The Buzz About PTSD

Last March, The Huffington Post published an article I wrote titled “Please Stop Saying You Have PTSD”. It’s one of my favorite articles I’ve ever written, but sadly the editors at the website chose not to feature it like they had with other articles I’ve contributed, thereby limiting the readership to my circle of influence. Fortunately, it had an impact on my loyal readers and I received more feedback from them about that article than any of the dozen or so others I’ve ever written.

Within the last few weeks, I was reminded twice why I really wished The Huffington Post had promoted my article.

The piece was about my growing concern that PTSD was becoming a buzzword. Assuming, or perhaps hoping, the intention was to be sarcastic or snarky, on social media some were suggesting they had experienced PTSD after the 2016 presidential election and during the last few minutes of the Super Bowl (if you recall that game between the New England Patriots and the Atlanta Falcons was a nail biter). One person put out a piece through a major publication about how her corporate job gave her PTSD, even going so far as to include “PTSD” in the title but failing to use a single word to describe anything related to PTSD. For people like me who’ve moved through their symptoms and are now living happy lives, the evolution of the disorder into a buzzword still stung a little. I can only imagine what it feels like for someone who is currently in the darkest of places.

I’m no Elizabeth Gilbert or Brené Brown, so I didn’t expect my point to reach the masses even if The Huffington Post had featured my article, but I’m bummed to see that PTSD’s buzzwordiness is growing.

Earlier this month the media released pictures of President Donald Trump, House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi and Senator Chuck Schumer sitting together in the oval office allegedly working out a budget deal that apparently leaned a little left than right. House Republicans got wind of the meeting and probably felt clever when they told each other “PTSD is bad”, meaning a “Pelosi, Trump, Schumer Deal is bad”. They did get one thing right….PTSD is bad.

Then this morning I opened up my email and saw my daily Google alerts for post-traumatic stress disorder. I opted in to get these so that I’d have access to the latest breakthroughs and news about PTSD so I can share with my followers on social media. One headline from a blogger indicated that serving on the PTA at her child’s school gave her PTSD. I'm not a parent, but I can totally respect that raising children is difficult and that drama tends to exist between parents who have opposing views on what’s best for their kids, but I couldn’t even bring myself to click on the link and read that article. Unless the unthinkable happened at a PTA meeting, perhaps a shooting or a sexual assault or a tornado ripping off the roof, I’m not buying it.

For those of you who get what I'm saying, you can probably stop reading at this point. But for those of you who don’t understand what the big deal is, please keep reading. When someone overdramatizes their stress and labels it PTSD without having been diagnosed by a mental health professional or without truly knowing what the disorder is all about, you disappoint someone who’s really suffering. And I’m sorry to tell you this but you can’t use the excuse that people are too sensitive….because part of the problem is that one of the symptoms of PTSD is oversensitivity.

I’ve been in stressful jobs. I was stressed after the election. Being a New York Giants fan, meaning a fan that really would never root for the New England Patriots, the last half of the Super Bowl was stressful to watch. As much as stress sucks, can’t you appreciate that stress is nothing like having PTSD? Can we all agree that PTSD and every other mental disorder, or even disorders in general no matter their origin, should never be a buzzword?

The Ripple Effect

At any moment, or perhaps at every moment, we have a choice, and our choices can start a ripple to create either positive or negative change.

A few weeks ago, Mike and I went to Cliff’s for ice cream. For those of you who are not familiar with western Morris County in New Jersey, Cliff’s is an institution. They make their own ice cream and on most summer evenings there's easily dozens of people waiting to order. It’s absolutely worth the wait.

It was spur of the moment, and we decided we’d take my car and Mike would drive. When we pulled up, we saw the place was packed. It had rained really hard a few hours before, and a stretch of parking was flooded, which made it seem even busier with not as much parking available. We circled around a little before we found an angled parking spot by the picnic tables in the back of the property.

Before continuing, I should mention that Mike is a car fanatic. Wherever we go, he tends to park his car as far away from others in order to avoid dings from opening doors, shopping carts and whatever else that may come from people being careless. He has said that he generally hates parking lots, but he also hates valet, so unless he’s willing to stay home all the time (which thankfully he’s not), he deals with it.

