When I was in my 40s, I was diagnosed with PTSD. It was news to me, but as I learned more about it from my therapist and reading books (notably Waking the Tiger by Peter A. Levine), it was a no-brainer. Of course I had PTSD.

My family had suffered the tragic, violent loss of my charming younger sister when I was a child. In those days, PTSD did not exist as a diagnosis. The prevailing attitude was “just get on with your life”. There were no psychologists in the schools, and no one suggested counseling. 

And yet, my experiences in the days surrounding her death wired some neurons together in my brain that affected me in the ensuing years. I sometimes reacted in ways that I didn’t understand. My self-esteem was low. I was hypervigilant, depressed, grieving, and tense. I felt like the rug had been pulled out from under my feet, and there was no longer anything solid to stand on. I lost my sense of being safe in the world. 

Any kind of traumatic event like that is an obstacle in life. When I was young, it seemed insurmountable.

Getting the diagnosis was the beginning of my trauma recovery. Even though part of me really did not want to revisit that tragic time, my dreams were encouraging: finding a dusty playroom in my house that I didn’t know existed, seeing a stream of clear water running over a golden stream bed, swan-diving from a cliff into the sea to catch a fish with my bare hands to give to the king and queen.

I did a lot of processing for a couple of years, speaking with my brothers, former neighbors, and old family friends to get a broader understanding of those tragic days, to help put them in perspective. I had a timeline now, a narrative of what happened, whereas before, my memories were jumbled, with holes. 

I was wondering what was next in my life when a thought occurred to me: I’d had a stress disorder for decades, and…

I really wanted to experience what it was like to be relaxed, awake, and substance-free.

That was the real beginning of my trauma-recovery journey, when obstacle became challenge. I began exploring meditation and breathwork. I noticed my own state more. I studied NLP, worked on other health issues, got craniosacral therapy and acupuncture, and decided to go into bodywork. 

I experienced a few trauma reactivations, where I was convinced I was in imminent danger and my body responded by flooding me with stress hormones, which was not pleasant and made me isolate myself until it passed, as much as possible. 

But I learned from experience that when I started to go into that state, I needed to check whether I was actually safe and my mind was just playing tricks on me. That’s always been the case, so far. I could use breathwork, grounding, and presence (feeling my feet on the ground) to counter it.

This was not the life I had planned to have, but it’s turning out to be even better. I’ve become more myself.