If you’ve read my blog for more than five minutes, you already know I’ve been on this healing ride for a long while. Long enough to have collected a whole scrapbook of “Oh wow, I finally get it” moments… and an equally thick stack of “what fresh hell is this?” ones.

You’d think by now I’d be used to what I can only describe as “the whiplash:” the emotional ebbs, the flows, and the rogue waves that smack you right in the face when you’re just trying to mind your business.

Hate to break it to you, but… nope. Still not used to it. Not even close.

When Every Emotion Shows Up Uninvited

The last 48 hours have felt like hitting some kind of emotional epicenter, as though every feeling I’ve ever had RSVP’d “yes” and showed up early. It’s blindsided me, if I’m honest. I still don’t know what to do with all of it. I’m just here, trying to breathe through the overwhelm and trying not to judge myself for having a nervous system that occasionally goes full fireworks display for no clear reason.

But this is the work, right? Showing up even when you don’t feel ready.

The Junk Drawer of Feelings We Pretend Doesn’t Exist

Sitting with what hurts instead of shoving it back into the drawer to deal with it later. We’ve all done it, right? Slid something painful into that imaginary junk drawer, intending to deal with it later–even though we know “later” could mean anywhere from next week to the next decade. And then one day that drawer bursts open like a pissed-off jack-in-the-box, and suddenly you’re knee-deep in feelings you did not schedule into your day.

That’s kind of what this week has felt like. As if the universe leaned over, tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered, “Hey, remember that unresolved emotional rubble you were hoping would sort itself out? Yeah… about that.” And listen, I try to be a good sport about healing. I try to roll with whatever comes up. But even I have to laugh when my nervous system decides to deliver all its notifications at once, like some chaotic emotional iPhone: You have 47 new feelings.

Cool. Thanks. Exactly what I wanted this Saturday.

My Nervous System’s Saturday Gift

And what’s funny is that none of the feelings I’m having are new. They’re all familiar regulars: fear, sadness, longing, and that weird anticipatory dread that pops up for no apparent reason, just arriving louder than usual. Like someone turned the emotional volume knob up to eleven and walked away, it’s a lot. And my instinct, the little old me who learned to survive chaos by shutting down, still says, “Push it down. Make it neat and tidy. Don’t feel all of that at once.”

The Old Instinct to Shut Down (And Why It Doesn’t Work Anymore)

But I can’t do that anymore. Every time I’ve tried, it’s ended in absolute fuckery. And that takes more out of me than sitting with the feelings, letting them be, and feeling them. So here I am, doing just that.

But what people don’t realize is that “sitting with it” sometimes looks like staring at a wall, drinking lukewarm tea, internally screaming, and wondering why healing doesn’t come with a handbook or at least a troubleshooting guide. I could use something like, “If you are suddenly overwhelmed by feelings for no apparent reason, please try turning yourself off and back on again.”

But no. All we get is the mess.

Healing Isn’t Neat, But It Is Honest

But at the end of the day, that’s the point. Because healing isn’t about becoming someone who never gets overwhelmed. It’s about becoming someone who doesn’t abandon themselves when they do. And let me tell you, that one stings a little. Because if I’m being brutally honest, the person I’ve abandoned the most over the years is me. I don’t say that to beat myself up, but to acknowledge the truth. When you grow up believing your feelings are “too much,” you learn to make yourself small. You learn to take up as little emotional space as possible.

Learning Not to Abandon Myself

But I’m not doing that anymore (or, at least, I’m trying really hard not to). So here I am, trying to stay with myself through all of this intensity. Trying to remind the younger parts of me that they’re not alone this time. To breathe instead of run. And trying to trust that there’s nothing wrong with me for having big feelings; there’s just a lot inside that finally feels safe enough to surface.

And maybe that’s what this emotional epicenter really is: proof that something inside me believes I can handle what’s coming up now. Proof that my system is opening, rather than breaking.

Messily. Loudly. Inconveniently.

But still opening.

For Anyone Riding Their Own Rogue Wave Right Now

If you’re here too, riding your own rogue wave right now, just know you’re not doing it wrong. Sometimes the heart cracks open not because you’re falling apart, but because something inside you is finally ready to be seen. And honestly? As brutal as it feels… that’s kind of beautiful.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

Do you ever catch yourself mid-meltdown, calmly narrating your own emotional chaos like a nature documentary?

