traumasurvivor

My entire life, fear has been my fuel.

Fear is what got me to move.

To try.

To show up.

To perform.

To be “good.”

To keep people close.

To keep myself alive.

I didn’t get things done because I believed in myself.

I got things done because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.

Fear of being judged.

Fear of failing.

Fear of being too much.

Fear of not being enough.

Fear of being left.

Fear of being seen.

Fear of not being seen.

Fear was my heartbeat.

And now?

It’s gone.

The engine that kept me going for years just… broke.

Stopped.

Shut down.

And I’m left sitting in a quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful.

It feels hollow.

I don’t feel motivated.

I don’t feel inspired.

I don’t feel ambitious.

I don’t feel excited.

I don’t feel anything pulling me or pushing me.

It’s not numb like “I don’t care.”

It’s numb like I don’t have any fuel left to care with.

Like the part of me that used to function, simply… doesn’t.

And I have to face the truth:

I don’t know how to move without fear.

I don’t know who I am without fear.

If I’m not running, then what?

If I’m not fighting, then who am I?

If I’m not trying to survive, then what the hell do I do with myself?

This is not laziness.

This is not giving up.

This is not me being dramatic.

This is collapse.

This is the body saying:

“I cannot keep living like this.

Not like that.”

And it’s terrifying because I don’t have a replacement system yet.

I don’t know how to be a person who moves toward things instead of away from them.

I don’t know how to want things because they feel good, not because I’m afraid of the consequences.

I’m stuck in this strange dead-space between who I’ve been and whoever I’m supposed to become.

And it feels like floating in darkness with no map, no promise, no spark.

But here’s the thing I’m holding onto:

The collapse means the old system is gone.

And the old system needed to die.

Fear kept me alive.

But I deserve something better than survival.

So I’m learning to notice the tiniest things that don’t demand anything from me:

A dog breathing against my leg.

A song that doesn’t hurt.

Warm water.

A quiet corner where no one needs anything from me.

I don’t know where this is going yet.

I don’t have a plan.

I don’t have answers.

But I’m here.

Raw.

Stripped.

Starting over.

If you’re here too

floating in this terrifying nowhere

you’re not alone.

#CPTSD #traumasurvivor #Burnout #NervousSystemHealing #SurvivalMode #chronicstress #Emotionalexhaustion #restisrecovery #IdentityAfterTrauma #FeelingEmpty #startingover

Dear Little Me,

If you’re reading this, it means we’ve made it further than you thought we could. I wish I could wrap you in my arms right now and let you cry without holding it in, laugh without apology, and dream without someone telling you you’re too much.

There are things I wish I could’ve shielded you from—moments that chipped away at your light. People who didn’t see your worth. Days when you felt invisible, or worse, like a burden. But I want you to know something: You were never the problem. You were just ahead of your time.

You always loved hard, felt deep, questioned everything. And I’m proud of you for that. I’m proud of you for surviving when you didn’t know how. For still smiling in photos when your heart was heavy. For not letting the world break you—even when it tried.

I still carry parts of you inside me. The playful, curious, emotional, wild little spark that just wanted to be seen and safe. I’m learning how to take care of us both now.

And maybe most importantly… I forgive you for everything you thought you did wrong. You were doing the best you could with what you had—and that was more than enough.

Walk with me. We’ve still got places to go.

I don’t know where home is yet. Not really. But I believe it’s out there. Not just four walls and a roof—but a feeling. A breath. A place where my heart can stop clenching and my body can finally exhale. I don’t know what it looks like, or who will be there waiting. But I believe I will recognize it the moment I feel safe—not just in my surroundings, but in myself.

Until then, I’ll keep moving. Gently. Boldly. Soft and fierce, all at once.

I’ll keep reaching—not because I’m lost, but because I’m learning how to grow into myself.

We may not know exactly where we’re headed yet,

but I promise—we’re on our way.

With all the love you always deserved,

Me (still searching, still standing, still full of fire—and never giving up on us)

#wordsformyyoungerself #dearyoungerme #healingjourney #innerchildhealing #becomingme #Selfcompassion #stillstanding #iammysafeplace #resilienceinbloom #traumasurvivor #survivingandthriving #reclaimingmystory #becomingwhole #homeisafeeling #findingmywayback #rootedinhope #ThisIsHealing #growingintomyself #letterstomyself #writingtoheal #memoirinprogress #heartonthepage #walkingwithher #wordsformyyoungerself #handinhandwithme #softisstrong #Learningtolovemyself

Hey Everyone! Its Been A While Since I Last Posted!Ive Been Going Through Some Things! However My Life Is No Where Near Where I'd Think I'd Be But Eveyday I Show Up For Me! That's All That Matters!!

I Hope Everyone Is Taking It One Day At A Time. Enjoying The Beautiful Weather! Too Always Remember This!! You Are Not Alone. Every Situation Is Different One Day You Will Be Healed From The Trauma That We Have Endured Some That Continue To Endure. One Day We Will Be Free From The Abuse That Others Seem To Ignore. Unfortunately! But Such A Sad Reality. Some Don't Make It Out While Others Stay. Either Way No Judgement Here! #abusesurvivor #traumasurvivor #domesticviolencesurvivor #AccidentSurvivor #SiblingLoss

You know, so often the abused are not even aware of the abuse as it’s happening and only years later, after learning that it was in fact not normal, do they realize how wrong it was.

Abusers condition their victims to accept that what’s happening to them is normal, that it is how everyone gets treated, and that it’s their fault, eliciting feelings of guilt and shame, effectively preventing the abused from speaking out.

