Five symptoms of cPTSD

It's not just you

Since I found out I had an actual diagnosis of cPTSD, I’ve been amazed at the number of odd symptoms I experience regularly that are a direct result of the negative things I’ve been through. It seems like at least once a week I have another aha moment when I go, “Really? That’s a thing? It’s not just me?” Let’s talk about a few in case you are in the same boat, thinking you’re the only one with these “weirdisms.”

1. High pain threshold

I found out recently that it is common for trauma survivors to think they have a high pain threshold, which I have said about myself for a very long time. It turns out we don’t actually have a higher tolerance for pain; we’ve just become accustomed to keeping it inside and not complaining about it, so there it sits and we just deal with it on our own.

I wrote recently about my first visit with the orthopedist at UVA I am seeing, Rosemarie. You can read about that first visit here. After it, I went for an MRI and last week I had my follow-up with Rosemarie to look at the results and hear her recommendation for a treatment plan.

After the first visit and my semi-breakdown, Rosemarie came to the second appointment prepared for me and my anxiety and tears. She spoke carefully and gave me time to ask questions. She explained the proposed treatment (a cortisol injection) step-by-step. I could feel my throat tightening up a little, but I held it together right up until I asked the question, “How much does it hurt?” and the tears came. As always she was kind and compassionate and gentle with my emotions, and I recovered fairly quickly.

Now listen, I have had five babies unmedicated, three of them at home. I broke my foot and walked around Ukraine on it for ten days. I am no stranger to pain. It wasn’t really the thought of pain that was bothering me; I knew it was something deeper but didn’t know what. So the fact that this whole process is upsetting to me has been curious.

Then just a few days later, Ben and I were sitting in a Cracker Barrel somewhere in North Carolina waiting to order when my phone rang. It was the pain management people at UVA calling to schedule my injection.

(Side rant: I hate trying to schedule appointments when I’m not at home at my desk. It’s noisy, I’m struggling to flip back and forth between the call and my phone calendar, and I have nothing to write with. The pressure and stress make my brain partially shut down [more on this later] so I don’t even know what to ask.)

But I got through it and made the appointment. I hung up and the dang tears came again, and I sat there wondering, “Why am I so anxious about this whole thing?”

I’ll tell you why.

2. Being controlled

It’s because people who have suffered trauma are emotionally triggered when they feel like (1) they are being told what to do, and/or (2) they feel like they are being controlled. In some way, every trauma includes being controlled and not having the ability or resources to get yourself out of it. This emotional reaction is recognized by the CPTSD Foundation. I am not crazy. I am not overly sensitive or too emotional. I have experienced trauma in my life and this triggering is the result. It’s that simple.

3. Noise sensitivity

No one likes to be startled by a loud noise, but trauma sufferers are typically very sensitive to their environments. We don’t like crowded, noisy places with too much sensory stimulation. We are hyper-aware of loud music, loud televisions, loud talkers and yellers, even loud dog barking. Noise is unsettling to our nervous systems and we can’t relax until we get to quiet.

If you are a person who is very sensitive to noise, this may be the reason. Come visit me at my farm and you will understand why we live there.

4. Decision making

When a body has suffered trauma, the nervous system does one of two things, sometimes flip-flopping back and forth between them: it either sees danger where there is none, or it does not see danger when it is present. The nervous system’s ability to perceive the environment accurately is impaired. In either case, the traumatized person does not trust his/her own ability to know or make decisions. This is part of the freeze response some people get stuck in (hand raised).

If a person gets stuck in the fawn response, he/she may always make decisions based on what she thinks someone else wants in an attempt to keep everyone happy and prevent further trauma (hand also raised here).

Part of my healing is learning to figure out what I want, what I prefer, what I would do if I were by myself. I am not advocating selfishness here, just learning to know your own self, your own likes and dislikes and preferences. Learn to make decisions without asking for anyone’s input. Start with small, inconsequential decisions: Decide where to go eat or what movie to see or whether or not to buy that dress. Get to know your own self.

(Grammatical side note: the phrase decision making is only hyphenated if it is used as a modifier before a noun, as in decision-making process. If you’re just talking about decision making in general, don’t hyphenate. Most word-processing programs are wrong about this.)

5. Inability to find words

This one has been fascinating to me as a writer, one who loves and uses words regularly, but I have lived with this phenomenon for literal decades. I know I’m an intelligent person—I have the college degree with honors to prove it. But when I am under stress or pressure, my ability to form coherent spoken sentences disappears. I am not exaggerating when I say that under certain circumstances, particularly when I am in conflict with someone, I cannot produce one full sentence that makes sense. I cannot describe to you what I am struggling with. I cannot explain what is upsetting me. I cannot defend my position if I am in a disagreement with someone. I literally cannot find the words.

When my nervous system perceives (even wrongly) that I am not safe, this happens every time. If I can get alone and regulate my nervous system, eventually I can get it out. But in a heated moment, my words are gone. I am aware of it happening in the moment, but there is nothing I can do to bring that part of my brain back online. It simply has to wait until the fight-or-flight (or freeze or fawn) response calms down.

In people with cPTSD, when the fight-or-flight response is activated (which is a lot of the time), all of the brain’s resources go toward survival and the language center is shut down. Think of it like this: If a bear is chasing you, you don’t need the ability to converse with it, right? Your brain shoots out cortisol and adrenaline, firing up your muscles, increasing your heart rate and respiration, and giving you energy to fight or flee. All of your unnecessary functions (digestion, rest, learning, language) are temporarily closed off until your brain is convinced the threat is past. Then you can talk again.

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It has been almost six years since my accident and the beginning of my healing journey. Knowledge and understanding have been crucial parts of that for me. When I learn that some little thing I’ve experienced is normal for those with cPTSD, it is validating. It helps me to know I am not the only one, I’m not crazy, and I’m not just imagining it. I’m not being a drama queen. These symptoms are very real.

Next time you notice yourself doing some “odd” thing, I encourage you to start reading about it. You may find, like I have, that it’s not just you. It is a result of the things you’ve been through, and it is perfectly normal. This helps you rest in the fact that God made your body and nervous system to do exactly what they do. Then take a deep breath and thank him that you are wonderfully made.