7 Signs You Have Medical PTSD (That Your Doctor Never Mentioned)
I was standing in my kitchen, staring into the pantry, when my mum said something completely innocent.
"Remember to close the cupboard."
That's it. That's all she said.
And I fucking lost it.
My blood boiled. My vision went red. The knife in my hand—the one I was using to make a sandwich—suddenly felt like a weapon. Internal voices screamed "Kill her, kill her, kill her."
I spun around, knife raised, face burning with rage. "I'll close it when I'm fucking finished!"
My mum flinched back, tears pooling in her eyes. I felt a sick thrill watching her retreat from the kitchen.
And then, just as fast as the rage came, it was gone. Replaced by crushing shame and self-disgust.
I turned back to my mangled sandwich, refusing to acknowledge the tears forming in my own eyes.
Look, I get it. All teenagers fight with their parents. But this wasn't normal teenage angst.
This was complete loss of control. Like being possessed by rage. The explosive nature of my reaction to something so trivial, followed by the depths of self-loathing that consumed me afterward—that wasn't just hormones.
That was medical trauma. And I had no fucking idea.
Rage was just one of the signs I had medical PTSD that I missed. Here are the other 6 I wish I'd seen sooner.
1. Your Gut Is a Mess
For years, doctors told me I had IBS. "Stress-related," they said. "Try eliminating dairy. Drink more water. Reduce anxiety."
Cool. But why was I so anxious all the time? No one asked that.
My gut was constantly in knots. Digestive flare-ups came out of nowhere—no connection to what I ate. Sometimes I'd be fine. Other times, my stomach would revolt for days.
It wasn't until I started healing my trauma that my IBS improved. Not because I changed my diet. Because I addressed the root cause.
The Science
Research shows people with PTSD are 2.8 times more likely to have IBS compared to those without PTSD. Studies have found that 44% of IBS patients have a history of psychological trauma, and 36% meet criteria for PTSD.
Your gut and your brain are connected. When you live with trauma, your nervous system stays in fight-or-flight mode. That stress response wreaks havoc on your digestive system.
Your gut isn't the problem. Your trauma is.
2. Sleep? What Sleep?
I've had insomnia for as long as I can remember.
Not the "can't fall asleep for an hour" kind. The "my brain decides 2am is the perfect time for a full life review" kind.
And sleep paralysis? Don't even get me started. That absolutely terrifying thing where you're awake but your body won't cooperate—like you're trapped inside yourself, unable to move or scream.
For years, I thought this was just "how I was." Tried every sleep hack, supplement, meditation app. Nothing worked.
Because the problem wasn't my sleep hygiene. It was my unprocessed trauma keeping my nervous system on high alert.
The Science
70-91% of people with PTSD report difficulty falling or staying asleep. Sleep paralysis is directly linked to PTSD, and trauma-related sleep disorders are now recognised as distinct conditions affecting both PTSD development and recovery.
When you're stuck in survival mode, your brain doesn't feel safe enough to fully rest. Even when you're physically exhausted, your nervous system is still scanning for threats.
3. Your Emotions Are All Over the Map
One minute I'm fine. The next, I'm ready to rage at someone for breathing too loud.
Or I'd go completely numb instead—like someone flipped a switch and turned off all my feelings. Neither felt good, but both were my system trying to cope.
The cupboard incident with my mum? That was emotional dysregulation on full display. Zero to homicidal in 2 seconds flat over a fucking pantry door.
And then the shame that followed—the crushing weight of "What is wrong with me?"—that was the other side of the same coin.
The Science
Emotional dysregulation is a core symptom of trauma-related disorders. Research shows that trauma affects the brain's emotion regulation centers, leading to both hyperarousal (intense emotions like rage) and hypoarousal (emotional numbing) as protective mechanisms.
Your brain learned to protect you in extreme ways. When you felt powerless during surgery, your nervous system developed these extreme responses as survival tools. But now they're firing off in everyday situations—like your mum asking you to close a cupboard.
4. You're Not Really "Here"
Dissociation. Mentally checking out. Detaching from your body, your emotions, your surroundings.
It's like watching your life happen to someone else.
During surgeries as a kid, I learned to float away. To not be present in my body when painful, scary things were happening to me. It was the only control I had.
But that coping mechanism followed me into adulthood. I'd dissociate during arguments, during sex, during moments when I should have been present. My brain had learned: when things feel overwhelming, leave.
This became such an automatic response that it continued long after the original threat was gone.
The Science
Dissociation at the time of trauma is a strong predictor of PTSD development. Research shows dissociation is the brain's protective mechanism during overwhelming experiences, but it can become a persistent pattern that interferes with daily functioning and recovery.
