Understanding the Impact of Childhood Trauma

Some days, my father's words resonate in my mind more loudly than others.

Painting by author (Ira Robinson)

I often find myself feeling immensely frustrated with who I am. More accurately, I get upset with the part of me that reflects my father's harsh words, especially during my most vulnerable moments when I feel overwhelmed.

My wife has a wonderful habit of making sandwiches for me. She goes out of her way to ensure I receive the protein I need due to my diabetes, and she varies the ingredients to keep things interesting. I truly appreciate her thoughtfulness, knowing her creations come from a place of love.

This particular sandwich was a delight—ham, pepperoni, salami, some delightful hot pepper cheese, and mustard that enhanced every bite. It was simply delicious.

Then came that fateful moment: I dropped the sandwich.

It fell to the floor, and suddenly, my grip on an already challenging day vanished. In that instant, my father’s critical voice echoed in my head, telling me I was worthless and deserved punishment.

Reflecting on my past, my father was quite abusive during my youth, often fueled by alcohol. I was frequently the target of his frustrations, and he would find any reason to unleash his anger on me. Even after he stopped drinking and transformed into a different person, his voice continued to haunt me. This became particularly troubling during my second marriage, which also turned out to be abusive. The negative messages from both of them would collide in my mind, reinforcing a deeply ingrained narrative of self-hatred.

They “taught” me how to treat myself, and although I've recognized the flaws in that mindset, letting go of such conditioning has proven to be a significant challenge.

As tears streamed down my face this morning, I couldn't help but realize how far I still have to go in my recovery journey. Perhaps I was just having a rough moment, and in my vulnerable state, the painful echoes of the past broke through the barriers I had built. It can be difficult to discern.

Regardless, I dislike crying intensely. It’s not that I oppose expressing emotions; quite the opposite. However, due to my blindness and the scarring on my eyes, tears bring me considerable pain. The salt from my tears irritates the scars, and I think anyone can relate to the agony that comes from salt in a wound.

My wife understands me deeply—my history, my struggles, and the harsh self-talk I endure. She knows how to comfort me in these moments.

“It’s just your dad, hon. It’s just his words. I love you. We’re okay.”

I wish she didn’t have to say these things, but I am incredibly thankful for her understanding and support.

Eventually, the tears ceased, and thankfully, the critical voice faded as well.

Now, I recognize that my vulnerability remains, just as it was at the start of my healing journey. Thank you for being who you are.

Continue striving to “be the best version of yourself” in each moment. Remember, regardless of your circumstances, you are deserving of love. Don’t allow anyone to convince you otherwise.

The Journey Towards Mental Health Awareness

This piece is part of my reflections on mental health, trauma, PTSD, and related experiences.