Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) Support Group
Find support with others who have gone through a traumatic experience. Whether you have chronic or acute PTSD, we are here for you.
I was talking offline with a friend who is also recovering from PTSD today. Since I've been at DS PTSD it's helped so much with my recovery that nowadays I can listen and talk about the traumatic experiences we've all had without reliving them in flashbacks. I have a belief from my therapy work that "repetition brings mastery." To me that means that the first time I spoke an unspeakable bad thing that happened to me, I was so emotional I could barely say it. I relived the whole thing. But when I got back validation from people here, I could speak about it the next time with less fear. And then the time after that with less again. And so on. It's been great.
So I've spoken here over the years about having been sexually assaulted as a boy and being shamed about it by family as a man. About regularly being subjected to physical and verbal abuse in a home in which both mentally unstable parents attacked each other and their children. About how they escaped supervision by anyone and took us 8,000 miles away to live in 4 countries that were war zones and then really exposed us kids to getting PTSD through living through combat as civilian children. These things were hard to talk about, but because of the validation I found here I found my voice.
Today I found out, though, that I had never talked about one form of abuse, and that was force feeding at the table. When we lived in those different countries, as kids we were faced with new languages, customs, and foods. My parents expected us to adapt or else. If we didn't do that quickly enough and without question, my father would become enraged.
TW
When I was 5 years old in such an episode, he force fed me violently when I tried some food and didn't like it. By that I mean that he picked me up into the air by the throat like a rag doll from the kitchen table and forced food down my throat with his two fingers. I was suffocated by the grasp around my neck with the one hand, and gagged by the forced fingers and food down my throat with his other hand.
My PTSD recovery friend offline was describing their experience with forced feeding today and suddenly I found myself caught in a flashback in which I was feeling the whole episode all over. More than anything, oddly, I felt fear, but I also felt such sadness that the family table at my house was violated by such violence. It was impossible to eat in peace, to be at the table with loved ones safely. It was not allowed to have personal tastes, to pass on what didn't suit your particular taste buds, and to enjoy savoring what you did like.
So I knew what to do: bring it here, vent it, accept the validation of the DS PTSD group, and "repetition brings mastery" would happen again for this memory of mine, too. So thanks for letting me vent.
Has anyone else ever experienced abuse with food as part of what gave them PTSD?
So I've spoken here over the years about having been sexually assaulted as a boy and being shamed about it by family as a man. About regularly being subjected to physical and verbal abuse in a home in which both mentally unstable parents attacked each other and their children. About how they escaped supervision by anyone and took us 8,000 miles away to live in 4 countries that were war zones and then really exposed us kids to getting PTSD through living through combat as civilian children. These things were hard to talk about, but because of the validation I found here I found my voice.
Today I found out, though, that I had never talked about one form of abuse, and that was force feeding at the table. When we lived in those different countries, as kids we were faced with new languages, customs, and foods. My parents expected us to adapt or else. If we didn't do that quickly enough and without question, my father would become enraged.
TW
When I was 5 years old in such an episode, he force fed me violently when I tried some food and didn't like it. By that I mean that he picked me up into the air by the throat like a rag doll from the kitchen table and forced food down my throat with his two fingers. I was suffocated by the grasp around my neck with the one hand, and gagged by the forced fingers and food down my throat with his other hand.
My PTSD recovery friend offline was describing their experience with forced feeding today and suddenly I found myself caught in a flashback in which I was feeling the whole episode all over. More than anything, oddly, I felt fear, but I also felt such sadness that the family table at my house was violated by such violence. It was impossible to eat in peace, to be at the table with loved ones safely. It was not allowed to have personal tastes, to pass on what didn't suit your particular taste buds, and to enjoy savoring what you did like.
So I knew what to do: bring it here, vent it, accept the validation of the DS PTSD group, and "repetition brings mastery" would happen again for this memory of mine, too. So thanks for letting me vent.
Has anyone else ever experienced abuse with food as part of what gave them PTSD?
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Hey All...I hope that you have a lovely, peaceful beginning of your weekI have a bunch of chores that need doing but may put them off til tomorrow and just hang out with my landlord/roomie todayWhat about you?...Anything special going on?Have a great day and take good care of you!!..Xo
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Once again I've had a fever today. I'm not going to the hospital because that's a huge waste of time but I did schedule a dr appointment for Wednesday afternoon.
My mom would force me to sit at the table for hours if I didn't clean my plate. Cooked spinach and liver were two items I just would gag over. I enjoy raw spinach in a salad but am intolerant of it. Tummy does not like it. I never would eat liver.
Anyway mom would make me sit there for hours. I had never thought of it as abuse, but I'd call it that now.
I was always so full of anxiety as a child I did not have much of an appetite. Of course my mother (my abuser) would make comments on my poor eating habits over the years.
I just want to say you are safe now. It must have come as a bit if a shock to have this memory. Terrifying. You were only 5 and did not deserve or ask for any of that to happen.
Self care my friend, time for self care.
hug to you
Fortunately, my belief in the benefit of venting flashbacks here proved true again. I've seen it work for others here and it worked for me again. Repetition brings mastery little by little.
Saying it here this first time helped take the edge off and I went on to be functional at work yesterday without being too haunted by it. Coming back and talking about it again now, it's another step less radioactive yet again.
Wow, I love how this works.
When we misbehaved at the table our punishment was to have to eat under the table.
TW
When I was in grade school, for example, in the morning at breakfast I yawned at the table, and immediately he punched me in the mouth. Then after the meal he would make us stay at the table while he read bible verses to us. More like "at" us than really to us. I hated being forced to sit through his piety when he was the one who had just hit somebody minutes before. He really was crazy, my dad. One had to tread lightly....
In having this memory surface I've taken a look at my life now. I don't hate the bible, surprisingly; he didn't take any books away from me at all, as much as he misused them. But I do notice that even though I have a dining room table and matching chairs, a nice set, I never eat at the table. I'll take my meal to the sofa or anywhere else. Guess I just would rather avoid dining room tables now. I didn't realize that about myself.
Funny how when you live alone you develop these little avoidance behaviors as coping mechanisms, huh?