living with PTSD & OCD

living with tangled thoughts and a tender heart 💞

[overgrown-lullaby]

The thoughts take control of my every day life. Did I lock the doors? Did I say the right things? What if I said something that offended them? What if I'm wrong, they will think I'm stupid. What if I crash my car and hurt myself badly? What if someone is actually behind me when I'm backing up and I just don't see them? What if's, did I's, if I just's, controlling everything I do.

It's like my soul is clawing at itself bleeding and pleading for rest. The thoughts are exhausting and loud. The more I try to change the subject the louder they get. They demand answers and certainly. I can't give it. I need to be better. I wish I would have done something different instead, I bet my whole life is in ruins because of that one decision I had made all those years ago...

It's never ending. It's constantly there. I can't keep up with what I read or what I watch. My mind starts playing the same old song louder than the TV.

The medications only help a little and it's up to me to fix the rest but there is no rest. There is only what if's and why didn't i's filling every inch of my mind.

[overgrown-lullaby]

Finally created what it's like to live with PTSD and OCD.

[overgrown-lullaby]

Decide what kind of life you want, then say no to everything that isn't it.

-Somewhere on Pinterest

[overgrown-lullaby]

Some days healing looks like growth.

Some days it looks like staying.

Not every quiet moment is progress.

Not every setback is failure.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do

is exist exactly as you are

and let that be enough for now.

[overgrown-lullaby]

Im better now.

I realized I was never the problem.

But you always blamed me.

So much so that now I believed it.

Now the new guy has to become the catcher.

He catches my questions

"am I doing something wrong?"

"is there something I'm not doing right?"

"is there a problem with me?"

"have I made you mad?"

"I have to be doing something wrong, you need to tell me"

But he insists there is nothing wrong.

I don't make him want to leave me.

He doesn't make excuses to why he can't touch me.

He doesn't stay on a game shutting me out from sun up to sun down.

He doesn't yell at me when I have questions.

He doesn't blame me when something goes wrong.

I'm not the problem. You were.

[overgrown-lullaby]

Every day, I’m learning that forgiveness isn’t about them—it’s about freeing myself from carrying the weight

[overgrown-lullaby]

Even after all that has happened, I still hold on, in hopes that tomorrow will be better.

[overgrown-lullaby]

[overgrown-lullaby]

I gave you TIME—

when I had NONE to give.

Let that sink in.

I gave you TIME…

when I was barely allowed to live.

Minutes slipping,

coins through a ripped pocket.

‘I gotta get up at six,’ I’d whisper.

‘No, no, PLEASE—stay,’ you’d lock it.

FOUR hours left,

and still—I stayed.

‘How can I help?’ I asked,

while our midnight walls got sprayed

with dreams we scrawled in secret ink,

graffiti futures no one else would ever think.

THREE hours left.

We swore on heartbreak’s ash.

Pinky-promised the cosmos

we’d never relapse,

never collapse

into another disaster’s grasp.

TWO hours left.

We dreamed of dirt under nails,

a love that prevails,

a life off the land,

just us—no demands,

no one else in the plans.

ONE hour left.

And your voice turned lock,

your questions sharp,

like chains that shock.

‘Where you going? WHO you with?’

Handcuff questions, ownership myths.

And then—

I woke up.

I gave you TIME—when I had NONE to give.

But you never needed ME.

You needed my hours to stitch up your pride.

You needed my money to cover your lies.

You needed my roof till you found someplace new—

and when you did, suddenly I was the villain to you.

I gave you TIME—when I had NONE to give.

And you SPENT it.

BURNED it.

Left me empty-handed,

while you landed

in somebody else’s life.

Like I was just practice.

A placeholder.

A sacrifice.

But LISTEN—

I’m no one’s villain.

I’m no one’s ghost.

I’m more than the body

you drained the most.

I’m reclaiming my pulse,

my power, my skin.

I will NOT bleed—

for you—

AGAIN.

