“I can’t forgive myself.”  Daily, I uttered this phrase. 

When I said it, my loved ones were concerned. “But what do you need to forgive yourself for?” They’d ask, perplexed. For them, there was nothing I’d done that needed forgiving.  

The voice in my head screamed, “You’re wrong!” I knew I had to forgive myself, even if I didn’t know why.

At the time, I didn’t know it was odd to be sitting around for hours a day feeling like I needed to forgive myself. No one else in my life was doing that. They were focused on moving forward. Yet, there I was, caught in my self-guilt, feeling like the most despicable human being on the planet, unable to forgive myself. Even worse, I didn’t even know what I was trying to forgive myself for, and no amount of thinking about it could pinpoint it. 

Isolation, Rumination, and Self-Guilt

Often, complex trauma survivors isolate themselves. Their isolation sparks deep rumination that makes them live in the past. They might feel like horrible people who need to seek forgiveness for the things they have done “wrong.” What these survivors don’t yet see is that they’re the victims of the things that they’re dwelling on, and their guilt and shame are natural reactions to their experiences. 

Survivor’s guilt is most common in situations of immediate tragedy, such as being the sole survivor of a car accident or similar disaster. The survivor feels guilty for the rest of his life, wondering why he lived but the others didn’t. 

When it comes to complex trauma survivors, though, the definition expands to include their feelings of self-guilt as they relate to the traumatic situations they endured. It is a more subtle type of survivor’s guilt, but it is just as real and damaging. 

While healing, I realized my inability to forgive myself wasn’t because I was upset about the mistakes I had made in the past — those I had forgiven myself for. My inability to forgive myself came from not knowing I was a victim of control, manipulation, and abuse at the hands of others, all while not being aware of the fact that my body was heavily dissociated as a result, and feeling guilty and ashamed as I reflected back on my own fight, flight, freeze, and fawn reactions in all these situations. 

Attempting to “Fix” the Past

A while ago, I tried to reconnect with people from my past after being isolated for so long. I had been desperately and privately seeking answers to my health struggles, not communicating with hardly anyone but my immediate family, coworkers, and medical professionals. One reason I had lost contact with many people was due to the advice of my mental health team, who noticed that some relationships had a detrimental effect on me. Working on my health and balancing a full-time job didn’t leave much time or emotional energy for others. For years, I had overextended myself to care for others, neglecting my own well-being. I didn’t make time to care for myself without feeling guilty about it. 

Often, survivors return to the familiarity of the things they went through in an attempt to “fix” them. They may return to others who have hurt them in a phenomenon known as the trauma bond. A trauma bond is rooted in an imbalance of power, and it is typically an unhealthy emotional attachment that forms between a person and someone else who mistreats them.

I have firsthand experience with this from when I attempted to reconnect and rebuild relationships with people from my past. After losing contact with many people due to my isolation, I made a list of the ones I believed were safe to reconnect with and started determining how best to reconnect. I was hesitant about some due to their connections to past trauma, and I wanted to avoid further hurt from them and those environments. Still, I decided to give some people the benefit of the doubt and not associate them with the environment as a whole. 

Looking back, trying to reconnect with people from my past at that time was premature. I still was deeply struggling and couldn’t take on much more stress than I was already in at the time. I was also still very vulnerable and didn’t have the proper mental clarity to distinguish who was safe to trust and who was not. 

The first group on my list to reconnect with were people from one of the religious communities I was involved in. I wanted to avoid the environment as a whole after being involved there — my experiences there greatly exacerbated the survivor’s guilt and self-blame I previously had. Still, there was a small group there that I believed cared for me, and I thought it would be safe to reconnect with them personally without having to get involved in the larger group. 

When I met this group and attempted to reconnect and apologize for my absence, I was initially met with shock that quickly turned into hostility and anger from the group leader. After the initial awkwardness faded, he began to admonish me. 

