Why I Chose to Share My Mental Health Story: Living with PTSD and Choosing Recovery

For a long time, I didn’t think I’d ever tell this story publicly. I’m a very private person by nature, and mental health - especially the kind that totally changes your life - feels like something people either whisper about or avoid altogether. But after a breakdown, a year away from work, and a lot of messy healing, I realised something: I wanted to show up to life as I really am, even on the hard days. That meant being honest - not just with myself, but with others too.  Here's my story.

Please be aware that this is an honest account of my trauma and PTSD recovery, and some may find it very upsetting.

My family and I were involved in a terrifying car accident where we we hit by a lorry on the motorway.  I can still see the lorry in my mind.  I genuinely believed we were all going to die that day - we're so very lucky. 

Getting Some "Help"
Following the accident, I was sent to therapy.  The therapist asked me how I was coping.  I told him that I was having regular nightmares and flashbacks, and that I was trying to talk about it as much as possible as I thought it would help me process the trauma.  He said that was the healthy thing to do and signed me off as "low risk".  Three years later, the flashbacks and nightmares had got worse, and had been joined by hallucinations and panic attacks.  My doctor prescribed some antidepressants for depression and anxiety.  They were a total misfit for me and months passed in a blur.  My family tells me I was a robot the whole time I was on them, but, honestly, I can't remember a thing.

The Darkness
One frosty December day, I drove to a river.  I had decided to float away as far as possible.  That would make the fear stop.  But then my phone rang, and again, and again.  It annoyed and distracted me so I grabbed it to silence it, but accidentally answered it instead.  That was the moment that changed the course of my life: I might have been ready to give up, but someone else wasn't giving up on me.  Eventually, after hours of screaming, sobbing and talking, I walked away from the river bank and headed back home.

Fate Intervenes
Whatever you believe in, call it fate, karma or a higher power, something had been on my side.  It was damn good luck that the lorry didn't kill me and damn good luck that I answered my phone instead of turning it off.  So I admitted defeat, cancelled all my work, got a proper diagnosis of PTSD and settled in to take a year to rebuild my life from the bottom up. Recovery was slow - achingly slow at times - but more hopeful once I had a name for what was happening to me. Before the diagnosis, I thought I was going crazy (and a lot of people told me I was). But when I heard “PTSD” I thought, Okay. I know what that is. I can work with that.

Starting to Heal
I didn’t receive any formal treatment for PTSD thanks to the onset of the pandemic and the new social-distancing regulations. Instead, what helped me heal was talking. For hours. For weeks.  Sometimes the conversations were helpful, other times they were gut-wrenching and messy. But they were real. I worked so hard to come back from that dark place by practicing breathwork, grounding and journaling, and I hated them all!  I filled my house with white fairy lights which make me happy and always remind me how lucky I am to be here.  And in my hardest moments, I started to sob, moan and sing - raw, human energy that just ripped me apart and filled my lungs and brain until the walls seemed to scream It's Not Fair.

The Turning Point
It started with a simple question: “What do you want to do with your life when you go back to work?”  I thought about it. I said, “I want to go back to music.  I want to conduct again.”  But I was worried about how I could possibly stand in front of a room full of people if I was recovering from a breakdown, so I added something more. I said I wanted to conduct even on the hard days. I didn’t want to feel like I had to hide when I was struggling. The thing about being a conductor - especially of a choir - is that you can’t disappear into the background. Everyone is looking at you, quite literally. If you’ve been crying, they’ll see. If your energy is low, they’ll feel it. You can’t just not show up because you’ve had a bad mental health day - and I was still having the odd panic attack from time to time.  So, I made a decision: if I was going to return to music, I’d return as all of me. And that meant sharing my story.

The Fear of Opening Up
Even with that clarity, opening up wasn’t easy. I was scared. Letting people into the most vulnerable part of your life is always a risk. I worried about being judged or misunderstood. And I simply wasn’t used to being that open - especially not in a public way.  But I found that the more I talked to people, and the more open I was, the more they responded.  Suddenly, my singers were deliberately coming along to choir for a boost after a bad day, rather than staying at home alone to recuperate.

What PTSD Looks Like for Me Now
PTSD doesn’t always look the way people expect. I don’t get nightmares anymore, but I still have occasional flashbacks if I’m triggered. Panic attacks happen every couple of months. They used to wear me out for days, but I’ve learned to cope better now - they pass quicker, and I bounce back faster. That said, I still need support. When they happen, I go to a safe place on my bathroom floor and focus on regulating with movement, breath and sound. But in the moment, I often forget how to help myself - I still need someone there to remind me. Emotional memory tends to be my biggest trigger, and while I’ve made progress, it’s still something I navigate every day.  Most people don't know that emotional memory is the hardest part of PTSD.

What I Learned From Sharing
People often say I’m brave for sharing my story, but to me, it just feels like the honest thing to do. I’m not doing anything revolutionary - I’m just recovering from an illness. And yes, some days are still hard. Yes, I still have days when I can’t get out of bed. But I’m in a much better place now.

What I Hope You Take Away
If you take anything from my story, let it be this: the people around you matter and communication with them REALLY matters. Having even one person who doesn’t give up on you can change everything. And we need to stop being so afraid of the term "mental health". It’s not something dark or shameful, it’s human.  I had someone who didn't give up on me.  That's why I'm here today.  Be that person for someone else.

If You’re Struggling, Please Know This
If you're scared to speak up or share your story, that's okay. Start small. Find a trusted person and say, “I’m having a tough time. Can we talk?” You don’t have to spill everything at once, just say what you can. Because maybe - just maybe - your support or your story will help someone else find the courage to share their struggles, too.

I'd love to hear your story, too.  If you’ve ever struggled with your mental health or supported someone who has, feel free to share in the comments or send me a message. Remember: you are not alone.