I fall down. A lot. Far more often than any other adult of my acquaintance. I have always attributed this primarily to the fact that I am functionally blind in my right eye, and thus lack depth perception. I’m beginning to understand there may be far more to it.
After taking a PTSD inventory under guidance from my therapist, along with the ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences) questionnaire, we agreed that I meet the diagnostic conditions for Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. CPTSD is distinct from PTSD primarily in the duration and frequency of the traumatizing event(s).
“Complex PTSD is understood as more likely to develop after a repeated or chronic series of abusive or hurtful incidents lasting months or even years, especially during childhood, and the symptoms of c-PTSD tend to be more severe, and longer-lasting[…]”
This diagnosis has been incredibly helpful in systematizing a number of behavioral and emotional challenges I have faced throughout my adulthood. The overlap of some symptoms with both ADHD and Autism Spectrum Disorder has been particularly useful to understand.
Less immediately obvious were the ways it has effected me physically. The first inkling of this was related to studies linking a higher incidence of chronic illness and suppressed immune function for people who scored high on the ACEs test. To put it in extremely simplified terms, physiological responses to stress and trauma can create systemic and enduring changes to the autonomic nervous system.
My immune function has always been laughably bad. I was constantly sick as a child and only moderately less so as an adult. I have had COVID no less than 6 times, even with masking and other precautions. Surrounded by other people who didn’t get sick as often as I did, I joked immune system was missing. I had no idea there was actually an underlying link between the atmosphere of fear in my childhood and the outcome of being unusually prone to illness.
This morning I came across a discussion about how being neurodivergent can impact proprioception; the body’s recognition of its place and posture in three dimensional space. Given the overlap in symptoms – if not necessarily causation – between other types of neurodivergence and CPTSD, it seems reasonable to imagine this might also apply to me.
Once, in consultation with a neurologist, I was advised that my functional proprioception was significantly atypical. They suggested this was possibly due to an inner ear malformation in utero. but had no way to confirm the hypothesis. Knowing that the condition existed seemed much more important that knowing why. At least at that point in my life.
It continues to surprise me all the dimensions of my life that the CPTSD has touched. This has come into particularly acute focus both with the death of my mother and the realization of how much of my childhood trauma had gone unacknowledged. It resonates with the thematic tone of restoration to uncover a deeper understanding of the source of a wound, the better to truly heal it.
It also allows me to develop adaptations most likely to ameliorate the harm they might cause. To practice habits that result in a well-regulated nervous system; to understand the systemic impacts of doing so reach far beyond a sense of momentary tranquility. They can work to improve balance emotionally and physically.
And I can learn, with complete confidence, to stand firmly on my own feet.
Comments are closed