People justify abuse by saying, “well it could’ve been worse,” “it wasn’t as bad as you’re saying,” “you’re being dramatic,” or my favorite, “you’re just trying to cause problems” when you were actually just trying to tell someone. I’ve been told I’m crazy, I’m a drama queen, I’m melodramatic, I’m an instigator, and on and on. I told my family about the abuse and those were the responses I got.

Yes it could’ve been worse. Yes others have gone through similar things. No I’m not the only one. Maybe some of it I did deserve. But that doesn’t excuse it.

It was abuse of power, trust, and love. Children are to be cared for, protected, nurtured, and loved. Not beat, insulted, gaslit, ignored, blamed, verbally abused, and emotionally neglected. If you cannot trust those put in your life to protect you, how can you trust others?

I have worked very hard, for many years to heal from the way I was raised. I have made it my goal in life to not allow others to feel the same ways I was made to feel. That is all after the fact. What is needed is intervention and protection before healing is necessary.

If you see something, say something. If you’re told something in confidence, help.

Children need to know that not all adults are going to hurt them. They are our future and broken children create broken adults, which in turn creates a broken society. Break the cycle.

#Abuse #mentalwellness
#Breakthecycle #Trauma #Childhoodtrauma #traumasurvivor #MentalHealth #Healing #ChildAbuse #Gaslighting

Just before Thanksgiving I boarded a plane to nowhere. The place doesn' t matter really. I wanted to extract myself from the unending circle of family tradition that rolls straight through Halloween to New Year's Day. Not only am I a survivor and carry the weight of CPTSD, I am single and estranged from my biological family. Holidays mean heightened awareness of my outsider status. Holidays are a dance I am never invited to--where I stand on the wall watching the crowd, perhaps a bit jealous (but mostly hopeful no one sees me) and terrified to be asked to join in. I am 13 again.

I left home at 15. My idea of holidays in my childhood did have feasts with multiple homemade pies, a plastic reusable tree and ornaments--and even, presents with my name on them. There was also a lot of screaming and crying, especially when late on the way to Church. There was also the time my mother burst into a Tasmanian devil cloud of anger at my father for having spoiled me with a Donkey Kong mini video arcade game. There was joy in singing holiday songs. And there was shame, guilt, self-consciousness, fear and anxiety. There were moments that we acted like a family because the world had given us a framework--a set of instructions: here is how to love; this is how you give; do this and enjoy being with family. We had the whole world of Believers to show us "how to."

As an adult, I am not a follower of the Catholic faith in which I was raised. If anything, I relate to the basic lessons of Buddhism though I am not deeply learned about the philosophy beyond what I read in Pema Chodron books and hear in her YouTube videos. I stopped celebrating with friends, who once gathered for Friendsgiving and Christmas dinner, when they started having families of their own now replete with 2.0.0.4 kids, in-laws and all the extended relationships that come with marriage. I also, as much as I have good intentions, have not connected with a volunteer community for those who are in more visible need during the holidays. Or maybe their needs, in fact, haven't changed moreso than other seasons--but, again, the social construct of holiday tradition shows us how to serve them in November and December.

Back to my flight, it was a one-way ticket fortunately provided by my frequent flier account. I knew when and where to evacuate; I did not know when it would feel okay to come back home. I spent time comforted in the lack of pressure and expectation of strangers. Better, I relaxed in the spaces without any engagement at all save for nature. I spent three weeks contented to have chosen my outsider-ness, instead of dealing with the barrage of physical must-dos that society and commerce shove in our faces. I rejected it all.

When I came home, due to fatigue and a virus that was dampening my solitude and my ability to even do things on my own with congested lungs and brain fog, I retreated into the privacy and quiet of my home. I received a few invitations to friends' holiday gatherings with their small families. I melted at the invitations and shuddered at the pressure of a response that wouldn't out me as someone without a place to go. In the end, I stayed home. I cowered inside myself, just like when I was a little girl.

I didn't allow myself to watch Christmas movies or listen to holiday music or hang anything around my home that made me aware of my aloneness at the most wonderful time of the year. I did buy foods I like and slept a lot and came to The Mighty to selfishly take the microphone that is the welcomed ability to tell it like it is to people who might be more likely to understand than anyone else in my home life.

Here's the zinger: I did/do not want to be cheered up. Instead, I want to be understood. It's not comforting to have to stuff down true emotions so that others are comfortable with my choice to be alone. I don't want tips on how to get through it. Newsflash, my mad survival skills are why I'm still here today. I simply want to be acknowledged for the fact that this is different reality that a whole segment of an unseen world live--and no one wants to really look at it. At us. I think I can speak for a lot of people who struggle with CPTSD--some without even knowing it--that what would be great during the holidays, that wipe out more than a quarter of a year, we can function without judgement, most especially self-judgement, and live the truth. It is simply that this isn't the most wonderful time of the year--and it's okay to do whatever we need to do to stand in a crowd where we can't belong. We want to be with you and bask in all the goodies that the majority of the world embraces. But our life circumstances, our brain wiring, our trauma--all of that clashes with the family togetherness that frames the holi-days. Many of us wouldn't have the trauma to begin with were it not for our families.

So let us save space for the ones who wish they could belong. Let us allow the outsiders to at least own their own words and feelings. May our holidays be whatever we need them to be, not what has taken shape in passed down traditions that shut out less shiny experiences. Let us shed love and light on those who carry darkness through no fault of their own.

#holidaytruth #CPTSD #traumasurvivor #Family #estrangedfamily #single #alone #okayalone