Life is a happy little accident
Trauma is not a wound that time stitches back together until it vanishes. It’s more like an indelible mark on the canvas of your mind. At first, PTSD narrows your palette to only three colors: black, white, and grey. The world feels desaturated, as if life has been drained of its hues, leaving behind shadows and stark contrasts without any soft gradients in between. Everything you touch, feel, or experience seems to come from this limited spectrum.
Many people imagine healing as a process of erasure, where you scrub away the damage to uncover the original self beneath. But this is not the way of things. Trauma becomes part of your story, just as every brushstroke on a canvas remains, influencing what comes next. The key is not to aim for recovery in the sense of “undoing” the past, but to learn how to expand your palette and paint with new colors again.
Gradually, you discover that while black, white, and grey still sit on your palette, other shades begin to appear. At first, it might just be muted blues or soft browns—tones that hint at depth without overwhelming you. Then, brighter colors—reds, yellows, greens—start peeking through. The shift isn’t sudden, nor is it always linear. Some days your hand still reaches instinctively for the grey, and that’s okay. The point is not to deny the dark colors but to learn how to mix them with the bright ones, creating something far richer and more intricate.
Living with trauma is like learning the art of painting all over again, not with the hope of making the canvas perfect, but with the intention of making it meaningful. As you learn to manage it, the colors don’t replace the black and white—they harmonize with them. You begin to realize that beauty lies not just in vivid splashes of color, but also in the contrast between light and shadow. And in time, you might even see how the darkness was necessary to help the other colors shine brighter.
So, managing PTSD is not about striving for some final state of being “healed.” It’s about embracing the full palette of existence—where sorrow and joy, fear and peace, can all coexist. Life, like art, isn’t a process of correction; it’s an act of creation. And in this act, you find not only survival, but perhaps something even greater—a profound sense of wholeness.
I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to hit bottom, to paint with those three colors for what feels like forever. There were times when I wondered if I would ever see color again, or if I’d be stuck mixing the same shades of grey over and over. But over time, the colors started to return. Slowly, and not always predictably. And as my palette has grown, so has my desire to help others discover theirs.
If you’re reading this and feel trapped in the black and white, please know that you’re not alone. I’ve been through it too, and I know how isolating it can feel. But the colors are still out there, waiting for you, even if they’re hard to see right now. And if you ever need someone to talk to, or just someone to listen—whether you’re trying to find your first new color or simply need space to rest—I’m here. Sometimes all it takes is having someone by your side to help you pick up the brush again.
You don’t have to paint alone.
