I was once told that healing requires us to explore the darkness before we can truly find the light. Back then, I didn’t understand what that meant, how deep it went, or how hard it would be until I found myself deep in the thick of it, face-to-face with my own healing.

What many people don’t realize is just how exhausting healing really is. It’s not just about feeling better. It’s about facing demons we’ve spent years running from. About revisiting painful memories, confronting shame, and sitting with emotions that once felt unbearable. It takes an incredible amount of courage to do that kind of work, and even more self-reflection.

For me, dissociation has always been a part of the process. Sometimes it feels like my brain just goes offline. There were long stretches where I didn’t want to be in my own body. Looking in the mirror didn’t feel grounding; it felt haunting. I saw someone I didn’t recognize. A stranger. A reflection that brought me back to the abuse. It was painful, confusing, and disorienting.

Learning to accept ourselves exactly as we are, to take up space, to make noise, and to just exist is a daily practice. And it’s a lot of work.

I carry a strong wish for change

I strive to be a lighthouse and shine my own light. To be the change I wish I saw in the world I grew up in. I try to show as much kindness and compassion as possible because growing up I wasn’t shown it by my abuser. I have learned that compassion can heal wounds that seemed impossible to mend. But I won’t lie, it’s tough when that empathy isn’t returned. And that’s when I have to remind myself: people can only meet us where they are, not always where we need them to be.

Letting go of control has been one of my biggest challenges. My trauma wired me to stay alert, always bracing for the worst. Being in control gave me the illusion of safety. But I’ve come to see that it’s not sustainable. I’ve carried the weight of the world on my shoulders for far too long, and I’m tired.

These days, I’m learning how to release that burden. Slowly. Gently. I’m working on finding peace within myself, even though the process is anything but quick. I still wish my past was different. I still grieve the childhood I never had. But I can’t change the cards I was dealt. All I can do is make peace with who I am, forgive myself for the mistakes I’ve made, and keep showing up for myself, day by day.

Making peace with yourself takes time

Our brains are wired to focus on problems, and trauma and anxiety only intensify that. I’ve had to accept that I can’t fix everything, and more importantly, that’s okay.

I’ve also realized just how sensitive I am to the world around me. Words, actions, and energies can all land deeply. And now that I’ve taken down the emotional walls I used to protect myself, everything hits even harder. I spent years feeling numb, and now that I’m actually feeling things… it’s overwhelming. It makes me question everything I thought I knew.

Healing often brings a kind of grief no one warns you about. And while strong emotional connections help, sometimes those bonds break, and that grief deepens. It’s a cycle. Like a merry-go-round of emotional pain that doesn’t always let up.

Living with cPTSD can be incredibly disorienting. Calm environments often make me feel more chaotic inside, while high-stress, unpredictable situations somehow feel more familiar. It’s like chaos feels like home. Unlearning that instinct is a slow, deliberate process. It takes patience, compassion, and so much understanding.

But I’m doing it. Little by little, I’m learning to make peace with myself. To sit with the darkness, not as an enemy, but as a part of the journey. I’m holding out for the light and learning how to be my own lighthouse along the way.

Healing is harder than I ever imagined, but I’m still here. Still shining.