After more than a decade of searching for answers within the traditional medical model, I found myself with more questions than when I started. Eventually, I realized that understanding Complex PTSD (CPTSD) and its intricacies required insights from those who truly understand it: the survivors of complex trauma themselves.
Despite entering the mental health system over ten years ago, I didn’t learn about “complex trauma” or “Complex PTSD” until about three years ago. At 18, I received a PTSD diagnosis from a psychiatrist, five years after my prolonged trauma during high school had begun. This diagnosis came amid a confusing mix of various other diagnoses from different providers over the years, which further obscured an effective healing plan. Even when I worked with multiple providers who intended to collaborate, they often disagreed about my “mental illness” and the best approach to “fix” it. With all these conflicting and dehumanizing labels, I felt like a hopeless outcast in a society of “normal” people. Being burdened with nearly every possible diagnosis in the DSM resulted in a bewildering array of treatments for my “mental illness,” none of which actually addressed my root issue: trauma. There was never a need to complicate anything about it.
For years, I underwent tests, treatments, and psych meds in an attempt to alleviate my symptoms. Many times, the side effects from these treatments – especially the psych meds – were worse than the “condition” these providers were trying to cure. Unfortunately, it took me years to realize that psych medications were never the solution for my trauma-related struggles.
During most of my time in the mental health system, my mind felt very foggy. I was a disoriented, dissociated, and overmedicated young girl trying to navigate the challenges of my teenage years and young adulthood, which already come with their own drama. My experiences with misdiagnosis and overmedication will be the subject of extensive writing in the future, but for now, I’m providing context regarding the journey I’ve embarked to find answers. I have been subjected to nearly every possible treatment, all promising me peace and all ultimately failing me.
Putting the world on pause
Something had to change, and I realized that I had to spearhead that change. I embarked on a quest to understand the complexities of CPTSD. Inspired by Thoreau’s Walden, I put everything in my life on pause, moved to the countryside, and spent time in solitude. With this refreshed mindset, I immersed myself in the research and data surrounding CPTSD.
Moving to the countryside and eliminating stress naturally alleviated many of my symptoms. I had more time on my hands than I had ever had before. I focused on simple approaches to caring for my health, such as improving my nutrition, making lifestyle adjustments, exercising, and practicing breathwork and meditation. With this solid foundation in place, I felt ready to fully dedicate myself to unraveling the mystery of CPTSD while keeping my self-care as my top priority.
Stepping out into the world again
I bravely stepped out to do things I never thought I would do. Things that terrified me. I wanted to do these things, though, believing that they might bring me closer to understanding CPTSD, both for myself and for other survivors. Stepping out of my comfort zone greatly boosted my confidence. I became a guest contributor for the Complex PTSD Foundation, which gave me a voice after years of feeling unheard.
Being vulnerable in writing about my experiences has been incredibly liberating. While my pen flies, the rest of the world fades away. I allow myself to feel my emotions and let the seeds in my mind blossom into a beautiful garden on paper. I don’t have any professional writing experience beyond my school education, and I had never considered myself a “writer” before. When I write about my experiences, my thoughts can extend to about 8,000 words on just one topic – far beyond the suggested word count! This is all part of the healing process for me. I enjoy revisiting my writing, making it concise, and preparing it to present publicly. I don’t worry too much about achieving perfection; I believe that other survivors just want to hear a voice that is relatable and authentic. By the feedback I receive on my writings, I’ve come to realize that many CPTSD survivors are suffering in silence. I see that my words have offered them comfort and encouragement, letting them know that healing is possible.
Both online and in person, I’ve connected with survivor communities and engaged in one-on-one conversations with some truly extraordinary people. I have also started volunteering with local PTSD-related organizations to broaden my understanding of trauma and empathize with others whose experiences differ from mine, yet who have shared similar feelings of hopelessness, helplessness, and despair.
Through this journey, I’ve learned so much about my fellow survivors and continue to discover more daily.
What I’ve learned about complex trauma survivors
What I’ve learned about us is that we never give up. Despite the limited and often misleading information available, we go to great lengths to find answers that help us understand why our minds, bodies, and psyches endure so much pain and how we can find relief. Unfortunately, we often find no real guidance, leaving us feeling like outsiders in this world, as if we are the only ones carrying this level of suffering.
