Fight or Flight: Living With Years of Trauma and CPTSD

Fight or Flight: Living With Years of Trauma and CPTSD

For years, I didn’t realize I was living in fight or flight. I thought I was just “wired different,” or maybe just strong enough to handle what life threw at me. But the truth is, my body wasn’t built to live in survival mode forever. None of us are.

When trauma doesn’t happen just once, when it becomes part of your story over and over again, your nervous system learns to adapt. It learns that danger is everywhere, even when it’s not. That’s what complex PTSD does—it traps you in the same state your body went into when the worst moments of your life happened.

What It Really Feels Like

Living in fight or flight for years isn’t just anxiety. It’s a constant hum under your skin, like your body is revving for something that never comes.

It’s waking up with your heart racing, drenched in sweat, even though you were safe in your bed. It’s lying awake at night, exhausted, but your brain refusing to shut off because it doesn’t trust rest.

It’s the headaches, the stomach pain, the exhaustion that no amount of coffee can fix. It’s being so tense that your shoulders feel like cement, and you don’t even notice until someone asks if you’re okay.

It’s snapping at people you love—not because you want to hurt them, but because your nervous system is frayed raw. It’s freezing in moments you wish you could fight back. It’s isolating yourself because the world feels too loud, too dangerous, too much.

And the scariest part? After years of it, it becomes your “normal.” You don’t even realize how much it’s controlling you—you just think this is who you are.

The Damage It Leaves Behind

Fight or flight isn’t free. Your body pays the price. Chronic illness, autoimmune issues, pain that doctors can’t explain—all of it ties back to a nervous system that never got to heal.

Your relationships pay the price too. CPTSD makes it hard to trust, hard to feel safe, hard to let anyone in. You want connection, but your brain screams th

at connection is dangerous. And so you push people away even when you’re desperate not to be alone.

The Work of Healing

Healing from years of trauma isn’t easy. It’s not about “getting over it.” It’s about teaching your body and mind something they’ve forgotten—what safety feels like.

For me, it’s been learning to breathe again. To notice when my body is bracing for impact and gently tell it: you’re safe now. It’s learning that rest isn’t a trap, that joy isn’t dangerous, that love isn’t always followed by pain.

It’s messy. Some days I take steps forward and feel freedom in ways I never thought possible. Other days I fall right back into old patterns, and it feels like starting over. But the truth is—healing isn’t linear. Every step, even the stumbles, is part of the process.

Why This Matters

I share this because I know I’m not the only one who has lived in fight or flight for too long. Maybe you’re there right now. Maybe you’ve been surviving so long you’ve forgotten what it feels like to just be.

If that’s you, please hear me:

You are not broken.

You are not weak.

You are not “too much.”

You are someone who lived through what should have broken you—and your body did what it had to do to keep you alive.

But survival isn’t the finish line. Healing is. And you deserve more than survival. You deserve safety. You deserve peace. You deserve to wake up one day and feel at home in your own skin again.

That’s not weakness—that’s the strongest thing you’ll ever do.