Post Traumatic Stress Disorder: Have We Evolved to a Greater Understanding?

In recent weeks, our nation set aside a day to help raise awareness about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). As such, I am of the opinion that our society has indeed evolved — especially as it relates to the effects of PTSD, an invisible injury.  Those who suffer with PTSD, understand all too well how their lives are greatly altered.  That is if, the individual is even willing to accept the diagnosis.

When I was initially diagnosed with PTSD, I felt ashamed for having become ill.  As a law enforcement professional, I felt betrayed by my own mind.  It felt as if I had somehow failed at my job.  How could Superwoman become ill?  After all, I was trained to be tough.  It was drilled into me not to succumb to the emotion.  And being a woman in the field, I thought it was an offense to cry!  How dare I even consider showing any type of feelings while wearing the blue.  It would have been a sacrilege to desecrate the uniform and badge with my salty tears.

Yet despite my repeated attempts to deny the diagnosis, my mind began to slip into the dark abyss of depression.  And when the overwhelming sadness that infiltrated my being was mixed with anxiety, it made for a prescription of a complete alteration to my life.  As the illness silently crept into my being, it caused great destruction and not only from a psychological mindset, but from the physiological perspective too.  I suffered with avoidance issues, emotional detachment, exaggerated startle effect, flashbacks, fibromyalgia, heart palpitations, hyper-vigilance, inflammation, migraines, negative changes in beliefs, night sweats, outbursts of anger, reoccurring nightmares and stomach ailments.  These symptoms only added to my embarrassment at having become ill and my need to isolate from the rest of the world.  This once vibrant individual who looked forward to each new day, froze in fear at the thoughts of having to leave my home.  And when the agency that I served with labeled me as medically unable to perform my duties, the devastation to my psyche was complete.  If I was not fit for duty, then in my mind, I was no longer of use to the world.  I had in some way failed at my purpose to serve and protect.

For a very long time, I delved in the mindset of isolation.  Thinking that there were not many who would understand my plight.  How could anyone know how it felt to transform into someone I barely recognized.  On occasion, I would stand in the mirror reassuring myself it was still my image looking back.  And I often wondered, if only the wounds were visible.  Then perhaps, my family members, friends and the world would understand my plight.

In my tenure as a police officer, I recall several officers who committed suicide.  Although these wonderful individuals bore no visible signs of PTSD, their behaviors were indeed part of the dichotomy of the illness.  This is something I have only come to learn as a result of my own journey.

PTSD also affected every single relationship as well.  Even those closest to me had a hard time comprehending my descent from my former self.  I became more aloof.  I avoided attending events.  With my mindset, it was very hard to find the joy in life.  Let alone, explain to others how I was feeling.  Each time I attempted to do so, I heard the same response.  What about medications or therapy?  Or, just get over it!  Even one of my treating doctors added insult to injury by once saying, “PTSD is the only mental illness that originates from trauma.  This fact should make you feel better about yourself.”

If a treating psychologist thought this statement was one to help promote healing, then the doctor obviously had no real understanding or empathy for that matter.  It wasn’t until I began to journal about the PTSD and it’s effects on my life that I came to better understand all that was transpiring.  By writing down my feelings and thoughts, I began to see a pattern of behavior that was not positive in design — but rather, somewhat self-destructive and hindering to both my emotional and spiritual growth.

As I have journeyed on the road to healing, I have become acquainted with so many individuals who have been afflicted with PTSD.  Most are law enforcement officers, firefighters, emergency medical service personnel and recovery workers who served on 9/11 (and the post days of reclamation) at the World Trade Center, Pentagon and Flight 93 crash sites.  In meeting these amazing men and women, I have come to learn that I am not alone.  There are thousands of us who have individualized stories to share about how this once silent illness had permeated the beings of so many.  Their plight is my plight, as it is for millions of others who bear the weight of this illness and the stigma attached to it.

So in my heart, I feel it is very timely that there is a day set aside to advocate awareness about PTSD.  By doing so, the ignominy related to the illness may be better understood.  And perhaps someday, there will be no need to even set aside a day.  There will only be a deeper understanding and empathy for all those who have been affected by trauma.

If you are interested in learning more about PTSD, please visit the Voices of September 11th organization’s website:



“The greatest glory in living

lies not in never falling,

but in rising every time we fall.”

