share whatever she thought was useful for me to know and she did. We talked for an hour about what my husband was feeling and then she gave me some advice. Now, my therapist is anything but directive, so when she talks, it's usually brief and to the point. "Why not," she suggested, "try and focus on the first part of what your husband's saying? Why not focus on the 'I was overwhelmed and stressed and I'm burned out,' part, not the 'and I might leave,' part?" Great advice. Easy to do?  Absolutely not!

I don't know about you, but for me, fear of abandonment is one of my HUGE triggers. It  hinges on so many other fears and is based not on things I think might happen, but on things that DID happen. I am afraid that I cannot keep myself safe because for many years, I couldn't. Bad things happened and I was powerless to stop them. From a rational/chronological point of view that was a long time ago. From the point of view of the part of my brain that stores trauma, it's still a present danger. "If you're alone," that part of my brain tells me, "you won't be safe."  Only it's more like that part of my brain, let's call it the non-verbal part of the brain, has flash-frozen the memories of my earlier traumas and since it is non-verbal, that part of my brain doesn't understand time and I can't "talk" to it rationally, so it doesn't realize that I'm safe now. That is one way to think about how trauma is stored in the brain. And looking at the process in this simple way, helps to explain why "just" focusing on the first part of my husband's message without paying attention to the abandonment part of the message, is about as easy as not noticing the grizzly bear sitting on your couch.  How am I doing? Even though it's been hard, I've taken my therapist's advice. The alternative was being so stressed out about the second half of the message: the "I might leave" part that I couldn't sleep, could barely eat, and was ready to leave myself, just to get away from the fear of abandonment.  

 

together but apart (.craig, flickr)

 

 So how are my husband and I doing? Well, we're still in the same house and we don't spend nearly as much time arguing. Maybe we aren't under the same umbrella yet, but at least we're on the same balcony. It's a start. Time will tell what the results will be. I'm proud of myself for being able to back off, give my husband more space, and - mostly - not bring up anything about the future. At times, I feel afraid and lonely and frustrated. However, as my therapist suggested, we can work on the fear together - she and I. A better idea than trying to work on it with my husband because fear of abandonment can quickly turn into anger - even rage - at the thought of being abandoned. 

I still have a lot to learn about fear and PTSD. Fear is one of the most persistent aspects of PTSD, particularly complex PTSD, which I have. I searched in vain for an article online that had what I was looking for on this topic. I did find one, however, that does a pretty good job of discussing fear and PTSD. Meanwhile, I see my therapist again next week and we'll talk more about fear and what I can do to learn better coping strategies. And, hopefully, I'll have more to share with all of you. In the meantime, I will definitely get to that series on silencing trauma survivors that I've been promising. 

 

Keeping vigil

A divorce is an amputation; you survive it, but there's less of you.

Margaret Atwood

Keeping vigil (flickr)

I've decided that I'm not going to bed tonight because earlier this evening my husband told me something devastating. I'd suspected much of what he was feeling, but he hadn't been able to say it- until tonight. 

Tonight, at about 7:30 p.m. I asked my husband if he thought he could talk more about what he's been feeling and thinking the past two months, when he's had little explanation for his stated decision to leave me. Okay, he said and I listened. I found it hard to believe that he was being so honest or actually felt this way and so I asked him to repeat it so that I could write it down and he did. In a nutshell, he said that "I am limiting my compassion [for you] to protect myself and to keep from being taken over by frightening, overwhelming, and unpleasant emotions. I want to distance myself and, in fact, I feel like you've been abusing me with your feelings." I was floored. Upon further, discussion, he also admitted that he "just didn't care" [about me] and that he had to protect himself. What could I say? I've spent time before urging him to go to counselling - which he is - and so far, there are few results that I like. Part of me realizes that, if he simply can't handle my PTSD, he has a right to leave. And part of me hurts like hell.

distress (AndreaLeev, flickr)

We have been married for 36 years and have an 18-year-old son who is still at home. My husband pulled away similarly before and blamed me for his own feelings of distress. I was weaker then and hadn't done the work that I've done now, so I fell for it and blamed myself too. I can't do that now. I cannot buy into his story of what's going on because it doesn't ring true for me. Right now, I think I'm in a blessed state of shock. Or, I think, it might even be a step in the right direction, as painful as it is, that he told me exactly what he's feeling and I didn't scream or cry or hit him or tell him to shut up. Meanwhile, he still insists that he's going to meet with my therapist on Wednesday. I can't imagine what can come from that. 