What I’ve learned about us is that our pain can be so excruciating that we sometimes feel the only way to escape it is to end our lives. Yet somehow, we continue to hold on by a thin thread, refusing to give up hope in our search for answers.
What I’ve learned about us is that even a brief 10-second break from our suffering – just one moment of peace – can feel like a taste of heaven. However, these moments are so unfamiliar to us that when we experience them, we often feel uncomfortable, overwhelmed, and terrified. As a result, we quickly revert back to our comfort zone of constant anguish. This isn’t our fault; it is simply what we have known for far too long.
What I’ve learned about us is that many of us entered the mental health system with good intentions and a desperate need for help, only to encounter further trauma from the very professionals who promised to protect us.
What I’ve learned about us is that many people around us – both within the medical system and outside of the system – often misunderstand our experiences due to ignorance and lack of awareness about trauma. As a result, they tend to label us as troubled, crazy, mentally ill, or disturbed, without taking the time to listen to our struggles beyond their preconceived judgments. This lack of understanding often leads us to isolate ourselves even further.
What I’ve learned about us is that many of us have always felt like we never belonged in society. We see ourselves as black sheep, lost in the crowd, never truly fitting in. This feeling stems from our uniqueness; we were never meant to conform to the masses.
What I’ve learned about us is that we look beyond the superficial aspects of life. We prioritize self-actualization and care deeply about the experiences and suffering of those around us. This profound introspection often overshadows our interest in the trivialities that others get caught up in, which is another reason we struggle to fit in.
What I’ve learned about us is that we are detail-oriented. We notice the small things in life – the beauty of a rainbow after a storm, a lone dandelion in a vast field, or a gentle breeze brushing against our cheeks, remining us of the freedom we once had before encountering the harsh realities of the world.
What I’ve learned about us is that we often carry a deep sense of self-guilt, viewing ourselves as some of the most despicable people on the planet. In truth, we possess some of the purest hearts, and there was never a reason to feel guilty in the first place; we were always doing our best with the knowledge we had at the time.
What I’ve learned about us is that we believe we’re “not normal,” but it is actually those who have harmed us who are abnormal.
What I’ve learned about us is that, regardless of how we were treated, we choose not to repeat that cycle of abuse. We don’t seek revenge for what has been done to us. Instead, we heal our pain privately and face our experiences with love and kindness when interacting with the world.
What I’ve learned about us is that we go about our daily lives – working, raising children, and managing the stressors of everyday life – while masking intense pain and pretending that nothing is wrong. We care more about the people around us than we do about ourselves. Out of this deep compassion, we neglect self-care in order to take care of others.
What I’ve learned about us is that we’re incredibly strong. In fact, the word “strong” doesn’t even begin to capture our resilience. We are impenetrable fortresses built from the mightiest oak.
As of today, I am nearing the end of my quest to understand my own suffering after more than a decade of seeking external solutions. I now live a peaceful and content life in my happy place. I have resolved most of what my body held onto for so long and am focused on rebuilding my confidence and creating the life I’ve always dreamed of.
Over the past year, I have dedicated myself entirely to healing – an endeavor that, unfortunately, has not resulted in financial compensation, but whose results are worth more than any amount of money in the entire world. I am excited to continue writing about my experiences, hoping that sharing them will help other survivors.
If my words resonate with you, keep on fighting. I see you. I hear you. I believe you, and I believe you will conquer. If you keep working to rediscover who you are at your core and reject the lies from your past, you will achieve your beautiful dream of freedom and a peaceful life.
To my readers who have been following my journey: I am excited to share that I have created a personal blog called “Little Cabin Life.” This blog chronicles my healing journey, where I share my experiences and the things I am doing to support my recovery. You’ll also find tips that have been helpful to me along the way. If you’re interested in following my story, please feel free to visit www.littlecabinlife.com.
Photo by Marina Leonova: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-woman-s-hand-over-a-map-7634232/
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 post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.