~ Nelson Mandela

Resilience is defined as the ability to become strong, healthy, or successful again after something detrimental happens. In recent weeks, our nation once again witnessed the renewal of a community as the Boston residents rallied to exemplify their strength and alacrity to survive. The term “Boston Strong” again rang true. Not only to those individuals who suffered at the hands of terrorists who chose to perpetrate heinous crimes, but to all who survived the losses and injuries resulting from the events of the 2013 Boston Marathon. As our nation mourned alongside those who grievously suffered, we resolved in our convictions to not accept the label of “victims,” but rather “victors.”

For more years than I care to acknowledge, I have attempted to rebound from the emotional effects of a traumatic injury. And sadly, I must admit that I have far too often felt sorry for myself. That was, until I listened to the stories of those harmed at the 2013 Marathon. It is said that disappointments are inevitable, but bitterness is an option. In watching one valiant warrior after another, I was in awe of their ability to deal with all that had transpired. One after another embraced the concepts of forgiveness and fortitude. And for many days following their interviews, I was reminded of three words: bravery, fidelity and integrity. The unofficial meaning behind the acronym of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI). An agency in which I once served. Although the three letters stand for the name of the organization, all those who have served also identify the lettering to symbolize behavioral traits expected to be part of every man and woman employed by the Bureau. It is true of those who experienced the horrific events of the Marathon. They epitomize the very meaning and shine brightly as testimony of the ability of the mind, body and spirit to replenish and renew.

As I observed this year’s gathering in Boston, I felt such pride in viewing the sea of people who assembled not only to participate in the race, but to share in the day. It is estimated that a crowd of one million individuals were present. A mass of humanity that rose in defiance of circumstances that were meant to terrorize and defeat. But all present refused to be silenced by the acts. Instead they became victorious in their defiance to never allow such acts to define them. From across the nation, individuals converged in support of the many who braved to compete again. Those who participated not only represented themselves, but served as a symbol of us all. One nation under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all. Justice for those lost. Justice for those injured. Justice for all who refuse to be afraid.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I witnessed far too many grief-stricken individuals. In the initial stages of grieving, I watched them struggle to regain a sense of balance. As their healing process progressed, it became apparent that the individuals who were most resilient found the strength to persevere. This healing process seemed to accelerate when the element of support from family and community was added to the equation. I have found many examples of resilience in our nation’s history, among them the days following 9/11 and horrific crimes perpetrated in our communities, military bases and schools alike. The cry that is raised following such tragedies always leads to the intercession of the many who rise up in their determination to move forward and thrive. I contend that these amazing survivors are to be admired for all they have accomplished and all they have brought to this world. Their purpose has indeed aligned with the greater good of humanity, their triumphant lives a shining example for all to emulate.


The Burden of Responsibility

You have given me a great responsibility: to stay close to you, to be worthy of you, and to exemplify what you are.” ~ Jimmy Carter

Over these past months, I have been afforded opportunities to take part in numerous newspaper and radio interviews.  All have pertained to the story of 9/11 and the post days of recovery.  These conversations enabled me to share my thoughts and voice my beliefs.  Additionally, they have allowed me to discuss the plight of the first responders, who continue to carry not only emotional scars, but physical illnesses as well.

During my most recent newspaper interview, the journalist asked if I had found any closure from the effects of the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  Without a moment’s hesitation, I politely replied, “Closure is a term too often used as it relates to trauma.  It is terminology I don’t quite comprehend.”  At my reply, the reporter seemed perplexed, so I elaborated.

The word “closure” is defined as: a feeling that an emotional or traumatic experience has been resolved.  Personally, I cannot find a way to resolve the events and aftermath of 9/11.  Any resolution may feel as if one is minimizing and forgetting the devastation that transpired.  Closure abandons the memories of lives lost and the brethren who bravely rose to the occasion.

In my years serving in law enforcement, I never once witnessed a parent’s ability to find closure after losing a child.  Nor have I ever heard a crime victim express a complete sense of solace after experiencing a horrific tragedy that left them emotionally and/or physically scarred.  The sorrow felt in the initial moments of loss permeated a part of them that could never be fully healed.  Instead, these victims adapted to live with the grief suffered. Some have even found a way to move forward by serving on behalf of others.  In their time of great despair, they journeyed and found a new sense of purpose.  They did not allow the tragedy to define them.

When I listen to the stories told by the surviving 9/11 emergency responders, I hear similar tales from one and all.  They describe the events of the day.  They share facts about where they were when they first heard the call to help.  They share the helplessness felt as the tragedy transpired.  And each relays the story with the same haunting tone and a stare that seems focused on a distant place and time.  These wonderful men and women carry battle scars that have not yet healed.  In the twelve years since that infamous day, approximately 1,300 responders and recovery workers have succumbed to illness.  With so many now gone, I am left with all too many unanswered questions.

