For almost twenty years, I’ve been carrying something I didn’t have the words for — or maybe I did, but I wasn’t ready to speak them.
PTSD from MST has been a quiet shadow in my life for so long that I didn’t even realize how much of myself I lost to it.
But the truth is… it didn’t start there.
Long before the MST happened, I was already living in a version of survival.
My childhood shaped the way I see myself — the way I shrink, the way I protect, the way I never fully relax around anyone. It built the emotional walls I’ve been living behind for as long as I can remember. Walls I once thought were strength… but now realize were protection from the pain I didn’t know how to name.
I grew up believing I had to earn safety.
Earn love.
Earn the right to take up space.
So I tried to rise above the hurt, the instability, the moments that taught me my feelings weren’t important.
I told myself I’d be different.
That I would outrun the pain.
That I would rise above everything I never received.
And then the MST happened.
And it didn’t just hurt me — it reinforced the beliefs I had spent years trying to escape.
The belief that I wasn’t worthy.
The belief that I wasn’t safe.
The belief that I didn’t matter.
That I didn’t deserve respect, care, or protection.
That love was conditional or dangerous or temporary.
And for nearly twenty years, I carried that.
Quietly.
Silently.
Alone.
It didn’t just change my past — it rewired my entire life.
PTSD from MST didn’t show up as one moment.
It showed up as patterns.
Patterns that started in childhood and deepened after the trauma.
It showed up as:
- shutting down when someone got too close
- feeling unsafe even in calm moments
- waiting for people to leave
- explaining myself too much
- blaming myself for things done to me
- assuming I didn’t deserve better
- accepting treatment that reflected how little I valued myself
For years I thought I was “too much,” “too emotional,” or “just bad at relationships.”
But now I can finally see the truth:
my nervous system was trying to protect me from wounds I never healed.
This didn’t come out of nowhere —
it started in childhood
and the MST cemented it into my bones.
And the hardest part? It’s made me feel alone.
Not because I wanted to be alone.
But because trauma taught me that depending on people was dangerous…
that needing support meant risking disappointment…
that trusting someone meant giving them the power to hurt me.
People who didn’t understand thought I was cold or distant.
People who wanted closeness didn’t know how to reach me.
People eventually stopped trying.
And now, looking back at almost two decades of my life, I can see how the combination of childhood pain + MST pushed me into this corner.
This place where I feel like I have no one.
No safe person.
No consistent support.
No space where I can fully exhale.
Not because I didn’t deserve support…
but because I never believed I was worthy of it.
I’m only now realizing how deep the hurt goes.
When you grow up learning that your emotions are too much…
and then experience trauma that tells you your body doesn’t matter…
you stop fighting for yourself.
You stop believing in yourself.
You stop expecting kindness, love, respect — because you’ve been trained to believe they’re not for you.
And for almost twenty years, I’ve been living inside that belief system without even realizing it.
Friendships faded not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t feel worthy of being cared for.
Relationships broke not because I was unlovable, but because I was terrified of letting anyone close enough to see how deeply I was hurting.
I shut down because I thought shutting down was safer than being seen.
Now I’m finally peeling back the layers, and it hurts.
It hurts to see how much trauma shaped me.
It hurts to see how long I’ve been carrying this.
It hurts to recognize how isolated I’ve become.
But it also feels like truth.
Like clarity.
Like finally letting myself acknowledge what I survived instead of pretending I’m fine.
Acknowledging it doesn’t fix it… but it opens the door.
This is the first time I’m allowing myself to say:
I wasn’t treated with love.
I wasn’t protected.
I wasn’t respected.
And none of that was my fault.
The MST didn’t happen in isolation —
it landed on top of years of already feeling small, already feeling unseen, already feeling unsafe.
No wonder it broke me.
No wonder it shaped me.
No wonder I’ve been fighting invisible battles for so long.
But naming it — all of it — is the first step toward reclaiming myself.
I don’t know what the completely healed version of me looks like yet. But I know I deserve it.
For the first time in my life, I’m letting myself:
- acknowledge what happened
- acknowledge what it stole
- acknowledge how long I’ve suffered
- acknowledge how deeply it shaped my relationships, my anxiety, my self-worth, my entire fucking life
I don’t have the answers yet.
I don’t have a neat ending.
But I have honesty — more honesty than I’ve ever allowed myself before.
And for today, that damn sure is going to be enough.
I’m not strong every day.
I’m not okay most days.
But I’m finally telling the truth about what I’ve lived through.
Because if there’s anything I have accepted about myself,
It’s this:
I AM WORTHY
MY VOICE DOES MATTER
I DESERVE SAFETY, LOVE, AND RESPECT
WHAT HAPPENED TO ME WAS NOT MY FAULT
I AM ALLOWED TO BE SEEN AND HEARD
I AM RECLAIMING MY LIFE, ONE TRUTH AND GENTLE MOMENT AT A TIME
You can explore the tools I have created for my own personal healing journey here:
👉 Stan Store: https://stan.store/Shroompy
Healing, Glowing, and Growing - One Act of Self-Care At a Time 
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