When the Storm of Post Traumatic Hits You

 

Dear Friend,

I don’t know where you are as you read this — maybe in a quiet room, maybe on a crowded bus, maybe hiding in a bathroom just to breathe — but I need you to know something: you are not broken. You are carrying an invisible weight that has nothing to do with your worth and everything to do with what you’ve been through.

When the spell of PTSD hits, it’s not always fireworks and loud crashes like the movies show. Sometimes, it’s the subtle tightening of your chest when a smell takes you back to a place you never wanted to revisit. Sometimes, it’s a smile that feels forced, because your body is still bracing for a danger that isn’t there anymore. Sometimes, it’s the sudden drop in your stomach, like you’ve fallen into a memory you didn’t ask for.

You might wonder if you’re “overreacting.” You might hear people say, “That was years ago, just move on.” But trauma doesn’t obey calendars or clocks. It lives in the nervous system, in the body’s reflexes, in the quiet hours when no one’s watching.

Here’s how you’ll know it’s visiting again:

• Your heart races, but you’re sitting still.

• You feel dizzy, numb, or strangely detached from the present moment.

• A small sound, smell, or sight catapults you into a past you thought you left behind.

• You catch yourself avoiding places, people, or conversations without even realizing why.

When you notice these signs, please — do not shame yourself.
Instead, whisper to yourself: This is my body remembering. This is not my fault.

If you can, ground yourself gently:

• Name five things you can see around you.

• Touch something solid — a wall, a desk, your own hand.

• Breathe in slowly to a count of four, hold for four, breathe out for six.

• If it’s safe, move your body — walk, stretch, shake your hands.

And when the wave passes — because it will — remind yourself: you survived what caused this. That version of you, the one who endured, is proof of your strength.

Recovery isn’t about “getting over it.” It’s about building a life where the memories lose their grip, where the spell weakens with time, where the moments of peace grow longer than the storms. It’s about telling your story to people who listen without judgment, seeking help from a therapist or a support group, and finding daily rituals — journaling, prayer, meditation, art, movement — that keep your spirit anchored.

I’m not saying it’s easy. Some days you’ll feel like you’ve healed. Other days the past will ambush you again. But every time you notice, name it, and choose a healthy way to cope — you’re teaching your mind that you are here, now, and safe.

And please remember — even when you feel most alone, you are part of a world full of people who have fought their own shadows and lived to see the sun again. I am one of them. That means there’s a version of you, somewhere in the future, laughing without that lump in your throat.

Until you meet them, I’ll hold the hope for you.
Because you are worth every breath, every sunrise, every second chance.

With quiet understanding,
A friend who believes in you