One Step at a Time: Delayed-Onset PTSD

My terminally ill son brought back memories of the war in Afghanistan. For years, I kept quiet about my deployment and suppressed anything associated with it, but the fear of his death triggered an avalanche of feelings and memories I wasn’t prepared to confront. It also sent my fight-or-flight system into overdrive. I lived in a constant state of high alert, unable to shake the sense that danger was always nearby. The daily threat to my child’s life drove me to the brink of madness because I couldn’t fight this enemy.

I later learned that what I experienced is called delayed-onset PTSD. The symptoms, buried for years after the war, resurfaced when the stress and trauma of my son’s illness overwhelmed my ability to cope. I had become more guarded and hypervigilant after returning from Afghanistan, often anxious or paranoid without clear cause, but my son’s diagnosis intensified those emotions tenfold. It felt like even the smallest trigger could send me spiraling into a fit of rage or a full-blown panic attack.

Nightmares became frequent, blending my past and present fears—dreams of losing my son, battling home invaders, or being pinned down in a firefight. The lines between what I’d endured and what I was living blurred, and I began to unravel. Delayed-onset PTSD made it feel like my trauma had been lying dormant, only to resurface at a time when I was already vulnerable. The weight of both my past and present collided, and I felt powerless to stop it.

I realized something had to change when my autistic daughter found me crying uncontrollably in the bathroom one day. She did her best to comfort me, and that moment made me see how my struggles were impacting more than just myself. Shortly after, I sought help from behavioral health. I didn’t want my kids to watch their mother be consumed by stress and grief. Admitting that I wasn’t okay and asking for help took more courage than I expected, but it was a necessary step.

Through years of talk therapy, I’ve become less reactive to triggers, though they still exist and affect my mood accordingly. I’ve learned that delayed-onset PTSD doesn’t mean the healing process is linear or that the pain disappears—it means understanding how trauma can evolve over time and how life stressors can awaken old wounds. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully heal from my experiences, especially as my son and I continue to face his disorder. But I hold onto hope—that I’ll find peace of mind again or, at the very least, feel safe once more as I develop better coping skills and gain deeper insight into my emotions and experiences.

Healing, I’ve learned, isn’t about erasing pain or eliminating fear. It’s about learning to coexist with them without letting them control me. By embracing my vulnerabilities and accepting my suffering, I’ve discovered a strength within myself I didn’t know existed. I am no longer merely surviving—I’m gradually learning to thrive. The journey isn’t over, but I’m committed to moving forward, one step at a time.

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This first appeared in The Havok Journal on January 21, 2025.

Lori Butierries is a full-time caregiver to two children with disabilities. She uses her life experiences and the medical knowledge she gained from serving as a Hospital Corpsman in the United States Navy to help others facing similar hardships. Lori is an author for The Havok Journal, an official columnist for AwareNow Magazine, and a contributor to The Mighty. Likewise, other news sites like MSN and Yahoo! News have also republished select articles Lori  has written. Lori’s writing extends to children’s literature. Her debut picture book, GIFT FROM GOD, was self-published at the beginning of 2021 and placed as a finalist in two categories in the 2021 Next Generation Indie Book Awards. Lori’s long-term goals are to use her writing to educate others about, advocate for, and dismantle negative stereotypes regarding disability, mental health, and the military/veteran community.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.