“Here we observe the adult survivor in his natural habitat, spiraling over the way a text message is worded…”

That’s the kind of self-awareness I’m talking about, the kind that sounds evolved but actually feels like mental surveillance. I’ve done enough therapy, read enough books, and dissected enough of my childhood to recognize every emotional pattern as it’s happening. The problem is, knowing why I’m reacting doesn’t always stop the reaction.

The Curse of Over-Analyzing Everything

Sometimes I wish I could go back to blissful ignorance, to just feel things without the commentary track. But once you start healing, it’s like unlocking a developer mode in your brain. You see every glitch. Every trigger. Every childhood wound that shaped your adult responses. And before you know it, you’re overanalyzing a trip to the grocery store because the cashier’s tone reminded you of your mother’s disapproval in 1985.

Self-awareness is powerful. It’s the flashlight that helps us navigate the dark corners of trauma. But it’s also exhausting. There’s a point where introspection turns into self-interrogation. Where “Why do I feel this way?” becomes “What’s wrong with me for still feeling this way?”

Healing Is a Double-Edged Sword

CPTSD makes this even trickier. Hypervigilance doesn’t just show up in relationships or danger; it sneaks into healing too. Now, instead of scanning the room for threats, I’m scanning my thoughts for signs of regression. It’s progress, but it’s also pressure. I end up performing emotional wellness like it’s a full-time job.

And truthfully, sometimes I miss not knowing. I miss when I didn’t have to label everything as “avoidant attachment” or “emotional flashback.” Awareness can become another way of controlling what’s uncontrollable, a way to stay one step ahead of pain instead of actually feeling it.

Learning to Pause

But here’s what I’ve learned (on a good day): healing isn’t about catching every behavior in real time. It’s about learning to trust yourself enough to let go of the constant monitoring. Awareness was meant to be a bridge to self-compassion, not a tool for self-critique.

So lately, when I notice myself spiraling into analysis, I try to pause and ask:

“What would happen if I didn’t fix this right now?”

Usually, the answer is… nothing catastrophic. The world doesn’t end. No one storms out. My nervous system just wants something simple, like a sandwich, a nap, or a walk outside. Sometimes the “healing work” isn’t in dissecting the feeling, but in giving my body what it’s quietly been asking for all along.

Being Human Again

Maybe healing isn’t about being perfectly self-aware. Maybe it’s about being human again. messy, emotional, occasionally irrational, and still worthy of love.

And if that means I occasionally narrate my own trauma response in David Attenborough’s voice, “Here we see the anxious mammal retreating into overanalysis, a fascinating defense mechanism”, then so be it. At least I’m learning to laugh about it. Maybe that’s its own kind of progress: finding the humor in the hard parts, and realizing that being alive, even imperfectly, is something worth smiling at.

For Anyone Reading This

If this is hitting too close to home, trust me, you’re not alone. Being hyper-aware, overthinking, or psychoanalyzing yourself 24/7 is exhausting. And it’s okay to just… stop for a minute. Healing isn’t about having all the answers or being perfect. Sometimes it’s about taking a breath, hitting pause, and letting yourself be human.

Photo by Emanuel Haas 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

It’s a powerhouse of possibility,  and it’s also a paradox. It keeps us alive. Helps us create. Love. Imagine. It’s where the best parts of us live–the cleverness, the humor, the wild creativity, the gut instincts, and the empathy.

But it’s also where the trauma lives.
Where the fear lives.
Where the ghosts of what we survived are still pacing the halls.

A Hypervigilant Command Center

If you live with CPTSD, then you know that it’s not just a brain. It’s a hypervigilant command center. Always alert. Always scanning. Always assuming the next bad thing is just around the corner–even when life is calm.

When you walk into a room, you don’t just enter. You calculate. You assess. You map out the exits, read every face, and listen for tone shifts. You don’t even realize you’re doing it; it’s automatic.
Learned from years of needing to be ready, just in case.

Emotional Hijacking: When the Past Invades the Present

Then someone says something. Maybe it’s nothing–a joke, a pause, or a look that lingers a second too long. Boom, your body’s gone tight, your stomach drops, and your thoughts scatter.

Suddenly, you’re back in a memory you never meant to revisit.
Not fully reliving it, but emotionally hijacked by it.
The fear, the shame, the worthlessness.
All of it, flooding in as if it never left.

Ruminating in the Ruins

Your brain starts looping.
Was it me?
Did I mess up again?
Are they mad?
Am I too much? Not enough?
What did I do?

