“I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.” – Virginia Woolf.

Virginia Woolf’s epic observation, often rephrased as “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman,” is a clinical analysis of a biased history that still continues to haunt many writers, especially in conservative cultures. Many adopted pen names or vague pseudonyms out of necessity.

History is full of these survival tactics. The Brontë Sisters published as Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell to avoid being “looked on with prejudice.” George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans) knew her work required a male name to be taken seriously. Jane Austen wrote simply as “By a Lady” to shield her family from scandal. Centuries later, E.L. James (Erika Mitchell) of “Fifty Shades of Grey” fame chose a pen name to write bold themes without judgment. And then there is J.K. Rowling.

For these writers, anonymity was a shield to navigate a world that punished their voices. Their narratives remind us how exclusion, gatekeeping, and the pressure to perform or disappear have long shaped who gets heard—and who gets erased.

Never  Hide Your Voice: Own it

‘If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.’ — George Orwell.

My experience has been a masterclass in life lessons. I speak only for myself here. I have anxiety, BPD, and mild ADHD, and I am no expert on human behaviour. Yet every time I think I’ve finally built a shield against toxic behaviour, life comes crashing with another powerful lesson.

Lack of Empathy, and Dehumanization

Truth be told, we are constantly surrounded by mirrors—people whose kindness, cruelty, manipulation, or love reveal who we are.

As humans, we cannot live as islands. We crave the security of community. Yet the dark irony is that we often judge others to feel we belong in a community.

We huddle into cliques, become self-appointed gatekeepers of groups, and decide who is in and who is out.

We use taunts and jabs by indirect implication. We hide behind herds, and God help the person who doesn’t fit the mold.

When “Your Circle” Weaponizes Power &Triggers CPTSD

For CPTSD survivors, the deepest wounds often come not from dramatic violence, the screaming arguments, the stinging blow of physical abuse, or getting sucker punched. It happens from slow, agonizing social isolation—whether chosen or weaponized by others. In my dysfunctional family, the people meant to be my safe haven hurt me in ways that still echo to this day.

Toxic families and friends can use exclusion and isolation to hurt you. This is a silent ban with a thousand cuts, delivered by people who claim to care about you.

The “Outcast/Blacksheep” Syndrome

I have anxiety, BPD, and mild ADHD; growing up in a dysfunctional family, my sister and I were the “unnecessary baggage” . We were outcasts because it was easier for the “strong adults” to trample the “weak children.”

“There is bullying, and then there is bullying of the worst kind; it’s called ‘social isolation… where you herd together ‘the strong’ and trample ‘the weak’ because there is strength in numbers.” — Jenney Clark, Don’t Be Afraid to Love

When you grow up with BPD, your nervous system learns that safety is conditional. You learn that if you don’t “perform” how the family wants, you will be cast out. This is the very definition of CPTSD. It is about the constant, looming threat of being abandoned, socially and emotionally.

Tales from the Trenches

Discrimination and bullying don’t end just because people become adults after they get their degree or a manager’s office. It just gets a more expensive haircut, a success or money-can-buy-anything uncivilized behaviour, and a “social” mask. I’ve seen it play out in my own life for years, through family, work, and inner circles. These are situations that shaped my life.

Consider the dynamic I encountered a few years back.

The Architect, a person with professional standing who never raised their voice. Instead, they used the “social snub”: inviting me to events only to exclude me from conversations, joking loudly with others just out of my reach. It was a clear power move signalling to the room: She is on the outside. It keeps you permanently on the outside looking in.

Not calling out such behaviour is tantamount to letting this form of bullying happen to someone else.

Then, there are the Bystanders. The ones who watched this happen. This person was the “silent enabler.” They will look at you, shrug, and justify the Architect’s behavior. “Oh, they didn’t mean it like that.” But their eyes will say, I’m just happy it’s you and not me. In a clique, silence isn’t neutral. By saying nothing, the Bystander becomes the enabler. If you dont speak out against a wrong, you are an accomplice.

Discrimination and Baiting Crowd: Why This Triggers CPTSD

Is bullying even more contemptible when it is done by adults?

For those of us with childhood trauma, these adult “toxic communities” are  retraumatizing. They mirror the “outcast” feeling of being unprotected and unseen. When your experience is invalidated as “everyone goes through difficulties,” it triggers a primal survival fear. Imagine opening your heart to trusted people and getting trolled for baring your soul to them.

It’s a psychological hijack. You feel like you are five years old, abandoned, and alone again

And the worst part? The gaslighting that follows—“You’re too sensitive,” “It’s all in your head”—is classic emotional abuse.

