I’ve been asked a lot what actually helped me the most in my healing journey and what made the biggest difference in getting me to where I am now.

My answer?

Music.

And I don’t mean in the cheesy “music heals” Pinterest quote kind of way. I mean genuinely. And deeply. In a way that reached parts of me that years of talking sometimes couldn’t.

Let me explain what I mean by that.

I Tried the “Normal” Things First

I’ve done the usual therapies. Trauma-focused therapy, EMDR, and CPT. I tried medication, and when that wasn’t really helping me, I even went through TMS therapy, which I personally found more beneficial than medication ever was.

But for years, I was numb.

Not “a bit disconnected.” But properly numb.

I struggled to feel or express emotion in a real way. Intellectually, I knew I was supposed to feel things, so I learned how to perform emotions instead.

I could say the right things. React appropriately. Explain my trauma almost clinically.

But underneath all of that?

Nothing.

Or at least that’s what it felt like.

Everything was plugged up somewhere deep inside me, and no amount of overthinking seemed capable of reaching it. And if you have CPTSD, you probably know exactly what I mean. Your nervous system gets so used to surviving that eventually it decides feeling nothing is safer than feeling everything.

Why Music Therapy Was Different

My therapist suggested trying music therapy.

So we started bringing music into sessions each week. And something changed quite quickly.

Music therapy works differently from talk therapy. It doesn’t rely on logic. It goes straight to the emotional and sensory parts of the brain. Where it creates a kind of backdoor into healing.

Sometimes I couldn’t explain what I was feeling, but a song could.

A lyric would hit me so hard it genuinely felt like someone had somehow crawled inside my nervous system and translated something I’d never managed to put into words myself. Other times it wasn’t even the lyrics. Sometimes it was the rhythm, the tone, or the atmosphere of a song that unlocked something in me emotionally.

And weirdly, because the emotion was coming through the music instead of directly from me, it felt safer somehow.

That part is what was important.

Because for trauma survivors, vulnerability can feel dangerous. Feeling too much too quickly can feel overwhelming. But music created enough distance that I could finally approach emotions without immediately shutting down or dissociating from them.

The Grief I Didn’t Realize I Was Carrying

My therapist also gave me curated playlists to listen to outside of sessions. Some were grounding. Some were reflective. And some were designed specifically around grief and emotional processing.

And that’s when I realized just how much grief I’d been carrying around without even fully understanding it.

Not just grief over specific things that happened to me, but grief for entire parts of myself. The loss of safety, childhood experiences, trust. And even lost years spent surviving instead of living.

CPTSD creates layers of grief that are difficult to explain to people because sometimes you’re mourning things you never properly got to have in the first place.

Music helped me process that.

Music Helped Regulate My Nervous System

And it did something else too. Something I still struggle to fully explain properly.

It regulated me.

When you live with CPTSD, your nervous system is often permanently stuck somewhere between hypervigilance and exhaustion. Even relaxing can feel unsafe because your body doesn’t trust stillness anymore.

But music gave my brain something predictable to follow. Rhythm. Structure. And emotional pacing.

It was almost like the music was carrying part of the emotional load for me when I didn’t have the energy to carry it myself.

There were moments during sessions where a song would come on and I’d suddenly feel emotions surfacing that I hadn’t accessed in years. Not dramatic movie-style breakdowns either. Sometimes it was quieter than that.

The tightness in my chest is easing. Tears arriving before I even understood why. And memories surfacing without immediately sending me into panic mode.

For the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t just intellectually understanding my emotions.

I was actually feeling them.

And that changed everything for me.

Feeling Less Alone

I also think there’s something incredibly validating about hearing your internal world reflected back at you through music. Trauma can feel incredibly isolating because so much of it exists in silence. Songs reminded me that other people had felt grief, fear, anger, loneliness, confusion, and survival too.

It made me feel less alone inside my own head.

A Gentle Word of Caution

That said, I do think it’s important to say this carefully.

Music therapy can be incredibly powerful, but because of that, it can also open emotional doors very quickly. Sometimes too quickly. Certain songs can trigger emotional flooding or bring unresolved trauma to the surface in ways that feel overwhelming without support.

That’s why I genuinely believe music therapy is best explored with a Board-Certified Music Therapist (MT-BC) or alongside a therapist you trust, especially if you’re dealing with complex trauma.

Because music doesn’t just help you remember things.

Sometimes it helps you feel things your nervous system buried years ago in order to survive.

And for me?

That ended up being one of the biggest parts of healing. It’s something I still carry with me today and continue to practice because, honestly, reconnecting with yourself isn’t a one-time event. It’s an ongoing process. And music still helps me reach the places words sometimes can’t.

Photo by Lee Campbell on Unsplash