A letter to my dad

Trigger warning: themes of child abuse

Six months ago today, I took a long train journey to start my new job 200 miles from my home. My mental distress was still very raw following a traumatic 18 months with complex PTSD.

I wrote a poem during that trip to help me make sense of some distressing flashbacks that I couldn't let go of…

The Weight of the Ogre’s Will

Bruised flesh,

fresh distress

And pain for daring,

Swearing it wasn’t me,

I didn’t lie,

My brother caught between the eyes,

My sister weeping

Soaked

Her arm twisted by the grope

And hope choked,

Fear stoked

I approach

Spoke with croaked voice,

Trembling,

Defending my siblings

From an undeserved stroke

But instead provoke

A monster cloaked in misery

And a yoke so tight

That my might to fight

Takes flight

And I freeze on the sheep skin rug

My knees collapsed

in the silky woollen fleece

Powerless to protect two 3-year-olds

One four-year-old

Whose self-determination

just cracked and snapped

Under the weight

Of the ogre’s will.

The Ogre in the poem was an abusive childminder who was eventually uncovered but the impact of the abuse has been unknowingly significant. I have only just started to speak about it because it was so deeply buried I was completely unaware of its existence.

Therapy is helping me to understand myself so much better… why I have always felt so afraid of speaking out or being the centre of attention. Makes a lot of sense why being seen is so painful when being seen by an abuser was so terrifying. It’s hard to shift those feelings when they are trapped in a loop, constantly replaying over and over. Healing feels like a massive guessing game a lot of the time.

Being outdoors has always felt like a safe space for me. I love all the little details in nature and it makes me feel like I am connected to something much bigger than myself. I draw energy from living things in a way that brings a sense of deep joy and satisfaction. This concept is known as “autistic joy” and is experienced in great intensity.

For many of my early childhood years I had the same night terror where I was being hunted by a faceless Bogie Monster. I didn't realise that it was triggered by an actual traumatic event. As an adult, the trigger is often stress but the root of the overwhelming terror I feel at the lack of control takes me all the way back to this same trauma where I am a small child being hunted by their abuser.

I am just so glad that I have access to long-term therapy. The best therapy is one that gives space for your brain to rewrite the ending that it needs. My brain was still in a 4 year olds mindset and the ending it has chosen was one of my favourite childhood stories. Funny how things just come together in the end because this feels like I've reached the end of this story and closed the book.

How to get help in a crisis