Healing, Glowing, and Growing – One Act of Self-Care At a Time

Some days, it feels like I’m barely keeping my head above water.  Depression doesn’t just whisper I’m unworthy, it roars it.  It tells me I’m tired, worthless, and broken beyond repair.  Then when my body aches unbearably on top of it all, I start to wonder if this fight is even worth fighting for.

What makes my battle even more complicated is the PTSD I carry from military sexual trauma (MST).  It’s a pain that lingers in my mind and body- a wound that doesn’t show itself in physical form, but also never truly fades either.  The flashbacks that occur during moments that I’m not even aware I have been triggered, the fear of everyone and everything, the self-doubt, the feeling okay again only to spiral out of control from something as simple as a loud car that passes by. It all feeds into the depression that has followed me for years.

I have spent years in and out of therapy, learning coping tools and strategies to help understand the patterns that feed my depression. And yet, there are still many days when all that knowledge isn’t enough.  When even brushing my hair feels like climbing a mountain.  When I’m so exhausted from trying to “stay positive” in a body and mind that feel like the losing side of an active battleground.

I am not writing this from the light filled, rainbows and sunshine, freedom filled other side – I am still in the darkness, still shackled to despair, still trying to fight.  But even In my darkness, there’s a quiet kind of self-care that keeps me from sinking completely.

1. The Heavy Cycle of Depression, Trauma, and Pain.

Depression, PTSD, and chronic pain feed each other like a cruel, never ending, loop.  When my mind replays past trauma or my depression deepens, my body reacts – my joints hurt, my muscles tighten, my energy fades.  When the pain flares up, it drags my spirit down with it.

It’s incredibly hard to explain how exhausting it is to hurt both physically and emotionally.  To feel trapped in a body that mirrors your sadness and memories that won’t rest.  Most days are filled with trying to figure out where my mental pain ends and my physical pain begins, and vice versa.

I recently learned that healing isn’t about pretending I’m okay with my forced smile.  It’s about admitting that I’m not okay, and finding small ways to take care of myself when everything hurts and I’m nothing but a shattered mess on the floor.

2. When Self-Care Feels Impossible

There is a lot of talk online and even from family members about self-care, but when you are depressed or living with PTSD, EVERYTHING feels overwhelming and impossible.  “Take a walk” they say, but they can’t see or understand how you fight to get out of bed.  “Think positive” comes the whispers, but they can’t hear the heaviness in your thoughts and haunting memories.

For me, self-care isn’t put together. It isn’t glamorous or even picture-worthy.  It is about survival.  It’s about doing something when my mind says do nothing. 

Some days, that means:

• Drinking water, when I haven’t had any all day.
• Stepping outside for fresh air
• Talking with my neighbor, who’s become my best friend – even when I struggle to find the energy to talk.

She gets its.  We both have kids with ADHD, and in our shared chaos, we’ve found understanding.  Sometimes, we just sit outside together enjoying small talk.  No forced cheerfulness, just quiet company.  That kind of connection keeps me together, when my world feels likes its shattered into a million pieces.

3. My Children: My Navigating Light in the Darkness

If I am honest with myself, my children are often the ONLY reason I keep fighting.  Their smiles, their hugs, their need for me to show up everyday – it all reminds me that I still have a purpose, even when I struggle to find it myself.

There are so many days when the depression and PTSD tell me that I’m not enough.  But when they look at me with love in their expressions, in those moments, I remember that maybe I am.  They are the tiny flickers of light that help me push through the fog – one day, one hour, one minute, and one breath at a time.

4. Small Acts of Self-Care That Keep Me Going

I’ve learned that self-care, for me, has to be gentle.  It has to meet me where I am – tired, hurting, and trying my best.

• Writing Kind Notes to Myself. This is actually still fairly new to me- I started writing notes to myself, small reminders that remind me that I’m worthy.  On my harder days I pull out my notebook and reread them (with the exception to my bathroom mirror that reminds me everytime I use the bathroom that “I am a badass bitch”).  It’s like getting comfort from a version of me that believes I can survive this.
• Coloring for Calm. When my mind won’t stop racing or my memories start to intrude, I try to sit down and color (doesn’t always work, but I try it anyways).  The slow, repetitive motions help me focus on something simple.  Sometimes I color with my kids, and it turns into a quiet moment of connection.
• Listening to My Body. Most days I can’t do much. Laundry or a home cooked meal can be too much (even though I love cooking).  I try not to beat myself up about that too much.  Resting is self-care.  Most days I try to gently stretch or step outside for fresh air.  Even small tasks like those help me feel human again.
• Staying Connected.  When I isolate too long, the darkness consumes me.  Reaching out – even with a single text – keeps me tethered.  My children, my neighbor, even my therapist, remind me that I’m not alone even when I feel like I am.

5. Therapy, Hope, and Learning Grace

Therapy has given me language for my pain and tools for survival.  I continue to work through the guilt, the anger, and the deep rooted belief that I am unworthy- a belief shaped by failed relationships that seem to confirm what trauma made me feel.

Healing still feels like work- daily, messy, tear-filled work.  Sometimes it seems like there are more setbacks than gains, where I question everything and its purpose.

Still, I keep showing up.  Therapy has taught me that progress isn’t about feeling happy all the time- its about learning to give myself grace when I’m not.

6. Still Fighting, Still Here

I’m not healed. I’m not at peace.  But I’m learning to live with the waves instead of drowning by them.

Depression, chronic pain, and PTSD still fight me everyday to control me, but I’m fighting back – with tiny acts of care, quiet moments of truth, and reminders that even when I can’t see my own light, it’s still there.

If you’re fighting too, please know this: you don’t have to win every battle to survive. Some days, surviving is the victory.

We are not broken for struggling.  We are human for feeling.  And we are still worthy- even though we tread through darkness.

You can explore the tools I have created for my own personal healing journey here:

👉 Stan Store: https://stan.store/Shroompy

Author’s Note

Written by a veteran and survivor of military sexual trauma, still learning to navigate depression, PTSD, and chronic pain.  I share my story not as someone “healed”, but as someone still trying to fight – in hopes that others who feel lost in the darkness can find small moments of comfort, connection, and the courage to keep going.