 Is my husband emotionally abusive? Probably in some ways. He's certainly an emotional phobic. Is there hope for change? Who knows. (I thought I would stay up all night, but this makes me so exhausted and sad, that I think I'll go to bed after all. I have sat here for about an hour with a candle lit and drinking some wine. It seemed like the occasion called for it.) I will try to write here as I can, not necessarily on what is happening with my husband and I. I was hoping to start a series on the importance of speaking out because I'm still editing that manuscript on Aushwitz which reminds me that things could be even worse - much, much worse. And we need people with the courage to speak out. I will be reviewing some books and sharing interviews and songs on that theme. And, when I am able, I will have updates on my own situation. 

I wanted to include the Lhasa de Sela song my husband's been listening to lately. Instead, I'll try to include on of hers that I love. Doesn't appear to be there, but I'll leave it anyway. 

 

 

 

 

Compassion fatigue, vicarious trauma, or burnout?

In dealing with those who are undergoing great suffering, if you feel "burnout" setting in . . . it is best for the sake of everyone, to withdraw and restore yourself. The point is to have a long-term perspective.

The Dalai Lama

 

fly away (Anders Adermark, flickr)

Caring for someone with PTSD can be exhausting and frustrating work. Even if the loved one who is caring for you during difficult times has good intentions, they're human. That means that they're vulnerable to compassion fatigue and burnout. That's what's happened to my husband. Sadly, the person with PTSD (aka me or you) may not realize how hard things are for our partner because we are fighting a tough battle ourselves. It may not be our job to care for the caregiver ourselves - indeed many times we are simply unable to. However, I wish now that I had pushed harder for my husband to find out more about PTSD and for us to go to counselling together, while he was still motivated. 

Effects of PTSD on Family

So what's going on? Does your partner have PTSD caregiver burnout or compassion fatigue? It makes a difference because someone with serious burnout may be at risk of leaving the relationship or behaving inappropriately with their loved one. Someone with compassion fatigue - depending upon whose definition you read - may just need a break or go into therapy to deal with these issues. (You'll also notice if you follow the links that these terms are used fairly interchangeably. Whatever term you use the real message is clear: GET SOME HELP!) Joining a support group would be great. Unfortunately, men may be less willing (at least my husband is) to talk to friends and others about how he's feeling. (On the very bright side, he is seeing a therapist.) As with most things, however, the first step is to get someone to recognize what's going on. Because of the anger that can be associated with compassion fatigue/vicarious trauma it may seem to make more sense to blame the person with PTSD and see the solution as "getting away" from them. In some cases, that may seem like the only choice, particularly if there is violence involved. Everyone has a right to keep themselves safe. However, for my husband and I separating would not only be very expensive (we live in Vancouver one of the world's most expensive cities), but ultimately might not solve the problem or, if it does, it would "solve" my husband's problem at the expense of myself and our family. I think that would be very sad for all of us.

What can you do about Compassion Fatigue (CF)?

The answer isn't easy and there's probably no quick fix. The start, as this article on Compassion Fatigue points out, is to recognize that you are experiencing CF or burnout or whatever term you choose to use. The next step, hopefully, would be to get help before it's too late. When I say you here, I mean the caregiver and not the person with PTSD. They are the top priority when it comes to burnout and compassion fatigue. However, couples counselling around the issue of PTSD can be a great choice that helps both partners at the same time. 

Here's an upbeat video about a serious topic.

 

Dr. Frank Ocberg talks about how he sees the difference between compassion fatigue and burnout. He thinks that someone with compassion fatigue is just exhausted. Someone with burnout, in his opinion, needs to either find another profession or take a break. Easier said than done, when your partner is the issue. Time will tell with my husband. I remain as hopeful as I can, but some days it's pretty tough and also difficult not to be angry. All I can do, however, is try each day. I plan to read Susan Johnson's book, Emotionally Focused Couples Therapy with Trauma Survivors, if I can get my hands on a copy. 

