The Unsettling Rhythm of Healing: Slowing Down, Showing Up, and Coming Home to Myself

This week, I’ve been trying to learn something incredibly difficult: how to slow down. And honestly? It’s been a monumental battle. My brain, wired for years of relentless pace and constant vigilance, resists stillness with every fibre of its being. It feels counter-intuitive, almost dangerous, to drop the guard I’ve held up for so long.

This struggle to slow down felt like it amplified everything around me. Every quiet moment became an invitation for intrusive thoughts, every attempt at stillness a spotlight on the lingering shadows within. I found myself spiralling, caught in a loop of negativity, and for days, I couldn’t seem to find my way out. The world felt muted, my thoughts clouded, and any sense of joy or even simple contentment was completely out of reach. I’ve been stuck in a dark mindset all week, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. It was just there, a heavy blanket I couldn't shake off.

A Glimmer of Reality

And then, today -- it shifted. Not in a dramatic burst of light, but a subtle, jarring clarity. I felt myself come back to reality. It wasn’t a sudden cure, but a quiet, distinct recognition that I was here, present, in the moment, and not lost in the labyrinth of my own mind.

It’s such an odd feeling to be able to recognize. For so long, that dark mindset often felt like my default, my normal. To experience the contrast, to feel the gentle tug back to the present, was both unsettling and profoundly hopeful. It was a reminder that even when I feel completely lost, there’s a part of me that remembers the way back. That even after days submerged in a fog, clarity can, and does, return.

Baby Steps and Trauma Echoes

I'm still very much in the early stages of understanding my triggers. They're elusive, shape-shifting things that seem to appear out of nowhere, leaving me reeling without a clear reason why. I can’t yet tell what specifically sets me off, but one thing I am beginning to grasp is the powerful, often insidious, impact of trauma-versaries. Even if I can't pinpoint the exact date or the specific memory, the emotional echoes of past events can creep up, manifesting as inexplicable dips in mood or a sudden surge of old anxieties. They're real, and frankly, they’re scary. It’s like my body remembers what my conscious mind can’t quite articulate.

What CPTSD Really Feels Like

I've noticed there isn't much understanding out there about Complex PTSD (CPTSD). It's more than just a diagnosis on paper; it's a constant, lived experience that shapes every moment. To me, CPTSD is the reason why someone pausing to breathe mid-sentence will instantly trigger my brain into thinking they’re looking for a way to hurt me. It’s the automatic, ingrained need to always know where the exit is in any room, any situation. It’s the profound exhaustion of every single day being a "Rocky" moment, just to get up and going. It’s the invisible weight that makes simple tasks feel like climbing a mountain.

Finding Progress in the Unseen

Despite feeling quite stagnant this week, it’s crazy to look back and see how far I’ve actually come. I think about where I was in January, terrified of going to work, crying every single day. That person feels like a different lifetime ago. And now? I’m genuinely excited for the future. For the first time, I think ever, I am truly happy, and it’s not fleeting. This isn't a temporary high; it’s a deep, stable sense of contentment that feels real and lasting.

The switch has been something I never would have imagined possible. It wasn't a grand gesture or a sudden epiphany. All it took was for someone to be kind, to extend genuine niceness, and for someone else to truly listen. Those simple acts, those profound connections, created a ripple effect that changed everything. They provided the unexpected anchors I needed to begin finding my way back to myself.

Right now, it’s about baby steps. I’m not expecting to snap my fingers and suddenly be free from the grip of CPTSD. But the most crucial first step, the one I experienced today, is recognizing the difference. Recognizing when I’m lost in the darkness and, even more importantly, recognizing when I’ve found my way back, even if just for a moment.

This awareness is the foundation. Once I can consistently identify these shifts, I can start to work on understanding what pulls me down and, eventually, developing strategies to mitigate or even prevent those spirals completely. It’s a long road, paved with moments of immense difficulty and unexpected glimmers of hope. But for today, that tiny flicker of presence is more than enough. It’s a profound sign that healing is happening -- not as a finish line, but as a quiet return to myself, one flicker at a time.

That's all for now fam, peace out x