You start ruminating.
You replay the conversation.
You pick apart every word, every silence.
You fill in blanks with worst-case scenarios.

And you don’t even want to be doing it; it just happens.

You know it’s happening. You see it happening.
But knowing doesn’t stop it.

It’s as though your own inner monologue is unraveling you in real time.
And you’re powerless to stop the unraveling.

This Is What CPTSD Can Look Like

Not always flashbacks.
Sometimes, it’s a slow, invisible spiral that pulls you under with nothing dramatic on the surface.
Just a brain quietly trying to protect you… in all the wrong ways.

The Whispered Lies in the Dark

And sometimes, yeah, the thoughts get dark. Not always suicidal. But heavy. Bone-deep exhausted. The kind of dark where you lie in bed and feel like a failure for simply existing.
The kind where your brain whispers:

“You’ll never get better.”
“This is just who you are.”
“People only tolerate you.”
“You’re too much.”
“You’re alone in this.”

And if you’re tired or overwhelmed–or just raw that day–you believe it.

Even though you know it’s the trauma talking.
Even though you’ve done the therapy.
Even though you’ve read the books, taken the meds, and journaled your guts out.
You still believe the lie your brain is screaming at you.

The Hardest Fight: Your Own Mind

That’s what makes healing so hard.
You don’t just fight symptoms.
You fight your own mind.

And it’s not because you’re weak.
It’s because your brain adapted perfectly to survive what happened to you.
It just doesn’t know you’re safe now.
It doesn’t know the war ended years ago.

What I’m Holding Onto

But here’s the part I’m learning, what I try to hold onto when it all feels too much: This brain, this chaotic, overworked, trauma-stamped brain of mine… It’s still trying and still showing up and still learning.

It laughs.
It makes art.
It remembers weird 90s trivia.
It falls in love.
It gets back up, even when it swears it’s done.

It is, somehow, still mine, and still beautiful.
Not because it’s perfect.
But because it keeps going.

Tender. Tired. Trying.

Beautifully magnificent. And also:

Tender.
Tired.
Trying.

Maybe that’s the point. Healing doesn’t erase the trauma. It means we learn how to live with a brain that’s been through hell, and that we choose, every day, to love it anyway.

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

But here’s the thing: you’re not broken or doing it wrong. Rather, your nervous system is just throwing a little tantrum because it’s been poked awake after a long nap in the deep trauma cave.

And that foggy, emotionally messy state? Well, it’s your brain’s way of processing the emotional upheaval you just unpacked. Think of it like your mind’s version of sore muscles after a workout, only this time, it’s your heart and soul getting stretched.

So many times after my weekly session, I would be exhausted and not able to think straight, and it was all because of these therapy hangovers.

What is a therapy hangover?

It’s that foggy, emotionally raw, post-session daze that can last hours or even days. You might feel:

• Tired (like… soul tired)

• Irritable for no reason

• Anxious or overexposed

• Detached or floaty

• Like all your inner children are suddenly mad at you

This happens because therapy, especially deep trauma work like CPTSD, IFS, or EMDR, really digs in. You’re not just “talking about your feelings.” Instead, you’re confronting old wounds, challenging survival patterns, and sometimes pulling the pin out of emotional grenades you buried 20 years ago.

Naturally, your system goes into full WTF mode afterward. But don’t mistake this for regression; it’s actually recalibration.

It’s actually recalibration.

So, what do you do when the therapy hangover hits, and you feel like your brain’s been scrambled in an emotional blender? Over the years, I’ve found a few go-to moves that helped me ride it out without totally losing my mind:

5 Things That Actually Help

Here’s what can help when the post-therapy spiral kicks in:

1. Silence & Soft Things

Your nervous system is overstimulated. Skip the group chat, mute notifications, and go full potato mode. Weighted blankets, cozy socks, dim lights, yes, you’re allowed to be a cliché. It helps.

2. Gentle Grounding

Nothing intense. Just basic stuff to get back in your body:

• Hold a warm mug with both hands

• Rinse your face with cold water

• Touch something with texture (a stone, a fuzzy pillow, a judgmental cat)

The goal isn’t to feel “great,” just a little less like you’re drifting out of your own skin.

3. Eat Something That Doesn’t Hurt You

This is not the time for kale. It’s the time for something warm, easy, and nostalgic. Soup? Yes. Toast? Ideal. An entire sleeve of graham crackers while watching “Great British Bake-Off”? That’s your business.

