Triggers close to home, or, Marriage is hard

How do I find a new trauma therapist when the search itself is triggering for me?

The other day I called another potential new therapist. (This has been going on for two years now.) Here in Germany, psychotherapists only allow new patients to make appointments by phone, and they only allow two 20-minute windows of time per week in which to call.

Once all of those hurdles are crossed, then there’s the matter of the months-long waiting list. Perhaps they will take you in for an Erstgespräch (first meeting, so you and the therapist can get to know each other) or two before that, but the actual therapy still won’t begin for several months. The waiting lists are too long and there are too many people in need.

Being a psychotherapist in this country must be a great gig, if you can get it. You’ll never be out of work and you’ll always be in high demand.

Perhaps that has something to do with the harshness of the culture that so many people need therapy. More likely, that’s just my outsider’s view.

Take this most recent phone call, for example. The first trigger was that, when the therapist asked me for my phone number, I asked her if she could see the number I was calling from. Instead of answering my question, she asked if I could dictate the number to her. When I did, she repeated it back, and I confirmed that she had noted it down correctly. For some reason she felt the need to repeat it and get my confirmation a second time. This was the second trigger.

Why did this bother me so much? I get particularly sensitive when reaching out to someone for help because it makes me incredibly vulnerable. When it’s clear that they are not listening to me, that they are ignoring my requests and affirmations and instead insist on doing things another way, it hurts. It triggers childhood trauma of desperately needing emotional help and never getting it, never being heard, never having my needs met.

After this very short phone call was over, I tried to move on with my day, then realized this was impossible. I had to sit down, cry uncontrollably for a few minutes, hug myself tightly, and remind myself I’m not a child anymore, I’m okay, my life is better now, I’m no longer a prisoner in my own home.

Most of this is certainly a cultural misunderstanding. A German person would likely have been less triggered by such benign behavior, as people here are more used to being dominated by each other. They are taught from childhood that the victim is at fault if they don’t defend themselves from a bully. The bully is never to blame.

This leads to a culture where domination and submission are the norm and are to be expected in all of your dealings. It’s perfectly normal for a stranger to belittle or berate you, even if this is a person you’re paying for a service or a product.

I explained once to a German friend of mine how we English-speaking expat moms talk about how hard this culture is with regard to the above. She hadn’t understood that this way of raising children was unique to her culture. When I told her how much it bothers us expats and why, that we don’t raise our children this way in our cultures, her response was, “I don’t know where to put that.”


There’s nothing I can do. I just have to sit here and take it.

My husband has decided, once again, that going to a show is more important to him than I am. A few years ago, I was ready to divorce because he kept going out til all hours. Even the younger people at the club thought it was odd that he was married and still partying into the morning. “Your wife lets you do that?” he told me one of them said to him.

The friend who would join him on these excursions told me I was being “childish” for wanting my husband home with me at a reasonable hour, aka, before sunrise. I immediately turned it around on him and said that Rick was being childish for behaving this way in the first place. (This friend is someone who has never been married and likely never will be.)

Rick has gone out almost every night of the past week, leaving me to go to bed alone and to wake up a few hours later and find him still not there. A few days ago, when he fell asleep while we were watching TV together at 9 pm, I realized he was tired from going out so much and that meant he was not available for me on the nights that he was home. I reminded him that he had agreed several months ago not to go out more than two times in a week, a conversation which he had completely forgotten. I asked him not to go out two nights in a row so he had at least one night in between to be with me and to get some sleep.

Then last night he went out again. He said it was important, he and his friends are preparing for a tournament and needed to practice. The compromise was that he would return by 10:30 pm, earlier than usual. But when I went to bed at 9, I realized I couldn’t fall asleep because I needed him home. I sent him a text to this effect and he immediately came home. A conversation ensued in which he assured me that, after tomorrow (today), he would spend more time with me and would focus more on his family life. But today there is an important musician coming to town who he has been waiting many years to see, so he has to go to this show.

I don’t begrudge him his music. That’s how we met, after all: I met an ex of his at a punk show, and she later introduced me to him. Music was what brought us together. We’re both musicians and true aficionados. But in my view he hasn’t seemed to be able to move on from an earlier stage of life and still sees music as more important than his family, as evidenced by his request that I “accept” that he has to go to this show tonight, even though it’s clearly upsetting me to the point where I am emotionally debilitated today, unable to do much other than sleep and cry again. He promises that after tonight he’ll spend more time with me. Just one more night. Just one more time, and then my suffering will be over.

I have no choice. I just have to sit here and take it.

This is triggering my childhood abuse.

Here’s how it makes me feel when he puts going out ahead of my emotional needs:

  • That my feelings don’t matter.
  • That I deserve to be neglected.

Here’s how he’s said he feels when I ask him to stay home instead:

  • That he’s being punished for already having spent too much time out.

Whose feelings are more important here? Is his freedom to enjoy himself paramount to my need for him to be home? Obviously I am biased, and I understand he sees it another way. But I wish that the fact that his behavior is obviously greatly upsetting to me were more of a factor in his decision-making.

He takes good care of me and of our son. He provides for us financially and does more around the house than most men I know. I want him to have fun with his friends. But five nights in a week?

I couldn’t get up this morning. It was a combination of the sleeping pill I’d had to take, the sadness, and the inability to face Rick after our conversation last night that ended with me having to leave the room because I had nothing positive to say. When I finally came out of the bedroom today, he had already taken our son to the childminder and was sitting at the kitchen table, writing me a note. I had to turn around and go back into the bedroom until I heard him leave for work a few minutes later.

Then I came out and read his note. It was lovely and apologetic but made it clear that he still had to go to this show tonight and he hoped I “could accept” that. I cried and cried and rocked myself back and forth until I could get up and try to move on with my day. But that only meant coming in here and typing this. I still don’t feel like eating or getting dressed.

There’s nothing I can do. I just have to sit here and take it.


Last night when I couldn’t sleep and was waiting for Rick to come home, I felt hungry and had to eat a snack, which I never do anymore, and it had to be sweet, which I also don’t do anymore. This is an exact repetition of how I would respond to trauma as a child, and part of the reason why I’ve struggled with my weight all my life.

Then I emailed a friend who’d invited me to a party this weekend where there would be people who are triggering for me, and I explained to him why I couldn’t go. Next, I emailed the trauma therapist, told her what had happened after our phone call, and asked her if she thought it made sense for us to meet.

I really wish I could find some healing soon. I’m really tired of reliving this stuff.


I’ve taken today’s dose of Vitex and am starting to feel better. Rick has grudgingly offered to stay home from the show tonight because he sees “no other option.” I am of course not satisfied with this explanation for his acquiescence.

There is no good solution here. Either he feels like his freedom is being curtailed, or I feel like my feelings are being neglected. Our needs are in conflict. Marriage is hard, especially when it’s between two traumatized individuals doing their best to take care of themselves and each other at the same time.

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Mama Healing Trauma

Written by

mama.healing.trauma@gmail.com

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