Graced with Grit

complex trauma & chronic pain

Some days, it feels like my body is grieving things my mind can’t name. It changes shape, maybe. Becomes duller in the daylight, quieter in public. But it’s still there, tucked behind your eyes, in the tightness of your shoulders, in the heaviness of waking up every morning already tired.

I don’t have a clean narrative about it. I haven’t “overcome” anything. I still live with it. The physical pain. The emotional aftermath. The confusion of trying to explain it to people who expect a neat answer or a diagnosis that makes sense.

This post isn’t about healing- it’s about being here. In the middle of it. In the ache. In the mess.
Still figuring it out, and still showing up.

a body that takes no break

There’s a kind of pain that isn’t caused by one clear injury. It’s not a broken bone or a pulled muscle. It’s more like a slow, relentless hum beneath everything; like my body is stuck in a loop it doesn’t know how to get out of.

And sometimes, it feels like no one really understands unless they’ve lived it. The exhaustion of waking up sore. The nausea that comes from nothing. The stabbing aches that move from one part of your body to another like they’re playing hide and seek.

I carry pain in my back, in my neck and shoulders, in my jaw, in the way I flinch when things get too loud, or in the constant scan of every space I’m in. I carry it in the stiffness of my spine and the way I brace myself for disappointment, even before it happens.

This didn’t start from nowhere.
My body is just doing what it was trained to do: protect me.
Even now, when the danger is gone.

the science of chronic pain & trauma

There’s a real, physiological reason why trauma can live in the body as pain. Complex PTSD doesn’t just affect your emotions; it affects your nervous system, your immune response, and your muscle tension. And those things add up (like really fast).

Here’s what’s happening behind the scenes:

• C-PTSD keeps the body in survival mode.
  When trauma is repeated or prolonged (like in childhood abuse, neglect, or unstable environments), your nervous system stays stuck in fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. This isn’t just a feeling, it’s a biological shift. Your body releases high levels of cortisol (stress hormone) and keeps your muscles tense in case you need to run or react. Over time, this creates inflammation, fatigue, and pain.
• The brain starts to misinterpret signals.
  In people with C-PTSD, the brain’s pain pathways become more sensitive. This means even mild stimuli like a small bump, a noise, or emotional stress can be registered as painful. It’s called central sensitization, and it’s common in both trauma survivors and those with chronic pain conditions like fibromyalgia.
• The immune system gets involved.
  Long-term trauma affects the immune system, too. It can make your body more reactive, more inflamed, and less able to heal. Some studies show that people with PTSD have higher markers of inflammation, which are also seen in chronic illnesses.
• Muscles never fully relax.
  When you’ve spent years bracing for harm, it’s no wonder that your neck, back, jaw, or stomach constantly hurt. It’s not just stress, it’s the result of your body living in a protective posture for years.

The Quiet Ways my Body Remembers

There are days I wish my body could just forget.
Forget what it felt like to be scared for too long.
Forget what it meant to go silent just to stay safe.
Forget how it learned to be small, alert, always scanning for what might go wrong.

But it doesn’t forget.
Even when I don’t have clear memories, even when I can’t explain the why, my body still reacts. My heart races at things that aren’t threats. I freeze in moments where nothing is happening.

This is what complex trauma does. It wires your nervous system to survive, not to rest. And when survival becomes the default, rest can feel like danger.
It’s hard to breathe deeply when you’re hyperventilating.

I didn’t always know what was happening. For a long time, I thought I was just dramatic. Or weak. Or making it up. But I’ve slowly learned that physical and emotional pain is a response, not a flaw. It’s not imagined. It’s not fake. It’s just a body doing what it had to do for way too long.

There’s grief in that realization. And there’s also some relief in knowing it’s not all in my head.
It’s in my body. It always has been.

Understanding this doesn’t “fix” the pain, but it gives it context and validity. The truth is: trauma doesn’t disappear when it’s ignored.

There are entire fields of research validating what trauma survivors have been saying for decades; one that helped me was, The Body Keeps The Score (thank you, Bessel van der Kolk). Great book, but not exactly an easy, sunshine and rainbows read.

If you’re reading this and it resonates; you’re not imagining it, or making it up. Take care of yourself today. Talk Soon!