Living With Trauma: The Unfiltered Truth About CPTSD

Understanding the chaos. Naming it. Healing from it.

Trauma Isn’t Just the Past – It’s How the Past Lives in You

I always knew I had trauma. That wasn’t the shock.

The moment that cracked me wide open was reading The Body Keeps the Score. It gave my experience a name. It gave me language.

About four years ago, I walked into a therapist’s office and said, “I know I have unprocessed trauma. And I know that until I deal with it, I won’t do better. Not in life. Not in relationships.” But life got in the way. We never really got there.

Fast-forward. I asked that same therapist for book recommendations. She handed me The Body Keeps the Score and a book on codependency. I’d already read Attached, so I had some idea of what was broken in me. But damn. I had no clue how deep it went.

As someone who thrives on understanding, I dove in. I was in the middle of fertility treatments, and the search for clarity led me to an EMDR therapist. That’s when I finally got the proper diagnosis: CPTSD.

And once I had that diagnosis, I couldn’t unsee it.

The fight, flight, freeze, fawn patterns. The dissociation. The emotional numbing. The disorganized attachment. Why I kept attracting unavailable people. Why I was emotionally unavailable.

AHA after AHA.

Now I’m on my third therapist. She’s trauma-informed. Thank God. I’m finally in it. Not just reading about it, not just naming it. But doing the work.

I’m learning how anger lives in my body. How sadness shows up in my chest. How my inner child is still running the show. How I’ve been voiceless since I was a kid. And how I’m finally learning to speak.

There’s a long road ahead. From learning self-love to combating imposter syndrome to healing the parts of me no one ever protected. But I’m here. I’m all in.

And I’ll take you with me.

1. What Is CPTSD (And Why I Didn’t Know I Had It)

Most people think PTSD comes from combat or car crashes. CPTSD is different. It’s the result of long-term emotional wounds. Neglect. Abandonment. Repeated stress. The kind that makes your nervous system forget what safety even feels like.

The emotional neglect that never had a name. I remember trying to hug my mom and her saying, “Get away, I’m hot.” Minutes later, she’d have the neighbor kid sitting on her lap. That shit sticks.

I thought I was just “sensitive.” I thought vulnerability was weakness. When I moved in with my dad at 18, he said “I love you” every five minutes. I didn’t even know how to say it back.

When the diagnosis came, everything clicked. During my EMDR intake, the doctor walked through my history. I checked every box. I could finally map it out. But that was just the start.

I’ve always been good at analyzing myself. I could name what was broken. But I had no idea how deep it went. Trauma wasn’t just a buzzword anymore. It was the root.

2. Disorganized Attachment & Codependency: Relationships on Fire

Love didn’t feel safe. Neither did distance. I lived in extremes. I craved closeness, then sabotaged it the second it showed up. Cling. Shut down. Repeat.

The chaos of disorganized attachment. I’d run from people who were available and fall for the ones who weren’t. I felt “safe” in dysfunction. Why? Because it was familiar.

I kept repeating the same toxic patterns. I’d ask, “Why does this keep happening to me?” I was always good enough to be used, but never introduced to anyone’s parents. I stayed, out of fear I’d never experience anything better. I’m 45 and I still don’t know what it’s like to be in a real relationship where love is mutual. How fucking sad is that?

Learning I was codependent and what that really meant. When the therapist recommended a book on codependency, I laughed. “I’m the most independent person you’ll ever meet,” I thought. But by page five, I knew. I lived for other people’s needs. Their expectations ran my life. Not mine.

3. Triggers, Flashbacks, and the Nervous System Freakout

Trauma doesn’t just live in memory. It lives in the body. I’d get hijacked by emotions out of nowhere. Paralyzed by a text. Numb for days. That wasn’t weakness. That was my nervous system screaming “danger.”

What triggers felt like before I knew what they were. Someone scrolling their phone while I talked? It would send me into a spiral for weeks. Imaginary fights, rehearsed monologues, pure limerence.

Learning to name it instead of shame it. Some days I manage. Some days I don’t. But I’m starting to see it as data, not a defect.