Resilience (eatswords, flickr)

 

Flowers well take root in the tiniest amount of soil. I've seen it in the mountains and in the North. Sometimes, they seem to be growing right out of the rock. So, right now, there doesn't seem very much in my marriage to grow hope in, but I haven't given up yet. 

Some final words:

Some things can only happen through time. They only happen - time carries them.

(M.C. Richards) 

PTSD and relationships - when your significant other can't live with your PTSD

More marriages might survive if the partners realized that sometimes the better comes after the worse.

Doug Larson 

Newly weds (m.a.x., flickr)

I've been missing for a while because I've been going through a major crisis. My husband told me in August, and has since stuck to his position, that he wants to leave me mostly because of my PTSD and partly for other reasons that he, so far, hasn't been able to articulate in a way I can (or want to hear). I didn't see this coming - but who does. I had been doing progressively better during the past year. It's not just me who says that, my therapist and doctor had both been telling me the same thing. Then, what I thought was a successful trip to visit my parents turned into a nightmare (at least for me).  My husband seemed to be taking things in stride at my parents, even when there was tension or grumpy/confused parents. He and our son spent time with his relatives for a few days and that seemed to go well too. We'd been home for about two weeks when my husband dropped the D-bomb.

 

peach pie (annieseats, flickr)

 

It all started innocently enough - as many things do - with a piece of peach pie. I had planned a mini "staycation" for us in Vancouver at a fancy downtown hotel. I thought we should get away together, since we hadn't done that during the summer. We stopped at our favorite bookstore on the way and then I suggested that we have some pie at Aphrodite's (ah, the irony) the organic restaurant across the street from the bookstore. The plan was to share a piece of pumpkin pie; however when we got there, I discovered that they had fresh peach pie. It was peach season and I love peach pie, but only when it's made from fresh, local peaches. So, I decided to order an entire piece of pie for myself and my husband wouldn't order anything. He had been cutting back on his eating - a clue that I missed, I realize now. (A clue of his plans to be single again.) I got annoyed, then angry because we were spending one night on our "mini-vacation" and that didn't seem to be the time to be so inflexible about eating. Besides, he seemed like he was annoyed himself, even pouting, that I'd dared to change my plan over the pumpkin pie.

Things were no better at the fancy hotel. I'd booked us into a boutique hotel in downtown Vancouver, on a quiet sidestreet. Since we live here, I knew the neighborhood and was looking forward to a luxurious night alone. I'd even bought a new nightgown for the occasion and wore my favorite purple top with some linen pants. (My version of dressing up.) At the hotel, I was still mad about the pie, not so much that the pie itself was such a huge thing, but because my husband was hardly behaving as if he was looking forward to spending time alone. Which, under the circumstances, he undoubtedly wasn't. Sadly, I had no idea what was on his mind, so as he continued to be withdrawn and disagreeable, I said, "I really don't know why we stay together." I didn't mean it literally and it was probably a foolish thing to say. He rose to the bait, however, and told me that he agreed and he'd been thinking about that lately. I was shocked. My husband is one of those people keeps things to himself and rarely tells people what he's thinking, until his mind is made up. I was shocked. For the third time in our marriage, my husband had unilaterally decided he wanted to leave without talking to me about it. PTSD, and other factors, were involved in each decision. 

We spent a dreadful and expensive night at that lovely boutique hotel. I didn't want to eat for a long time, then we ordered room service and watched the rest of a pretty good movie and my husband seemed to back away some from the divorce scenario. Or at least, I convinced myself of that. A sort of tentative peace was made - for another week or two. Then we went into counseling and all hell broke loose. (more on that later.) 

For now, I'll leave you with a few thoughts on PTSD and relationships and a small glimmer of hope for myself and my husband.

Below, are links to several articles I found on that ring true for me and my husband.

 Effect of PTSD on a person's life

PTSD and relationships

 

clinging to hope (flickr creative commons)

 

Somedays I have no hope; somedays I cling to the smallest sliver of hope, just like a butterfly or bee clings to a flower. In about 9 days, my husband has agreed to see my therapist who is willing to answer any questions he has about PTSD and her professional opinion about my prognosis. It may help - or it may not. But it's a start.

Meanwhile, I'll try to keep writing here. It's very painful and personal and I'm not sure how often I can do it, but I can't let my husband silence me through his threats to leave and his disapproval of a condition that I neither chose nor caused.