“I’m going to be a pastoral voice for you,” he said sternly. The anger in his eyes pierced my soul and made me shake in terror. 

He began hurling insults, accusations, and assumptions at me like daggers. He yelled in my face, asking why I “dropped off the face of the earth,” and demanded answers to his unanswered questions about my whereabouts and private life. He just kept on going without stopping. I had no room to breathe or say anything. I immediately went into the “freeze” trauma response, unable to fathom what was happening. 

I finally got the courage to respond, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” he immediately spat back, gaslighting me into questioning my own reality. Maybe he’s right? I remember thinking in my head. I wracked my mind for evidence that these insults were accurate. But I couldn’t get another word out. 

Once he had exhausted his venom, he took a breath and said with a sly smile on his face, “You’re welcome to take a seat.” He motioned his hands toward the couch. I couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or sarcastic. 

This is the exact moment I should have turned around and run for my life, but my body was frozen. What I ended up doing in response to this situation was “fawning,” where the victim adopts a people-pleasing approach to pacify the perpetrator so that the perpetrator does not perceive her as a threat and incite more punishment. 

I slowly inched closer to the couch and took a seat, thinking I had no other option. I wanted to scream for help. I wanted to run. But the power dynamics made it seem that my personal safety would have been at risk if I had chosen to run. So, I did my best to pacify the situation and pretend like I wasn’t uncomfortable. I had been very used to pacifying aggressors’ behavior with mature communication and a smile so they wouldn’t feel threatened if I stood up for myself. This was just another one of those times. 

For the next few hours, this small group interrogated me, and I sat there as calmly as I possibly could, appeasing them and answering all their burning questions honestly. I trembled on the inside as I kept my arms crossed in my lap, and my head hung low. They demanded answers to all their burning questions about me, my personal life, my medical records, my family, my whereabouts. And I thought I owed them answers. I did not know at the time that I did not owe anyone answers to why I was in isolation, focusing on my health and protecting myself. 

During this interrogation, I continued to be victimized for the things that were “wrong” about me. Still, I did my best to communicate like I normally do, hide my fear, and answer their questions honestly. Even hours into it, I was still apologizing for actions I’d taken to protect myself. 

At one point in the interrogation, the leader of this group sat with his arms and legs crossed like a pretzel, waiting for me to confess my “sins.” 

“So, what are you sorry for?” he sadistically asked. I could see the anticipation as he waited for me to confess how “awful” I was. My only “sin” was separating myself from the relationship because of the control tactics used on me, so I could prioritize my health. After I gave the group the answers they were looking for, they would say, “There is forgiveness in Christ.” This false balm made me sick to my stomach. 

Finally, it was over, and I left feeling dazed and unable to fathom what had just happened. They ended it on a “positive” note, reminding me the reasons why their admonishment over me was necessary. “It’s because we love you.” And they also reminded me, “Just focus on the positive things.” Try as I might, there was nothing positive to recall. The insults hurled in my face that night became yet another set of emotional flashbacks added on to the myriad of other flashbacks that already plagued me on a daily basis. 

Only after this did I see the obvious extreme control and manipulation tactics that outsiders could see. These people had no right to have any power over me but took it upon themselves to control me, continue their quest to pull me away from the people and things in my life that were important to me and twist the words of the Bible to come up with all the “sins” they convinced themselves I was guilty of. This is one of the numerous times I worshiped the opinions of religious people and begged for their forgiveness when I’d done nothing wrong. 

Often, in situations of control, manipulation, and abuse, all the perpetrators have to do is wrap it up as “love” and “charity.” Then, it’s no longer abuse. I believe a “love” that punishes, criticizes, and judges is not love at all. 

What I’ve Learned About Survivor’s Guilt

In retrospect, my first mistake was believing that I had something to seek forgiveness for. That was the survivor’s guilt, religious indoctrination, and lingering trauma bond talking. I did not owe anyone an explanation as to why I needed to focus on myself and my health or why I dropped out of sight. 

