Today was a good day, overall, no real drama.

The issue is I was then on my own, weirdly when I’m out in the world, masking, I can cope with everything.  As soon as I’m on my own, I crumble.  It is in those moment that my life hits me, square in the face.  Triggered by the littlest things.

Trauma Doesn’t Knock, It Crashes Through the Door

Trauma doesn’t knock politely.
It doesn’t call ahead or pencil itself into your calendar.
It crashes through the door, no warning, no mercy.  Just chaos.  Don’t get me wrong, I love chaos, but not when it’s aimed towards me.

One minute you’re making coffee, replying to emails, pretending to be a functioning adult.  The next?  You’re spiralling.  Crying.  Trying to figure out why something so small felt like the end of the world.

That’s the thing about trauma.  It doesn’t always show up how you expect.  It’s not just the big events, for me it’s the little ruptures that never healed.  A tone of voice.  A closed door.  Being misunderstood.  Being dismissed. Feeling unsafe in places you were told were safe.  Being alone.
my nervous system i

But maybe my nervous system isn’t overreacting, maybe it’s overprotecting.  Maybe I’m not being “dramatic”, maybe I’m just trying to survive.  And when you live with trauma or neurodivergence, that survival mode gets baked into everything.  You’re constantly reading the room, bracing yourself for impact, masking just to stay afloat.  You feel like a burden to everyone, all the time.

And then boom, something cracks.
And there you are, 33 years old, having a reaction that feels way bigger than the moment.  You recognise it’s too big, but toy have no way to cope with it. But it’s not about this moment.  It’s about all the ones that came before and never got dealt with.

So yeah.  Trauma doesn’t knock.  It annihilates.  It leaves you crying, knowing that you have to stop and do normal people things.

It leaves you avoiding being alone at all costs, just so there isn’t time for it to smash into your life, for it to break you completely.  If there is someone else nearby maybe you’ll just about be okay.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever I be okay, not really, but here’s I’m learning.

Every time I pick myself back up, every time I meet my own mess with compassion, I’m rebuilding.  Slowly.  Softly.  Bravely.

And that matters.

Nice depressing little post from the safety of my car (parked up of course).

Thank you for being here.