Loving someone with CPTSD means, first and foremost, loving someone with a complicated past.

We might not always say it, but we crave connection, deeply. Sometimes more than we know what to do with. And yet, every so often, we flinch. We pull back. We get quiet when things get too close.

It’s not because we don’t care. It’s just… Sometimes, closeness feels like the scene of an old injury. So yeah, it’s a dance. One that doesn’t always follow the usual rhythm.

So, if you’re here, loving someone like us, welcome to the mayhem.

This isn’t an apology or a warning. It’s more like a little map, sketched on a napkin. Something to help you find your way when the road gets twisty. Not the whole story, but enough to keep you from feeling totally lost.

We’re Not Broken. Just Under Renovation.

We’re not “too much.” We just learned to survive in ways that can make closeness a little tricky. And occasionally, those survival skills get in the way of connection.

The problem isn’t love. It’s that our nervous systems sometimes think love is danger dressed in nice clothes.

One minute, we’re pulling you close. The next, we’re pushing you away. And sometimes, if we’re really spiraling, we manage to do both in the same text message.

That’s disorganized attachment in a nutshell: wanting closeness so badly and being terrified of it at the same time.

The Stuff We Say (And What’s Really Going On)

When we say, “I need space,” we’re not planning an escape. We’re just overwhelmed, afraid we’ll wreck something good if we stay too close while our nerves are on fire

When we say, “This is too much,” it’s not a sign our feelings are fading. It’s a signal flare: our system’s overloaded, and we need a breather to reset.

When we say, “I don’t think I’m good at this,” we’re not asking you to fix it. We’re hoping, quietly, maybe awkwardly, that you’ll remind us we’re still lovable, even when we’re scared.

The Hard Stuff (and the Beautiful Stuff)

Yeah, loving us can be hard. We know. We live with us too.

But here’s the truth most people don’t see: it can also be beautiful. Loving someone who’s healing means you get a front-row seat to something raw and real. You’ll see the resilience, the tenderness, the moments where we let our guard down and show you who we are underneath the armor.

And kindness? We don’t forget it. We carry it like a small, warm stone in our pocket, something steady to hold onto, even when we’re too overwhelmed to say thank you right away.

What Helps (Especially When We’re Spinning Out)

Consistency is magic. Truly. When you show up the same way over and over, we start to believe maybe you’re not going to vanish. Maybe this connection really is safe.

Try not to take our reactions personally. Sometimes, you’re just standing in the same emotional spot where a ghost from our past used to live.

And please, check in, don’t check out. A quiet, “Hey, you seem off. Want a hug or some space?” tells us you’re not scared of our moods. It tells us we matter, even when we’re not at our best.

We’re not broken; we’re just mid-reno. So yeah, there might be a little emotional dust.

What Not to Do (When We’re in Shutdown Mode)

If you love someone with trauma, you’ll probably see them shut down once in a while. In those moments, here’s what doesn’t help:

• Don’t try to fix us. We’re not a broken sink. We’re people doing the slow, often invisible work of healing. Your steady presence means more than any quick fix ever could.
• Don’t make our triggers about you. If we go quiet, it’s probably something old flaring up, not something you did wrong.
• Don’t use ultimatums. We get it; this is hard. But pressure doesn’t help. Safety does. Compassion lands where control never will.

If You’re Still Here, Thank You.

Seriously.

If you’re still reading, still loving, still trying, you’re part of the healing. Whether we say it out loud or not, we notice. We remember.

You are the calm in a storm we’ve known for a long, long time.

And Finally…

With enough gentleness and time, we can learn to lean on you, and we can learn to trust that this thing, this closeness, isn’t going to hurt us. And maybe, even feel at home in it someday.

Got a tip of your own for loving someone who’s healing? Drop it in the comments or send it my way. We’re all figuring this out together.

Photo by Sdf Rahbar on Unsplash