I love my husband, but I hate his PTSD. There is nothing romantic or beautiful about it. It is exhausting living in a battlefield some days while hopping through green meadows other days and waking up in the morning and never knowing which of those our family will experience.

It’s exhausting thinking about all the potential triggers that may set him off on any given day. While also thinking of the usual daily grind of raising a young daughter, maintaining a full-time job, keeping up the household, and trying to give me the mental capacity for “self-care.” I’m tired of carrying the emotional and mental load most days.

My story isn’t shared often. It’s not one people admire or want to hear. Hell, I think some people will label me as not understanding, not sympathetic enough, or, as I’ve heard in some military spouse groups, “not understanding what I signed up for when I married him.” I don’t even think people know what to do when they hear it because it challenges the hero culture surrounding veterans. Veterans are brave. Veterans with PTSD are courageous for sharing their stories, getting help, and for the sacrifices they make. But what if I told you that while my husband is all these, he is also capable of abuse and torment? Of inflicting pain and fear within our family that if he weren’t a veteran with PTSD, most clinicians would classify our relationship, our family, as dysfunctional and my experience as domestic violence.

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