The Crash Was Over. The Impact Wasn’t
The Crash Was Over. The Impact Wasn’t.
Richard and I were on our way back from the Lakes when my phone rang.
It wasn’t my daughter.
It was her girlfriend.
She was a passenger in the car. At first, she sounded calm, almost too calm, explaining what had happened in a measured way. But as the call went on, that calm began to slip. Her words slowed, her voice wobbled, and gradually she folded. The shock was catching up with her.
They’d been hit by a camper van.
That moment, when you’re trying to stay calm while your heart is hammering and your head is racing. You go into practical mode immediately, even though every part of you wants to be there, not three hours away on a motorway heading in the wrong direction.
She was physically shaken.
She’d managed the situation.
She’d done what needed doing.
She was amazing!
But I knew, deep down, this wasn’t going to be the end of it.
She Coped… Until She Didn’t
People said how well she handled it at the time.
And she did.
She stayed composed, spoke to the right people, and kept things moving. That’s something she’s learned to do very well over the years, especially in moments of shock.
But coping in the moment doesn’t mean something hasn’t landed hard.
Adrenaline is powerful. It masks fear, pain and panic. It keeps you going when your body thinks survival matters more than feeling. And when it wears off, that’s when the real impact often shows up.
That’s exactly what happened here.
Why This Was Never “Just” a Car Accident
My daughter lives with CPTSD, emotional dysregulation, panic disorder, EDS, and other ongoing health conditions. I won’t list them all, not because they don’t matter, but because labels only tell part of the story.
What matters is this:
Her body and brain don’t respond to stress in one neat, predictable way.
Each condition plays a different role in how she experiences and recovers from something like this.
Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, (CPTSD) means her body reacts to danger quickly and intensely. A sudden impact doesn’t just feel frightening, it can bring back old sensations of not being safe, even when she logically knows she survived.
Emotional dysregulation means feelings don’t rise gently and fade away. They surge. They overwhelm. And they take time to settle again.
Panic disorder means the fear of panic itself becomes part of the problem. Once her body has been shocked, it stays alert, watching for the next threat.
Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS) adds a physical layer that people often underestimate. Pain lingers. Fatigue hits hard. Recovery takes longer. And when your body already feels unpredictable, something like a crash reinforces that fear.
So recovery isn’t one straight line.
It isn’t “rest for a few days and you’ll be fine.”
It’s several recovery paths running at the same time, physical, emotional, neurological and all needing different things.
The Bit That Followed: Getting Back in the Car
One of the hardest parts hasn’t been the accident itself.
It’s getting back into a car.
That sense of safety, the assumption that you can just get in and go, has gone. Every journey now comes with tension. Her body braces. Her breathing changes. She’s watching everything.
And even now, there’s still fear.
That’s not irrational.
That’s her nervous system trying to protect her.
For someone without trauma, a car is transport.
For her right now, it’s a reminder.
The Days After
Once everything slowed down, the emotional weight arrived.
Sleep was disrupted.
Anxiety sat closer to the surface.
Pain and exhaustion crept in.
Confidence dipped.
And as her mum, I found myself doing what so many parents in this position do, quietly adjusting everything around her.
Less pressure.
More reassurance.
Gentler days.
Lower expectations.
December doesn’t make that easy.
Services are reduced. Routines are disrupted. The world feels louder and busier. So something like this, an unexpected shock, takes more out of everyone.
Including me.
Because supporting someone through recovery while managing your own fear is tiring in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.
Why “At Least She’s OK” Misses the Point
I know people mean well.
And yes, I’m grateful she wasn’t more seriously hurt.
But being alive doesn’t mean being unaffected.
It doesn’t mean the fear disappears.
It doesn’t mean the body resets.
It doesn’t mean things go back to how they were.
Recovery isn’t just about injuries you can see.
It’s about rebuilding a sense of safety, slowly, carefully, and in layers.
What I Want Other Parents to Take From This
If your child seems more affected by an event than others expect…
If the impact lasts longer…
If recovery looks messy, slow, or uneven…
That doesn’t mean you’re overreacting.
And it doesn’t mean your child is failing.
It means their system works differently.
And that means recovery has to look different too.
Right now, we’re taking things one day at a time.
No rushing. No forcing. No pretending it didn’t matter.
Just steady steps forward, however small they look from the outside.
In December, that’s enough.
Your calm in the chaos,
Sami ⚓️
