Sharing My Trauma Brain With the World. Weird. Terrifying. Necessary.
November 9, 2025
I’d like to go on record saying something important:
Sharing my life with anyone is weird.
Sharing it with the internet is weirder.
And I’m 43, so this is not my natural habitat.
When you get CIDP at 10, you learn some “superpowers” real early:
✔ reading the room
✔ reading people
✔ pretending you’re fine
✔ being positive so no one worries
Because if the adults fall apart, then the kid falls apart, and that wasn’t an option.
It took 18 months to diagnose me.
Eighteen months of tests, needles, electric shocks, spinal taps, and watching doctors try not to panic in front of my parents.
I learned to read a doctor’s face like a book.
If their eyebrows moved a millimeter, I knew how bad it was.
So I smiled.
I reassured the adults.
I was “strong.”
I was “brave.”
I was quietly terrified.
This is where it started.
The survival strategy:
Don’t show fear.
Don’t show pain.
Don’t show anything that might make other people uncomfortable.
And guess what?
When you learn that as a child, it follows you into adulthood.
I had friends.
But were they allowed to know me?
Absolutely not.
Want proof?
Years ago, two gym clients invited me hiking.
Repeatedly.
For weeks.
Finally they asked, “Are you ever going to come hiking with us?”
And I said, with full confidence:
“No. I’m never going hiking with you.”
Not because I didn’t like them.
But because that meant letting someone see me outside the gym.
In real life.
As an actual human.
Absolutely not.
No thank you.
Safety first.
Being known felt dangerous.
But here’s the plot twist:
Apparently (and I’m still adjusting to this), sharing your real self with real people doesn’t make you weak.
Apparently humans want to get to know you so they can support you.
Apparently they hug you on bad days.
Apparently they say “I see you” and mean it.
None of that happens if you say “I’m fine” forever.
Through therapy, healing, and connecting with people who also have CIDP and trauma, I learned something wild:
You cannot be loved if you stay hidden.
So now… here I am.
On the internet.
Saying words.
Why?
Because I spent decades feeling alone.
And now I know the truth:
You can’t heal in silence.
If your trauma brain tells you it’s not safe to open up — I get it.
If your people-pleasing makes you say “I’m fine” while you’re dying inside — I get that too.
If you’ve lost relationships, mobility, identity, or safety — I’ve been there.
You’re not weak.
You survived.
That’s different.
Now we speak.
Now we take up space.
Now we let people in — the safe ones, the real ones.
So hi, trauma brain survivors.
Hi, chronic illness warriors.
Hi, people who are exhausted from pretending they’re fine.
Nice to meet you.
I’m learning to share who I actually am.
It still feels weird.
I will probably cringe about this later.
But it’s not about me — it’s about you knowing you’re not alone anymore.
If anything in this post made you feel a little less alone, stay with me.
The podcast is coming.
More stories.
More honesty.
More “me too.”
You don’t have to heal in silence anymore.