4. Label It Without Judging It

Instead of spiraling into “Why do I feel like this?” try telling yourself,

“Oh, this is just the therapy hangover. My brain’s processing a lot. That’s allowed.”

Sometimes, naming the thing steals its power. It helps you move from panic to compassion.

5. Future You Prep (If You Can)

If you know therapy hits you hard, try scheduling something kind after it next time. A walk. A nap. Absolutely nothing. I learned to treat post-therapy time like I’m recovering from minor surgery. Because emotionally? I was.

Final Thought: You’re Not Doing It Wrong

The therapy hangover isn’t a sign of weakness or failure. Instead, it’s a signal that you’re reaching parts of yourself that stayed hidden for a reason. Now that those parts are coming up to be seen, they need care, not criticism.

So yeah. You’re tired. Maybe a little weepy. Maybe your inner 9-year-old is sulking in the corner. And you know what? That’s totally fine.

That’s healing.

And healing is weird.

Photo by Matteo Vistocco 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

Balancing fatherhood with CPTSD is like life already throwing curveballs, then, bam! Here comes the teenage storm, mood swings and challenges that level up the chaos. It’s next-level circus mayhem.

Teenagers. One minute, you’re bonding over fries, and the next, you’re the villain for simply asking how her day went. It’s a constant juggling act between being a supportive, patient parent and not completely drowning in the emotional rollercoaster that comes with both your own struggles and the ones they’re navigating.

It’s exhausting.

Showing My Daughter How to Handle Big Feelings

But here’s what I’m learning: healing isn’t just something I do for myself. It’s something I do with her in mind. When I take a moment before reacting, when I say, “I’m feeling overwhelmed,” instead of bottling it all up until I snap, I’m showing her how to handle big feelings. I’m modeling emotional resilience, even if I’m doing it in sweatpants with half a bagel in hand.

She may not always show it (those AirPods are practically glued to her ears), but trust me, she’s paying attention. Teens have a sixth sense for emotions. And while I don’t share my trauma scrapbook with her, I do let her see that I’ve been through some stuff. Some days are tough. And being open about that doesn’t make me less of a dad; it makes me more human.

And yeah, I mess up. Regularly. I’ll snap, and I will misread the mood. I’ll forget that sarcasm isn’t the best response to a meltdown over math. But I always circle back. I apologize. I explain. I’ll try to do better next time. That’s not weakness; that’s trust-building in action.

How My Past Shapes My Parenting Choices

Then there are those little moments that make it all worth it: when she laughs at one of my terrible jokes or when we share a meal and she actually talks, really talks. When she surprises me with her insight, compassion, or goofiness. Those moments? They’re everything. They remind me that we’re not just surviving this; we’re building something real.

I’ve been lucky with my daughter. I can’t say I ever went through the “terrible twos” with her. Sure, she had her moments, but she wasn’t a difficult child. So far, she hasn’t been a terrible teenager, either. It’s still early days, but for the most part, she’s been pretty low-maintenance.

However, I’ve come to realize that some of the parenting choices I made were directly influenced by my own childhood experiences. I was probably too protective of her between the ages of 5 and 9, the same years when my abuse occurred. During that time, I struggled deeply, haunted by flashbacks and triggers. I couldn’t understand how anyone could harm a child so young, and I felt an intense need to shield her from all the bad in the world

Facing My Trauma to Be a Better Dad

But no matter what, you still have to hold it together enough to parent. I remember more than one occasion when my daughter was small, and I had to make sure she was safe before removing myself from the situation to break down and let my dysregulated emotions out. Through it all, though, I’ve remained focused on her, ensuring she’s always been and still is my number one priority.

The most valuable lesson I’ve learned since my CPTSD diagnosis is that I couldn’t outrun my trauma, no matter how hard I tried. Instead, I had to confront it, acknowledging the pain and understanding that healing takes time. The best decision I made as a parent was to seek help and start therapy. Facing my trauma was the most important thing I could do for my daughter, and in doing so, it has allowed us both to have a father-daughter relationship that I cherish.

Parenting and Healing: It’s All Part of the Journey

I will continue to raise my daughter with my own self-awareness, which, in turn, helps her adapt to the struggles she will face in life. At the end of the day, I’m doing the best I can, and I can only hope that I’m the father for her that I never had, and that I’ll continue to make her proud.

