Signs of Post-Traumatic Growth: The Part Nobody Tells You After Trauma
“You seem fine.” If something has ever split your life into before and after, someone has said that to you, and you probably nodded while something inside you quietly came apart. Most of us assume the hardest part of trauma is the event itself. Often it isn’t. It’s the long stretch afterwards, when everyone else has moved on, you can’t go back to who you were, and nobody explains what comes next.
Why “You look great” is such a strange thing to hear
My life split in 2012, when I was 37. After my stroke, people visited me in the hospital and at home and said the same thing: “You look great.” They were being kind. But they couldn’t see what I was thinking or what I was worried about, and I couldn’t explain it, because I didn’t understand it myself.
Trauma rarely stays in one place. For me, it reached my job, my driving, my role at home, my friendships and my confidence, and then my identity. Whether yours was an accident, a diagnosis, a loss, or something you’ve never said out loud, you may recognise the pattern. Over 400 conversations on my podcast since 2015, I’ve heard it again and again.
Four lies we tell ourselves when healing won’t keep to the timeline
If you’ve ever wondered why you feel stuck long after the “hard part” should be over, ask yourself whether you believe one of these.
“I should be better by now.” We treat recovery like a broken bone: four to six weeks in a cast, a little therapy, back in business. Trauma doesn’t work like that. It isn’t linear, and it doesn’t have a finish date, so a self-imposed deadline mostly produces shame, and shame makes people go quiet.
“I just want my old life back.” Missing your old life is grief, and grief is allowed. Trying to return to it is the trap. Going back means returning to the moment before everything changed, or living in a way that no longer fits the needs you have now. Think of the Paralympians who didn’t chase a gold medal until after their injury. They didn’t go back. They found a way forward.
“Mine wasn’t that bad. Others have it worse.” Someone else’s worse experience doesn’t shrink yours. Your needs are real and worth meeting, and asking for help isn’t a weakness.
“Stay positive” and “everything happens for a reason.” In 2012, I wanted to ask people what the reason was, that I’d have loved to know. Positivity tends to work after the truth has been faced, not instead of it.
One search that changed everything
People often ask where my podcast and two books came from. There’s no magical origin story. After my brain haemorrhage, I was on dexamethasone to reduce the inflammation in my brain, and I kept taking it because it was protecting me. I also typed one question into a search bar: how do you reduce inflammation in the brain?
That opened a can of worms. I went down rabbit holes; I started learning, and once I’d learned things, I wanted other people to know them. I couldn’t reach enough people one at a time, so I put it all in my first book.
What post-traumatic growth actually is
We’ve all heard of post-traumatic stress. Far fewer of us have heard of post-traumatic growth, even though researchers Richard Tedeschi and Lawrence Calhoun have been studying it since the mid-1990s. They found that many people, though not everyone and not all the time, report something positive emerging from what they went through.
That’s why you’ll hear people say, “Losing my job was the best thing that happened to me.” In the moment it certainly wasn’t. It became that over time. When I was finishing my first book I came across Tedeschi and Calhoun’s work, and it described more concisely and more beautifully what I’d spent ten chapters trying to explain.
The signs you may already be growing
These are the areas Tedeschi and Calhoun documented. Notice which ones you recognise.
- A deeper appreciation of life. At first I was glad the stroke hadn’t killed me. Later I was glad to be alive.
- Changed relationships. I set out to improve the closest ones. I apologised, I gave grace, and many of them are better now. Some others faded away, and that was part of it too.
- Strength you didn’t know you had. I was the guy who thought he wasn’t strong. Then people started saying, “I don’t know how you do it.”
- New possibilities. A podcast, books, stages. None of it was on my radar before 2012.
- Spiritual or existential change. Some people find faith, some lose it, and many simply relate to it differently.
The honest limits
Growth isn’t guaranteed, and it doesn’t erase the pain. I still wish my stroke hadn’t happened, and some mornings I wake up wishing exactly that. I’m not a psychologist, and I’m not suggesting that trauma is secretly a gift. Post-traumatic growth sits alongside the hard days rather than replacing them, so you can be in the thick of it and still appreciating life more, still rebuilding relationships, still finding new doors. If the weight feels too heavy, remember to talk with a psychologist or counsellor you trust.
Your next small step
You aren’t behind, you aren’t broken, and you aren’t alone. You’re rebuilding, and rebuilding never has to stop. Choose one lie from this article that you’ve caught yourself believing, and take the smallest next step on it this week. You don’t have to feel ready. You just have to start.
If you’d like to go deeper, my book Your World Doesn’t Have to Stay This Small: A Practical Guide to Rebuilding Your Life After Trauma, Even When You’re Not Ready is for exactly this moment. My own story is in The Unexpected Way That a Stroke Became the Best Thing That Happened, my path to post-traumatic growth after stroke. If you’re a stroke survivor, read more in post-traumatic growth after stroke. And if this show has helped you, you can support it on Patreon, where supporters help keep it going.
Tell me in the comments which lie you’ve caught yourself believing.
This blog is for informational purposes only and does not constitute medical advice. Please consult your doctor before making any changes to your health or recovery plan.