My name is Natalie, and I am a survivor of about 13 years of absolute psychological torture from Complex PTSD symptoms that manifested as crippling anxiety, depression, obsessive compulsive symptoms (in the form of religious and moral scrupulously), extreme dissociative symptoms, insomnia, sleep paralysis, night terrors, and narcolepsy. For the longest time, I thought I was inherently “messed up” and broken beyond repair. I spent about a decade running around in circles in the medical system trying to figure out what was “wrong” with me and how to “fix” it, managing all this while attending school and holding full-time jobs. I thought the way I felt in my body was “normal” because I had no sense of what the other side was.
♡ What is Complex PTSD? ♡
Complex PTSD symptoms come from severe, prolonged, and numerous incidents of trauma, typically of a relational nature. Symptoms can come from any type of trauma, though, and the trauma doesn’t necessarily have to stem from childhood — adults can develop CPTSD as well. Humans are social creatures, so the things that happen to us really can affect our nervous system, and the body reacts accordingly. The types of trauma that cause CPTSD can affect the brain long term and shrink the size of the hippocampus, causing many of the symptoms of CPTSD. I decided to go public with my story to be a voice for the voiceless. I believe everyone has the power to tell their story if they wish, and it is up to them if, when, and how they choose to do so. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I kept quiet about mine. There are too many survivors being told CPTSD is a lifelong sentence, and they are not being given the tools they need to overcome their symptoms.
♡ My Story ♡
In general, I endured multiple types of traumas throughout my formative years, including numerous situations of both individual and large-group interpersonal cruelty, some of which caused me to have to switch environments. Due to what I was going through, my body couldn’t fathom what was happening, and my nervous system shut down. I felt guilty for simply existing. I saw danger everywhere, operated in a panicked survival mode, and lived in fear, anxiety, and isolation. I did my best to appear “normal” on the outside, keep a smile on my face, and control what was happening on the inside, distracting myself with extreme workaholism and doing nice things for others. I took active steps to keep branching out in confidence again, but these traumas kept piling onto each other and overlapping, so I couldn’t fathom what was going on. I wasn’t ready to give up yet, though, because I knew my family and friends would be distraught if I did.
The most difficult and heartbreaking part of my story is that the two communities I set out to seek healing in — religion and the medical system itself — caused further trauma when some religious leaders, congregation members, and medical professionals chose to take advantage of my vulnerability for their own motives. In most of these situations, I didn’t even realize I was a victim until outsiders pointed it out for me and that my vulnerability made me a target of malicious people. Each future situation of being targeted was just salt on the wound of the original incident.
As an empath, I absorbed the negative emotions of others as if they were my own, and I did not know how to release them from my body. In my solo healing process, I had to quite literally disappear from everyone and everything to protect my vulnerability and allow myself to process what I had been through during my formative years using my own mind and body without the persuasion or invasion of others.
♡ My Struggles to Find Answers ♡
What I went through all those years was so severe, and my symptoms and physical body reactions as a result were so excruciating that I went as far as to see a neurologist, concerned that my symptoms were the result of some sort of nervous system disorder. However, he returned with no paperwork in his hands to inform me that there was nothing wrong with me but that I was simply completely traumatized, and my body reacted accordingly. I finally realized that my symptoms were not the result of an inherent mental or physical illness and began to take a trauma-based approach to my healing after many years of believing that I was “sick” for the rest of my life. My true progress began when I finally rejected the lies that were told to me that I would have to manage my symptoms for the rest of my life and made the decision to believe that I was fully capable of healing from my excruciating pain, even if others did not believe in me.
Many CPTSD survivors receive numerous diagnoses before ever hearing anything about complex trauma, and some are overmedicated to try and “fix” their symptoms, usually to no avail and with further side effects. I was told I would need to “manage my symptoms” and be on medication for the rest of my life. It was all lies. Today, I am on zero medications (including sleep medications) and am completely divorced from the disease management system.
♡ Finding My Own Healing ♡
I am excited to share many tips for natural, somatic, and holistic healing that have helped me overcome my complex trauma symptoms like extreme dissociation, excruciatingly painful flashbacks, severe sleep challenges, anxiety, hypervigilance, worthlessness, and more. I began to pursue unique methods of healing after many years of not seeing much progress through westernized care, and this was the catalyst for fast-tracking my healing. I have so many exciting tips to share related to grounding, nervous system regulation, somatic healing, and more to offer survivors other ways they can learn to regulate their nervous systems on their own without spending any money. I aim to help survivors overcome their feelings of self-guilt, blame, and humiliation and help them realize that their bodies had normal reactions to abnormal situations.
