I Was Diagnosed with Complex PTSD and I'm a Better Mom For It

Five years ago, I was diagnosed with Complex PTSD. To oversimplify this complicated diagnosis for the purposes of this post, the easiest way to describe it is this - PTSD, which people often associate with war veterans, is the trauma that occurs after a major event and/or sustained over a specific period of time. Complex PTSD or Developmental Trauma Disorder occurs over an extended period of time, especially during a person’s early childhood and adolescent years. This includes children of divorce and those who have a history of abandonment.

I had a complicated upbringing. My parents weren’t around. I was raised by someone who suffers from narcissistic personality disorder. I started working at the age of 4. For much of my early life, I had to fake happiness and content and I was good at it. But by the age of 14, I was severely depressed with no help, no therapy, and no friends that I felt comfortable confiding in. And no one knew. I was the high school president, had a loving boyfriend, an ‘A’ student… like I said, I was good at faking a lot of things. Eventually, I grew into something of a self-sufficient adult (after years of acting out in college and for a few years following), but I was putting on a lot of makeup to cover up some serious issues that eventually exploded in my face. I couldn’t stop the panic attacks. Horrible debilitating and embarrassing attacks that only my partners (and some family) have ever witnessed. The kind that would make me feel so small and scared that I would be thrown right back into the depths of my own personal battlefield. And it wasn’t that long ago that I was dealing with these attacks monthly. Sometimes triggered by the most mundane of things. They were hard on me but almost more so, they were hard on my husband who just didn’t understand why they were happening. I’m reminded of my own attacks anytime Mia has a tantrum over something so simple. I might not understand exactly what she’s freaking about but… I am patient, as my husband has been with me, and I have tools that I learned work on me - I hug her tight and slowly count down from 10, just as my husband has had to do for me in the throws of an attack… a tight squeeze, naming objects in the room, deep breaths, distraction. The attack and the tantrum are so similar. The reason for the attack doesn’t matter… it just a total and sudden loss of control and it happens so fast, it’s overwhelming. I imagine that’s what a tantrum must feel like for her.

Me @ halloween. Age 3.

I’m a good mom because I really know what it feels like to be a kid. At times, it’s like I’m stuck there (even if I don’t seem it). I said to my brother the other day that I don’t ever doubt myself as a mom. I do the exact opposite of how I was raised. I show up everyday. I am here for my daughter emotionally. I love her without expectation. I haven’t run away. I feed her vegetables. I give her a routine but let her lead the day. I give her the opportunity to feel independent, even though she’s just a tiny tot. I gave her her own room right away. I let her try things early. I let her fall and don’t overreact. I protect her but don’t coddle her. I give her space and I let her know when I need mine. I don’t like to let myself feel guilty. I’ve done enough of that in my life. Now, I am just living day to day and I’ve never been happier or more grateful. And just because I’m finally happy doesn’t mean I’m not exhausted (trust me I really fucking am and don’t know a single parent that isn’t) but finally, my exhaustion feels worthwhile, - no longer deep and dark.

Be kind to yourself.

With love,

Christianne

insta: @milowekids