What Most People Will Never Understand
Living with Complex PTSD isn’t something you can easily explain — not because I haven’t tried, but because the words often fall short. No matter how many times I try to describe what’s going on inside me or why something has triggered me so deeply, it feels like people still don’t really get it. And that hurts on a whole different level.
One of the biggest things people don’t realize is that CPTSD isn’t just about memories or mental health — it’s a nervous system disorder. My body holds onto trauma in a way I didn’t fully understand until recently. When I’m triggered, it’s not just emotional — my entire system goes into alarm. I feel unsafe. My heart races. My stomach turns. And sometimes, I become someone I don’t recognize… it’s like I completely black out and go into autopilot.
It’s not a choice. It’s not me “overreacting.” It’s survival mode — kicking in without my permission.
What makes it even harder is being misunderstood, especially by the people closest to me. That misunderstanding sends me into an emotional loop — a spiral that can feel never-ending. It’s not just about the present moment; it brings up all the unresolved pain from my past. The wound gets ripped open again — only deeper.
What might seem like a small comment or harmless action to someone else can feel devastating to someone with CPTSD. My reactions aren’t just about now — they’re about everything I’ve ever had to carry alone.
I’ve been told things like, “It’s all in your head,” or “You’re just insecure.” But it’s not. It’s trauma resurfacing while I’m reliving something that feels eerily familiar. I wish I could just stop thinking or feeling this way. I really do. But when your brain and body are wired to detect danger, there’s no “off” switch. There’s only managing, surviving, and hoping the people around you will try to understand.
Over the past few years, I’ve had to painfully learn that not everyone will. Not everyone will understand. Not everyone feels things as deeply as I do. And not everyone will love me in the way I need to be loved. That truth breaks my heart, but it’s also teaching me acceptance.
The kind of love I need — the safe, steady, emotionally available kind — takes patience. It takes compassion. It takes effort. It comes from people who take the initiative to understand, who educate themselves, who listen with their whole heart because they genuinely care.
And what I’m also learning is that having a support system of loving, emotionally safe people is one of the most important parts of healing. I’m learning how to hold my boundaries, to speak up for what I need, and to notice who’s truly showing up for me. If that means letting go of relationships I once thought were forever, then I have to trust that it’s part of creating space for the support I do need — the kind that helps me feel safe, understood, and seen.
CPTSD can feel so lonely. But despite everything, I still believe that life is worth living. I believe that one day I will find my people — maybe once I’ve healed more, maybe once I’ve learned even more about myself. Or maybe… they’re already out there, looking for someone like me too.
I know I’m one strong cookie. Living with an invisible disorder means most people won’t see the battles I fight daily — but I keep going. I hold onto hope. I keep learning. I keep showing up. And the more I understand about myself, the more I know that this is part of my purpose:
To educate. To express. To love.
I have so much love to give this world. I just need to feel safe enough in my day-to-day life to give it freely — without fear, without shutdowns, without looping into the past. I may not have all the answers yet, but I’m walking this path with intention. And I truly believe… I’m not alone. I will find the people I’ve been searching for.