I am on a journey of rediscovering who I am at my core after letting so many other people infiltrate my mind for far too long. The five most important things to me in my life (in order of importance!) are: my health, my happiness, my family, my friends, and my creativity. My parents, my sisters, and my friends are my absolute rock and biggest cheerleaders. They were cheering me on all those years, fully believing that I was capable of overcoming my excruciating pain, even when I did not believe so myself. While I was repeatedly able to forgive others and extend the olive branch, I was never able to forgive myself. My loved ones kept telling me that there is nothing I need to feel humiliated about and that I should be able to see what everyone else sees in me. I have finally given that kindness to myself and have started to see what other people saw in me all along. I am so glad I didn’t give up when my pain felt unbearable.
I know what I’ve survived. I know the work I’ve put in to overcome it. I know that I still chose to keep a smile on my face and be kind in the face of it all. In reality, it’s because I didn’t want another person to go through even one ounce of the suffering I was in. I am finally living a life of consistent peace and contentment, and I am sharing my story from the other side. My story is not a story of defeat but a story of victory.
I hope that by sharing my story, I can convince other survivors that there was never anything wrong with them to begin with and that they are capable of living healthy, happy, and fulfilled lives. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did not become a voice for the voiceless and share how I overcame it. I aim to live my life in love of both others and myself, understanding that everyone has a story of their own. I am grateful to the CPTSD Foundation for giving me an opportunity to share my story.
“My story isn’t sweet and harmonious like invented stories. It tastes of folly and bewilderment. Of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.” ~ Hermann Hesse
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♡ Personal Blog ♡
To learn more about my healing journey, please visit my personal blog, “Little Cabin Life,” at:
littlecabinlife.com
You are a stranger to me, yet your words impact me, especially “I believe you.” Nobody believed me. The one person I had in my life–until he was driven out by lies, deceit and manipulation (on my mother’s part)–stopped believing in me, which left me all alone with nobody to turn to, cry to, hear my pleas, or rescue me. I needed rescuing out of the extremely toxic, dangerous and life-depleting ‘family’ system.
I adopted a sanguine, devil-may-care, happy-go-lucky, “everything is awesome” attitude, which I now recognize as a trauma response. In reality, there was a part of me that was always crying, always in grief, always screaming in pain. I only began listening to and accepting those ‘exiled parts’ of myself recently (at ages 52-55). I told the Girl Who is Always Crying that it was okay, I will do the crying from now on; she no longer has to. It has made a huge difference; speaking to, accepting, loving and allowing those exiled parts of my personality to feel, to speak and to forgive.
Forgiving myself was a major healing point; I still carry the weight of pain for what happened to my precious dog (that I was forced into taking to the vet for euthanizing at the threat of being kicked out), but I have stopped hating myself. I stopped being on the edge of breaking into explosive rages at the slightest inconvenience. I do cry a lot more; which I hadn’t done in any real way for decades.
As therapy goes, I find too many counselors are focused on ‘cognitive’ theory – what I can do right now when I feel a certain way today…but we Survivors have to ‘go back to the past’ in order to heal when we have CPSTD. I’m so glad we have names for what I experienced back then – in the 70s and 80s, where it was just accepted that you had to beat your children into submission and if they ‘acted up’ it was because they were (I was) a spoiled, ungrateful brat. No, I was none of those things. I was trying to survive in an environment where my life was in danger daily.
One of the most healing phrases I’ve ever read: I wasn’t sick; I was injured. We weren’t sick. We were injured.
Kari, I am truly sorry to hear about what you’ve experienced in your life and how these emotions still affect you, even decades later. I understand the feeling of presenting oneself to the world in an overextended, “happy-go-lucky” way. I, too, didn’t want to appear weak to others, but suppressing the pain only intensified my internal struggles. I am very proud of you for taking steps to overcome these challenges and for recognizing the progress you’ve made so far.
I also wish that resources like these had been available to you decades ago to avoid years of believing that you were sick or that there was something wrong with you. But I’m glad they are available to you now. You are working hard to overcome your struggles. Don’t give up because it is possible to get to the other side! I wish you peace, comfort, and joy as you continue to find the strength within yourself to heal.