The Survival Instinct of New York
In New York, survival isn’t optional; it’s the baseline. If you want something here, you don’t wait politely in line; you slide into the gap before someone else does. (If you’ve ever stood on a subway platform at rush hour, you know: hesitation equals death. Or at least, a very long wait for the next train.)
This city bakes grit right into the sidewalks. Between the noise, the competition, and a million people chasing the same dream, you either step up or get stepped over. And New Yorkers? They are professional steppers.
That toughness shows up everywhere: the way people guard their six inches of personal space on the subway like it’s prime real estate, the subtle art of weaving through Times Square tourists without breaking stride, and the holy grail, finding an empty park bench that feels like it was reserved just for you (and this is a real thing because I have one). These little wins might not sound like much, but each one is a reminder: you hold your ground, or you lose it.
The Parallels with CPTSD
The strange thing is, I think that same grit is what’s helped me live with CPTSD.
Living with trauma is like living in Midtown traffic with no crosswalk. Cars honking, lights flashing, people yelling at you in languages you don’t understand. It’s overwhelming and relentless, and you’re not sure if you’re supposed to sprint, stand still, or just accept that you’re now a hood ornament.
But something came out of all of that. New York trained me for this. This city demands you show up. That instinct that makes me plant my feet when someone shoulder-checks me on the subway platform? Same instinct I use when my trauma tries to shove me out of my own skin.
The Lessons the City Taught Me
NYC taught me to:
- Hold my ground. Just like you don’t step aside on a crowded street if you know where you’re going, I’ve learned not to step aside from my healing, even when CPTSD makes me want to disappear.
- Carve out space. A quiet bench in a local park, a cafe with just the right hum, those little spaces mirror the way I carve out mental quiet when my nervous system is on high alert.
- Keep moving. The city never stops, and neither does trauma recovery. Some days I move fast, other days it’s a shuffle, but I keep going.
The Grit That Translates
People often talk about NYC being “too much,” too loud, too crowded, and too competitive. And they’re right. But for me, that “too much” has been training. The noise outside became practice for handling the noise inside. The push and pull of the city toughened me up, not in a cold or hardened way, but in a resilient way.
CPTSD still throws punches. But New York taught me to punch back.
A Universal Kind of Grit
Not everyone lives in New York. (Some of you value things like “affordable rent” or “not smelling garbage juice in August,” which is fair enough.) But everyone has their own version of the city. Maybe it’s raising kids, maybe it’s holding down two jobs, maybe it’s just dragging yourself out of bed when your brain is telling you to hide. That’s all grit too.
Healing from trauma asks us to show up the same way. To stand our ground. To carve out a little space for ourselves. To keep moving, even when it’s messy.
Because in the end, whether you’re fighting for a subway seat or just five quiet minutes to breathe, survival is survival. And resilience? That’s just learning how to make your little corner of the world feel like it’s yours, even if it smells faintly like hot pretzels and chaos.
Photo by Maxwell Ridgeway on Unsplash