How to Live With Grief-Induced PTSD After Child Loss
It's not easy. These tips can help.
Professionals in the mental health field tell me that grief-induced post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is common in parents who have lost a child. When paired with the typical “am I losing my mind” feelings often associated with grief, lemme tell you, throwing PTSD symptoms on the pile is the gift combo that keeps on giving. It’s the worst part of grief for me — besides the obvious, of course. If it’s stressing you out too, you aren’t alone. You aren’t weird for the things you feel.
One reason people don’t talk about this aspect of grief is because PTSD is heavily stigmatized. (Surprise! Just like everything else surrounding mental health). I suppose I shouldn’t go public with my complex PTSD (CPTSD) diagnosis in case it waves off future work opportunities but, to be honest, if a potential client is bothered by my insomnia and heightened startle reflex then we aren’t a good fit for each other anyway.
For me, the most exhausting aspect of PTSD is being overly anxious that I’ll lose another child. I know there’s no logical reason to worry to a larger degree than I did before Christopher died, but my brain thinks otherwise. It admonishes me when I don’t pick up their call on the first ring (what if I never get another chance to talk to him?), when I think about the pandemic (what if they get sick?), or when I ponder our futures (what if…?) My brain dreams up those kinds of dangers all the time and nags me about them constantly. 1
But I don’t just worry about things that could happen to me, I also worry about things that happen at me. Suicide is the punch line to all kinds of jokes and a common trope in movies and TV shows. People spell out various acts of suicide to punctuate conversations about things they don’t like (“if I have to sit through one more meeting, I’ll…). Hell, even the wording that describes how Christopher took his life is so common that I’m guaranteed to hear it in other contexts at least a couple times a day. Every day.
These are unintentional references, I realize. No one is singling me out or doing anything to me personally. Nevertheless, they land like slaps so I’m constantly braced for one. I’m developing callouses to make them sting less, but it’s taking forever and they won’t protect me from everything.
Sometimes the vigilance2 gives way to the frustration of being constantly exhausted because I can never let my guard down. Activities I used to take for granted give me the jitters these days.
Casually flip open my Twitter feed? Nope. Too many opportunities for memes and images to sneak up on me.
Scan news headlines? NO. Too many media outlets ignore AP guidelines or just lack basic human decency and get too descriptive with their headlines.
I’ve already mentioned in other newsletters that TV and movies are absolute landmines. Books aren’t much better.
You’d think a suicide loss support group for grieving parents would be the last bastion of safety, right? Ha ha ha no. I was in an online group where someone added an astonishingly detailed description of their child’s manner of death to an otherwise innocuous post about, like, baseball cards or something. I checked out of that group pretty quickly.
I must reiterate, I’m not blaming anyone for my guardedness and I don’t expect linguists to invent a whole new language to protect me from words. On the other hand, I’m not apologizing for how I feel because I’m doing my best to manage this aspect of my PTSD. I work on it continually with my grief counselor, between the two of us, we’ve come up with some ways to maneuver through situations that make me want to run away screaming.
Get yourself some noise-cancelling headphones or earbuds. Earbuds are perfect for my infrequent post-quarantine outings because they block out overhead music in stores and discourage idle small talk from others. The former keeps me from being ambushed by songs that remind me of Christopher and the latter keeps me away from chit-chat with strangers that somehow always leads conversations to places I don’t want to go. I’ve got some big-ass headphones as well, which are great for keeping my attention focused at home while I work. In fact, I have them on now. Headphones and earbuds with noise-cancelling used to be prohibitively expensive but now everyone the feature so they’re much more affordable.
Stockpile canned responses. Sometimes I can’t get away from small talk or topics I'd rather avoid without seeming rude, so I’ve rehearsed some responses to common situations that make me want to flee. I realize that’s not exactly ground-breaking advice, so consider it more of a reminder that it’s okay to have boundaries and not get pulled into conversations that make you uncomfortable. “How many kids do you have?” is the biggie for me, but I also get a lot of mileage out of my response to “beautiful tattoo, what’s it mean?” (Honestly? I usually use a little white lie with strangers.)
