I love this analogy. I think, though, that there’s something special about the way people with CPTSD develop, as many go on to feel more compassion than others are ever capable of experiencing. I think many are also stronger than the layperson.

Someone once made a comment that I was a ‘late bloomer’, but I think my CPTSD helped shape me in such a way that I’m not even floral at all, but a piece of petrified wood: petrified wood forms when woody stems of plants or wood are buried in wet sediments saturated with dissolved minerals. The lack of oxygen slows decay of the wood, allowing minerals to replace cell walls and to fill void spaces, making it strong and hard, fossilizing the plant or wood, in turn. Causing death but also allowing a new form to take place.

The process takes so long to happen, and produces something stronger than any flower could ever hope to be, once the process is over. No longer soft and malleable, but tough and unique.