My Truth, My Strength: A Reflection on C-PTSD and Mental Health Month

by Rev Robb McDonald

Every May, during Mental Health Month, we are encouraged to talk more openly about something that impacts not just individuals, but entire communities — mental health. It’s a topic that, for many, remains a shadow, something people experience but often feel unable to speak about openly. For me, mental health isn’t just an abstract issue — it’s personal. It is woven into the fabric of my life, especially since I was diagnosed with C-PTSD. Although this diagnosis comes with a label, it doesn’t completely capture the complexities of living with trauma. The symptoms and effects of C-PTSD have reshaped the way I navigate the world, how I interact with others, and how I approach my ministry. It’s something that isn’t always visible to others, yet it is a constant companion that shapes my interactions and decisions. In a world that often pushes us to compartmentalize or hide our struggles, I have learned to find healing in unexpected places: in community, in human connection, and in the openness to speak honestly about what many find too difficult to address.

Mental Health and Ministry: A Unique Challenge

Mental health challenges don’t make someone less spiritual, less worthy, or less whole. I’ve witnessed this truth countless times in my ministry. I’ve stood with couples who carried deep, silent burdens, unable to express the pain they were living with. I’ve sat beside grieving families where unspoken trauma lingered in the room, and I’ve offered blessings to individuals who, only later, shared their struggle with anxiety, depression, or trauma. These moments — these quiet truths — have reminded me again and again: our inner struggles do not disqualify us from spiritual connection. In fact, they deepen it. In my ministry, I’ve seen how people who are struggling the most often have the greatest capacity to love and to give. It’s this recognition that has helped me embrace my own struggles without shame. And it’s a reminder that, in this work, being human is our strength.

Living with C-PTSD: Navigating Invisible Challenges

Living with C-PTSD means navigating a world full of invisible tripwires. In public, we are taught to present ourselves in ways that seem unshakable, calm, and composed. But within, the struggle is real. For me, C-PTSD manifests in hypervigilance — that constant state of alertness that makes even the smallest sounds or shifts in energy feel like a threat. It shows up in unexpected anxiety, where simple, everyday moments can become overwhelming. Moments of emotional shutdown are common too, where it feels as if my entire body and mind go into a protective mode that makes it hard to engage with others. Most striking, though, is the intense need to rebuild trust — both in myself and in others. This process is slow and deliberate, requiring not only time but also courage to step into vulnerability.

Often, what is hardest isn’t the symptoms themselves but the silence that surrounds them — the societal stigma, the unspoken expectations that we should cope without burdening others, the pressure to appear “whole” or “normal.” These hidden struggles are particularly present in roles of service, where the expectation is that one’s spiritual or emotional well-being should always be in order.

Finding Healing and Support: A Personal Journey

Faith has been both a refuge and a wrestle in my journey. Celebrating love on many weekends, hearing the heartfelt testimonials from couples who are building their lives together, I often struggled to understand the man they were praising. How could someone who viewed himself as so damaged and broken be worthy of such admiration? Coming from a tradition that values grace, service, and spiritual presence, I found comfort in the ceremonies and rituals that grounded me when nothing else could. But in the background, I grappled with internalized messages that equated suffering with spiritual weakness. I struggled with the misconception that faith alone should be enough to “fix” me — that my wounds should be invisible if I was truly walking the path of grace.

Over time, I came to realize that faith, when properly understood, isn’t about emotional steadiness or perfection. It’s about grace, unconditional love, and the willingness to seek help when needed. There were moments when I felt abandoned by the systems I believed would offer support — systems that expected ministers to always be “strong” and “steady.”

Two years after my diagnosis, I faced the painful reality of having to leave my dream career and reassess my place in the world. In that process, I had to learn not only to accept the praise I received but also to believe that I deserved it. Healing began with a shift in perspective: understanding that my journey was not one of failure but one of survival and, eventually, strength. My understanding of universal love — the love that holds us all without condition — became the key to healing. I decided my ministry within CSMC would be a Loving Perspective.

The Role of Vulnerability in Ministry: Embracing Our Humanity

My ministry doesn’t come from a place of perfection — it comes from surviving, struggling, and staying open to grace. Each day, I carry with me the lessons learned through my own challenges, and that gives me a unique understanding of what it means to offer compassion and support. In my role as a minister, I have come to realize that vulnerability is essential. It is through vulnerability that we connect on a deeper level — not just with our couples and their families, but also with ourselves. It’s about showing up, not as perfect, but as real, as human, and as someone who understands that life is a mix of joy and pain, triumph and struggle. Vulnerability tells others: “You’re not alone. You are still held in love. So am I.” This is the foundation upon which true community is built. In a space where people often feel they must hide their struggles, my ministry aims to be a safe space for them to reveal what they’ve been carrying — whether it’s mental health struggles, trauma, or feelings of loneliness.

Call to Action: A Collective Commitment to Mental Wellness

This Mental Health Month, I invite all communities of faith — clergy, congregants, seekers, and skeptics alike — to deepen their commitment to mental wellness. The journey of mental health requires not just awareness, but action. It’s not enough to acknowledge the struggles of those affected by mental health issues. We must also create tangible spaces of support and healing. This includes developing structures in our faith communities where mental health is openly discussed, where prayer and therapy can coexist, and where silence does not define the experience. Clergy and faith leaders must be proactive in addressing the mental health needs of their communities — offering resources, guidance, and the space to seek help without fear of judgment. I urge every congregation to explore ways to integrate mental wellness into their church programming. Whether through creating mental health ministries, providing training for leaders, or fostering community support groups, there is much work to be done. We are not called to walk this journey alone.

Embracing the Sacredness of Healing

Healing is not linear. It is not neat or predictable. But it is sacred. In the work of healing, there will be setbacks, moments of frustration, and times when it feels like the progress we’ve made has been undone. But that doesn’t mean we stop. Healing — like ministry — is about walking together, in both light and darkness, with faith in the journey itself. The path is not always clear, but in the act of continuing to move forward, we find grace. And as we heal, we become better equipped to walk alongside others in their struggles. The process is ongoing, but it is a process that holds great potential for both personal transformation and communal growth.

If you are reading this and carrying your own weight in silence, know this: you are not broken. Reach out — whether it’s to a trusted friend, a community leader, a therapist, or a local support line. Healing begins with connection, and there is help available. Your voice, your pain, and your path all deserve space. You are not alone. And your story matters.

Let us continue, together, in compassion and courage.