When I first heard the term “authentic self,” I rolled my eyes. But in the 17 months since getting diagnosed with CPTSD, I’ve learned how important it is to discover your authentic self. It never occurred to me that I didn’t know who I was, and it pains me to think I’ve been around for more than fifty years as a broken lost child. Getting diagnosed was the first step in taking action. Now I knew what I was dealing with.

Cognitive behavioral therapy was helpful for a while, but addressing the physical nature of complex trauma was more important. I have a long history of medical problems (which I wrote about in another post), and I struggle with muscle armoring and holding my breath all the time. I’ve been stuck in freeze mode for decades. I signed up for several free online virtual events about complex trauma and was intrigued by polyvagal theory and somatic experiencing.

It was the first step in finding my authentic self. Several programs offered free sessions and resources, and it was a great way to see if something resonated with me before spending any money. One program stood out and I signed up. It was not therapy; it was an education in the biology of stress and understanding the body’s long-term response to trauma. For three months, each week was filled with a combination of live online lessons, Q&A sessions, videos featuring gentle bodywork, and a trove of downloads that included all of the recorded live sessions and audio neurosensory exercises. The neurosensory exercises are gentle meditations where you’re guided in listening to your body’s signals. The more attuned you become, the easier it is to befriend your nervous system, or so the idea goes. It turned out to be more difficult than I expected.

All I had to do was lie on my back and tune in. It was triggering the first few times. I shook, I cried and was incredibly disappointed in myself for not being able to quietly listen to what my body was trying to tell me. The good news is that once you sign up, you’re a member for life and can participate in the program whenever it’s running and play the downloads when it’s not, so there’s plenty of time to practice. They’re good at managing expectations. They say it can take at least a couple of years to fully integrate these practices into everyday life. I’m one year in and have made much more progress than I would’ve guessed when I started.

Instead of forcing my shoulders down when I suddenly realize I’ve been sitting there all tensed up, I acknowledge the sensation of the stress, remind myself to breathe, and over time it just happens less. I don’t hold my breath as much as I used to. When it dawns on me that my hips ache, I do a few exercises from somatic therapy and gradually, I’ve become more accustomed to keeping my posture less rigid. My husband’s a massage therapist and had noted lately that it doesn’t feel like massaging a stone statue—that was a significant improvement. Even though it’s a work in progress, I feel worlds better. Fatigue is less of a problem and chronic pain is diminishing. Mild workouts are starting to build a bit of strength. At times it feels like I need a brain to manage my brain, monitor everything I do and figure out every self-sabotaging symptom that started out as a means of survival.

What surprised me about somatic therapy was how it’s about learning little gestures and intuitive behaviors that were missing when I was a child. Affection was a rarity in my family. As I learned how to soothe myself during a flashback, I realized one of the gestures was something my great-grandmother did when I was very small—she’d stroke around my forehead and cheekbones, down my chin, and up the other side. This soothing technique was the missing link. Depersonalization and derealization are twin phantoms that haunted me throughout childhood with a great deal of intensity. Most physical contact was bad, so I spent much of my time trying not to make contact with the world. Dissociation was a welcome respite from reality. To be honest, even now there are times when I don’t want to be in this reality. Pandemics, wars, massive gaps in equity, I mean, in today’s very online world, you can’t escape nerve-wracking headlines. And yet, the path to healing lengthens before me, offering a serene space where I can get to know all the parts of me that fragmented during a chaotic childhood. The authentic self is emerging.

Over the past few months, I’ve discarded a lot of old stuff I held onto out of a sense of obligation. As our budget allows, I’m changing my wardrobe, hair color, and stuff around the house, and finding out who I really am. Journaling helps. I’m finding my voice. I recorded my first, nervous podcast even though I hate my voice. I speak up more at work and am sorting through all the things I used to do—is this what I really want? Is this hobby mine, or did I do it because so and so told me I should? Every aspect is examined, sorted, and either cast aside or reintegrated into my life.

Sometimes an immense sadness hits because this didn’t happen until I was in my fifties, however, I see a new road ahead. Joy, pleasure, and gratitude are new words to my vocabulary. I’m still in the discovery phase of identifying what my CPTSD is—all the little behaviors, fiascos of the past, and states of mind that led to the diagnosis. It’s an accumulation of symptoms that can go unnoticed for decades. You can just lead yourself to believe that this is the way life is. While I’m still reckoning with my past and my identity, a new strength has emerged. The inner critic doesn’t assault my intuition with the same ferocity as it used to. I’m finally learning what it means to feel comfortable in my own skin.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

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Lee Frost

Lee Frost has worked for nonprofits and marketing agencies focusing on healthcare for the past ten years. She’s a patient advocate and recently launched a blog about menopause and CPTSD called the Sinsemillier. She grew up in the Boston area and has a BA from UMass Boston and a master’s from Harvard Extension School. Lee lives north of Boston with her husband, where they both love to nerd out on sci-fi and fantasy.