Heartwell

Therapy, Trauma, and Finally Being Seen

Today I am writing about therapy—specifically Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT), Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), and traditional talk therapy—as treatment for complex PTSD (C-PTSD), and borderline personality disorder (BPD).

I have been in and out of therapy and psychiatric hospitalizations since I was 15 years old. My last psychiatric hospitalization was in 2014. Over the course of my life, I received many diagnoses, and misdiagnoses, including manic depression, anxiety, clinical depression, bipolar disorder, and PTSD. My current therapist diagnosed me with complex PTSD (C-PTSD), along with a comorbid diagnosis of borderline personality disorder (BPD), which developed secondary to the trauma. I absolutely agree with my current mental health diagnosis.

In my case, these conditions had the most impact on my relationships, trust, and sense of security. When I was younger, I really struggled with emotional dysregulation, relationship instability, negative self-image, dissociation, identity instability, fear of abandonment, self-harm, aggression, and relational trauma. I also have an extensive history of suicidal ideation and multiple significant suicide attempts.

I was in consistent therapy for nearly nine years during my second marriage, all with the same male CBT therapist in Manassas, Virginia. For the first few years, it worked; it felt safe. But when my husband became involved—first in couples therapy, then individually with the same therapist—everything changed.

That therapist was suddenly treating me, my husband, and us as a couple. It crossed an ethical gray line, leaving me feeling exposed and unsafe. I began to feel ganged up on by my therapist and husband. I felt like the one therapeutic relationship I ever trusted was no longer safe.

Everything in my life deteriorated further after my husband returned from Afghanistan with severe combat fatigue and traumatic brain injuries from two significant blasts. By 2012, my therapeutic relationship had completely broken down, and I left therapy altogether. My marriage also deteriorated and ended in 2013.

I didn’t return to therapy for about eight years.

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By June 2020, I was living in a 22-foot Keystone Hideout camper on a friend’s eight acres of land in Maine. I had ordered it before the COVID pandemic, hoping to travel the country, but instead, it became my home during the lockdown. My relationship with the landowner, an older woman with whom I rescued and fostered dogs, had become deeply strained, and I was under enormous emotional stress. I knew I needed support.

At that point, I was four years post-amputation and eight years without a therapist. I had also never worked with a female therapist before—only one psychiatrist, whose role was medication, not emotional processing.

I went to Psychology Today’s therapist directory and filtered for trauma-informed care, CBT, CPT, and highly sensitive persons (HSPs). One therapist stood out immediately. Her photo felt warm and welcoming. Her last name was Heartwell.

To me, that name meant something profound: heart and well—the center of being, compassion, emotional truth, and wellness. It felt like a sign.

I sent her a message and also called, expecting a voicemail. Instead, she answered. It was early June 2020. She told me she rarely responded to numbers she did not know, but something made her pick up. I explained what I was going through, and she said, “Let’s get you in.” I had my first session that same week.

Before that session, she had read a short, personal story I had written about my life and amputation. She came in knowing a bit about my life. 

She has been my therapist ever since.

For the first three years, I saw her every single week—sometimes more. There have been, and I’m sure will continue to be, emergency phone calls and extra sessions when things are overwhelming. For the last two and a half years, we’ve met every other week.

This is the therapist who helped me become the version of myself I live as today. I only refer to her as “Heartwell” to my people. I don’t think I’ve ever used her first name.

She sees me clearly. In my clinical assessment, she describes me as intelligent, resilient, resourceful, empathetic, funny, creative, perceptive, and willing to try new things. Hearing those words from someone trained to analyze the human mind—my mind—has been profoundly healing.

We also connected immediately because she, like me, is a highly sensitive person (HSP), a trait defined by psychologist Dr. Elaine Aron. That shared understanding matters. It means I don’t have to justify why I feel deeply, notice everything, or get overwhelmed by stimuli. I am not “too much.” I am wired this way.

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One unexpected gift of COVID was the normalization of Zoom therapy. For someone like me, it’s life-changing.

Going to an office often means navigating traffic, horribly lit waiting rooms, unfamiliar spaces, small talk, and sensory overload—by the time I sit down, my nervous system is already fried. I spend most of the session just trying to settle enough to speak. Let alone discuss my deepest, most vulnerable self.

At home, I can actually do the work.

Before each session, I prepare: my breath pillow, crystals, essential oils, water, tea, tissues, and everything I need to regulate my body. I stretch, breathe, and focus on what I want and need to share. I can take my prosthetic leg off. I can sit how I need to sit. (I don’t have to wear pants – BONUS!). My nervous system is already grounded when the session begins, so we can go deep instead of spending 45 minutes just getting me decompressed. It helps that I can talk fast and get a lot out in a quick amount of time. If you can’t tell, I have lots to say. 

For trauma survivors with an overactive nervous system, that difference is everything.

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I don’t know if I’ll ever reach a point where I no longer need therapy—and honestly, I’m not sure I want to. I value this relationship. I value being seen. I value having someone who reflects my truth back to me with clarity, compassion, and honesty. I’m filled with love, joy, and gratitude even when I’m struggling.

Ms. Heartwell didn’t invent who I am. But she gave me a safe space to be witnessed. Everyone needs validation. Heartwell has given me that.

And for that, I will always be grateful.

Thank you for being here.

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