My next mistake was not listening to myself the moment I felt unsafe. I should have turned around and walked back to my car. There was no need for me to explain anything. Today, when situations like this happen, I simply walk away. 

I’ve realized there is nothing for me to be sorry for or feel guilty about when I am protecting myself. In the past, I constantly apologized for my “arrogance,” my “disobedience,” and the ways I supposedly “let down” the people who ruthlessly controlled me. Believing that I owed people explanations and could never say “no” made my life unmanageable. It impacted my productivity. I lost sleep. I lost money. I neglected my own self-care at the expense of pleasing other people. It got to the point where I couldn’t manage myself because I was under the control of others. My trauma and experiences with people who put themselves in this false position of power conditioned me to believe that I was inherently “wrong” – something I’ve worked ceaselessly to unlearn. 

Recently, I reconnected with some of the other people and groups on my list, and I’m glad I did. Others I reconnected with were just so glad to hear from me and elated to know that I was okay after many years of being concerned for my health. They didn’t expect any explanations or punish me for taking time away to heal. This is the healthy, appropriate, and normal way to respond to a complex trauma survivor who steps back out into the world after living in isolation. I finally believed that no one had any business knowing my private life — unless I chose to tell them.

It Is Possible to Overcome the Guilt and Blame that Come with Survivor’s Guilt

Survivors, if you are feeling ready to come out of isolation, be sure you’ve healed enough to evaluate who is safe to reconnect with. Take all the time you need to get a good head on your shoulders. It doesn’t matter if it takes a few weeks, a few months, or many years. You don’t owe anyone explanations or answers.

With time and work, I realized that I didn’t need to forgive myself for the things I was the victim of before I could move forward with my life. I still struggle with the emotions that come with survivor’s guilt, but I daily work through them and do my best to remember the fact that there was nothing for me to be sorry for in the first place. 

Photo by Yuris Alhumaydy on Pexels

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

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Natalie Rose

For the longest time, I thought I was inherently “messed up” and broken beyond repair. I spent about a decade running around in circles in the medical system trying to figure out what was “wrong” with me and how to “fix” it, managing all this while attending school and holding full-time jobs. I thought the way I felt in my body was “normal” because I had no sense of what the other side was. My complex trauma symptoms manifested as crippling anxiety, depression, obsessive compulsive symptoms (in the form of religious and moral scrupulosity), extreme dissociative symptoms, insomnia, sleep paralysis, night terrors, and narcolepsy. My symptoms began at age 13 and continued into my mid-twenties. In general, I endured multiple types of traumas throughout my formative years, including numerous situations of both individual and large-group interpersonal cruelty, some of which caused me to have to switch environments. Due to what I was going through, my body couldn’t fathom what was happening, and my nervous system shut down. I felt guilty for simply existing. I saw danger everywhere, operated in a panicked survival mode, and lived in fear, anxiety, and isolation. I did my best to appear “normal” on the outside, keep a smile on my face, and control what was happening on the inside, distracting myself with extreme workaholism and doing nice things to serve others. I took active steps to keep branching out in confidence again, but these traumas kept piling onto each other and overlapping, so I couldn’t fathom what was going on. I wasn’t ready to give up yet, though, because I knew my family and friends would be distraught if I did. The most difficult and heartbreaking part of my story is that the two communities I set out to seek healing in—religion and the medical system—caused further trauma when some religious leaders, congregation members, and medical professionals chose to take advantage of my vulnerability for their own motives. In most of these situations, I didn’t even realize I was a victim until outsiders pointed it out for me and that my vulnerability and naïveté made me a target of malicious people. Each future situation of being targeted was just salt on the wound of the original incident. As an extreme empath, I absorbed the negative emotions of others as if they were my own, and I did not know how to release them from my body. In my solo healing process, I had to quite literally disappear from everyone and everything to protect my vulnerability and allow myself to process what I had been through during my formative years using my own mind and body without the persuasion or invasion of others.

