I hit my husband the other night.
I went to bed before he did, and he stayed on the couch cuddling our sleeping son while watching Marvel's Daredevil on Netflix.
When he did finally come in to bed, I was out cold, dreaming. I felt him settle in and put our son between us, and I put my hand on his chest and drifted back to sleep. When I came to, I realized I'd just hit him, and we laughed it off. Now it's been a few days and I've been thinking about that a lot.
I guess right now is a good time to add in some back story. I am the oldest of four kids. I grew up in Pennsylvania. My parents were abusive- mostly my dad and sometimes my mom. They hit us, manipulated us, and so much else. That's an entire story for another time, but anyway, the important thing is that I'm finally realizing that maybe I have PTSD from growing up in that mess. I've known for sometime that it's had a profound impact on me, but I never thought it went as far as PTSD.
So here I am, 26 years old, with a son of my own, and I still dream about my dad hurting the people I care about most. Nowadays it's my son he hurts in my dreams, while I try to fight him off. I've been dreaming things like this ever since I can remember- before I had my son, it was my brothers and sister my dad would hurt. And the other night, I dreamed he was taking my son from me, and I hit my husband in reality, because in my dream, I was fighting for my son's life.
In this blog, there's a lot I want to cover, and not all of it easy or even comfortable to read, but I hope you all will stick with me. Sometimes the things that most need to be examined are the ones we would rather never discuss, and I hope to use this space to, as the title suggests, connect how happenings in my life have influenced who I am and how I live now.
I went to bed before he did, and he stayed on the couch cuddling our sleeping son while watching Marvel's Daredevil on Netflix.
When he did finally come in to bed, I was out cold, dreaming. I felt him settle in and put our son between us, and I put my hand on his chest and drifted back to sleep. When I came to, I realized I'd just hit him, and we laughed it off. Now it's been a few days and I've been thinking about that a lot.
I guess right now is a good time to add in some back story. I am the oldest of four kids. I grew up in Pennsylvania. My parents were abusive- mostly my dad and sometimes my mom. They hit us, manipulated us, and so much else. That's an entire story for another time, but anyway, the important thing is that I'm finally realizing that maybe I have PTSD from growing up in that mess. I've known for sometime that it's had a profound impact on me, but I never thought it went as far as PTSD.
So here I am, 26 years old, with a son of my own, and I still dream about my dad hurting the people I care about most. Nowadays it's my son he hurts in my dreams, while I try to fight him off. I've been dreaming things like this ever since I can remember- before I had my son, it was my brothers and sister my dad would hurt. And the other night, I dreamed he was taking my son from me, and I hit my husband in reality, because in my dream, I was fighting for my son's life.
In this blog, there's a lot I want to cover, and not all of it easy or even comfortable to read, but I hope you all will stick with me. Sometimes the things that most need to be examined are the ones we would rather never discuss, and I hope to use this space to, as the title suggests, connect how happenings in my life have influenced who I am and how I live now.
