I’ve talked before about how rumination shows up, especially when you’re living with CPTSD. Today, I got caught in it, stuck replaying old mistakes, old choices, things I wish more than anything I could take back.

For so long, CPTSD has controlled my life. It’s not easy to admit that, in fact, it’s painful to say out loud. There’s something deeply uncomfortable about acknowledging how much power it had over me. CPTSD can sometimes feel like a second wave of abuse, something you never asked for but are forced to live with anyway.

After surviving the original trauma, I was left dealing with these invisible aftershocks that seemed to have no end. It wasn’t just the memories or flashbacks; it was the constant, underlying tension, the way everything in my life felt like it was set on edge, ready to break at any moment. For years, I didn’t feel like I was fully living, just surviving, waiting for the next wave to hit.

I never consented to having CPTSD, and acknowledging that truth is tough, but it’s also necessary for healing. It’s like I’ve had to reclaim my own story, to be able to accept that I didn’t choose this, and that I wasn’t responsible for what came next. Understanding this doesn’t erase the struggle, but it helps me start to take back control, even in small ways. Every day is a step towards accepting the things I can’t change and finding a way to heal, not just survive.

Rumination is brutal.

It convinces you you’re nothing but your worst moments. It makes you forget that you were trying to survive the best way you could with the tools you had. Looking back now, I can see that the person I was back then deserved some understanding, not this endless punishment my brain keeps throwing at me.

CPTSD messes with everything. Your reactions, your decisions, and how you move through the world, and it all gets shaped by it. When you’re in the middle of it, you can’t always see what’s happening. But now I can. I can name it for what it is. And even though that doesn’t fix everything, it means something.

It’s a start.

Owning My Past Choices

Understanding CPTSD doesn’t undo the damage I’ve done, though. There are things I regret, and I know I’ve hurt people. I made choices I’m not proud of, and I don’t want to hide behind my trauma and say, “It wasn’t my fault.” But I also know it wasn’t as simple as “I’m just a bad person.”

It’s both.

I’m responsible for what I did. But I was also surviving with a brain that was wired for survival, not calm, rational thinking. That’s the reality. It’s not clean or pretty or easy. It’s messy as hell. But that’s what real growth looks like.

Living through trauma leaves you with scars that don’t always stay hidden. Some are visible, others are buried deep, but they’re all part of the story of how you’ve survived. As I move through life, I’ve found myself caught between two opposing forces: holding my past self with compassion, and not letting myself off the hook where I shouldn’t. It’s a delicate balance, acknowledging the pain while refusing to let it define me or excuse the choices I’ve made.

Survival Mode and the Cost of Healing

Survival demands a lot from a person. It pushes you into places you wouldn’t go if you had better options. But when you’re just trying to make it through another day, you don’t always have the luxury of making the best choices. There’s no roadmap for navigating life under constant pressure. Sometimes, survival is the only priority, and everything else gets swept aside. You find ways to keep going, even if the ways aren’t always the healthiest or most ideal.

I’m certainly not trying to excuse anything, and I’m certainly not trying to minimize the impact of my past choices. What I’m trying to do is live with the whole picture. The pain, the regret, the responsibility, and the understanding. It’s all heavy, but it’s also part of who I am. I carry the weight of it all, but I’m still here. Still doing the work. Still fighting to be better than I was yesterday. There’s no “perfect” in healing, and no moment when you can say you’ve “fixed” everything. It’s a constant process of learning, unlearning, and growing.

Still Here, Still Fighting

There are days when the weight feels unbearable, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to put it down. But then there are moments of clarity, small victories that remind me I’m still capable of change. I still have the power to grow, to evolve, and to move forward, even if it’s at a pace that feels slower than I’d like. The truth is, we never really leave our past behind. It’s woven into the fabric of who we are, and it’s up to us how we carry it.

In the end, survival isn’t about denying the scars or pretending the past didn’t happen. It’s about showing up, day after day, and choosing to keep moving forward, even if it’s with a broken heart and a heavy soul. It’s about holding space for both the pain and the healing, the mistakes and the growth, and finding a way to make peace with it all. Because despite everything, I’m still here. And as long as I’m still here, I’ll keep doing the work, and I’ll keep trying to be better than I was.

Photo by Mathias Reding on Unsplash