Intrusive thoughts hijacked her brain; she would go for a walk with her toddler and imagine a car slamming into both of them. When her husband didn’t pick up the phone, she imagined he had died. Everything seemed like a risk. The stress was so intense that her period stopped. After six months, she went to a doctor, who told her that PTSD is common after ectopic pregnancies. Still, Ms. Haye felt disconnected from the diagnosis, shocked that it could apply to her. It took her months to start regularly seeing a therapist, and to begin piecing together a way of coping with her symptoms.
Recognizing the symptoms
Studies show that early intervention is critical for managing, and potentially preventing, PTSD. But it can take up to two years or more for people exhibiting symptoms to get a diagnosis, Dr. Jain said, and those who don’t receive treatment within the first two years have much lower odds of recovery.
“Hearing I had PTSD — it felt like I didn’t earn it,” said Natalia Chung, 30, who was diagnosed with the disorder in 2016 after ending an abusive relationship. “Because I didn’t go to war,” she said.
Many people like Ms. Chung start therapy for PTSD only after years of struggling with the disorder, straining to navigate symptoms that, with earlier treatment, may never have developed in the first place.
Part of the reason people delay treatment is because “avoidance is the hallmark of PTSD,” said Vaile Wright, the senior director of health care innovation at the American Psychological Association. The disorder hard-wires people to ignore reminders of trauma — they make their lives smaller and smaller to block out any evidence of what happened.
For Michelle DiMuria, 39, the splatter of rain against her window can trigger an episode. It was raining the day she was raped in 2015, and the weather tugs her brain back to the attack. She can’t stop picturing her attacker’s face. Since Ms. DiMuria was diagnosed with PTSD in the fall of 2017, she has struggled to avoid the snippets of everyday life that send her into a flashback: the smell of cologne, the sound of certain songs her assaulter liked. Her back broke during the assault, and she tries to avoid glancing in the mirror at the scars from surgery scattered on her skin.
Ms. DiMuria, who founded a mental health advocacy organization called the Bee Daring Foundation, wears a woven teal bracelet when she’s out in public. She’s told friends that if she starts to fidget with the fabric, she’s likely dissociating. She’s cobbled together coping mechanisms for the bad days — peanut M&M’s, Marvel movies, a coloring app. She watches football and shouts at the screen, trying to find an outlet for the surges of aggression that sometimes come with PTSD.
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