On Being the Eldest Daughter When You Desperately Need to Be Anything But

The way that the human brain and body store and hold onto trauma is baffling to me. It’s been over five years since I left a very traumatic situation. Five years of therapy, five years of support groups, five years of healing. In five years, I believe I’ve come a very long way—such a long way that I could have considered myself healed. I can stand at work now, in the middle of a shop full of burly men, and listen to all their yelling without my chest instinctively tightening with fear and my brain looking for danger. I can hear my dad suddenly yelling at the TV because Owen Powers is the most useless Sabres’ player in all of existence without jumping. I can see a gray 2011 Jeep Liberty on the road now without crying and thinking I’ve been found.

Actually, for that matter, I also discovered something earlier in the week that means there’s a chance (albeit, a small chance, but a chance that didn’t exist before) that I may have to deal with somebody that I very much don’t want to deal with at my job now, that he could potentially become a customer. And this discovery rattled me, but I did handle it pretty well. I had discussions with my manager and co-worker to discuss a possible safety risk for me, and I believe those conversations went well (I am very lucky to work at a place that, for as often as it drives me insane, is very supportive.) I spoke for a long time with my therapist. Though I was rattled, I didn’t panic. I was able to do what I had to do to ensure my safety, and I was able to process all of the emotions that all of this made me feel. I handled it very well.

It’s been five long years. I’m better.

So, it baffles me that after being badly triggered yesterday, the sight of an unknown car pulling into my driveway instilled so much fear in me that I ran down to the kitchen to get a knife to protect myself with.

It was just a neighbor.

I was able to laugh about it afterwards because my sister was with me and she’d experienced the same over reaction. We laughed together about how stupid our brains are.

My sister’s panic makes sense to me—she’s experiencing the same trauma that I went through all those years ago. It’s still so fresh and raw for her. I had to specifically warn my dad (who means so well but is a triple fire sign which means he only knows how to express his feelings loudly) to try and be quiet around her, that the raising of his voice would be enough to put her on edge.

Everyone keeps telling me that my reactions to all of this are normal and that I’m doing a great job handling them. But none of these people saw me running for a knife because I saw a car. And, in my opinion, none of these people are taking into account that it’s been over five years.

I haven’t really spoken to my sister (I have two sisters and this may get confusing without name dropping them, so let’s call her sister B) in years now. I officially cut her out of my life about two years ago, if I’m remembering correctly. I did briefly forgive her and let her back in last year but she ruined it almost immediately so I had to re-cut her off. Shit hit the fan in her life (again) and I was staying out of it. I told my parents that if they needed my help with something, I would help them, but I was not going to assist her in any way. This made me feel incredibly guilty because it is the very first time in my life that I prioritized my own peace over everybody else’s, but I do think it was a very big and important step for me.

Then, my other sister (let’s call her sister A), the one I live with, busted into my room to show me all these pictures and screenshots that sister B had sent her. These pictures and messages were horrific.

And Jesus fuck did they trigger the absolute shit out of me.

Sister A should not have shown them to me—especially without warning—but she is a bonehead. She didn’t mean any harm by it. She just doesn’t really understand how PTSD works. She had no idea that seeing that stuff would trigger me so badly. Seeing those things put me right back into my own trauma, something that blew my mind because it had been so long. I was anxious for the entire day because of this, so I guess it really isn’t a surprise that I had such a strong reaction to the car.

I have relented and agreed to be somewhat supportive of sister B right now because I am the only person in my family that knows what she’s experiencing. I don’t like her, but I wouldn’t have wished what she’s going through on anybody. My family means well—they always do—but they don’t know what they’re doing and will make things harder for her right now without meaning to. I am the only person that knows what she needs, and also the only person that knows what to do.

This means that I’ve had to put my own dislike for her aside, and my own trauma aside, to help her deal with hers. I hate her, but I’m not a monster.

But it’s hard.

I’m taking her to a police station today to press charges. I’ll likely have to help her navigate the court stuff as well because I’m the only one in my family that has experience with this specific thing. I’m already afraid of what it’s going to be like to have to walk back into the very same courthouse that I went to when I had to file for an Order of Protection for myself all those years ago, and I suspect that I won’t react very well to it.