I should also mention that I really love my car. It’s a 2011 Subaru Legacy. I bought it used from a dealership because it was only a little over a year old and it had low milage. It has climbed steep hills in the snow to get me home safely. It has provided me tremendous savings because it’s so fuel efficient. It also has cool upgrades that the first owner installed, such as nicer floor mats and puddle lights under the doors so I don’t get my feet wet when stepping out. It’s closing in on 100,000 miles, it has a few minor scratches and it’s approaching some sort of major repair that Mike has warned me about, though I couldn’t tell you what it is. Regardless, I love my car and I’m bummed that likely in a few years I’ll need to replace it.

Mike tucked the car deep into the angled parking spot at Cliff’s and skirted it away from the car next to us. There was a tree on the other side, so no car could park next to it. Another one of Mike’s strategies—find an end spot and park as close to the edge to avoid any possible contact with the car next to it.

We walked up to the front of Cliff’s and found the shortest line in front of the eight windows that each had a teenager taking orders. These kids knew how to hustle, because we only needed to wait about five minutes before we had ice cream in hand and smiles on our faces. Since all of the benches and picnic tables were wet, we decided we’d enjoy our ice cream in my car….even though that generally goes against Mike’s rule of eating in the car, but perhaps since it was my car and not his, it was okay.

It was about 9:00pm when we finished. The gentleman that Mike is, he took my cup and left to go toss our garbage. Just then, I remembered a cute picture of my cat Gizmo that I wanted to post on Instagram. I pulled out my phone and tapped on the app just as Mike was getting back into the car. He started the car and I was in mid-post when we heard a loud BANG and I felt myself jostling forward. Of course, I screamed.

Because I was so engrossed into my post, I didn’t know what happened at first. Then I realized we weren’t moving. Then the dreaded realization that my beloved car was hit. I didn’t want to know the damage.

Just as I got out, I saw the black car that hit my back bumper pulling away. “HEY!” I yelled in my female warrior voice, which tends to come out in heightened situations and which was nearly followed by my newfound female warrior body, which felt ready to leap onto the car to stop it from leaving the scene. “Get back here! You just hit my car!!”

A tiny voice squeaked from the driver’s side window, “I know! I’m so sorry! I’m just going to park.” She pulled ahead into her space.

The voice sounded young. I noticed the Kyleigh’s Law sticker on the license plate. For those of you who aren’t familiar, it’s a small bright orange/pink sticker that’s placed in the upper left corner of the license plate and it indicates a new driver. This law came to be when a young girl named Kyleigh, who lived just a few towns away, was killed in a late night car accident where she was the passenger in a car with unexperienced drivers. Just after I noticed the sticker a young girl timidly got out of the car along with her equally timid friend. The driver nervously approached me.

“I’m so sorry!” she said. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. What information do I give you?”

Mike was already shining a light from his phone onto my bumper. Amazingly, there was no obvious dents, cracks or scratches. He felt along the bumper. “There’s no damage,” he confirmed.

“I’m really sorry,” the girl kept repeating.

Immediately, the warrior in me calmed down. Thankful that no one was hurt, neither car was damaged and the girl was apologetic, this is roughly the conversation that followed.

“You’re a new driver?” I asked.

“Yes, I just got my license a few months ago,” she replied.

“It’s ok. I’m sorry I yelled at you before,” I said. “I thought you were leaving. The good news is we’re all ok and the cars are ok. Next time just be a little more careful.”

“I will,” she assured me. “Again, I’m really sorry.”

We helped her back out of the parking space and she slowly rolled out of the parking lot.

Just as I was getting back into the car, a voice came from the car next to me.

“She was probably texting,” an older man said to me through his rolled down window, his wife watching from the passenger seat.

That made me pause. “Did you see her texting?” I asked.

“No, but you know at that age….” he reasoned.

Now I found myself advocating for this teenager, who was out with a friend getting ice cream at 9:00pm on a Saturday. There’s so much worse she could have been doing.

“You don’t know that. She merely backed up into my car,” I sternly rationed. “It called an accident for a reason. I remember when I was seventeen I wasn’t the greatest driver.”

“That’s true,” said the man’s wife. “I guess we were all that age at some point.”

“Exactly.”

Mike drove us home without incident.

The next morning, I told my friend Lisa about what happened and she reminded me of the ripple effect that occurred that moment. She believes that thanks to my reaction, this teenager may carry herself differently when she finds herself in similar situations, and perhaps the older gentleman may be less judgmental about young adults. I could have continued yelling at this teenager and gone off the handle, but what would that have led to? Unnecessary drama.

And frankly, there’s WAY too much drama already in this world.

