Trauma

As the second oldest of eleven children following directly behind an older sister who had disabilities that left her unable to care for even herself, much less our younger siblings, I necessarily got left alone with the kids quite a lot, starting around the age of seven.
Side note: lest you think my parents were neglectful or uncaring, I want to set things right here and now: I love and admire my parents.  My mother dealt with poverty, an addictive husband, and massive amounts of chaos and children, and somehow managed to raise us in absolute love and support through all of these incredible trials.  And my dad, while an addict, was still my hero growing up, and even learning about his addiction to pornography as an adult didn't change anything about the fact that he is still my hero.
So, back to the story.
Because I was often left in charge of my siblings in chaotic and stressful situations, I learned quickly how to deal with stress and chaos---tough it out and just deal with it.  I was a responsible child who wanted to do the best she could, and so when I was left alone to deal with these situations, I usually just tried to make the best of them.
So that's what I did.  I babysat with minimal complaining, I always had the hardest chores because I was the one who could be trusted to do them right, and I was the one who was painfully aware of the poverty our family was going through while the little kids still begged for treats at the grocery store checkout line.
Treats I knew we could never afford to get.
Fast forward to Jr. High.  Seventh grade was the time in my life when all of my previous best friends decided that I wasn't quite cool enough to hang out with any more.  This was the darkest time of my life (due to poverty, a dangerously low self-esteem, and high levels of stress put on my 12-year-old shoulders by a severely depressed mother and an addict father), and even typing up some of the specific experiences still brings tears to my eyes.  During this time, I once again learned that when hard things came up, I needed to just suck it up and deal with it, and I did.  This was also the time where my budding testimony started to buoy me up, but for the most part, I felt abandoned to deal with hard things on my own.
But it was okay.
I was capable.  I was mature, I was "older than my years," I was the strong one while my brother attempted suicide and my older sister was off in her own world, trapped behind a disability no one could seem to get past....and besides, doesn't everyone have a hard Junior High experience?  I mean, really?
Fast forward once again to my mission. I was serving in Taiwan, and had been on the island for about 5 months when I was sexually assaulted one day while out riding my bike.  A man came up next to me on his scooter and grabbed my left breast and started massaging it.  It took a moment for my mind to process what was happening, but as soon as I did, I stopped my bike, shouted at him, and he rode off.  I rode over to my companion and immediately burst into tears--needless to say, this was an incredibly traumatic event for a virgin who had dedicated her life to purity and chastity for her Heavenly Father for the next 18 months.
We called my mission president, who, due to some other emergencies among other missionaries, didn't have much time to help me--we did a bit of a therapy session sitting in the back of the van while two other missionaries drove us to a different appointment, but by the end of it, when he asked me if I would be okay, I shakily said I would be fine, and then he dropped us off back at the mission home and left me to deal with the trauma of being sexually harassed with the help of another 21-year-old girl and my Heavenly Father.
Once again, it was okay.
I had a testimony, I knew how the Atonement worked, and although I woke up for the next couple of weeks with nightmares every night, I eventually worked through the trauma and once again found joy and completion in my calling as a missionary.
I always shied away from the word "trauma" when dealing with my husband and my issues.  Yes, he was acting like an addict, and yes, he was avoiding being home, but he wasn't cheating on me, he wasn't betraying me, he wasn't even addicted to anything that was really all that dangerous--after all, who doesn't have a problem checking Facebook or their texts too often?  Isn't it normal behavior?
But today, when I was working on my 4th step and seeing these patterns of abandonment through my life, I realized--my husband abandoned me.  He might not have actually left me permanently alone, he might not have even realized what he was doing as he stalled after classes or spent too much time playing with his electronic devices or detached in the middle of conversations with me, but he was avoiding and abandoning me to deal with our children, the stress of maintaining our household, and my own issues on my own.
And I have been traumatized by that.