My family doesn’t know how any of this works because I never let them help me with it when I was going through it. In retrospect, what I am experiencing now is my own making. My parents didn’t even know that I had taken out an OoP against he-who-shall-not-be-named and were horrified today when I explained how it worked because they didn’t know. At the time, I had told them the absolute bare minimum that they needed to know to get them to help me pack and move my belongings and let me crash at their house for a little while. My stubborn independence is kind of a thing, if you hadn’t noticed. Whoopsie.

Sister B, and now me and my entire family, are in some level of danger because of everything going on. It’s hard for me to tell how much of this threat is real versus how much my brain is embellishing it.

Either way, I have to be my family’s pillar. I pretty much always have been—I, normally, have a really strong ability to disconnect my brain from situations and look at them analytically. I am the only one in my family that can do this. I can face an emergency and make good choices because I am not swayed by my emotions. I can wait until I get home to fall apart. But when everything started happening with sister B, I made the decision to not be the pillar. My sister needs to be able to handle her own shit, and my parents either need to let her or if they’re so Hellbent on doing it for her (as they usually are) then they need to do it without me. I am also just one of their children and it isn’t my responsibility (overcoming Eldest Daughter Syndrome is an essay for another day lol.) My friends and boyfriend and therapist were all very proud of me for recognizing this and actually sticking to my guns on it.

And then it spiraled out of control and I am once again the pillar. Me always being the pillar is partially my fault because I never said no, but it was also my family’s fault for taking advantage of my inability to say no. I mean, they never did it maliciously—they just didn’t know any better and I was the only one who could figure things out. But now? I’m the pillar once again, and I can’t really blame anybody. I could say no, but would doing so be an act of self-preservation? Or of cruelty? I can’t tell. This isn’t a situation that anybody deserves to be in—even my shitty sister—and I do know, for the most part, all of the answers. I know all of the next steps.

I don’t like my sister, but I’m not a monster. I’m not mean.

So, I’ll do what I always do—I’ll handle things. I’ll make the paths as easy as possible for my family to follow. I’ll lend a shoulder whenever anybody needs a place to cry on. I’ll stand in the middle of my parents when the stress makes them start fighting. I’ll wait until I can get home at the end of the day and crawl into bed and come apart.

It’s worth noting that I do have an incredible support network. I don’t know how I’d have survived this weekend without having a group of friends I could update and vent to nonstop. If any of you guys are reading this, please know that I love you endlessly and owe you more than I could ever repay you.

All this to say that today I am incredibly anxious and my head is in places it hasn’t visited in years.

I’ll be okay. I know this because I always am. In truth, I’ve dealt with much worse before. As bad as this all feels, it’ll be a piece of cake comparatively. I’ll come out of it mostly unscathed.

But I do think this is why why I like writing so much—I have an arsenal of things I can do to take care of myself right now, but the best one has always been to write. It can be cathartic to write characters overcoming such things. It’s so hard to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but it’s not as hard to write about the made up little people in your head finding it. And it makes me wonder—if Hazel can get through it, why can’t I? I suppose that is such an idiotic way to think about it, but it works for me. It gives me some level of hope.

That, and I don’t really love talking about these things. It took a lot of effort for me to vent to my friends about everything. I don’t like to talk about how I’m feeling. Explaining to them what’s going on isn’t too hard, but following it with how those things are making me feel is trickier. I’m getting better at it, but it’s still hard for me. But writing gives me a safe space to talk about these feelings because they’re no longer mine—they’re Hazel’s or Ezra’s or whomever’s POV I’m writing from. It creates a sort of disconnect, as if I’m trying to help a friend through it. That’s easier to rationalize for me.

Even writing this little essay on trauma has been kind of cathartic. I think I am getting closer to understanding that my therapist is maybe right and that flaying myself open and leaving myself vulnerable and bare is sometimes a good thing and that nobody will perceive me as weak for experiencing emotions.

We’re having very severe thunderstorms today, so I do think it’s the perfect day to put Emergence by Sleep Token on repeat and just write until my fingers fall off. So, I’m going to try and do that. I cannot wait to see what my trauma-addled brain comes up with. RIP to Hazel and Ezra, I guess!

Thanks for reading this episode of Morgan’s inane rambling. With all the love in the universe,

Morgan.