MENTAL HEALTH/PTSD
My Neighbor Says It Was Just a Window
My story of trauma, one year later
A year ago, I surrendered my life to a treatment team on the other side of the country. I was scared. But I also knew that I had to escape the scene of the crime to heal. Flying to the West Coast seemed appropriate given the circumstances, even though this may seem extreme to an outside observer.
I had my entire fall planned out, which included celebrating my wedding anniversary, coaching the Richmond Marathon, my traditional Thanksgiving week on the Outer Banks with my family, including my annual wine date with a former undergrad professor, and running my own race: the Freight Train 50k, for which I’d been training all summer. It’s my favorite time of the year.
I didn’t get to do any of that.
When the reality began to set in that my world was permanently altered, I felt immense grief, especially with being cut off from my life. My friends and family went on without me, as they should, and it was a painful experience.
So, what did I have to escape from? What crime had been committed in my home?