So to the other moms and dads out here doing the tightrope act, balancing healing, parenting, and trying not to lose your mind in the cereal aisle, I see you. You’re not alone. You’re doing something incredibly hard and incredibly important.

Take the win when it comes. Celebrate the small stuff. Apologize when you need to. And don’t forget to laugh, even if it’s just at how wildly unqualified we all feel some days.

We are all doing better than we think.

Photo by Sandra Seitamaa 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

It signifies a shift toward healing and a more balanced and fulfilling life, enabling us to prioritize our mental well-being and work toward our ultimate goal of healing from trauma.

What people may not realize is how tired it makes us. Both physically and mentally.

Working through trauma is exhausting. Our bodies have stored the trauma for so long, like a grip; when we finally start releasing it, the body needs to rest and heal. Healing is not just a mental process; we must allow time for our bodies to recalibrate.

It’s why self-care is vital. What ever that may look like, it’s important because without it we will only end up running on empty and that makes things significantly worse, not only for our mental health, but our relationships and our over all well-being. Prioritizing self-care allows us to recharge and think more clearly.

Sleep doesn’t always mean rest

Annoyingly, even when we get sleep, we can often wake still feeling exhausted. Healing from trauma means there is no downtime for us. Our minds and bodies are constantly working through the tension and processing the emotions and memories. It can even be repressed anger turned inwards. That means even during sleep, and when we wake, we are still exhausted. Sometimes, my body may be rested, but my mind is not. That there is a heaviness in my head that does not go away, and it can be a constant battle.

Although, in saying that, I do find that once I have been able to process that experience and I have managed to rest, I generally feel significantly lighter and more energized. A weight has definitely been lifted off my shoulders. So, it feels like a good trade-off.

The sense of relief signifies the release of so many pent-up emotions and the burden of my trauma that I have carried around for so long. There is a sense of freedom to be found, making the hard work all the more worthwhile. The idea is to show ourselves that even our exhaustion from doing the work IS taking care of ourselves.

Self-compassion is always important

It’s extremely important when doing trauma work that we go easy on ourselves. We have to allow ourselves the time and space to heal, recognizing that progress is not linear. That there will be many starts and stops, and self-compassion is key.

In a world where everyone seems to want instant satisfaction, it can be hard to adopt the process of taking the time we need to heal properly. In fact, a great quote I came across is by a clinical professor of psychiatry, Richard Kluft. He said, “The slower we go, the faster we get there.”

He believed that taking things slow would result in less turmoil and, eventually, quicker results. I happen to agree with this line of thinking because if we rush the healing process, we tend to cause further internal conflict. Taking a more careful approach allows us to process our emotions and experiences fully and in a healthy way. After all, patience can often be the most effective strategy for achieving lasting peace, and it’s helpful to keep that in mind as we go through our healing journey.

Every step forward is progress

While it can be draining, we will begin to feel as we make progress that the work is, in fact, working. For me, when I can quiet my inner critic, even for a brief moment, my mind can rest. But most importantly, I have begun to understand my trauma better, how much I can actually deal with at any given time—my thoughts, the associated feelings, and what techniques I need to use in that moment.

I am taking back control of my life every day the more I understand and learn about my trauma and cPTSD. It’s allowed me to set healthy boundaries and prioritize my own well-being, and that clarity empowers me because I know things are getting better.

Remember, when we’ve been in survival mode so long and we have literally run off cortisol and adrenaline our entire lives, we are going to be exhausted. It doesn’t mean we have failed. We are still here. Facing every new day as it comes, and that is something we should all be damn proud of.

Photo by Francisco Moreno 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

What people don’t understand is how exhausting healing actually is. We have to face many demons. Often revisiting painful memories and emotions. Tapping into things we have done and are ashamed of. It requires immense courage to confront these aspects of ourselves, and a lot of self-reflection.

It can often be difficult to do because when we have moments of dissociation, it’s as if our brains go offline. For me, I didn’t want to be in my own body. Looking at myself reminded me of the abuse. Seeing my reflection in the mirror, all I saw was a stranger looking back. Someone I couldn’t connect with or understand. Someone I didn’t want to even exist.

There is so much work that goes into the concept of finding it acceptable to exist exactly how we are. To take up space and to make noise. It takes active practice and it is a lot of work.

I wish for so much change

I strive to be a lighthouse and shine my own light. To be the change I wish I saw in the world I grew up in. I try to show as much kindness as possible because growing up I wasn’t shown it by my abuser. I have learned that compassion can heal wounds that seemed impossible to mend. By extending empathy to others, but it’s hard when we aren’t given it in return. It takes a lot to understand that people can only meet you where they are capable of doing so.

