How to Sleep Next To Someone With PTSD
I have learned not to dread the first time it happens.
With each new relationship, or courtship, or whatever it’s called when we start sleeping with somebody, there is always an initial panic attack, typically at night. In my dreams, my mind goes to terrible places to spy on all the awful memories I’ve compartmentalized, like a gore tourist seeing the sights.
Personally, I’ve had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder for a long time in response to being sexually assaulted, but it can occur in response to any trauma. For me, it’s manifested in a number of ways, both sensible and bizarre, like an Old Country Buffet of sick, sad side effects, not the least of which are the nightmares.
No matter the dream (I’ll spare you the gory details, plus literally everyone hates hearing other people’s dreams), I awake the same way. First, a violent jerk upwards. Then, heavy breathing, sweating and grabbing at whatever is next to me. If it’s my teddy bear Chloe, I eventually fall back asleep. If it’s another human being, a much more rational fear eclipses the subconscious one: How will this person react now that they’ve seen the darkest part of my brain, sprawled out on top of the sheets? I feel our honeymoon period end — except instead of starting to fight, we’re just both now uncomfortably aware of the baggage that I carry.
I used to be embarrassed, but now I identify it as just another piece of my personality, like how I can’t ride a two-wheel bike and have over 68,000 unread emails. Except unlike those first-date small talk staples, this takes a certain amount of trust to disclose. And depending on how the person treats that trust, I can decide if I should pursue them further.
I now treat the nightmares as a filter. If somebody responds with kindness, comfort, respect and understanding, I know that they are worth pursuing. If they decide I am “too fucked up” or tell me to “just calm down, right now” or start keeping score on how many imperfect qualities I am presently revealing — all of which has happened multiple times — one can assume that this will be the last time that person will be sleeping over. This has led to two results: me getting better at picking partners, and me getting much better at articulating my problem.
PTSD is not an uncommon condition — according to the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs, approximately 7–8% of people will develop PTSD in response to trauma at some point — but it is a highly misunderstood one. If you have fallen in love with (or just started seeing) someone with PTSD with troubled sleep, here are a few tips on how to support them.
Note: I’m using female pronouns, but these apply to anyone. And naturally, everyone is an individual — if you want clarification on how she wants to be treated, ask her.
Don’t tell her not to cry.
There are few things more dismissive than being told to “calm down” or “stop crying” when you’re having a panic attack. (Hey buddy, don’t you think I would have calmed myself down already if it were that easy?) It’s highly unlikely that she will suddenly feel better; chances are, all it will make her do is feel like she can’t cry in front of you ever again.
Give her space if she wants it.
When you’re having a panic attack and do not want to be touched, few things are more upsetting than somebody forcibly giving you affection. All it shows is that yet another person doesn’t acknowledge your basic human right to consent. If she asks you to hold her, by all means, hold her, but if she says “please don’t touch me,” listen.
Don’t offer advice unless she asks for it.
If I had a nickel for everyone who told me to take up healthy eating and dieting in order to get over being raped, I’d be able to found my own startup and create an app that sends people a notification every time they’re about to be patronizing towards people with PTSD. Diet and exercise and melatonin and reiki and acupuncture and everything else may have worked on you, or someone you know, but unless she asks for your suggestions on what to do, don’t start firing off ideas.
These are wonderful ways to deal with everyday life, but trauma is not a problem that accepts easy solutions. It is a heavy weight — often heavier than it seems — and the assumption that your favorite pre-work activity will balance it for her is more than a little presumptuous. Chances are, she’s tried numerous methods already. If you think she might really enjoy something, like yoga, ask her if she wants to join you, but don’t get angry if she doesn’t want to try your suggestions. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t need your support; it just means that it is her body, her mind and her trauma that is being healed, not yours.
Do not tell her she is lucky.
“Oh, a girl I knew in high school was raped and murdered, it was horrible, at least that didn’t happen to you, right?” This something a man has said to me after I explained my PTSD. Hear this, dear allies: We are not lucky, or even unlucky. Someone chose to harm us — this was not an accident. This was not a skydiving jump gone wrong that we miraculously walked away from. Just because we didn’t die, or it wasn’t multiple attackers, or we’re not visibly scarred does not mean we are lucky.
Accept her experience.
In that same vein, do not discredit her trauma if it doesn’t fit your idea of what a traumatic experience is. One of the biggest reasons victims of emotional abuse are afraid to come forward is because so many people don’t identify it as abuse in the first place. If she has endured emotional abuse, do not say it was “just emotional abuse.” There is no kind of abuse that is compatible with the word “just.”
Listen, but don’t pry.
If she doesn’t want to tell you every detail, especially the most painful ones, don’t push her to. Having the worst day (or days, or years) of your life treated like an especially graphic episode of “Law & Order: SVU” can feel trivializing. Do not encourage her to describe what was done to her unless she offers to.
Do not defend her attacker.
I have been offered alternative explanations for what happened to me. “There are two sides to every story,” they say, “and he might see it differently.” Do not do this. Trauma is not some choose-your-own-adventure book where you choose to see your bodily autonomy one way while your attacker gets to pick another. As survivors, we have our feelings invalidated and experiences questioned constantly — and when that skepticism comes from someone we love, particularly during a panic attack or after a horrible night terror, it can be devastating.
Believe her.
Which brings me to this: Believe her. Do not nitpick details — PTSD can make your memory terribly fuzzy in an effort to protect you from trauma, I know from experience. Just listen. If she feels like you can do that, and that you truly believe her, that’s one more person she can trust, with whom she can feel safe when triggered or panicking. And, to use a silly metaphor, a good support system is like a good bed: If you feel like your full weight is able to be supported, you’re just that much more likely to fall asleep comfortably.
