There were a lot of times in the early days of my healing journey when I genuinely wondered if I was doing it “right.” You know, like… Is there a healing manual I missed? Am I allowed to feel this way? Does spiralling while reorganizing your sock drawer count as emotional progress?

(I’ve decided yes. Sock-drawer therapy is valid.)

But in all seriousness, yes, what I felt was valid. And what you feel is valid too. Healing is messy, non-linear, and weirdly exhausting for something that’s supposed to be “good for us.” But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:

Our healing is real. It matters. And it deserves to be acknowledged.

So… what does healing from CPTSD actually look like?

Let me just say up front: there’s no glittery “aha!” moment where the trauma floats away and suddenly you start doing yoga on a cliffside while drinking green juice. (If that happens to you, please send photos and your therapist’s info.)

For me, healing has looked more like:

• Becoming the MVP of my own mental team

• Re-parenting myself with the patience of a saint (or at least a very tired but determined camp counselor)

• Learning to accept myself for exactly who I am, not who I “should” have been

• Rewiring my brain, sometimes one anxious thought at a time

• Refusing to let anyone downplay the absolute endurance test that is healing

It’s meant facing some very dark, very uncomfortable parts of myself, and instead of running from them, saying, “Alright. Let’s figure this out.”

Radical self-love (even when I’m cranky)

Healing means loving myself even when I’m not exactly the most lovable person in the room (to be fair, I’m usually alone during those moments, so it’s a low bar). It means choosing to believe I am worth the work. It means believing I’m already doing better than the man who hurt me, and that’s not just a flex; it’s a fact.

It also means accepting that the version of me who might have been in a perfect world never got to exist. And that’s okay. I’ve become someone else entirely, someone real, someone strong, someone still standing.

These days, healing looks like…

• Fewer emotional flashbacks and random spirals into doom

• Actually recognizing when I’m triggered before I’m halfway into a three-hour existential monologue

• Being present and not just in a “the app told me to meditate” kind of way

• Developing real emotional maturity (not the kind where you just use big words in arguments)

• Setting boundaries that actually stick and not apologizing for them

Sometimes it feels like I’m peeling back years of survival-mode behaviors and finally seeing the real me underneath. And he’s… honestly, kind of cool.

But wait, will I ever be “fully healed”?

I don’t know. And that’s okay.

Triggers still happen. Flashbacks still pop up, usually uninvited like the emotional version of a popup ad. But now? I’ve got the tools to handle them. I don’t let them control my life like they used to. And that is huge.

These days, I manage my emotions better. I know how to rest without guilt, and I actually ask for help when I need it. (Progress! Growth!) I’ve come a long way in communication, setting healthy boundaries, and calling out toxic nonsense for what it is.

Final thought: we do deserve to be happy.

There’s no prize for pretending we’re fine. There is, however, something deeply liberating about facing what hurt us, working through it, and realizing we don’t have to carry that weight forever.

This work is hard, but it’s worth it. And the person you become on the other side of it? That person deserves joy, peace, and the biggest cup cake with sprinkles on top.

I look back at where I was just a few years ago, and sometimes I don’t even recognize that version of me. And that’s not sad; it’s proof of change. I’m proud of that version for surviving, but I’m proud of this version for finally starting to live.

For the first time in a long time, my future feels bright. I feel like I have purpose. And (brace yourself)… I might even be a little happy.

Which is wild. And wonderful.