What dissociation looked like for me. Infertility treatments made it worse. I survived by going numb. My therapist once said, “Alice, you’re telling me this like it happened to someone else.” She was right. I’ve spent 40 years doing that. Unlearning it won’t be quick.

4. The Mask: High-Functioning, Hyper-Independent, Always ‘Fine’

I looked like I had it together. I didn’t. I was over-performing to survive.

I chased degrees, promotions, and certifications to prove I was enough. I over-explained everything, terrified of being misunderstood or rejected. I isolated myself. Not because I didn’t need people, but because I didn’t want to burden them.

I was proud of doing everything alone, while quietly resenting that no one showed up. I never asked for help. I didn’t even know how.

5. ADHD, Anxiety, and Depression – Or Was It Trauma All Along?

I thought I had anxiety. Then depression. Then ADHD. Turns out trauma can mimic all of those and hide underneath them, too.

CPTSD symptoms overlap with ADHD: disorganization, impulsivity, emotional dysregulation. I was diagnosed with severe depression and generalized anxiety at 20. ADHD in my 30s. CPTSD in my 40s. That’s when it all clicked.

Trying to separate the threads is still messy. Sometimes I’d feel anxiety out of nowhere. Couldn’t breathe. Sometimes depression would hit even when nothing was wrong. I’d still function, go to work, attend school, but inside, I was paralyzed. Is it anxiety? Depression? Trauma? All of the above?

6. EMDR & Starting to Heal (Even When It Felt Impossible)

Talk therapy gave me awareness. EMDR gave me movement. It was the first thing that actually shifted how I experienced the world.

What EMDR looked like in real life. Not the Instagram version. The intake. The visualization. The reprocessing. It worked, but I couldn’t always connect all the way. I was still dissociating, and no one called it out.

Why it helped when nothing else did. EMDR unlocked memories, helped me link past to present. But it only worked when I was present. And often, I wasn’t.

What I’m still working on. I stopped EMDR after 3 months. I’m now working with a sharp trauma-informed therapist who calls me out, keeps me present, won’t let me run. This time, it feels real.

7. Grief, Anger, and Becoming My Own Protector

Healing means confronting what I was taught to bury: rage, shame, grief. I’m unlearning silence. I’m learning to protect myself. Even if that means being “too much.”

Mourning what I never got to experience. Life passed me by. I lived in survival mode for years. It’s time to learn how to actually live.

Giving myself permission to feel anger. My therapist keeps asking, “How are you going to express your anger?” I still don’t always know. My body feels it. A knot in my stomach, a lump in my throat. But the words get stuck. Still, I’m learning. One day at a time.

Learning that protecting my peace isn’t selfish. For years, I kept quiet, took the mistreatment, kept the peace. But it wasn’t my peace I was protecting. That ends now.

Expectations. Another layer to grief and anger that took me a while to see. The ones I didn’t know I had. The ones rooted in childhood wounds, showing up in adult relationships, disguised as disappointment, rage, or isolation.

If you’ve ever felt gutted when someone didn’t show up emotionally, and told yourself you were too much or too needy, it’s not just you. It’s trauma. And there’s a name for that pattern: unmet expectations trauma.

👉 Blog Post: Trauma Expectations: Whey They Hurt

8. Tools That Help Me Function

This isn’t fluffy self-care. These are the real tools I use when shit gets dark:

Grounding when I dissociate – Breathing. Feet on the floor. Playing with my dog.

Regulating my nervous system – Cold showers. Iced water. Walks. Deep, conscious breaths I forget to take. Long drives.

Journaling to process flashbacks – I’ve journaled since childhood. It’s the one place I could say anything.

Boundaries that protect me – Still working on this one. Setting them is hard. Keeping them? Even harder.

You’re Not Alone. I’m Still In It, Too.

This space is for the messy middle. The part of trauma recovery no one talks about.

No tidy endings. No quick fixes. Just raw, non-linear, beautiful chaos.

These are my stories. My experiences. I’ll share as openly and honestly as I can. But this isn’t medical advice. I swear by trauma-informed therapy. Get the support you deserve. You won’t regret it.

👉 Browse my Infertility journey