It’s a strange thing to find myself where I am now.

For the first five years of my life, I had some sense of freedom. I was allowed to be a version of myself that never had the chance to fully develop. That version was soon overshadowed, reshaped by abuse, trauma, and the grip of CPTSD.

Fast-forward five decades, and here I am, in a position I never thought I’d reach: one where I have some control.

I’m not “cured,” if such a thing even exists. I know I’ll live with CPTSD for the rest of my life. The memories are still there. But now, I have tools. I have awareness. And I have the ability to stop it from running my life the way it once did.

Carrying the Grief

There’s a weird kind of grief that comes with healing. Not just for what happened, but for what didn’t. For the boy who didn’t get to grow up safe. The teenager who learned to disappear instead of ask for help. And for the man who spent decades surviving instead of living.

That grief doesn’t go away. But it does become something I can carry without it breaking me open every time.

Noticing the Parts

What’s different now? I pay attention to my parts. I notice when I’m triggered. I’ve stopped gaslighting myself with “it wasn’t that bad” or “you should be over this by now.” And most importantly, I’ve stopped living in constant reaction to other people’s expectations. That alone feels like a kind of quiet revolution.

CPTSD still whispers lies in my ear about safety, trust, and worth. But now I know they’re lies. Or at least, I know some part of me believes them because that part was once trying to keep me alive. I’ve learned not to hate those parts. I thank them. And then, I place them gently back where they belong, not in charge, but not ignored either.

Finding Ground

It’s not perfect. Some days I still spiral. Some nights the old fear creeps in unexpectedly. But more often now, I recognize what’s happening. I take a moment and breathe. I use the tools I’ve picked up in therapy, writing, walking, and naming what I’m feeling out loud, and I find my way back.

Healing isn’t a destination. It’s a practice. It’s messy, and often backtracks. It surprises you with hope just when you think you’ve run out.

Choosing Freedom

And sometimes, it gives you a moment like this, where you realize, I’m not who I was. I’m still here. And I’m finally starting to feel free.

That sense of freedom I feel now, it’s different from the freedom I had as a child. Back then, it was unknowing, innocent, and temporary. Now, it’s hard-earned. It comes with scars and boundaries and the understanding that I have to choose it, sometimes every single day.

But I do. I choose it.

I make choices now everyday. To stay in the room when it gets uncomfortable. and I most definitely choose to rest when my nervous system says enough. I also choose to speak, even when the old fear tells me to disappear.

Returning to Myself

And maybe that’s what healing is. I now know that it’s not about becoming someone new, but slowly, learning to return to who I was always meant to be before the world tried to rewrite me.

And the more I learn about myself, the more freedom I find. The freedom to show up honestly, and to set boundaries. To rest when I need to, and importantly choose what is right for me.

It’s far from perfect, and it’s not always easy. But it’s real. And that’s something I never thought I’d have.

If you want to understand more about this journey, how I’ve come to terms with my past and even kept my name despite everything, I wrote about it here.

Photo by Clint McKoy on Unsplash