September has been an absolute gauntlet. If life were a story, this past month would be the chapter where every single plotline collided at once, testing every single hinge and latch on the emotional fortress I’ve spent years trying to build.
I feel like I woke up from a warm summer daze straight into a trial by fire. September is always a heavy, tangled knot of good and bad anniversaries for me. It’s when I passed my driving test, qualified as a nurse and subsequently made the conscious choice to step away and not renew my PIN, and it’s the month of my birth mother’s birthday. It also carries the weight of when some of my deepest past traumas happened, right as the season shifts and the looming October slide begins to creep in. Add a full weekend of Kinkfest, navigating polyamory hiccups, a family emergency that dragged CPTSD flashbacks kicking and screaming into the light, and an unexpected visit from my birth mother—it wasn’t just a bad week. I was essentially gunning for a storm.
Since originally jotting these thoughts down in my phone, the test didn’t just politely stop. I’ve had four heavy, grown-adult conversations with important people in my life, wrestled with stressful landlord calls, and paid a massive physical body tax. I hit a brutal symptom flare-up where I spent days rolling around in bed in tears or sleeping all but one hour of the day.
Putting therapy skills into practice when your nervous system is on fire is completely exhausting—both physically and mentally. For someone like me, who this does not come naturally to, the sheer effort it takes to fight your own wiring is monumental. For the longest time, my default settings were either blowing everything up in a blind fight response, or completely fawning and people-pleasing until I erased myself just to avoid conflict.
This month, everything tried to drag me back into those old ditches. But the foundation held.
I stayed collected during arguments. I held back the urge to fight and channeled that heat elsewhere. I showed up with a backbone, compromised where it made sense, but refused to just roll over and people-please for an easy way out. I have taken more rest days. I’ve ruthlessly switched my phone to “Do Not Disturb.” I allowed myself the grace to pause, breathe, and actually process what was happening before reacting. Most importantly, I asked for help and leaned on my circle of friends and support network, who have been an absolute lifeline.
Life is definitely not for the faint-hearted, but looking back through the wreckage of this month, I am so fiercely glad I stuck around.
15-year-old me was deeply suicidal, okay? I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I would make it to 28 with a wife, a safe home, my own business, real friends, and five chaotic cats.
A solid support network, therapy tools, and hard-won self-esteem make all the difference in the world. Growth rarely arrives with a gold star; most of the time, a “character arc” just feels bruising, heavy, and raw. But all that agonizing inner work I started years ago—tools that felt clunky, fake, and pointless at the time—quietly took root. When the tempest hit, they were what kept me upright.
Complications are guaranteed in this life. Hard months will knock on your door. But there is a way through, and every single ounce of hard work you pour into healing yourself is worth it. Keep going.
With grit, bruised knees, and hard-won peace,