We all know survivors of trauma need help. But what about the needs of the people who love them?
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On June 20th, I married a man who has been with me through the last two years of rigorous trauma therapy. There were days I came home and blindsided him with emotional exhaustion, accidentally asking him to mend the wounds reopened by my session. Still, this man stood by my side through the thickest times, never faltering in his love for me when it would have been easy to walk away.
Before we even went out once, I shared with him what I thought was my darkest secret: that I was a survivor of domestic violence.
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When he first asked me on a date, I told him he had no idea what he was getting himself into, and sent him a link to the first post I ever wrote for The Good Men Project. Yes, you read that right. Before we even went out once, I shared with him what I thought was my darkest secret: that I was a survivor of domestic violence. But he didn’t flinch, and our relationship progressed (slowly at first). Once I was able to trust him, he started to see more signs of my trauma:
He heard me cry the first few nights I stayed at his house, fearful that I was giving him too much of my time and, in turn, he would become a monster.
He saw me panic when a nightmare took me back. And I’d shout in my dreams, only to find him holding me still so I didn’t hurt him or me while I rode out the storm.
“I don’t know when I’m going to freak out and leave you,” I told him.
He was calm and kind, always replying, “You’ve got this, babe.”
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Through it all, he was witness to the worst lows and the best highs. In watching me struggle, he started to understand how abuse changed me, and he openly explained how I’d changed his perception of domestic violence.
Then, on our honeymoon in Honolulu, he and I witnessed a homeless man beat his girlfriend, only to stop punching her because he was trying to push her over the side of a pier. We were waiting to go scuba diving, and I’d left my purse in the car. Unable to dial 9-1-1 and without any protection, I panicked.
“What do you want me to do, Fina?” J asked, “Can we stop him?”
“I need you right now,” I said. “Please don’t leave me.”
I asked him to strip himself of power, to feel what I was feeling.
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I knew exactly what I asked before he even had time to respond. I asked him to strip himself of power, to feel what I was feeling. Asking him to stay silent was unfair and uncomfortable. But had he left me, I have no idea how I would have handled the rest of our day or trip or year.
The diver instructors went back to their preparations, laying out boots and snorkels. Another day in the life. “That was wild,” one said aloud.
I sang a song in my head to drown out the noise, hoping not to ruin my husband’s experience or my entire trip, embarrassingly wishing I hadn’t seen what I just did, a selfish and shocking reaction. I really thought I was getting somewhere in my recovery. This wasn’t supposed to be how I reacted.
I was supposed to be a hero.
“It’s over,” he said, his arm grabbed at my waist, pulling me into the safety of his arms. “He left and she’s already walking around. Sit down, babe. It’s over.” My abuser crept in through it all, hovering over me in the same way I just witnessed. He had been so contained, so powerless for the last year. But this? This gave him life again.
I watched him weep the same way as me, feeling just as helpless.
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Two nights later, we sat on the balcony of our hotel drunk off dinner Mai-Tais. We were listening to a Pandora station when he was triggered by the song, and I watched him weep the same way as me, feeling just as helpless.
“I had a pen in my pocket. I wanted to stab him in the neck, Fina,” he said, sharing the bitter darkness left in him because of what he saw. I called a local hotline and asked them what I could do, but they didn’t have a great answer other than to try to “enjoy the rest of our trip.” I’d waited too long for them to be able to track down the man and woman. There was nothing more that could be done.
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My therapist explained to me that my husband was a secondary victim. That most people who love a survivor of trauma are considered secondary victims, even if they didn’t witness the abuse.
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When I got home, my therapist explained to me that my husband was a secondary victim. That most people who love a survivor of trauma are considered secondary victims, even if they didn’t witness the abuse. We talked a lot about how seeing what we did probably triggered him to think about me and my past, and it forced him to feel helpless in ways he hadn’t before.
That’s when I realized that he needed a safety net as much as I did, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and created a list of resources for secondary survivors. I saved it on my computer, finally realizing secondary survivors deal with the same fears and thoughts as primaries. No, they didn’t suffer our financial, physical, or sexual abuse, but they are suffering emotionally because of it. While it’s not exactly the same, that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be acknowledged for and helped with the side effects of loving a person someone else hated. But which of these people are going to come forward and say they need help? Not very many, in my experience. Already so giving of their love and support, I’d be shocked if one of them came forward and admitted needing anything from us.
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If you’re in an intimate relationship with a survivor of trauma, there are resources available online. Some are specific to the type of trauma suffered, such as domestic violence and sexual assault. Still, know that there are ways for you to cope available, if you feel you need someone to understand what you’re going through. The internet hosts a wealth of information on the topic of secondary survivorship. It’s out there. Please find what helps you.
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Great advice Sarafina. While doing some research on PTSD, I discovered an article on how PTSD can be contagious or spread throughout a family. As your experience pointed out, we all have unresolved grief in our lives and another’s trauma may trigger and cause us to revisit our own repressed traumas. As adults, we all are wounded and men particularly are loathe to reach out for help. I remember working with my therapist telling him how I hated feeling needy. He said, “Don’t you think others like to feel needed?” No, sadly it never occurred to me. There are a… Read more »
Yes, John.
There are so many people who want to help and, in turn, actually hurt themselves more than they probably bargained for. That’s not to say nobody should help, but it’s not often people are able to label the consequences/side effects of helping someone else. While it shouldn’t stop them from helping, I think it should absolutely help them in their own healing.
Thank you for adding to the conversation.
Thank you.
Of course, Wilhelm. I hope this helped.