TRIGGER WARNING!: This post talks about living with PTSD and the process of recovery. It is personal, honest, and written from my own experience, not professional advice. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a qualified support person or service.

For a long time, I thought I knew exactly what my trauma looked like. I had the clear, sharp moments I could point to, the people I identified as involved, and the story I told myself about what happened and who was part of it. That version of things felt safe, in a way, contained, defined, something I could hold and understand. But recovery, I have learned, doesn’t work in straight lines or neat boxes. It’s a winding path, and the further I walk, the more I realise how much I didn’t see back then.

One of the most constant companions on this journey has been my recurring dreams. For years, they played out the same scenes, over and over, vivid, overwhelming, leaving me waking up with my heart racing, my chest tight, carrying that heavy feeling long after I opened my eyes. At first, I thought they were just replaying the worst parts, reminding me of what I had been through. But as I started to heal, I learned to breathe through the hard moments, to feel a little safer in my own skin each day, and those dreams have shifted. They haven’t gone away entirely, but the details have changed. Small moments, quiet interactions, things I barely noticed at the time, have started to take centre stage. And slowly, a new truth has unfolded: there were more people involved in what happened to me than I ever realised.

It is a strange, heavy realisation to sit with. When you’re in the middle of something painful, your brain does what it needs to do to protect you. It narrows your focus, it simplifies the story, and it lets you believe that only the most obvious people or actions were part of the hurt. Everything else fades into the background, small comments, choices people made to stay silent, times someone looked away or didn’t step in, patterns of behaviour that felt “normal” back then but were anything but. I didn’t see those things for what they were. I didn’t see how many people, in big or small ways, knowingly or unknowingly, contributed to the harm I carried.

As I have grown more comfortable in my recovery, as I’ve learned to trust myself again and to listen to what my body and mind have been trying to tell me, those pieces have started to fit together. It hasn’t been easy. There’s grief in it, grief for the versions of people I thought I knew, grief for the ways I was let down, grief for the time I spent not understanding the full picture. There’s anger too, sometimes, and confusion, and that sharp question: Why didn’t I see this before?

But there’s also something gentle in it, too. Because seeing the whole truth doesn’t mean I have to carry more weight. In fact, it’s been the opposite. When I only knew part of the story, I carried a lot of blame for not seeing, for not knowing, for not stopping things sooner. Now, I understand that the harm wasn’t just from one or two people or moments. It was a web of choices, actions, and inactions, and none of it was my fault. That realisation has lifted so much from my shoulders.

Recovery is NOT about “getting over it” or forgetting what happened. It’s about learning to live alongside it, to understand it more fully, and to take back the parts of myself that were taken from me. My recurring dreams still come, but now I listen to them rather than fear them. They’re not just reminders of pain; they’re clues that help me put the pieces of my story together and understand myself better.

I know now that healing isn’t a destination. It’s every step I take, every hard truth I face, every time I choose to be kind to myself, even when things feel messy. And as I keep walking, I know there will be more to uncover, more memories, more realisations, more layers to understand. But I also know I’m strong enough to meet them. I’m not the person I was back then, and I’m not the person I’ll be tomorrow. But I’m here, I’m healing, and I’m learning to see my story and myself more clearly than ever before. I didn’t realise there were different layers of PTSD until I started working on it. I know now that safety isn’t just about being away from the people who hurt me. It’s about knowing the full truth of what happened, about taking back my story, and about understanding that none of it was my fault. The more I heal, the more I see, and the more I see, the more I realise how strong I really am.

If you are walking this path too, know this: the things you don’t understand now, the dreams that confuse you, the memories that feel incomplete, they’re all part of your healing. Trust the process. Trust yourself. And know that every layer you uncover brings you one step closer to being whole again.

Have you had a recurring dream or memory that changed meaning as you healed? Do you live with PTSD too?

I’d be so grateful to hear your story. If you feel safe sharing it.

Please remember, you are never alone in this! Every day is a learning journey for all of us.

I leave my love with you today,

Your friend for the journey,

Kate x

Mrs Katy Batten BA (Hons) ( Pronouns: She/Her), International Best Selling Author and Admin Management of New Pasture Lane Community Centre, Registered Charity No 700422.

DISCLAIMER: These blog posts are in no way, shape, or form to provide any professional advice and are for entertainment purposes only. The author/s take no personal responsibility or liability for any person/s who chooses to use the methods in their own lives.