There’s a phrase that gets thrown around a lot: hurt people hurt people. Sometimes it’s said with compassion, sometimes as a defense, and sometimes as a throwaway line. But for me, it’s a truth I’ve had to look directly in the eye.

Because I was hurting. And I hurt people.

I was one of them.

And as much as I hate admitting that, it’s the truth.

Not in some melodramatic, villainous way. I wasn’t out there trying to cause damage or pain. But I was lost, deeply lost, in a life shaped by CPTSD. When you’re living in survival mode, sometimes the very things you do to protect yourself become the things that push others away, confuse them, or cause harm.

The worst part? I knew. I was aware of it.

That’s the part that still stings.

It’s the part I’m still trying to reconcile.

I’ve written before about taking accountability, but today the remorse bubbled up again, and I needed to address it.

Watching Myself Break What I Wanted Most

See, it’s one thing to be unaware, to lash out or implode or disappear and not understand why. It’s another thing to be just self-aware enough to see the harm you’re causing while feeling powerless to stop it. Like watching yourself sabotage a connection or say something sharp-edged and cold from the corner of the room, screaming inside your head, “Don’t do it,” but doing it anyway.

It’s not an excuse. Nor is it even an explanation I expect anyone to understand. It’s just… reality. It’s the way CPTSD can bend your perception of safety, of intimacy, of self-worth. It can convince you that closeness equals danger. That vulnerability equals weakness, and that leaving first is better than being left.

The Long Road of Healing

I’ve done a lot of healing since those days. And I mean a lot. Therapy. Reflection. Sitting in the rubble and asking myself the hard questions. Learning how to be in my body again. Learning what love is supposed to feel like when it’s not tangled in fear.

Like realizing that boundaries aren’t rejection. Or that love can be consistent without being controlling.

I’m still healing. Still learning. Still trying to get it right, one choice at a time.

I’m Not Looking for Forgiveness

This isn’t a post where I’m fishing for forgiveness. I don’t expect that. That would be selfish.

It’s not about closure either. What I’ve felt lately is something much quieter, but just as heavy. It’s the urge to simply say:

If you came into my life when I was at my worst, I’m sorry. Truly. Deeply. Unequivocally sorry.

Not because I want something. Not because I need anyone to tell me it’s okay. But because I see it now. I see what I couldn’t see back then. The confusion I caused. The emotional whiplash. The mixed signals. The push and pull. The walls that came up overnight. The lies I told.

I see the ripple effect I had on people who didn’t deserve it. People who cared. People who probably walked away wondering what the hell happened.

Survival Isn’t the Same as Safety

Living with CPTSD means that survival often gets confused with connection. Your nervous system is always bracing for impact. Even the good moments, especially the good moments, can feel dangerous.

So you brace. You self-sabotage. Numb out. You run.

And in doing so, you hurt the people closest to you. The ones who showed up and who tried to love you. The ones who caught glimpses of who you really were underneath all the armor, and maybe even loved you anyway.

It’s a cruel paradox. You want love more than anything, but the moment it gets too close, the alarm bells go off and your system screams, “Danger.” So you hurt them first. Begin to distance yourself. You even implode the relationship. Or you become someone they have to walk away from.

This Is What Accountability Looks Like (For Me)

So, no. This isn’t a redemption arc. This isn’t a grand gesture. This is me, showing up to tell the truth.

I hurt people when I was hurting and did things I’m not proud of. Where I made people question themselves when, really, I was the one falling apart. I see it now.

And I’m sorry.

It’s not the kind of sorry that needs a reply. It’s the kind that lives inside me now. The kind that fuels my commitment to keep healing, to keep doing better, and to never again confuse survival with connection.

To those I hurt when I didn’t know how to love without fear: it was never their fault. I carry their grace with me every single day as I learn to be someone different. Someone better.

Someone learning to live whole, even when it’s hard, and still choosing love, even when it scares me.

Yes, hurt people hurt people.

But healed people?

They choose love, even when it’s hard.

Photo by Brecht Denil on Unsplash