Somewhere along the way in my healing journey, I’ve stopped seeing myself as CPTSD personified. I don’t know the exact moment it happened; there wasn’t some grand epiphany or movie-montage-style healing moment. But slowly, quietly, I started seeing myself as… just me.

As Jack.

A messy, kind, resilient, funny, often-exhausted guy who happens to have CPTSD. And still has worth. One who has the right to exist just like everyone else.

Not despite it.
Not because of it.
Just… with it.

Finding Peace in the In-Between Spaces

I know my CPTSD isn’t something that just “goes away” like a physical injury might. But with the right treatment and support, I’ve seen a lot of improvement. It’s made it possible for me to know I can have the life I want, and that’s something I’m really thankful for. CPTSD may be part of my story, but it doesn’t get to be the whole book.

It hasn’t been easy to get to this point. I have been through hell and reached low moments where I sometimes wondered if I would ever crawl out of them. After all, CPTSD is a beast, and it’s not shy in beating you down when you are already there.

When I was in the thick of it, when the weight of trauma felt suffocating, I couldn’t see anything beyond the pain. Nor did I think in terms of healing or hope or wholeness. I just thought in terms of surviving and getting through the day as unscathed as possible, which was not often the case.

CPTSD is cruel. It shows up uninvited. It whispers lies, floods your nervous system, and convinces you that you are not worthy. It’s invasive and rewrites your sense of self and safety.

Unseen, but Not Unfelt

Like other mental health conditions, CPTSD is invisible to the outside world. The pain and trauma are real, but so many people don’t understand what it feels like because they can’t see it, especially when it’s layered with shame, fear, or a constant sense of danger. It can feel like you’re carrying an enormous weight that no one else notices, and that isolation only makes everything harder.

Because of therapy and the work I have and still am doing, a major shift has taken place. Things have started to come into focus, and the internal battle doesn’t feel like a losing one anymore. It doesn’t rage quite as much. Sometimes it simmers. Sometimes it sleeps. But in those in-between spaces, when it’s quiet, that’s when the real work begins.

Not the kind you brag about. Or the kind you win awards for. The slow, mundane, emotional kind. It’s that emotional work that is often the hardest. But it’s also where growth happens, in those small, almost unnoticed steps. To finally realize my worth doesn’t depend on overcoming trauma or any other measure of “success”; it’s simply there, with everything else.

So yeah. I’m still here. Still figuring it out. Still healing. Yes, still hurting sometimes, but still laughing at dumb memes. Still messy. Still me.

And honestly? That’s enough.

We Are Enough, Just as We Are

I’ve fought too long to feel a sense of calm. To accept who I am, and I don’t have to become some polished version of myself to be worthy of love or peace or rest. I simply have to feel it. To acknowledge it, and that took me a really long time to understand. I just have to keep going. One step at a time.

This journey has been painful, yes. And messy. And confusing. There have even been moments I’ve been so lonely I could scream. But it’s also been deeply, profoundly human.

I now know I am worthy. Not someday, or when it gets better. Not when I’m “healed enough.” Today. Right now.

If you somehow came across this blog and you’re in the thick of it right now? I see you. I’ve been there. You’re not broken. You are not weak. You’re surviving something that tried to swallow you whole, and that’s no small thing.

And if all you did today was survive, I’m proud of you.

Let that be enough, too.

Photo by Ken Cheung on Unsplash

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.

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Jack Brody

Jack Brody, born and raised in Boston and now a NYC implant where he has resided for the last 30 years. Proud father to a teenage daughter. Child abuse survivor who was diagnosed with CPTSD 6 years ago. A mens mental health advocate, he hopes to share his journey, so it can inspire and give hope to others out there and let them know they are not alone.