Alia Zaidi

I want to share an article about PTSD, recovery, and something that doesn’t get talked about enough: forgiving yourself.

This part is the hardest for me. I’m still in it.

I struggle when old photos pop up on my phone. “Memories,” they’re called. But instead of nostalgia, they punch me in the chest. I see a version of myself who was broken. Angry. Sharp-edged. Surviving, but not living. I wish I could go back and redo those years. I wasn’t who I am today. I wasn’t properly medicated—because of stigma, because certain doctors wouldn’t listen, because asking for the right help felt shameful.

So instead of looking back fondly, I hurt. I cry. I cringe at how reactive I was. How mean I could be. How tired. How stuck.

I wish I had loved my kids differently in those years. I wish I had been stronger sooner. I wish I had pulled us out faster. I replay it all in my head, imagining some alternate timeline where I magically knew then what I know now.

But living there is a hindrance. It keeps you trapped.

This is where I started to realize that maybe I’m not alone in struggling with forgiveness. Because the way forgiveness is usually framed never quite worked for me. We’re often told that healing begins by forgiving the people who hurt us. Let go of the anger. Release the resentment. Move on.

But there’s a saying we hear all the time: you can’t expect someone else to love you if you don’t love yourself. I think the same applies to forgiveness.

For a long time, I hyper-focused my energy on trying to forgive others for their behavior. I thought that was the work. What no one ever told me is that forgiving the people who hurt you is incredibly difficult when you haven’t forgiven yourself first.

I was asking myself to offer grace outward while still holding shame inward.

That imbalance kept me stuck. I wasn’t failing at forgiveness. I was just starting in the wrong place.

As hard as it is, there comes a point where you have to tell yourself: I forgive you.

You were doing the best you could with the tools you had at the time. You did what you needed to do to survive. Yes, you wish it had happened sooner. Of course you do. But you did do it—and that took courage.

And as cliché as it sounds, those moments also played a role in shaping who I am now. Not in a romanticized way. Not in an “it all worked out” way. But in a real, uncomfortable way.

They taught me what I will never tolerate again. They sharpened my empathy. They made me fiercely protective of my children, my peace, and my boundaries.

I don’t celebrate what happened. I don’t excuse it. But I can acknowledge that surviving it changed me—and that the version of me standing here now exists because she endured what she did.

One day, when your children are adults, they will understand more than you think. They already love you now. Fully. As you are. That part matters more than we give ourselves credit for.

So soak that in—right now. Don’t let years pass and look back again wishing you had been more present, more gentle with yourself, more aware of how much love was already there.

Healing isn’t about erasing the past. Sometimes it’s about finally putting your arm around the version of yourself who didn’t know better yet and saying, I’ve got you now.

If you’re struggling with this too, you’re not weak. You’re human. And you’re allowed to forgive yourself first.

— Alia Zaidi

I do TED Talks and public speaking, and I’m always open to conversation and collaboration. Reach out to me at:

TheCometCrew@SpokaneInnerPeace.org

For many women, living with PTSD doesn’t just mean navigating our own nervous systems. It also means navigating the disbelief of others.

There is a persistent stereotype that continues to shape how trauma is understood: that “real” PTSD belongs to men who have been to war, while women’s trauma is emotional, exaggerated, or something we should simply “get over.” When women talk about boundaries, triggers, or long-term stress responses, the reaction is often dismissive.

“Oh God, you’re triggered again.”

“You’re too sensitive.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“That’s not real PTSD.”

These comments don’t just minimize pain. They reinforce the idea that women’s experiences are inherently fragile or dramatic.

What is rarely acknowledged is that trauma isn’t defined by spectacle. It isn’t measured by how extreme a story sounds to someone else. Trauma is defined by how the nervous system absorbs and stores stress over time. Many women live with cumulative trauma shaped by repeated experiences that may not make headlines but still leave lasting psychological and emotional imprints.

PTSD doesn’t only come from war zones. It comes from prolonged exposure to fear, instability, loss, and violations of safety—especially when those experiences are normalized, dismissed, or never properly addressed.

And yet, when women express discomfort or set boundaries, we are often treated as though we are asking the world to tiptoe around us.

Here is the truth:

Women with trauma are not made of glass.

