For most of my life, I was closed off, keeping people at arm’s length, and I had no idea why I sabotaged real connections when they came my way.
I spent years feeling numb, locked in a cycle of emotional breakdowns. Expressing myself or even talking about my feelings felt impossible. It was like I was stuck, thinking that what I was going through was just “normal.” But it wasn’t.
Becoming a father was when things started clicking. I still didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew something was. It wasn’t until my daughter turned five and the death of a man who, later, I found out had been my abuser, that everything came crashing down. Emotional flashbacks became a regular thing, but I didn’t even know what they were or why they were happening.
It was my late aunt who suggested I talk to someone about everything I was going through. At first, I resisted; I was a private person, and the idea of opening up to a stranger felt uncomfortable. But I eventually realized that keeping it all bottled up was taking a toll on my mental health. So, I made an appointment with a therapist, hoping to find some clarity. What I didn’t expect was that what was about to be uncovered would completely change my life.
Learning about my trauma
It turned out that my daughter turning five was significant, not just because of her age, but because that’s when my own childhood abuse began. It was like a floodgate opened, and all the memories I’d buried deep inside resurfaced. That’s when I first learned about dissociative amnesia and how it impacted me. I had blocked out huge chunks of my life.
At first, I was in denial, refusing to believe the things I was remembering or talking about. The flashbacks were so intense, and everything I was starting to recall felt distant and disconnected, almost like they weren’t my own thoughts. It was all a result of dissociation. The deeper I went in therapy, the more I learned about myself, and eventually, I was diagnosed with cPTSD.
It took me three tries to find a therapist who truly helped, and when I finally got that diagnosis, it was like finding a missing piece of myself. The relief was overwhelming, but it also brought a flood of emotions I wasn’t ready for. Understanding what was going on inside me gave me the ability to start healing, and most importantly, I began to feel things again instead of just being numb.
The healing journey begins
At the start of my healing journey, I often found myself questioning, What even is my brain? It was like I had to unlearn everything I thought I knew in order to start learning new ways to cope with my trauma. Understanding my behaviors and emotions was tough, but it also brought a wave of grief, like pulling out an infection that had been festering for years.
The first stages of recovery were brutal. I had nightmares and night sweats and found myself spiraling into depression. Medication didn’t seem to help much, but TMS therapy made a world of difference. It worked for me in a way that antidepressants never did.
Over the last decade, I’ve spent countless hours in therapy, learning to self-reflect, to grieve, and to accept. I’ve become more compassionate with myself and changed the way I set expectations. I’ve learned that healing isn’t an instant fix; it’s a gradual process, and it’s okay to take things one step at a time.
Embracing vulnerability has become one of my biggest strengths. It’s helped me connect with others in ways I never thought possible, allowing me to experience life more fully.
Healing from complex trauma takes time, patience, and practice. It’s a long journey, from denial to acceptance, from surviving to thriving. It’s not just about addressing the emotional wounds; it’s about rebuilding a sense of safety, not only within ourselves but also with others. Every step forward can feel overwhelming, but with the right support, we can reclaim our sense of self and well-being. And when you finally reach that point? It’s nothing short of beautiful.