When I was younger, I liked to sit down in the shower feeling the warm water cascade down my body as I leaned against the tiled wall and closed my eyes. I felt safe and in control of my surrounding. It was a place my family wouldn’t come and interrupt. I was safe from my father’s wrath. I had a break from protecting my mother, my brother and my sister. It was a place for me and me alone for a few minutes. Serenity found me until either there was a knock on the door to remind me I needed to get out or I realised it myself.

That’s where my husband found me. Curled up in the corner of the shower just letting the water flow over my body. This time I made the decision whether or not I was in there for too long. I wouldn’t have a mother make jokes about whether or not I was masturbating. I’d avoid that humiliation. I had no fear of a father getting angry that I used up too much of the hot water. I didn’t have anyone else to worry about but myself.

Serenity didn’t find me this time. I was in tears. My husband gave me a few moments as he stood outside of the shower door wondering what he should do. He knew I probably needed this time but he also knew my tears meant that I was hurting. I was triggered. He wondered whether or not my PTSD had taken me back to those moments of pain and hurt. If he were to tap me, he might trigger the memory more and I’d spiral into fear, thinking my attacker was after me. If he didn’t tap me, bring me back to the present, I might spiral deeper into my memory, causing me even more harm.

I do not envy his choices in these moments. But I wasn’t lost in a memory as I let the water wash away my tears. I was triggered by the present. I was struggling with everything that seemed to pile up and more recent disappointments and worldly issues had overwhelmed me.

He tapped me, “Michael?” and I was startled, “Sorry, my love.”

I smiled up at him, letting the water hit my face and clear it of tears before he reached out a hand to help me stand up.

I smiled, “You’re such a gentleman, thank you.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I smiled and resumed my shower, “I’m fine. Just needed a moment.”

I explained to him my childhood, where I’d take a moment to find respite in the shower. It was a mere comfort, like junk food while being really emotional or a cold floor after vomiting.

He sighed and asked again, “Are you okay?”

And I shrugged and asked him the same. He shrugged, too. We both gave each other that knowing look. We weren’t okay. For different reasons. But we were not okay. We didn’t want to talk about it. We didn’t want to go over the same cycle of stressors that we had no control over. There was nothing we could do but…

He stepped into the shower and we embraced. The water flowed around us and between us. We closed our eyes and took a breath. Breathing. Eating. Drinking. Walking. Same cycle every day. That’s all we could do.

…find comfort in each other. Take moments to let the water cascade over us and try and find that moment of serenity.