Enlist help. I occasionally recruit someone I trust to run interference for me if I think an upcoming situation might be overwhelming. My husband and I have a standing code word for “oh my god help” but I’ve also asked close friends to stand by for extrication duty when he’s not around. I’ve even gone so far as to arrange for someone to be intercepted before they could corner me and ask a lot of questions. (People’s nosiness overrides common decency more often than you’d think.)
Try pre-emptive avoidance. Sometimes I get lucky and spot potential landmines before I step on them. For instance, in the pre-pandemic era ten thousand years ago I was invited to participate in an escape room with a group of people I adored. Normally I love escape rooms but sometimes they involve frightening scenarios to amp up the urgency to solve the mystery. There was no way in hell I was risking being locked in a room without knowing what I’d see so I declined to participate. I hated missing the fun but if the room had scares in it, it would literally have become an escape room as I clawed through the walls to get out.
Practice saying no. I’ve never been one to shy away from standing my ground, but grief turned that dial up to 56. I will always, always be nice to people but I will not participate in discussions or activities because of peer pressure or the social conditioning that goes with being a woman in today’s culture. When all else fails, “thank you, no” is a complete sentence that I don’t mind saying over and over again with a smile until my point is made.
Learn a long-term strategy. The previous tips are great for social situations, but what about dealing with PTSD when you’re alone or when it strikes on a random Tuesday while gassing up your car? My grief counselor has been teaching me the eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) technique, which is a series of eye blinks and finger tapping designed to derail anxiety attacks. I probably look ridiculous doing it, but it helps. Anyway, if EMDR is good enough for Prince Harry, it’s good enough for me.
Visualization techniques, relaxation methods, and other forms of self-soothing are also great options for many people so play around to figure out what works for you. And don’t hesitate to get professional help if you need it – hypnosis, therapy, support groups, meditation, whatever it takes.
I understand it’s difficult to admit the social struggles that come with PTSD or even just deep grief, but pretending it’s not happening won’t make it go away. I’m sorry.
I also know that wayyyyyy too many vilomahs don’t get the support they need from the people closest to them, which makes dealing with PTSD that much harder to bear. I’m sorry for that too. If it helps, know that this random internet stranger is your corner.
I realize talking about my hyper-awareness probably makes me sound like a delicate daisy but actually the reverse is true. I may worry a lot more than I used to but very few things legitimately scare me these. I’ll always be terrified of heights, but there’s not a whole lot else left for me to fear when the worst has already happened. I guess that’s the upside to all this?
A piece of my heart attached itself to each of my children when they were born and Christopher took his allotment with him when he died. It’s not coming back, and neither is he. In that sense, the trauma continues for me and makes me wonder about the “post” aspect of post-traumatic stress disorder. Since I’m still in the thick of it, does that make it TSD?
Here are some PTSD resources from the American Psychiatric Association in case you want to learn more.
News & Notes
No news clips this week. I keep a running list of articles to include in this section but as I began to go through them individually for this edition I realized it was too much for me to take in right now. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, grief-wise, and I don’t want to make things worse, ya know?
But! I do have a follow-up note to something I mentioned a few weeks back. I’m creating additional content and opening a private commenting section of The Vilomah Project newsletter that will only be available by subscription. It’s where we’ll talk about subjects like the nuances of child loss for divorced parents, grief anger, and other sensitive issues with some modicum of privacy. Stay tuned.
Thanks for reading this edition of The Vilomah Project newsletter. Please share it to help grieving parents find and support each other. Subscribers are always welcome.
Until next week,
Be well.
Lisa
Interestingly, I don’t worry about losing anyone else I care about. I mean, I don’t want anyone else to die, of course. But I also don’t get all worked up if anyone else in my life drives in a rainstorm or doesn’t immediately call when they’re running late. Only when it’s my kids.
Part of learning EMDR involves thinking about your trauma, so I highly recommend you explore this technique with a professional instead of DIYing it alone. Trust me.
Thanks for this.💛