I’d rather put out ripples that are rational and calm than ones that are dramatic.



PS - This picture of Gizmo is what I was posting on Instagram.

Always Choose Happiness

As an acupuncturist, one of the most common treatments people seek from me is stress relief. The reason—acupuncture is an excellent modality for reducing the effects of stress. With exactly two weeks until election day, my practice is busier than ever. Coincidence?…Perhaps, but I doubt it.

This presidential election cycle is the third my practice has been through and every four years my schedule sees an unusual spike in the number of appointments. Obviously people aren’t running to my office simply because they’re unhappy with their party’s candidate or disappointed with the election in general. As magical as acupuncture can be, if only it could fix such things! They’re coming for their usual aches and pains and whatever chronic conditions ails them. However, their complaints have been compounded with anxiety, insomnia and stress-related symptoms that have crept up as a result of viewing too many political commercials, debates and news commentary.

I’ve seen these stress symptoms sharply increase in my practice in the weeks leading up to Election Day and manifest in various ways. Some patients simply experience a little more irritability than usual. Some patients feel the need to digress their political views which often involves trashing the opposing parties then conclude by asking me about my views. To this I reply my office policy is to remain like Switzerland, neutral but welcoming to all.

Indeed, this presidential election has had a unique emotional effect on my patients. More people are telling me that they feel stressed but fewer people than usual are telling me about their frustrations related to the election, even though the mud slinging is dirtier than ever. I’m chalking that up to three possibilities: 1) These patients have listened to my past suggestions about decreasing their exposure to the news coverage provided they’ve chosen their candidate 2) They remember that my office remains as neutral as Switzerland 3) They’re disenfranchised by the process altogether. Perhaps it is a combination of the three.

However, there is a portion of my patients that come to my practice that are sensitive to traumatic experiences including those who have post-traumatic stress disorder. For these patients in particular this election cycle has been very stressful for them. For women who’ve been sexually violated, seeing a top contender for the highest office in the world brush off his rhetoric as “locker room talk” reminds them of their past. For people whose homes, businesses or places of worship were set ablaze by arsonists, they are reminded of their horror by the firebombing of a Republican campaign headquarters office in North Carolina.

I don’t care to go on and on about the traumatic aspects of this election, nor do I wish to get even close to discussing why these things are happening. The truth is mud will always be slung. Rhetoric will always get dirty. People will always protest and not always peacefully. No single person can control the tone of this election but every single person can control their reaction to it.

When I think about my PTSD and how I react to the things that trigger my symptoms, I am reminded that my initial reaction—the flashbacks—is very much out of my control. I get them no matter what. However, I have learned that I can always control how I deal with them. I can choose to stay stuck in my symptoms or I can choose to use the tools that I’ve learned over the last nineteen years to help me live with my PTSD. Essentially, every day my vote is for happiness and every day I get to make that choice.

As President Abraham Lincoln once said, “Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”

The #1 Question I’m Asked After I Reveal I Have PTSD

I’ve been networking more than usual in an effort to get the word out about my upcoming book. When I explain what my memoir is about, I usually tell people that I have PTSD.

Before I can continue on, more often than not I’m asked the following question; “Did you serve?”

On the one hand, I absolutely love that people ask me this question because to me it shows an increased awareness and appreciation for our troops and what many are going through as a result of their service. On the other hand, it reminds me of one of the reasons I wrote my memoir—to educate people about PTSD. 

PTSD is not limited to the military, and I have no doubt that most people understand that. However, it’s so easy to find a memoir or an article written by a veteran with PTSD, and I’m certain that’s why I’m asked this question all the time.

Let’s look at some facts. There are 24.2 million Americans who suffer from PTSD. Of those people, 300,000 veterans from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars have PTSD. Even though that number does not include veterans from the Gulf, Vietnam and Korean wars, it’s clear to see that the vast majority of people with PTSD are not veterans. Simple math tells us that over 23 million non-military citizens of our country have PTSD. That’s a lot of people!

I praise all of our military servicemen and servicewomen for sharing their experiences, and I will feel incredibly honored when my memoir is sitting on a shelf next to these brave stories. For everyone else who is suffering from PTSD and never served in the military and who feel like they don’t have stories to inspire them, I want them to know that they are not alone. 

The Key to Finding Peace

Today is International Day of Peace! I know this because I saw a tweet from Dalai Lama (yes, he’s on Twitter) that said, “On this International Day of Peace, we must remember that peace cannot come from prayer alone. It requires action.”

