How Respecting My PTSD Has Improved My Life.

When I give myself space, resentment doesn’t build.

Yesterday, I met with a friend I hadn’t seen since high school.

We were both pretty “weird.” She was goth. I was kind of nothing…I went from social circle to social circle, but didn’t feel like I was a part of any one group. I was proud of being a kind of chameleon, of never getting close to anyone.

But I felt a special bond with this girl, and for a couple of years, we were best friends.

Fast-forward to now, and it turns out we both have PTSD. We both had it in high school, too, but didn’t know it. And we both pushed those feelings down…called it “weakness” and “sensitivity.”

It was a relief to talk to her.

It seems like a never-ending mountain. There’s the cruel ruler of normal, and you see all the ways you don’t measure up. It’s a ruler that yells at you. Puts you in a cage. Hits you.

But talking to her about how we were in high school helped open my eyes to how far I have come.

My relationships are healthier. I have a job I enjoy. I set boundaries. I eat better. I exercise regularly. I handle stress better. I hardly drink at all.

I’m not perfect…sometimes I mess up and roll back into old coping mechanisms. And I always feel them there.

But making the healthy choices has become easier. Those roads…roads that seemed like venturing off into a dangerous path…are now well-worn, almost paved.

So talking to someone from high school…who reminded me of a time when I was actively repressing my feelings, actively telling myself I was weak and sensitive, actively telling myself to “get over it”…helped me realize that the space I gave my PTSD has helped me heal.

I’m on an all-expenses paid trip. I’m on a balcony. The weather is perfect.

High school me would not have thought this possible.

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