Perhaps due to training and personal backgrounds, those who serve in law enforcement and the military perceive themselves to carry a greater burden of responsibility.  When appointed to the position, each swears an oath–one held sacred to the soul.  In time of great danger, we are the first to arrive at the scene and the last to leave.  Regardless of the situation or circumstances, we are required to muster courage and act in the best interest of those in need.  We are looked to not only for protection, but for answers to all of the burning questions.  The mindset is clear.  We are programmed to be the modern day warrior–prepared to defend, rescue, and recover.

Emergency responders are sometimes considered to be the tertiary (third tier) victims of a crime or tragedy.  These tertiary victims become another statistic of the collateral damage sustained.  In contemplating the long-term effects of 9/11, I often question whether the burden of responsibility was too much to bear.  Was what the responders witnessed too painful for even them to recall?  Had the remaining questions tainted their shattered hearts and broken their spirits of the will to sustain their own lives?

As a child, my dear dad often shared words of wisdom regarding his moral center and the duty to his fellow man.  He would read from the Bible and then express his interpretation of the parable.  Once, after he read the Ten Commandments, I lamented that I would never be able to remember all of the rules.  I was a mere child and not yet fully aware of God and what was expected of me. In a moment of reflection, Dad just looked at me and smiled.  He said, “If you only remember to never intentionally hurt another human being, then you are living up to the laws of God.”

In the paradox of the first responders rushing toward the burning buildings or the gaping hole of a landfill, they themselves fell victim to the tragic events of September 11, 2001.  They, along with the survivors and our nation, watched in horror as the events unfolded and all were momentarily rendered helpless to prevent, protect, and aid.

A former colleague, who was responsible for the collection of all evidence at the three crash sites, was the first person from my agency that I confided in about 9/11 and my concern that I was affected both psychologically and physiologically.  During that conversation, I inquired what his initial thoughts were when he arrived at the scenes.  He responded, “My immediate impression reflected words often heard while attending church services: Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.”

When I consider his words and the stories shared by fellow responders, I am convinced that those of us impacted suffer from the burden of responsibility. We have taken it upon ourselves to carry the encumbrance of all that should have been done.  Even though these thoughts of conjecture bare no fact, they have somehow embedded themselves into the already troubled minds and hearts of the responders.  But we were not alone on 9/11.  We were aided by countless civilians who rose up to safeguard others too.  Based on this awareness, it is my hope that there will soon be a therapeutic remedy to help eradicate the deep-seeded sorrow felt for not living up to our perceived burden of responsibility and the motto of “first do no harm.”

The Duty of the First Responder: To Protect and Serve

The Duty of the First Responder: To Protect and Serve

The Face Of PTSD

On May 30th, I will be traveling to New York City to participate in “The First Responders Walk Up Broadway” parade. The purpose of this event is to pay respect to all of those who responded on 9/11 and served at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the Flight 93 sites. These responders sacrificed their lives to work tirelessly to rescue the injured, secure the sites, recover the remains of those lost and restore order to all of our lives. Over the days, months and years of work completed, they not only continued to put their lives on the line, but opened their hearts to their fellow responders and the many families who lost their loved ones on that fateful day.

Over ten years of memories, have caused me to remain silent and lose my voice. Over ten years of pain and sorrow have isolated me from those whom I once served with in the law enforcement profession. I have waited for the opportunity to once again stand tall and proud and not be ashamed of becoming ill.

Now, in this time of a decade past, I have learned I do not stand alone. I stand shoulder to shoulder with the other responders who have lost their lives or live with the multitude of diseases which destroyed their once powerful bodies and brilliant minds. I stand side-by-side with the others who remain on this earth. I embrace the chance to shake their hands and welcome them as my friends. Each of us has shared a journey which is not complete. Yet, each of us lives in the full understanding of what we have left behind. We not only lost our colleagues in the pits of the smoldering towers, in the burning building of the Pentagon, and on a barren field, but we have lost them to the pain and suffering of the dreaded illnesses which have afflicted all too many.

In memory of those lost and in keeping with those left behind, I now hold my head up high to be counted as one of the walking wounded who comprehends the burden carried. I suffer with the invisible trauma which I carry within the recesses of body, mind and soul. I am the face of PTSD.

On this day, I give thanks to the coordinators of this wonderful event. You are to be commended for your efforts in shedding some light on the plight of the responders who served on 9/11, who lost their lives, who were left behind and those who still suffer from the impact of that September day.