What I went through all those years was so severe, and my symptoms and physical body reactions as a result were so excruciating that I went as far as to see a neurologist, concerned that my symptoms were the result of some sort of nervous system disorder. However, he returned with no paperwork in his hands to inform me that there was nothing wrong with me but that I was simply completely traumatized, and my body reacted accordingly. I finally realized that my symptoms were not the result of an inherent mental or physical illness and began to take a trauma-based approach to my healing after many years of believing that I was “sick” for the rest of my life. My true progress began when I finally rejected the lies that were told to me that I would have to “manage my symptoms” for the rest of my life and made the decision to believe for myself that I was fully capable of healing from my excruciating pain, even if others did not believe in me. I still do have tough days and moments, but I have gotten to a place where I am consistently living a quality of life that provides peace and comfort in my mind and body since I have given myself the tools to overcome my tough moments when they return. 

Many C-PTSD survivors receive numerous diagnoses before ever hearing anything about complex trauma, and some are overmedicated to try and “fix” their symptoms, usually to no avail and with further side effects. I was told I would need to “manage my symptoms” and be on medication for the rest of my life. It was all lies. Today, I am on zero medications (including sleep medications) and am completely divorced from the disease management system. 

I am excited to share many tips for natural, somatic, and holistic healing that have helped me overcome my complex trauma symptoms, such as extreme dissociation, excruciatingly painful flashbacks, severe sleep challenges, anxiety, hypervigilance, worthlessness, and more. I began to pursue unique methods of healing after many years of not seeing much progress through westernized care, and this was the catalyst for fast-tracking my healing. I have so many exciting tips to share related to grounding, nervous system regulation, somatic healing, and more to offer survivors other ways they can learn to regulate their nervous systems on their own without spending any money. I aim to help survivors overcome their feelings of self-guilt, blame, and humiliation and help them realize that their bodies had normal reactions to abnormal situations. 

I am on a journey of rediscovering who I am at my core after letting so many other people infiltrate my mind for far too long. The five most important things to me in my life (in order of importance!) are: my health, my happiness, my family, my friends, and my creativity. My parents, my sisters, and my friends are my absolute rock and biggest cheerleaders. They were cheering me on all those years, fully believing that I was capable of overcoming my excruciating pain, even when I did not believe so myself. While I was repeatedly able to forgive others and extend the olive branch, I was never able to forgive myself. My loved ones kept telling me that there is nothing I need to feel humiliated about and that I should be able to see what everyone else sees in me. I have finally given that kindness to myself and have started to see what other people saw in me all along. 

I am so glad I didn’t give up when my pain felt unbearable. I know what I’ve survived. I know the work I’ve put in to overcome it. I know that I still chose to keep a smile on my face and be kind in the face of it all. In reality, it’s because I didn’t want another person to go through even one ounce of the suffering I was in. I am finally living a life of consistent peace and contentment, and I am sharing my story from the other side. My story is not a story of defeat but a story of victory.

I have enjoyed embracing the free spirit I always was and adopting a simpler life to focus on the things that are meaningful to me. I am still healing every day. I believe our healing is a lifelong process. I made the decision to escape my version of the rat race (big city life) and move to my happy place. I am catching up on many hours of much-needed rest and spending lots of time outdoors. I am reconnecting with the people I lost while I was in isolation. I invited the passion that saved my life growing up—dance—back into my life. I am passionate about fighting for other survivors in any way I can.

I hope that by sharing my story, I can convince other survivors that there was never anything wrong with them to begin with and that they are capable of living healthy, happy, and fulfilled lives. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did not become a voice for the voiceless and share how I overcame it. I aim to live my life in love of both others and myself, understanding that everyone has a story of their own. I am grateful to the CPTSD Foundation for giving me an opportunity to share my story. 

“My story isn’t sweet and harmonious like invented stories. It tastes of folly and bewilderment. Of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.” ~ Hermann Hesse