I couldn’t agree more….but frankly it’s hard to ever disagree with Dalai Lama.

I understand entirely that this day is about improving peace within and among all nations and that this year specifically is geared towards sustainable development in order to provide and maintain the necessities of survival without compromising our planet’s resources for future generations. However, I can’t help but think about the key word for today—peace.

Anyone with PTSD will tell you that what they crave most is peace. Not only world peace, but mental peace, physical peace, emotional peace, peace among loved one, peace in the workplace, financial peace, peace in everything aspect of their life. It is this one simple, beautiful word that one suffering from flashbacks, anxiety, insomnia, anger and social withdrawal wants more than anything else.

And Dalai Lama today reminded me and hopefully many others that as much as we pray and meditate a life of peace, achieving it requires action. The action of writing it out, among other things, is what distances me from my symptoms and brings me peace.

The action of kayak fishing is what helps military veterans across the country decompress from the stresses associated with combat, thanks to an amazing organization called Heroes on the Water.

The action of yoga is what helps those who have gone down a rough path due to growing up surrounded by violence find a productive life, thanks for yoga therapist Nancy Candea and her organization Yoga Impact.

The action of creating art is what helps survivors of sexual assault with PTSD, thanks to the generous volunteers of Pandora's Project.

The action of receiving acupuncture is what assists those affected by natural disasters find relief from stress, thanks to one of my favorite organizations Acupuncturists Without Borders.

Inaction may feel protective and safe but it doesn’t bring peace.

When the Needle Bursts the Bubble

Every once in a while, an acupuncture treatment produces a tremendous emotional release. In my decade of practice, I’ve seen it about half a dozen times. It usually comes as a surprise and the patient sometimes has no idea why the emotion is coming up, but in my opinion, it’s always wonderful and transformational when it does.

That’s when the needle bursts the bubble. Interestingly, most times the patient doesn’t even know that they had a bubble.

These sorts of reactions were warned to me and my classmates on one of the first days of acupuncture school, and we frequently reviewed how to help a patient through that release so they feel safe and protected. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately depending on how you look at it, the faculty and students had a lot of experience with emotional releases from traumatic experiences since the acupuncture school was located on the north side of 14th Street in Manhattan, which was only a few blocks from where the World Trade Center towers stood and which happened to be the furthest block south that remained open immediately after September 11th.

It happened to me. The needle burst my bubble during my second year of school. I’d been receiving practice treatments from my classmates for many months, and the usual group of friends that I trusted enough to practice on me knew I had PTSD. We had exchanged nearly a dozen treatments up to this point, and all of them left me feeling that usual relaxed state that I absolutely love about acupuncture. However, this one burst the bubble.

We were in a class practicing a specific protocol not intentionally directed towards treating my PTSD. After only the second needle was inserted the tears began to form. Then they started to flow. Then they flooded and turned into waterfalls. I’ve never cried so hard. It continued for forty-five minutes.

Thankfully, I never felt unsafe or even out of control. One of my classmates pressed an acupressure point to help calm me while the other gently dabbed at my tears. Neither one tried to rush the process. Instead, they held a safe space for me to release and release and release while frequently checking in with me to see how I was doing.

After about the twentieth time my classmate asked me how I was doing, I finally felt like I was able to take a calm deep breath without crying. The needles were removed and I slowly got up. I felt tired and a little worn out, but what fascinated me was how much lighter and calmer I felt. Before class, I thought I had felt fine. It was seven years since my traumatic experience and I thought my day to day life was going well. I didn’t even know I had a bubble.

That’s something I’ve learned from having PTSD, that when I saw the tree rip apart and hit my dad while he was walking towards me in our driveway after having retrieved the mail from the mailbox, my body formed a bubble. It was a bubble to protect me, a survival bubble. Over time, layers of the bubble have released, sometimes giving way to emotional releases, sometimes slipping off without me noticing.

I’m not sure if I’ll always have a bubble, but I find comfort in knowing that when they burst, I feel better. They always remind me that I can grow stronger.

Write It Out

Are you haunted by traumas from your past? Do you have memories that come to you when you don’t want to think about them? If so, WRITE IT OUT! 

Then find your courage and help spread the word! Take a photo of you holding your write out (you do not need to explain what you wrote) and share it on social media using the hashtag #WriteItOut. Let’s help people who need it find their happy again! Let’s WRITE IT OUT!