Choosing “Real Love” Over “Fake Safety”

The hardest lesson I’ve learned—and one I’m calling from the rooftops to my fellow trauma warriors is that you cannot find “healing” in toxic relationships.

If you’re feeling alone, consider this:

Call out the bully: Bullies are often cowards, and they no longer exist only on the playground. They exist on your social media as trolls behind the safety of a screen; they are in your teams and in your communities. Calling out their behaviour sets boundaries, stops the cycle of abuse, and asserts that their behaviour is unacceptable.

• Recognize people for who they are: Some people thrive  on security in numbers, rather than authenticity or inner resilience. Their need for control says everything about them and nothing about your worth.
• Forgive, but set boundaries: As for me, I forgave those who hurt me, yet I no longer allow them space in my life.
• Seek your genuine exceptions: Look for the rare souls who offer kindness when it costs them something—the “loyalists” who provide support and unconditional love.
• Refuse to settle: You are as worthy. Real love—authentic connection—exists outside the trolling and herd mentality.

Don’t shrink yourself to fit rooms that want to keep you out. Healing means refusing to let others define your story.

Practical Steps for Healing from Trauma

• Understand your triggers and patterns: Journal the ways childhood dysfunctions, bullying, and toxic behaviours have shaped your nervous system responses.
• Practice somatic safety: Gentle body-based practices such as grounding, mindfulness, and breathwork help “the fight or flight” mode that exclusion triggers.
• Build micro-connections: Start with one safe person or a small, values-aligned group rather than seeking large groups.
• Seek trauma-informed support: Therapies like EMDR, somatic experiencing, or CPTSD-focused groups can help with relational wounds.

While everyone’s journey is unique, in my experience, reaching out for support helps.  If you are experiencing any form of toxic relationships, bullying, adult bullying, or isolation, reach out to the CPTSD Foundation community or a trauma-informed therapist. You are not alone. The only person who can truly grant us freedom is ourselves. So, take your power back!!!

Resources & References

• Relational Trauma: CPTSD Foundation – Treating Complex Relational Trauma
  https://cptsdfoundation.org/2022/11/14/treating-complex-relational-trauma/
  https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/19/the-hidden-legacy-of-relational-trauma-breaking-free-from-codependency-and-complex-ptsd/)
• Scapegoating Dynamics: Psychology Today
  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/family-dynamics
  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/tech-support/202104/how-toxic-families-choose-a-child-to-scapegoat)
• My Journey: Awakened Souls Podcast | www.jenneyclark.com
  

International Support for Adult Bullying, Trauma & Isolation:

• Befrienders Worldwide – Emotional support and listening services in over 90 countries (find local helplines): https://befrienders.org/
• International Bullying Prevention Association (IBPA) – Global resources for bullying prevention and intervention: https://ibpaworld.org/
• International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation (ISSTD) – Resources, fact sheets, and therapist locator for complex trauma: https://www.isst-d.org/
• Blue Knot Foundation (Australia-focused but useful internationally for complex trauma survivors): https://blueknot.org.au/ (Helpline: 1300 657 380)
• Support: If you are experiencing adult bullying, reach out to the Workplace Bullying Institute (a leading resource for adult and workplace bullying support) https://workplacebullying.org/
• Additional general support: StopBullying.gov resources for adults – https://www.stopbullying.gov/

If you’re in immediate distress or crisis anywhere in the world, reach out to a local helpline via Befrienders Worldwide or your country’s emergency services.

Photo by Luke Leung on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: This guest post is for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing shared here, across CPTSDfoundation.org, any CPTSD Foundation website, our associated communities, or our Social Media accounts, is intended to substitute for or supersede the professional advice and direction of your medical or mental health providers. The thoughts and opinions expressed are those of the guest author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the CPTSD Foundation. For further details, please review the following: Terms of Service, Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer

Those in the complex trauma community, especially myself, are well aware that childhood interpersonal relationships set the stage for toxic patterns like codependency—experiences that echo and intensify those childhood violations of safety and worth.

The Onset of Abuse and Humiliation

My own childhood was marked by toxic parenting and relational trauma, beginning at age 6 when my mother remarried. Soon after, life became a living nightmare as I endured the hardships of neglect, physical and emotional abuse, displacement from home, and a dysfunctional family history. These violations of dignity and safety created deep anguish, instability from neglect, issues with self-worth, fear of abandoment and shame for being who I am.

Confronting the Pain and Building Resilience

Withdrawal, hypervigilance, and distrust are core elements of CPTSD that linger into adulthood.

I first wrote about these experiences in the third person to keep some emotional distance. Facing them directly now shows how this long-lasting relationship trauma shaped my ability to bounce back, along with a practical side that wanted to heal my emotional wounds.

