One of the last, and possibly the hardest, healing moves I will make on my journey is learning to be vulnerable again—to open up and trust people, whether in platonic, romantic, or any kind of relationship in between. This feels like an enormous step, a leap of faith into something I know is necessary but am still terrified to take. It’s a strange, liminal place to be, knowing exactly what I need to do but feeling deeply resistant to it.
The truth is, I’ve spent years protecting myself, building walls high enough to keep out the hurt, the disappointment, and the pain that often came from relationships—whether with family, friends, or partners. Very few healthy relationships have stood the test of time in my life. I think that’s what’s made the idea of vulnerability so daunting. It’s not just a fear of being hurt—it’s the deep, almost primal belief that opening myself up to others will inevitably lead to pain.
For so long, I’ve operated in survival mode, and survival meant keeping my emotions and heart shielded. Those unhealthy relationships from the past—where trust was broken, where my boundaries were disrespected—only reinforced the idea that vulnerability leads to betrayal, disappointment, and sometimes, destruction. They have left scars that don’t heal easily, even though I know I need to heal them to move forward.
On an intellectual level, I understand that vulnerability is essential for building the deep, meaningful relationships I’ve been yearning for. I understand that connection, intimacy, and trust all require the courage to be open and to show up, imperfect and raw. I know this, and yet, despite this knowing, I’m held back by fear—fear of what might happen if I let down my guard and allow someone to see the true me.
My CPTSD often feels like a warning system that screams to keep my distance, to protect the peace I’ve worked so hard to find. After all, it feels safer here—alone, with just me and my thoughts. I know how to navigate this space, how to stay in control, and how to manage my emotions. But the cost of this solitude, the cost of this self-imposed isolation, is high. It means I miss out on the very thing that I long for most: true connection.
It’s strange to sit in the tension of knowing exactly what I need to do, and yet feeling so utterly unwilling to take that leap. It’s frustrating because I know it’s the next step in my healing journey, the missing piece to a deeper and more fulfilling life. But for all my intellectual understanding, the emotional work feels too daunting, too big to tackle all at once.
Healing isn’t linear, and vulnerability is messy. I’m learning that it’s okay to take my time with this. I don’t have to rush the process. I don’t have to open up all at once, and I don’t have to trust everyone right away. But I do have to begin, even if it’s small steps at first. And as scary as that sounds, I know it’s the only way to break free from the isolation that has kept me stuck for so long.
For anyone else struggling with this, know that you’re not alone. Vulnerability is a challenge, but it’s also the gateway to everything we truly need—connection, love, and a sense of belonging. May we all find the courage to take that first step, even when it feels impossible.
May peace, light, and love guide your path. Always.