St. Michael Monastery, Village of Panormitis, Greek Island of Symi

St. Michael Monastery, Village of Panormitis, Greek Island of Symi

Yesterday, I received another lovely letter in the mail from a woman who read my book. In it she described the parallels in our lives. One of which was her belief in the angels and especially her connection to the Archangel Michael. Her heritage and religious background gave her faith and the strength of her convictions.

As part of the letter, she shared a family story and a photograph too. The photo portrayed an icon of St. Michael which stands in a church on the Greek Island of Symi. In further researching the photo, I found the icon hangs in a monastery in the village of Panormitis. A site which is held sacred to its inhabitants and a place where pilgrims have come to pray for many generations. Since this icon was created long ago, it once again bears testimony to the presence of angels. The belief in angels is not one of those fleeting concepts which come and go, or a fad which passes in the blink of an eye. It is a belief about celestial beings which is as old as time itself. With stories which have been passed down through the centuries. This marvelous impression of the Archangel Michael portrays him as I saw him that fateful September day. I viewed him in all of his splendor standing on the field. He was garbed in armor from head to toe and illuminated in white light. He was the warrior ready to do battle and protect all of mankind.

In her letter, this woman thanked me for writing the book which she felt gave her a sense of solace about her beliefs. Although I am grateful for her words of thanks, I feel it important for me to thank her as well. Her amazing story and willingness to share has given me a feeling of peace. It does my heart good to know their are so many others who believe in God’s winged messengers and their abilities to respond in our time of need. Thank you dear lady for your kindness bestowed. May you forever feel the comfort of your angelic guides…




In the early stages of the onset of the PTSD, flashbacks were a common occurrence in my daily life. They were a constant reminder of what I saw, what I heard and what I smelled. Any similar prop which presented itself to me caused the prompting of a frozen memory to become the reality of the day. The past merged with the present and my mind became a tangled web of misunderstood messages, thoughts and (on occasion) ill behaviors too.

Over these many years, the flashbacks have decreased. Now their arrival is usually beset by some prop which resembles past days walking the field and watching all which resulted from 9/11, and post days as I watched over those who suffered most. Yet there are times when the remembrances result because I am inadvertently drawn to something viewed on television or heard in the every day doings of life. One such incident took place last evening as I watched the ending of a movie titled, “Unstoppable.” The storyline is based on a true story. In short, the movie tells the tale of two men who risk their lives to help stop a train which is on the fast track to destruction. Their need to help their fellow man outweighs their fear of imminent death.

Now, I usually try to avoid watching any type of movie or television program which may possibly prompt a negative memory. I abhor any violent programming and tend to prefer the comedies and romances which allow me to dream. But, as I watched the last few scenes of this particular movie, my mind was immediately transferred to the image of the passengers and crew members aboard Flight 93 and the remnants of the crash site. My thoughts focused on what must have gone through their minds in those last moments as they made their choice to help save humanity. I kept hearing the word “heroism” across the whispers of my ear. I felt the mixed emotions of pride and pain for these heroic individuals. And in the midst of these feelings, came a sense of helplessness as well. I felt somehow responsible for not having been able to aid them in some way. After all, I was a law enforcement professional and responsible to serve and protect. And on that fateful day in our history, I fear I failed to do so. If this is the deep-seeded feeling which still lies dormant in the dark abyss of my mind, I pray for a reprieve from the distant memories to come soon and set my mind in motion to heal.





When first I wrote the initial two chapters of my book, I did so in response to the deep-seeded fear dwelling inside my soul. It lived there as if it had a mind of its’ own and a heart beat which breathed life into too. The fear I was feeling was an automatic response to my declining health. I feared losing all of the details of 9/11 and the post days. If I forgot these important facts, who would then know about the angelic visitation. As the effects of the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and the depression set in, the anxiety flared and my mind became a convoluted version of its’ own design. My mind now seemed to reflect the image of a complex puzzle with the many pieces scattered across the landscape of my once finely tuned mind. I was afraid of all which was taking place and felt as if the real me no longer existed. I had lost control of the issues surrounding me. So, in order to preserve the story of 9/11 and the Angels who presented themselves at the Flight 93 crash site, I removed myself from the pain and authored the pages about the celestial beings. These two chapters were written in 2002 and it would take another eight years to complete the entire manuscript.


Heaven-CallingWhen my mind began to open in memory of the tale, the many pieces once fractured began to realign and allowed for the distant memories once frozen in time to retrace and enter the present moments. With this healing, came the realization of the importance of telling my story.