You Need to be Mentally Stronger
and Other Unhelpful Advice for PTSD After Emotional Abuse
Yesterday, I found myself in uncharted waters, and I’m still not sure if I sank or swam.
For context, I have been involved in a lengthy legal issue that has been dragging on for nearly a year. At various times in this legal journey, I have been told things like, “We’ll get this settled quickly,” and “Don’t worry about a thing.” “Trust me, everything will be okay.”
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but telling someone with PTSD not to worry is like telling them they don’t need to breathe. It goes against every instinct because, after enduring toxic levels of stress, our minds are rewired to worry constantly. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is basically an official term for “constantly worried at all times.” I don’t know how not to worry, and while I recognize that sometimes I worry too much, I also acknowledge that some of my anxious patterns were created because of the stressful events I have lived through. People with PTSD live with toxic levels of stress in the aftermath of their trauma. There is enough of the stress hormone cortisol that if you spread it between several people, it would still be considered a toxic level of stress.
In addition to enough stress to kill you, people with PTSD have had their nervous system literally rewire itself to avoid any danger, even semi-associated with their trauma.
At the time of writing this, around four different court appearances were canceled at the last minute. I have tried and failed to express how unsettling it is for my nervous system to be in a state of constant limbo. It takes me, the daughter of a judge, a lot to work up the nerve for a court appearance.
However, today, I feel like I may have really messed up, and, for lack of a better word, I was berated by a person in a position of power for not having known better and told that I needed to be “mentally stronger.”
One of the things that my abuser used to do was shift the blame onto me. In this instance, I was already beyond triggered, and while my abuser was not the person berating me, the result was the same: shame felt in every fiber of my being.
I’m ashamed that I didn’t stand up for myself for a multitude of reasons.
I’m ashamed that my deeply rooted “freeze” conditioning took over. I didn’t do a thing to defend myself. I just went silent and tried to make myself small while I was given a verbal dressing down.
I’m ashamed that a large piece of me still believes that I deserve to be spoken to like that.
I’m ashamed that I played right into a familiar pattern of manipulation, and I’m deeply ashamed that after all this work, I still wasn’t “mentally strong enough.”
I felt like a naughty schoolchild being sent to the corner with a dunce hat on after several heightened, stressful days. To give myself credit, I was navigating a new and complex situation, not completely sure how to move forward, feeling about as wobbly as a newborn giraffe. Also, to be fair, I am entirely positive that the person who berated me does not have PTSD or any basic grasp of how to interact professionally with someone who does. This got me thinking: how can I explain what it feels like to have PTSD in a way that someone who doesn’t know how devastating the effects of having PTSD from emotional abuse can be?
The answer lies in Pennywise from Stephen King’s IT.
Pennywise is a fear eater who feeds on his prey's fears. The more scared his victims are, the more powerful he becomes. Pennywise has the uncanny ability to infiltrate his victims' lives and bring their worst fears to life. They can’t tell the difference between Pennywise's imagery and their reality when under his attack. Notably, the scene where Beverly is standing in a blood-spattered bathroom, and her father, an active source of terror in her life, doesn’t see a thing. The confusion is clear on Beverly’s face as she watches blood drip from every surface and wonders how her father is acting so normally. How is he not seeing the horror she is currently existing in?
That’s a lot like what having PTSD is like. It’s being trapped in your worst-case scenarios with no reprieve, and no one else is experiencing your own personal hell, even when they are in the same room.
My PTSD is tied directly to my abuser and the constant chaos he created in my life. Throughout some of the most tumultuous periods of my life, I was hardwired to create a sense of calm and to diffuse any situation that may escalate before more trauma could be added, or worse, blame me for it. Any circumstances that involve my abuser fill me with a similar sense of fear that Pennywise feeds off of.
It’s a pure, primal fear, and much like the children attempting to survive Pennywise in IT, there are times when you know it’s not real, but it doesn’t stop the terror. Those of us who live with PTSD are forced to see the things that terrify us the most, whether or not they seem rational to another person. Telling someone with PTSD that they need to be mentally stronger is terrible advice.
I was emotionally abused. My sense of self was completely eroded. It’s easy for me to believe the harsh words people have said to me because I already believe them about myself. Hearing that I need to be mentally stronger only confirms my deeply rooted belief that I am weak.
I am very familiar with my shortcomings. It’s much easier for me to believe negative thoughts about me than positive ones. I wish I could have been more assertive, but my work to rebuild my self-worth proves that I am not weak. I fight a daily battle in my head against the voices of my past telling me I am not worthy and work to calm the constant sense of dread I carry on my shoulders.
You can’t fix PTSD with a positive mindset. If it were that easy, I can almost guarantee that every person with PTSD would decide to be better. Those of us with PTSD prove our strength daily just by surviving with nervous systems that cannot tell the difference between past and present trauma.
I stand as a testament to my strength because every step of this legal journey has pushed the limits of my mental strength, constantly forcing me to find new ways to face the challenges ahead. I am anything besides weak, but being told I should be mentally stronger made me feel that way.
The person who said those words have no idea the amount of strength it takes for people who have PTSD to face their day, but I do, and if you’ve read this far, I want to tell you how proud of you I am. They may not understand the way it feels to have your body locked up in panic or the shaking tremors that come with being forced to face your fears, but I do.
This shit is not for the faint of heart, and if you know what this feels like… well… Welcome to the losers club.
