There’s something that keeps circling back in my life like a boomerang made of emotional clarity, and it hits me a little harder every year:

I can’t do surface-level shit. Of any kind.

I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve smiled through small talk, nodded in the right places, and played the part like a pro. But deep down? It never sticks. I don’t thrive in shallow waters. I want the marrow of things. The unvarnished stories.

The real and the raw.

Living with CPTSD, Depth Isn’t the Obvious Choice

And that’s kind of wild when you consider this: I live with CPTSD.

I’ve been hurt, abandoned, and disappointed more times than I can count. And I’ve done the same to others. My nervous system has learned to scan for threats before my heart even realizes it’s open. I’ve shut down and pushed people away out of fear. It’s not drama; it’s protection.

A version of survival molded as a disguise.

(If you’re not sure what CPTSD is or how it differs from PTSD, I break it down here—no psychobabble, I promise.)

Craving Real Connection Feels Like a Radical Act

So to still crave connection that cuts to the bone? Or intimacy that doesn’t flinch from the ugly bits? That’s not just surprising. It’s almost a rebellion against everything that I have learned because of my trauma.

Against fear. Abandonment. And the lie that people like me are too much for love or not enough for belonging.

I’m Not Here to Half-Ass Anything

If I’m going to be here, really here, I want it to matter. And that means depth. No bullshit. No half-assed attempts at any relationship, be it platonic or romantic.

I want… no, I need it to count for something.

Call It Intense. I Call It Honest.

I honestly don’t think that’s wrong. Yes, it might seem intense, but that’s just how I am. And I’m okay with that.

If you took the time to understand my past, you’d see pretty quickly why that is. And maybe, just maybe, you’d realize it’s not intensity at all.

Maybe it’s just honesty in a world that keeps trying to sell us the watered-down version of connection.

For those of us who live with trauma, depth isn’t optional. It’s vital. We don’t want more drama. We want more meaning.

And that? It took me a little longer than I’d have liked to learn, if I’m honest.

Depth Is My Default Now

Looking back, I used to think wanting this kind of depth made me broken. Too much. Too heavy. And too serious.

But the older I get, and the more healing I do, the more I see it for what it is: Not a flaw. Definitely not a burden. But a boundary. A truth.

This is who I am.

Someone who’s been through enough shit to know I don’t have time, or energy, for pretending anymore.

I’ve learned, the hard way, that surface-level can’t hold the weight of what actually matters in life.

So no, I don’t do small talk well. But I’ll sit with you in the messy, honest middle of your story if you let me. And if you can meet me there in mine? That’s where the connection lives.

In the depth.

And that’s exactly where I’ve decided to stay because I now know it’s where I belong.

Photo by tayla maurici on Unsplash