Negative moments from childhood shape us well into adulthood.
The Cicada
I'm a florist with PTSD triggered by peonies. Once, my mom was picking peonies in the garden and handed me the stems she cut. The flowers attracted bugs, and when I had a big bouquet, I spotted a huge cicada on the petals. The whole bunch flew into the air as I screamed and ran for twenty minutes. To this day, I can’t work with peonies. If a bride orders them, my colleague arranges the flowers instead.
The Knives
My grandmother used to hit my mom, so she promised never to raise a hand against me. Instead, when I misbehaved, I had to watch her stab knives into my favorite stuffed toys. I was little and didn’t understand they didn’t feel pain—I saw them as friends. Honestly, this “discipline” felt worse than being hit because even now, my stomach tightens when I see a knife.
The Mane
My parents divorced, and I spent the first half of summer alone with my dad. He couldn’t manage or comb my waist-length hair, so he shaved it all off! I cried for three days straight. My hair still reaches my waist, and I only cut an inch when the ends get really frizzy.
The Pills
My mom had an unsuccessful suicide attempt. She took a bunch of pills, but they managed to wash out her stomach in time. During an argument, my dad cruelly told her she was too stupid even to kill herself. A week later, she succeeded. I was 13 then, and since, I haven’t taken any medication—not even an aspirin.
The Legs
I was eight when my mom told me I sat like a “slut.” My knees weren’t closed, but I wore long jeans, so I didn’t understand why it was a problem. She said if she caught me sitting “shamelessly” again, she’d take a knife and "stick it between my legs." Even now, at 38, I always sit with my knees tightly closed.
The Canadian Goose
My husband is Canadian, and he told me they call wild geese “Canadian geese” for a reason—they can be really aggressive. I was 16 when a wild goose approached us in the park demanding food. My friends laughed at me because I was almost terrified of the bird. At home, I told my mom, who said she wasn’t surprised. It turned out a goose attacked me when I was three—and though I don’t remember it, the trauma stuck with me. Even at 30, I still fear Canadian geese.
Pop
When I was little, my dad suddenly lifted me up—more like yanked me up—to fly like an airplane, and both my shoulders popped out, pop-pop. My mom put them back in, and since then, I’ve never dared to raise my arms above my head.
Left Behind
My siblings and I were so excited for our first trip to the sea. I was eight and counting down the days, but two days before we left, I got seriously sick and couldn’t go. My dad ended up traveling with my two siblings, and my mom stayed home with me. If missing out wasn’t punishment enough, my mom was mad at me too. She resented me for ruining her vacation and didn’t hide it. Because of this, I still feel awful whenever I get sick. A deep guilt washes over me that I don’t think I’ll ever outgrow.
