It’s like living with CPTSD is walking through a mental minefield. One moment the ground is firm, and the next it gives way. Emotional blowouts are inevitable, and just when I’m okay, the ground beneath me gives way.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Intrusive thoughts arrive like unwelcome guests at a party, puncturing the fragile peace I’ve worked so hard to create. And in their wake, the flashbacks.
But these aren’t the cinematic flashbacks you see in movies. They aren’t vivid, visual replays of trauma. Instead, they’re emotional. Consciously, I’m in the present; it’s 2024, not 1977. And yet, emotionally? I’m five. Or seven. Or nine. I’m small. Frightened. Hiding. Waiting.
The Impact of Trauma: Feeling Unworthy
You see, flashbacks are more than memories, they’re emotional ambushes. The guilt. The shame. The fear. The constant sense of not being enough.
It’s as if I’m stepping directly into a storm. Even when I know I’m safe, the body and brain respond like I’m not. Every small mistake feels catastrophic, like a grenade blast in my chest.
What’s worse is that trauma doesn’t just disrupt the present. It rewrites your inner narrative. It tells you you’re unworthy of love, compassion, and peace. That whisper becomes constant. And after a while, it so damn hard to unlearn.
The Exhaustion of the Battle
Understandably, fighting CPTSD is exhausting. It’s a cycle of emotional dysregulation, hypervigilance, and burnout.
Even though I’ve learned in therapy, the tools, language and awareness. I still get caught in the loops. I can name what’s happening, and I can even talk myself through it. But still, that doesn’t stop the emotional hijacking.
It’s like being stuck on a merry-go-round you didn’t ask to get on, spinning endlessly while you try not to fall apart.
And on the hardest days, the most painful thought is this: What if this never ends? What if I always come back to this place of doubt, guilt and shame?
A Truth I’m Learning to Hold
But despite all that here’s what I keep coming back to: I am worthy. I do deserve love. And trauma doesn’t get to define me.
Time and time again, CPTSD has tried to convince me I’ll never be okay, that healing is out of reach. But every day I get up and try again, I’m reclaiming something that was taken.
Sure, it might take years. I might stumble a hundred more times. Still, I’m not giving up.
The Power of Healing: One Step at a Time
Because here’s the truth. Healing from CPTSD isn’t a clean, upward climb. It’s a gritty, painful, beautiful mess.
And yet, every time I rise above the storm and remind myself I’m not defined by what happened to me. Each time I ground myself in the truth that I am lovable, and every time I choose to keep going, I get a little closer to freedom.
This is my fight.
This is my healing.
And most importantly, trauma doesn’t get the final word.