It took me a while to realize that focusing on things I can’t control saps my energy to focus on things I can. But I still have moments where I forget and go into full-blown control mode. It’s a survival instinct where being in control prepares me for anything that may harm me. But it’s not sustainable. I have carried the weight of the world on my shoulders due to my trauma for decades, and I am tired of feeling so heavy.

I’ve been learning to let go, to release the burden, and to find peace within myself. But I know it doesn’t go away overnight. I often wish I wasn’t abused. That I had a normal childhood. But I was, and I didn’t. These were the cards that life dealt me, and all I can do is make amends for the things I have done in my past, learn to forgive myself, and continue working on my self-acceptance.

Making peace with ourselves takes time.

Our minds are programmed to pay attention to the problem, and anxiety and trauma make that even more pronounced. I have had a lot of difficulty reconciling that I cannot fix everything, and that’s okay.

On my healing journey, I have learned just how sensitive I am to the world and the people around me. The actions and the words said by others. Removing the barrier I had to protect myself has opened me up to a lot of emotional turmoil. I went through a long period of not feeling anything in particular about my trauma, and now that I have been unpacking and dealing with strong, unresolved issues that have been stuffed very deep down, it often makes me question everything I knew.

While healing, we deal with a form of intense grief, and what helps is strong emotional bonds. But sometimes those bonds are broken, and it makes things more difficult because, in a way, more grief sets in. It’s like being on a merry-go-round, and round and round we go. In some instances, it can even feel like chronic emotional pain.

Having cPTSD means calm environments equal inner chaos and chaotic environments equal inner calmness, or it helps drown out the turmoil we have inside our heads. When we feel calm and safe, it can often feel too much. We have a habit of gravitating towards chaos and stress because it feels like home. It’s unlearning that pattern that requires a lot of patience and understanding.

It’s all a process, and I am learning to make peace with myself. To endure all the darkness so I can find the light and be my own lighthouse. I am deep in healing, and I was never prepared for just how hard it actually is.

Photo by Annie Spratt 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

And I’m not talking about the grief everyone goes through in life, such as the loss of a loved one, a pet, or the loss of a relationship.

It’s grief for the things that I have lost because of my trauma. It’s the loss of my childhood. Time. The life I was never allowed to live. The person I am letting go and becoming.

It’s as if each layer of healing uncovers another depth of loss that I hadn’t fully acknowledged before. This journey has taught me that grief is not just a reaction to loss but an integral part of embracing my past and moving forward.

I am viewing the different decades I have lived and how they all were in the context of trauma. Even the good parts—places I loved, my relationships with people. They all seemed to carry an undercurrent of struggle. It’s amazing how even happy memories can be overshadowed by past challenges, shaping who I am today. Everything I have experienced contributes to a deeper understanding of myself and the world around me.

The more I reflect, the more I realize that acknowledging the pain is just as important as holding on to the joy, for both have shaped who I am today.

It’s a worthwhile process.

Don’t get me wrong; I am happy that I started my healing and working on myself. I can see the good things it has opened me up to, but this new life that I am embarking on is costing me an old life, and with that comes complications. Complications that require me to confront my past and let go of many things that no longer serve my growth. It’s a bittersweet process, filled with many emotions. It’s been made much easier now that I can validate my own feelings and comfort myself through them, though.

I’m beginning to reclaim parts, and in doing so, I’m allowed to be nostalgic, too, for the good parts can still be good. They don’t have to be overshadowed by my child abuse, but it is hard. Especially the good memories I have with my abuser, and yes, there are some as conflicted as that makes me feel.

I know this struggle reflects the complex nature of memory and trauma, where positive experiences can coexist with pain. Acknowledging these mixed feelings is an important step toward healing and reclaiming one’s narrative. It’s a definite delicate balance. I am still feeling sorry for the man he had to become to do what he did, and that frustrates me because, in a way, I know I am still giving him that control after all this time.

The intricate relationship between memories and trauma reveals a profound truth: healing is not linear but rather a multifaceted process that demands both introspection and time. To embrace mixed feelings is essential, and as we work through the process, we work towards understanding and growth.

Without grief, we wouldn’t heal.

