Climbing Mountains by Bermuda

Today as I sat in the waiting room at the clinic, I saw this woman holding her young son. She stood directly outside the entrance in the stairwell with a look of terror. The reception on this floor was in direct eye shot, merely seven metres across the threshold of the open doorway. She stood there with eyes darting around for several minutes gripping tightly onto her son. I thought about approaching her and asking if I could give her direction, but I didn’t. I didn’t know if we spoke a language in common, and I didn’t want to risk addressing her in a language she may take as an insult, and I don’t typically approach people. Eventually a nurse gave her guidance.

Seeing her standing there with this familiar look of fear and dread felt so real to me. It reminded me of the progress I’ve made. So many of my social anxieties were only a syndrome, a greater symptom of the internalised behaviour I was forced to use.

As I observed her there I had the realisation that I would have left rather than risking discovery. The gazing eyes from onlookers coupled with the threat of being exposed as someone who doesn't know, of someone who is lost and vulnerable, would have been too much. I have turned around and left so many times. I’ve left opportunities behind, friends behind, doctors behind, phone calls, and jobs too; I left life behind.

I have turned around and left so many times. I’ve left opportunities behind, friends behind, doctors behind, phone calls, and jobs too; I left life behind.

I write this from a better place, from inside the waiting room. It's something I still deal with. I didn't approach her after all. ...But observing her, and seeing myself as a trauma survivor and seeing that in her is a huge step for me. There are many things that I still find very difficult to do but I do understand why I behave the way I do. It is rational. To ask directions is to make yourself vulnerable. To answer an unexpected phone call is to open yourself up to seemingly endless possibilities for danger. To admit that you don't know is to open yourself up to be taken advantage of.

I’ve climbed mountains.

Today I am able to write from inside the room. I crossed the threshold, sat next to a stranger, spoke to a nurse, and bicycled home. I saw myself in somebody else. I did all of these things without deliberation or resignation. When we talk about healing from CPTSD, we often talk as if it goes away, and it doesn't. It changes. Today I am able to see myself as someone who has endured major trauma that is a huge part of how I was shaped, but I am also able to carry out the most basic tasks that others take for granted.

I don't know if anyone will find this helpful or if it will just come across as self-indulgent or self-congratulatory. It is self-congratulatory, and I deserve that. I've climbed mountains.