Your brain is trying to protect you. But when it dissociates during a normal conversation with your partner or during moments you want to be present for, it becomes a problem.
5. Food Becomes Your Frenemy
Binge eating when anxiety hits. Using food to push down all those feelings that feel too big to handle.
I'd eat to avoid feeling shame. Eat to avoid feeling rage. Eat to avoid feeling anything.
It was like eating my fear, you know? Food became both comfort and a source of shame. I'd binge, then hate myself for it, then binge again to avoid feeling the self-hatred.
The cycle was exhausting.
The Science
Trauma significantly increases risk for eating disorders and disordered eating patterns. Studies show trauma survivors often use food as a coping mechanism for emotional regulation, with binge eating serving as a way to manage overwhelming emotions and dissociative states.
When you don't have tools to process big emotions, food becomes a tool. It's not about willpower or discipline. It's about your nervous system trying to regulate itself the only way it knows how.
6. You Need Something to Take the Edge Off
Maybe it's wine. Maybe it's something stronger.
For me, it was drugs and alcohol starting in adolescence. Anything to avoid those painful feelings. Anything to silence the voices in my head telling me I was worthless, broken, not enough.
I wasn't "partying." I was self-medicating. Trying to escape the constant anxiety, the rage, the shame that lived in my body.
There's no shame in this—we all find ways to cope. But substance use as a trauma response is different from recreational use. And I wish someone had told me that sooner.
The Science
Traumatic experiences significantly increase vulnerability to substance use disorders. Research shows that trauma survivors often use substances to manage PTSD symptoms, with studies finding high comorbidity rates between trauma exposure and substance abuse as a coping mechanism.
Your brain is trying to regulate itself. Substances temporarily quiet the nervous system. The problem is they don't heal the underlying trauma—they just mask it.
7. You Keep Getting in Your Own Way
Self-sabotage that makes no logical sense.
You know what's good for you, but you just... don't do it. Or you create drama right when things start going well.
I'd blow up relationships when they got too good. I'd quit jobs right before promotions. I'd push away anyone who got too close.
Because my brain felt safer in familiar chaos than unknown peace.
Deep down, I didn't think I deserved good things. And when life started going well, my nervous system would panic and find a way to return to the familiar—even if the familiar was painful.
The Science
Self-sabotaging behaviours are well-documented trauma responses. Research shows that trauma can create neural patterns that associate safety with familiar (even if harmful) situations, leading to unconscious behaviours that maintain the status quo rather than risk the unknown, even when change would be beneficial.
Your brain confuses familiar with safe. So it will unconsciously recreate trauma patterns because at least you know how to survive those.
If You're Sitting There Going "Oh Crap, That's Me..."
First of all, breathe.
You're not broken. Your body has been trying to tell you something important.
For 30 years, I experienced all seven of these signs. I thought I was weak, damaged, fundamentally flawed. I blamed myself for not being able to "just get over it."
But once I learned these were trauma responses—that my brain was doing exactly what trauma brains do—everything changed.
Understanding what was happening in my body didn't magically fix everything. But it gave me a starting point. It helped me stop fighting myself and start working with my nervous system to heal.
What To Do Next
First: Talk about it.
I know you feel shame. I know you think "my surgery wasn't bad enough to count." I know you don't understand why you can't just move on.
But talking about this—with a friend, therapist, or even just writing it down—starts to clear the fog.
Second: Get the full science-backed guide.
I've put together a downloadable PDF that includes:
All 7 signs with detailed explanations
Links to the scientific research backing each sign
Why making the connection between trauma and symptoms can lead to significant improvement
Download your Free PDF Guide: "7 Signs You Might Be Living with Medical Trauma"
Third: You don't have to do this alone.
I'm writing a book about my journey from childhood patient to 30 years of undiagnosed PTSD to finally healing and taking my power back. It's raw, research-backed, and written for women who are exhausted from pretending they're fine.
The book dives deep into:
How childhood surgery creates trauma patterns that follow you for decades
Why your brain unconsciously seeks familiar chaos
The tools and techniques I used to rewire my brain and manage my trauma
How to transition from identifying as a patient to reclaiming your power
Want to be part of the book launch team? You'll get early access, behind-the-scenes updates, and a chance to shape how this book reaches the women who need it most.
The Bottom Line
Medical trauma is real. It's common, affecting up to 20% of surgery patients. And it's completely ignored by the medical system that caused it.
You're not too sensitive. You're not weak. You're not crazy.
Your brain is doing exactly what trauma brains do.
And there IS a way through this.
Kim