[overgrown-lullaby]

Lately I’ve noticed I don’t feel the same pull to write anymore.

For so long, words were the only way I knew how to process everything—the hurt, the hope, the endless loop of thoughts in my head. Writing was survival.

But now, I don’t feel the urgency. The pressure to capture every fleeting feeling isn’t there. And honestly? That feels strange. It almost feels like losing a piece of myself.

Maybe it isn’t loss, though. Maybe it’s growth. Maybe silence can hold me the same way words once did.

And maybe one day, I’ll feel the need to write again. But for now, I’m letting myself be.

[overgrown-lullaby]

As I kid I was taught that when you don't like something, you keep your mouth shut. As a parent I am trying to unlearn that by telling my kids that if they don't like something, they are allowed to speak up. That doesn't mean you get to scream and Hollar and fuss about it. But simply saying "I don't like this particular thing you are making me do" can start a conversation between the two of us to help them understand why you are making them; fold clothes, clean their rooms, pick up their shoes, or put their dishes in the sink. Having that conversation instead of having them resent you for telling them to "stop whining and do it" 🙏 breaking generational learned behavior.

[overgrown-lullaby]

Even after all that has happened, I still hold on, in hopes that tomorrow will be better.

[overgrown-lullaby]

You can’t love anyone unless you love yourself."

I’ve heard that my whole life, and I never understood it. Because I’ve proven it wrong — again and again. I’ve never loved myself, yet I’ve fallen in love plenty of times.

The truth is… you can love others without loving yourself. In fact, it’s the easiest thing to do. When you don’t love yourself, you’ll love anyone who gives you any attention. You’ll settle for less than you deserve. You’ll stay, no matter how much it hurts, because their love feels like proof that you matter.

But here’s the difference: when you love yourself, your standards rise. You stop accepting scraps. You stop putting yourself in situations where pain is the price of connection. You wouldn’t hurt someone you love, yet without self-love, you’ll let them hurt you if it means they stay.

When you finally love yourself, your definition of love changes. You show others how to treat you by the way you treat yourself. And that’s why the saying should be rewritten. Not “You can’t love someone until you love yourself.” But —

“Don’t love anyone until you love yourself

[overgrown-lullaby]

[overgrown-lullaby]

Living with OCD and PTSD

When the thoughts finally quiets,

it feels… strange.

Like stepping out of a burning building into cold night air.

The smoke still clings to me.

The ringing still hums in my ears.

But I can breathe again.

I take inventory:

I am here.

I am breathing.

I am not what my thoughts said I was.

Control isn’t back —

but maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I don’t need to hold every piece at once.

Maybe I can let some of them fall.

[overgrown-lullaby]

I keep thinking I’ve outgrown the night,

but it keeps finding ways to drape itself over me.

The air smells like rain that never came.

My coffee’s gone cold again.

And in the quiet,

I can hear the echo of every word I never said

[overgrown-lullaby]

I thought my fern was dying after I moved it to a new pot. The leaves drooped, the soil stayed damp no matter what I did, and it just looked... sad. Like I had made a mistake that couldn’t be undone.

It upset me more than I expected, so I brought it up to my therapist. He simply said, “Leave it in the new pot. Just give it time. See what happens.”

But in my heart, I was sure it was a goner.

Still, I kept watering it. Kept watching it. I didn’t touch it or move it again. I just quietly hoped—even when I didn’t believe. My therapist didn’t ask about it again for weeks. But I kept caring for something I thought was completely done for.

And then—one morning—four new leaves appeared. Just like that. Out of nowhere.

When I told my therapist, he smiled and said:

“See? Sit with your discomfort. Sit with the anxiety. Let it pass through you. You don’t need to fix everything right away. Sometimes you just have to stay, and grow through it. Eventually, the fear of not being in control won’t scare you anymore. Just… be the fern.”

That stuck with me.

Now I remind myself of it every time I feel like I’m falling apart:

Be the fern.

Grow, even when it feels impossible.