When I started therapy, I thought I just needed a tune-up. I knew there were things inside me I needed to work on. What I got instead was an emotional excavation.

Turns out, growing up in chaos teaches your brain some pretty creative survival strategies, hypervigilance, dissociation, people-pleasing, and the uncanny ability to anticipate everyone’s needs except your own. Gold stars all around!

Except… no one’s actually handing out gold stars. Just emotional burnout and the ever-present, confusing sense that you’re either too much or not enough in every relationship.

Naming the Chaos: Discovering CPTSD

It took a few tries and a lot of uncomfortable sifting through feelings, but learning why I was the way I was started to shift something deep inside me. It didn’t erase the pain, but it gave the chaos a name, and that mattered more than I expected.

Coming to terms with it wasn’t easy. Part of me didn’t want the label. I worried it would become an excuse. Or worse, that I’d somehow earned it. Being boxed in felt constraining. But the more I read, the more I saw myself. And honestly? That recognition gave me a sense of clarity I didn’t even know I was missing.

The Map Doesn’t Fix, But It Guides

Suddenly, my reactions made sense. My attachment patterns made sense. My deep fear of being abandoned and overwhelmed by intimacy at the same time made, okay, it still doesn’t make sense, but at least now I know it has a name.

Knowing I had CPTSD didn’t fix everything overnight. But it gave me a map. And when you’ve spent most of your life emotionally lost, even a rough sketch of where you are and how you got there is a big deal.

So yeah. That was the moment. Or rather, the series of moments. The slow, quiet “ohhh” that started to echo through my life like a song I’d heard before but never fully listened to.

Healing Is Messy and Slow

Then came the real work: using the map.

Which sounds noble and empowering, until you realize that “healing” often looks like sitting with feelings you’ve spent your entire life avoiding. It’s not some cinematic breakthrough. It’s crying in your parked car because your overwhelmed with feelings and have no idea why. Or catching yourself mid-spiral and choosing, barely, to respond differently. And It’s learning to pause before you over-explain, over-apologize, or disappear completely.

And some days? It’s realizing you still do all those things. Just maybe not all at once. Progress.

Letting People See the Real Me

I had to get really honest with myself about how I was showing up in relationships. Abandonment wasn’t just a fear, it was something I fully expected. My wiring was set that way. I would bend, twist, and shrink myself to delay it. Then, I’d secretly resent the hell out of people for not seeing the real me. The truth was, I wasn’t giving them the chance.

So I started doing something terrifying: letting people see me before I decided if they deserved it. Tiny disclosures. Saying “I’m not okay” instead of “I’m fine.” Asking for reassurance without shame. Letting myself want things without apologizing first.

It’s clumsy. It’s messy. And yeah, sometimes it backfires. But it’s also real, which is more than I ever got while chasing gold stars.

Old Habits Die Loud

Of course, healing isn’t a straight line. It’s more like trying to untangle Christmas tree lights you’re pretty sure you put away neatly. Some days, I feel strong, grounded, and self-aware. Other days, I’m so tangled up I half expect to need a straightjacket, and definitely a stiff drink.

I’ve hurt people I cared about, and I’ve clung too tightly to people who weren’t safe. I’ve misread kindness as manipulation and brushed off red flags because they felt oddly familiar. Old habits die hard.

Curiosity Over Shame

But here’s the thing: I’m noticing now. That noticing? That’s new. That’s progress.

Instead of shaming myself for the reaction, I try to get curious about the wound underneath it. What am I afraid of right now? What story am I telling myself? Whose voice is this, really, mine or something I picked up in survival mode?

Retraining a Nervous System

I’ve learned that safety doesn’t always feel safe at first. Calm can feel like distance. Kindness can feel suspicious. Slowness can feel like disinterest. It takes time to retrain a nervous system that spent decades scanning for threats.

And in that time, I’ve started collecting new data, moments that contradict the old story. A friend who stays. A boundary that’s respected. A quiet night that doesn’t turn into a storm. At first, those moments felt small. Now they feel like the foundation of something I never thought I’d get to have: peace.

Not Perfect, Just Peaceful

Not perfection. Not a life without triggers. But peace, the kind that lets me exhale a little more freely, show up a little more fully, and believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m not too much. I never was.

If you’re in that place too, questioning, Googling, wondering if there’s something deeper going on, just know: you’re not broken. You’re adapting. And there’s a name for what you’ve been through. That’s not the end of the story.

But it’s a damn good place to start.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash