When people talk about CPTSD recovery, they often imagine something like this: you work through the trauma, understand what happened, set boundaries, and eventually you “heal.” The wound closes. You get back to normal, or close enough. Maybe there’s a scar, maybe things work differently than before, but fundamentally, you’re whole again.
This is what I call the “wonky arm” model of recovery.
It assumes that with enough therapy, willpower, and understanding, you can retrieve what was lost and reattach it. Sure, it might not work quite right – it’ll be wonky – but you’ve got it back. You can work with that.
But that’s not always how CPTSD works.
The Analogy
Imagine someone is missing an arm.
It doesn’t matter how they lost it – accident, illness, deliberate harm, or something else. The point is: it’s gone.
This fundamentally changes how they interact with the world. They can’t do certain tasks the same way. Some movements are now impossible. And here’s the critical part: no amount of understanding why the arm is gone will make it grow back.
This is what living with certain impacts of complex trauma looks like. The “limb” might be a sense of safety, the ability to trust, part of your nervous system’s regulation, or the capacity to be in certain situations without your body going into crisis mode.
It was removed. And sometimes, it’s not coming back.
The Gap Between Physical and Mental Wounds
Here’s where people get it wrong: they can see a missing arm. They understand that someone without an arm has real, permanent limitations. They would never say:
- “Have you tried just using your missing arm?”
- “If you understood why your arm is gone, you could use it”
- “You’re choosing to stay one-armed”
- “Just think positive thoughts and your arm will work”
They can see the arm is gone. So they understand the limitation is real.
But with CPTSD, the wound is invisible. The missing limb is a capacity, a regulation system, a sense of safety. And because people can’t see it, they assume it can be retrieved, repaired, or reasoned back into existence.
They assume recovery means finding the arm and sewing it back on.
But sometimes, the arm is just gone. And all the logic, willpower, and therapy in the world won’t make it grow back.
What Most People Think Recovery Looks Like
Most people, including many therapists and well-meaning friends, operate from the wonky arm model. They believe:
- If you understand the trauma logically, your nervous system will follow
- If you work hard enough in therapy, you can “process” your way back to wholeness
- If you practice enough self-care or positive thinking, the symptoms will fade
- Recovery means getting back to “normal,” just with some adjustments
For some people, with some types of trauma, this might be accurate.
But for complex trauma, this model often misunderstands what’s happening in your body.
Think of a soldier experiencing shell shock. You wouldn’t berate them for diving under the table when they hear a loud bang. You understand their body learned to associate that sound with mortal danger, and the response is involuntary. They don’t choose to dive. They dive, and then, mid-dive or after, realize what they’ve done and have to figure out how to get back up.
That’s not a willpower problem. That’s a nervous system doing exactly what it was trained to do.
No amount of understanding why they dive will stop the dive from happening.
What Recovery Actually Looks Like (Sometimes)
Here’s the reality many people with CPTSD eventually face:
The arm is gone. It’s not coming back. Not because you’re failing at recovery. Not because you haven’t tried hard enough. But because sometimes, complex trauma causes losses that are permanent.
Recovery is learning to live fully and effectively with one arm.
This means:
- Figuring out what you can do with what remains
- Developing strategies to compensate for what’s missing
- Accepting that some things are literally impossible now, and no amount of willpower will change that
- Protecting yourself from people who refuse to acknowledge you’re missing an arm
- Letting go of the shame around having limitations that aren’t your fault
You’re not failing because you can’t carry a heavy box with one arm. You literally don’t have two arms.
And yet, people with CPTSD hear constantly: “Just don’t think about it,” “You need to move on,” “Have you tried yoga?” “You’re choosing to stay stuck.”
These suggestions assume you have two arms, or that your arm can be sewn back on if you work hard enough. They don’t account for the reality that sometimes, the arm is gone.
The Shift That Changes Everything
For years, I believed that if I understood my trauma well enough, set clear boundaries, and did enough healing work, my nervous system would follow. I thought recovery meant getting the arm back – or at least getting it to work again.
But here’s what I’ve learned: sometimes you can know exactly where the wound is, understand precisely how it impacts you – and your nervous system will still respond as though the threat is present.
Not because you’re failing. But because what was lost is simply not available to be retrieved.
I cannot stop certain nervous system responses. Not with willpower. Not with insight. Not with all the understanding in the world.
I can only accept that the responses will happen, and learn to live with them.
This acceptance – this shift from “how do I get my arm back?” to “how do I function without it?” – is what reduced the shame. Because the shame was rooted in believing that if I just tried hard enough, I would stop having these responses.
But I don’t have the arm. And no amount of effort will make it grow back. And that’s not my failure.
To People Without CPTSD
If you’re trying to understand someone with complex trauma, here’s what we need you to know:
We understand that our missing limb is not your responsibility.
We’re navigating environments and learning to manage them without something you take for granted. We’re doing our best to function in a world designed for people with two arms.
So when we say “hey, this is a struggle,” we’re not asking you to fix it for us (although accommodation would be lovely).
We’re asking you to stop poking the wound and saying “Have you tried some positive thinking to make it grow back?”
We’re asking you to believe us when we say we can’t do certain things. We’re asking you to understand that our limitations are real, even if you can’t see them.
The wounds of complex trauma are just as real, just as limiting, and just as permanent as a missing limb, even when you can’t see them.
To People With CPTSD
You are not failing because your nervous system still reacts to things that aren’t currently happening.
You are not failing because you can’t “just move on” or think your way out of physiological responses.
You are not failing because the arm won’t grow back.
You’re doing something much harder than healing in the way people expect: you’re learning to live, function, and protect yourself without a limb most people can’t even see is missing.
Sometimes recovery isn’t about getting the arm back. Sometimes it’s about learning to live with limited capacity, doing the best you can, and refusing to internalize shame for limitations that were created by circumstances beyond your control.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is accept the arm is gone, protect the stump, and build a life anyway.
You don’t owe anyone access to a wound they refuse to see.
