Living with complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD) is no walk in the park. Some days, it can feel like a constant storm raging inside, making it hard to navigate through life. And it’s not a sound you hear, but a psychological beat that never seems to stop. The constant buzz of feeling unworthy, unlovable, and like everything you do is wrong. The weight of being a burden. No matter how many people surround you and tell you otherwise, these thoughts are there, persistent and exhausting.
On days when my CPTSD flares up, the feeling of hopelessness can be so overwhelming that I can understand why people reach for substances—be it alcohol, drugs, or other crutches. It’s not the solution, of course, but when the emotional turmoil feels unbearable, I get it. Those moments of relief, no matter how fleeting, can feel like the only way out.
The Fog of CPTSD
On these days, my mind becomes foggy, and everything feels like it’s closing in. It’s as if a heavy weight has been placed inside my brain, and gravity is forcing it to crush my skull. There’s nothing I can do but ride it out, waiting for it to subside. It’s these moments when I truly hate the person I am. I have no control over how long it will last, either. Sometimes it’s hours. Occasionally it stretches into days. It’s an unpredictable, exhausting cycle.
But through the hard work I’ve put into therapy and the practices I’ve learned over time, I’m doing my best to not let these episodes completely take over. I’ve learned that self-care is crucial when navigating a CPTSD episode. It’s not always easy, but the effort to pull myself back when I can is worth it.
I’ve learned to push myself, even on the hardest days. When I feel the urge to detach, I force myself to do something. I go outside. I sit by the water, allowing the calm of nature to ground me. I allow myself to truly feel what’s going on inside instead of trying to numb or ignore those emotions. In those moments of pain, I try to embrace the discomfort and work through it.
The Power of Mindfulness
Mindfulness has also become a helpful tool. Paying attention to the sensations in my body, whether it’s the cold air on my skin or the feeling of my breath going in and out, helps me reconnect with the present moment. It’s a small way to rebuild a sense of safety and regulation within myself so that I can better process the trauma stored inside.
Then there’s my inner critic, the part of me that feels like scar tissue, constantly reminding me that I’m not good enough and that no one truly loves me. This is the part I’m constantly in battle with. It’s the voice that tries to drown out everything else. But I’ve learned that this voice doesn’t define who I am. It’s just a part of me that needs soothing, reassurance, and patience. It’s a process that takes time, but I’m learning to quiet it, little by little.
CPTSD is an invisible battle, one that others can’t always see. The struggle is real, and it’s scary. But the tools I’ve learned along the way help me keep moving forward, even when the days are especially hard. On those days, I remind myself to never lose sight of the things that bring me joy, whether it’s a walk by the water, a quiet moment of mindfulness, or just allowing myself to be present in the experience of feeling.
CPTSD doesn’t get the better of me. Not today, not tomorrow. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep healing. And I’ll keep finding those moments of freedom and peace, even on the most difficult days.