Even though there are various levels of grief to healing, I’ve noticed that once I started really getting into allowing myself to feel what I need to, the grieving process has become easier. I’m no longer fighting and judging myself for feeling the way I do. I know that as long as I’m not fighting these appropriate emotions, I’ve given myself the best chance to feel them authentically. And that’s what is important.

It’s a very personal journey that anyone who is in trauma recovery has to go through. The more self-acceptance we give ourselves without self-judgment, the more we heal. We stop suppressing our emotions and instead go through the process of feeling every single one. This allows us to fully understand what we went through and rebuild our lives.

It hasn’t been an easy road, but looking back, I am glad that I had the courage to start walking it. Each step has taught me a valuable lesson, and I will carry each of them into my new chapter.

Photo by Savannah B. 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

What is Alexithymia?

According to Medical News Today, Alexithymia is not a mental disorder. It’s important to recognize that Alexithymia is a personality trait, although it can co-occur with various conditions. It has links to cPTSD as well as various other disorders. It is when a person has difficulty experiencing, identifying, and expressing emotions and is more common in males than females.

People with alexithymia have:

• problems with introspection or observing their own mental and emotional processes
• experience confusion around bodily sensations connected to emotions
• struggle to communicate their emotions to others

Discovering and Coping With Conditions

I learned I had this condition when my therapist would ask me to tell him where I was experiencing emotions in my body. After all, feelings are in the body and not our thoughts. I was confused by that question because I didn’t feel them; I just knew I felt a certain way. It was uncomfortable to be put on the spot like that and at first I would respond with a “I’m fine”. I simply was unable to communicate what I felt at any given time.

For most of my life, I thought not feeling any emotions was normal, when in fact it wasn’t. It was a defense mechanism that I subconsciously would fall into.

It took time and my willingness to work on my healing even when I felt uncomfortable. I was asked to start making notes whenever I noticed any new sensation. Soon I quickly realized that whenever my body was showing any sensation, it meant I was in fact feeling a certain emotion. I learned that the tightness and tingling in my right calf and left arm were not just my body’s way of telling me I was feeling anxious; it was showing me.

After what felt like a momentous breakthrough, my therapy sessions would begin with being asked how I was feeling. Some time was spent during the hour-long sessions to describe, sit with, and feel sensations. I want to give shapes, colors, and even names to foreign entities within my body. In doing that, it helped me get to know these emotions and feel them in a healthy way.

Having a breakthrough brought relief

To understand what it is I was experiencing and working on allowing myself to feel them at a healthy level consistently instead of suppressing them and being numbed out and dissociated; they didn’t feel so overwhelming when they hit all at once. And let me tell you when the faucet was turned on, they began free-flowing, and for the first time in my life, I felt normal. That there wasn’t something fundamentally wrong with me. That I wasn’t broken. I had spent years of living in survival mode with no room for introspection, and it was coming to an end.

As the weeks progressed and more work was put in to helping me cope with all these new found feelings and emotions. I started to work on expressing myself and communicating. To discover that it wasn’t that I didn’t feel anything; I actually felt too much, and it was my body’s way of shutting down to protect myself. Becoming more in tune with our emotions and learning how to react to them is a huge part of recovery.

I still have my moments when I don’t put what I have learned into practice, and I can easily numb out, but I just as quickly recognize what it is I am doing and correct myself. I make a conscious effort to communicate, even if it takes a minute, and I need time to sit with my thoughts. It’s why I am a big advocate for communication: I know if I don’t have it, I will feed off what the other person is giving me, and I will shut down.

Finding the right therapist is key

People with childhood trauma often favor survival over authenticity in order to survive as children; at least, that was true for me, and it took four attempts to find a therapist I could trust and feel I could be open and honest with. I was just about to give up when I found the therapist I am with today. He was the game changer.

I was taught that repressing/fighting and creating a narrative around feelings is what keeps them feeling heavy for so long. Working on your breathing and focusing on your grounding tool helps fight off the urge to swallow up all and any emotion. Of course, it is easier said than done and takes lots of practice.

I’ve gained emotional competence by sitting with my feelings and exploring them. I now see that all emotions are messages from our bodies telling us that something needs to be addressed.

It’s not always easy to understand how any of us relate to the world, but with self-compassion, patience, and understanding, we can heal in ways that can give us true happiness, and that’s really what any of us are looking for. And like the old saying goes, the best time to start is yesterday; the second best time to start is today. Just don’t remain stagnant and know that healing is a gift and a wonderful thing.

Photo by Guillaume Bleyer 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/