We don’t need to be sheltered from humor, conversation, or real life. Experiencing sexual violence doesn’t mean every mention of sex is a trigger. Experiencing abuse doesn’t mean we fall apart whenever difficult topics are discussed. Trauma does not turn women into fragile objects that require constant protection from language or reality.

What actually triggers many of us isn’t what people say.

It’s how people behave.

Hostility.

Aggression.

Control.

Dismissiveness.

Power plays.

A lack of emotional awareness.

Those are the signals our nervous systems recognize.

In fact, one of the unexpected strengths many trauma survivors develop is heightened perception. Years of navigating unsafe environments often sharpen our ability to read energy, tone, and intention quickly. What some call “being sensitive” is often simply being perceptive.

Recognizing patterns isn’t weakness.

It’s awareness.

Setting boundaries isn’t overreacting.

It’s self-respect.

Naming discomfort isn’t drama.

It’s communication.

Women are not asking for special treatment. We are asking for accurate understanding.

Trauma doesn’t have a gender.

But disbelief often does.

When women are told their experiences “don’t count,” the message becomes clear: our pain is inconvenient. Our needs are excessive. Our healing is optional.

And yet, women continue to lead, build, nurture, create, and contribute—often while carrying invisible weight.

We are stronger than we are given credit for.

Not because we stay silent.

But because we learn to heal, adapt, and move forward anyway.

If we want healthier relationships, workplaces, and communities, we have to stop minimizing women’s emotional realities. Healing doesn’t require comparison. It requires compassion.

Women don’t need to be tougher.

The world needs to be more informed.

Author

Alia Zaidi

Nonprofit Founder | Mental Health Advocate | Community Builder

Founder, Up & Atom Foundation

Creator, Spokane Inner Peace Park

🔗 https://www.linkedin.com/in/aliazaidi/

🧠 https://influentialwomen.com/blog/when-science-play-and-connection-become-preventive-care-85583

🌱 https://influentialwomen.com/blog/leadership-that-builds-what-doesnt-yet-exist

By Alia Zaidi

Founder, Up & Atom Foundation | Creator, Spokane Inner Peace Park

Human beings don’t thrive on productivity alone. We thrive on curiosity, connection, and environments that allow us to feel safe, engaged, and seen.

Roots in Development, Not Crisis

For much of my career, I worked in high-performance environments where efficiency, metrics, and results defined success. Later, through lived experience and community work, I came to understand something just as critical: mental well-being is shaped long before crisis intervention is ever needed.

My roots are in child development, where play is understood not as entertainment, but as a primary language of learning. Before we can articulate emotion, we regulate it through movement, exploration, creativity, and interaction. That truth does not disappear in adulthood—it simply becomes easier to overlook.

Trauma Is Often Cumulative, Not Isolated

Living with long-term, complex PTSD shaped my understanding of how environments influence regulation, learning, and connection. Trauma is frequently misunderstood as a single defining event, when many people experience it as layered and cumulative over time. For those individuals, healing rarely happens in isolation or through one-off interventions. It happens through consistent access to supportive spaces that encourage curiosity, grounding, and connection.

Science as an Invitation, Not a Barrier

Science is often framed as academic or technical, something reserved for classrooms or careers. But at its core, science is curiosity in action. It invites questions, experimentation, and engagement with the world. When science is paired with creativity and play, it becomes accessible—not just for children, but for adults who may have lost touch with that sense of wonder.

Winter Isolation Is a Regional Reality

In Spokane and across the Inland Northwest, long winters quietly intensify isolation. Reduced daylight, fewer gathering spaces, and limited opportunities for movement and connection impact mental well-being across all ages. What many communities lack are non-clinical, non-transactional spaces designed to foster connection regardless of income, background, or diagnosis.

From Idea to Infrastructure

That belief led me to create Spokane Inner Peace Park, the flagship project of the Up & Atom Foundation. The vision is simple but ambitious: to build STEAM-focused, trauma-informed community spaces where science, imagination, and play function as preventive tools for mental health and social isolation. Spaces where children explore freely. Spaces where adults rediscover curiosity. Spaces where connection is intentionally built into the environment.

“Connection, curiosity, and creativity are not extras. They are foundational to community health.”

— Alia Z.

I do TED Talks, public speaking, and I am always open to conversation and collaboration. Reach out to me at: TheCometCrew@SpokaneInnerPeace.org

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