I love my family, I do. My husband is nothing short of exactly what I need in my life as a partner, lover and father to our children. I love my life, I’m my own boss, I work along side my husband at the store and I’m an active Parent Council mom at my kids school. From the outside, I have an almost perfect life.
I don’t take any of this for granted, and I realize how fortunate I am every single day. But, there’s this confusing dark cloud that looms over my head almost daily. I’m consistently in this fog that I cannot seem to eliminate, understand or even begin to decipher the root cause.
For 7 years I’ve been the rock at home. I’ve kept up with the activities our 4 children are involved in, groceries, drives to and from school, sports, and attended every single event at school. I’ve always been the one in charge through no fault of my husbands, but the army is what it is. Now that he’s released, his therapy sessions for PTSD are finished, he’s found medication that works for him, I feel somehow more broken than before. Counting back all the way to the mental health ultimatum I presented him with, and going forward to our time in couples counselling, I remained about HIM. My focus, heart and soul was to make sure that HE was happy, feeling safe and secure. Ensuring our children never felt the brunt of any depression, fit of frustration, or dysfunctional headspace and timing. I shielded them, while lightly explaining that PTSD is exactly what it stands for, a disorder. Disordered thinking, feeling, speaking, sleeping, eating, and more.
But. Now, the kids have gone on to have their own therapy sessions to work out their “Daddy feelings”, my husband is flourishing in a new business that he’s put his heart and soul into, school has started again. Yet I’m still the one, I clean, I cook, I shop, I plan, I organize. I keep the home fires burning though he’s not gone anywhere aside from work of course.
Who took care of me?
Who helped me navigate PTSD, the process or the aftermath?
Who wiped my tears at the end of yet another dreadful day.
No one bent over backwards to ensure I was looked after mentally, spiritually, emotionally. I now understand where my mother in law gets her fierce love for herself. No one will, and waiting around for people to pick up clues, is fruitless.
This funk I’m in, has become comfortable for me. It’s familiar, warm, and it almost seems to have me addicted.
We all think of the member, their struggles and what they’ve gone through. We all think of the children, their feelings, fears and future and pray that what they’ve gone through doesn’t shape them in a negative way and panic about whether they’ve developed PTSD or a likeness because of their lives. There are resources for both of these groups that are heavily advertised and promoted
What about us, the ones left behind.
Who’s got our “six”