They don’t tell you that even when you live together, being on opposite schedules—going to school, raising little ones, managing life—means you may not actually see much of your favorite person.
Adulting is a lot of work. Parenting is a lot of work. And sometimes you have to do the work even when you don’t feel like it.
Sean thinks so differently than I do. In many ways that’s a good thing because I’m grateful he hasn’t experienced the same trauma I have. But sometimes those differences can also be frustrating.
PTSD stinks. Truly.
You do the work. You learn how to stand on your own two feet again. You build a steady job and a healthy relationship. You think you’re finally okay… and then WHAM. PTSD hits you upside the head and knocks you down again. Suddenly everything feels hard all over.
Depression whispers lies that make you feel less than. It makes it hard to get out of bed. Hard to find motivation for even the simplest tasks.
And we’re all living in this strange post-pandemic world that changed the way we do everything.
Then there’s the guilt—feeling like you should be happy, like everything in your life looks good on paper, yet inside you’re still struggling.
It stinks.
But I haven’t been walking through it alone. I’ve been managing with the help of trusted people and a lot of faith in God. Recently, I realized I couldn’t process it all by myself anymore, so I started therapy again—with the same counselor who helped me through the darkest season before. She already knows my defense mechanisms.
Only two sessions in and it completely wrecked me.
In one session I finally put a name to something I hadn’t been able to explain: the deep sense of loss I was carrying after everything that happened. Even when life was going well, I was subconsciously preparing for it all to be ripped away again.
After that session, I had to do the hard and exhausting work of sitting with those emotions instead of running from them.
Now that I’ve sat with them, felt them fiercely, and given them space to breathe, I can begin the even harder work of changing my thoughts.
So here’s to not being okay—but being in a better place than I was yesterday.
Here’s to giving myself grace when my traumatized self hurts the people I love.
I may have broken pieces, but I’m doing the hard work of letting Jesus patch me back together in ways only He can.
Fearless at Heart 