Humans Invented Hope, Strippers, and Drugs

When you start unearthing deep-rooted trauma, therapists will ask again and again if you’re ready, if you have support, and if you’ve built a solid community around you.

I didn’t do it that way. I moved to Austin knowing exactly one person—a friend of a friend—and decided to start my deepest healing work. Not ideal. Imagine leaving a marriage, moving to a city where you know no one, and immediately signing up to dig through every buried shard of your psyche. Welcome to my Austin era.

Tim Fletcher is probably my favorite resource on CPTSD. Check him out.

I’ll get into the story of how Opal and I parted ways and how I met my current NARM specialist another time. This felt more urgent, because lately I’ve been encountering people who question whether the process works and want to crawl back to safety. Please don’t.

I had a moment like that myself. I emailed my current therapist—let’s call her Rose (why all the stripper names, Suki?)—and said, “I’m not sure if this is going to work out. This is really expensive and a lot for me to juggle right now.”

Rose saw straight through me. She doesn’t make decisions without a face-to-face conversation, she said. She reminded me of my progress. And she was right. The older we get, the more our survival mechanisms calcify until they feel like identity. Unraveling them isn’t quick. It’s painful, time-consuming work. Some days you’re staring into the mirror thinking, “You understand it now—just apply it,” but you can’t undo a lifetime of muscle memory overnight.

And yet, the progress is undeniable. On the days I broke down and said I didn’t love myself enough yet, Rose reminded me that showing up was loving myself. Being vulnerable was loving myself. All I had to do was walk through the door. For four months, therapy and healing were my top priority. I’ve gone from multiple sessions a week to one, soon even fewer.

This work is a brutal excavation. Memories buried under concrete. Depression so heavy you physically buckle. Brain fog and constant pins-and-needles sensations—your body finally letting the trauma out. Exhaustion so intense you fall asleep sitting up. It’s enough to make anyone want to quit. And I haven’t taken off work yet—I want to save my time off for a bigger, deserved break.

Here’s what kept, and keeps me going:

1. Faith. Not in the church sense. I just show up on the hard days, like going to the gym. I don’t know what will happen after, but I trust I’m on the right path. God’s got the rest.

2. Interconnectedness. The universe is hurting. We heal ourselves to create ripples outward. It’s the only chance humanity has. Good always comes full circle.

   “Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

   ―Rumi

3. My younger self. She didn’t dream of a mansion. Actually, during Zhuazhou—a Chinese tradition on a baby’s first birthday where objects are laid out to hint at the child’s future (this is also common across Korea and Japan), I reached for a pen. Some kids grab money, others food. I went for words. Maybe that’s all the foreshadowing I’ll ever need. I can’t abandon her when everyone else already has. I also think of 80-year-old me. What life does she have? What steps do I need to take to get her there?

4. The people I love. I get overstimulated by texts and calls, but honestly, I’m grateful. You might hear me complain sometimes, but I secretly love it. People depend on me. I get to brighten their days. And I know they’d be there for me. I’ve lived as an island long enough.

In my early twenties, I overdosed in Los Angeles, lost the ability to walk for months, and ballooned to 188 lbs. I had no social media, no connection. Some people in NYC thought I was dead, until I resurfaced randomly. My marriage was already over. When I got out, I was sober for two years, vegan for months, vegetarian for the rest. I lost 60 lbs in just over a year. I did the impossible. I never relapsed like that again.

Here in Austin, I think about that version of me a lot. My belief in something greater gave me the courage to leave that marriage with no degree, no certifications, $1,000 in my pocket, into a 275-sq-foot apartment in DTLA with roaches and a twin bed. Shared bathrooms. I skateboarded or walked an hour to work every day. No gym membership.

This time, I left my last marriage with a few…more thousand dollars instead of just one. I think that’s progress. Or maybe that’s inflation! Just kidding. I’ve done better for myself over the years.

Moral of the story: humans invented hope for a reason. We all need something to believe in. I don’t care if what keeps you going is waiting for the sequel to your favorite movie. I don’t care if you’re measuring life by the next 30 minutes. I’ve been there. I’ve been that low. Don’t give up on yourself. You would be missed.