Jessica Woodville | Memoir & Musings

“Healing isn’t just about surviving the past—it’s about building the future. And I refuse to let my past be the thing that steals my future away.”

I am a trauma survivor, a mother, and an advocate. And like so many others carrying the weight of early adversity, I have spent years trying to heal in a system that was never built with people like me in mind.

I saw a post from Cendie Standford on Linkedin that talked about when we talk about Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs), we often focus on what happened to us. But the real damage isn’t just the trauma itself—it’s the fight to recover in a world that doesn’t recognize the depth of our pain, the complexity of our needs, or the biological toll of toxic stress. It’s being told for the hundredth time that you’re just anxious. That it’s all in your head.

I used to believe that if I could just explain it better, someone would finally listen. That if I had the right paperwork, the right diagnosis, the right words, I could unlock the support I desperately needed. But our healthcare system isn’t built for nuance. It’s built for symptom checklists and surface-level screenings—like the PHQ-9 and GAD-7—tools that reduce lived experience to numbers and boxes.

“Every physician will see several patients with high ACE scores each day… all too often, their symptoms and the underlying causes will be missed and dismissed.” – Dr. Vincent Felitti

I have lived this dismissal. Despite years of relentless symptoms—nausea, fatigue, disorientation, hormonal chaos—I was sent home again and again with instructions to drink water and try an antidepressant. No one looked at my trauma history. No one asked about my childhood. No one questioned why I didn’t feel safe in my own body.

The deeper I dug, the more I realized I wasn’t alone. Trauma survivors everywhere are fighting invisible battles, often misunderstood, misdiagnosed, or outright dismissed. We are labeled as difficult patients. Hypochondriacs. Emotionally unstable. When in reality, our nervous systems are dysregulated from years of survival-mode living. Our symptoms aren’t imagined—they’re the language our body has learned to speak after years of not being heard.

Even when we find the courage to seek therapy, we’re met with more barriers. Trauma-informed care is hard to come by. Providers with genuine training in complex trauma are few and far between—and often out of network. Insurance companies prioritize short-term fixes like CBT, which may help some, but rarely addresses the root cause for those of us living with Complex PTSD.

And that’s if you can even afford therapy. For many, healing becomes a financial burden too heavy to carry. Survivors already struggling to maintain employment because of their symptoms are forced to choose between groceries and getting help. Trauma recovery is not a luxury. But the system treats it like one.

“We’re not overreacting. We’re over-surviving.”

It took a nurse practitioner with no formal trauma education to finally listen to me. He read between the lines, heard the thread of trauma running through my chart, and asked a single question that changed everything: “Do you feel safe?”

I cried.

Because I didn’t. Not in my body. Not in my home. Not in a world that kept telling me I was fine when I knew I wasn’t.

And still, healing hasn’t been a straight line. Talk therapy helped until it didn’t. ART and EMDR offered breakthroughs until I realized I needed a safe environment to process those breakthroughs. I started exploring somatic therapies, polyvagal theory, nervous system regulation. I began asking what my body needed to feel safe. I got quieter. I listened.

And I found that survival wasn’t the goal anymore.

I wanted to thrive.

But that requires systems that recognize the full picture. That stop reducing trauma to mental health checkboxes. That acknowledge the biological, emotional, and systemic roots of suffering. That treat the nervous system, not just the symptoms.

The adoption of ICD-11 in the U.S., with its inclusion of Complex PTSD, could be a turning point. But we need more than updated diagnostic codes. We need:

• Expanded insurance coverage for trauma-informed care, including somatic therapies
• Fair reimbursement rates so trauma specialists can accept insurance
• Sliding-scale options and state-funded programs to reduce financial barriers
• Training for providers that goes beyond a weekend workshop
• In-person, affordable support groups that foster connection and safety

Healing from trauma is already hard. The system shouldn’t make it harder. Survivors deserve care that sees them as whole humans. That treats trauma like the life-altering condition it is. That makes space for grief and rage and joy and healing.

We are not broken.

The system is.

And until it changes, I will keep speaking the unspeakable. For myself. For my daughters. For everyone still fighting to be believed. Because trauma didn’t break us.

It forged us into survivors. And now we are demanding better.

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If this resonated with you, please share it. If you want to read more, my memoir Smoking in Garages dives deeper into the intersection of trauma, illness, and survival. And if you’re ready to learn more about ACEs and join the conversation, visit ACEs Matter.