Toxic Patterns  

Strangely, in my line of work, I frequently encounter women—and men—who seem determined to prove they are unworthy of healthy, reciprocal love. They repeat cycles of painful relationship choices, often returning to dynamics that echo earlier wounds. Because early life shapes how you view love. While it is tempting to simply blame “a bad childhood,” unresolved CPTSD frequently plants the seeds for these patterns.

What Codependency Looks Like

Unhealed trauma often leads to codependency: a pattern where people put others’ needs first, ignore their own needs, and look for approval by trying to fix, please, or take care of others—often in unfair, one-sided, or even toxic relationships.

Ego and the Marriage Trap: A Cautionary Tale

I hold firmly to the belief that each of us carries an innate code of ethics—an internal compass distinguishing right from wrong. Despite the depth of my own childhood pain, I have never intentionally harmed another person emotionally or physically, and I never will if I can help it.

Consider the messy marriage of my friend Rene. Her husband Charles had a shall we say, ”momma” complex bordering on unhealthy attachment to a narcissistic parent. Everything he did was with the intention of seeking her approval. So tied was he to his mother’s apron strings that the marriage suffered.

Both partners were stubborn and ego-driven; together, they were a disaster waiting to happen. They walked on eggshells around each other, clashed constantly, and allowed “mother-in-law” interference, financial stress, and family pressure to widen the rift. A few years after his mom’s passing, Charles became a victim of a deadly disease.

Yet, despite Rene nursing her husband through the debilitating disease—a moment one might expect to cultivate closeness—nothing really changed. They ended up living in separate parts of the same house. Her once-vibrant self-respect eroded into a chronic state of pessimism and fear. Individually, both were decent people; together, their colliding egos poisoned the bond. While pride and stonewalling create isolation in relationships, it is vulnerability and love that disarm conflict.

The Poison of Unresolved Anger: Paulina’s Story

Hatred and prolonged anger corrode the body and mind. My friend Paulina endured severe childhood sexual abuse from a cousin at age 9 and buried it deeply. At 21, she entered an abusive marriage, enduring beatings and infidelity while pregnant, all for the sake of her child. When she discovered the cheating, her rage erupted. She divorced, fought in court, and won a substantial settlement, becoming financially independent overnight.

Years later, Paulina met a genuinely kind, loving man. Yet she could not fully receive his love—unresolved rage, fear, and shame blocked her. Despite my encouragement to focus on the present, she felt compelled to seek confrontation and closure with her childhood abuser. Traveling to her remote village, we discovered the abuser had passed away. The news brought a partial release: she no longer needed to confront him. But the man who had waited patiently for her had, under family pressure, married someone else. Heartbroken but ultimately free from the grip of hatred, she continues to seek true love, and I hold hope for her.

The Deeper Message in The Pain

These experiences—my own childhood, Rene ’s marriage, Paulina ’s journey—illustrate how unhealed trauma fuels codependent habits. It increases patterns of chronic people-pleasing, blurred boundaries, attracting or remaining with unhealthy partners, and attempting to “repair” old wounds through current relationships.

Recognizing the Signs of Trauma

Trauma from codependent dynamics often shows up as persistent feelings of unworthiness, hyper-responsibility for others’ emotions, chronic anxiety in relationships, and a deep fear of abandonment. Survivors may struggle with self-trust, feel empty when alone, or experience physical symptoms such as tension, digestive issues, or exhaustion from the constant emotional upheavals.

Common warning signs include:

• Martyr Syndrome. Over-focusing on a partner’s needs while ignoring your own.
• Saviour complex: Feeling responsible for fixing or controlling their behavior.
• Abandonment issues: Intense fear of rejection that leads to bending backwards in excessive compromise
• Toxicity: Attracting or staying in unbalanced, abusive relationships
• Chronic resentment, suppressed anger, or emotional numbness.
• Difficulty saying “no” without overwhelming guilt.

The Secrecy of Silence

Many remain silent about codependent patterns due to profound shame. Thinking they seem “too needy” or “defective”, fear that speaking up will lead to abandonment, or the internalized belief that enduring pain proves love and loyalty. This enforced silence keeps the trauma cycle alive while ingraining powerlessness.

Codependency can both originate from and increase CPTSD. Childhood relational wounds condition you for adult trauma bonding, where love feels conditional. The constant relational strain magnifies toxic shame and emotional flashbacks, reinforcing feelings of unworthiness and isolation. Understanding this link to codependency is a core part of CPTSD recovery.

Healing the Inner Child.

Healing begins with turning toward the wounded inner child with the compassion that was missing in the past. Through gentle practices such as inner-child visualization, therapeutic writing, somatic grounding, or mirror work, survivors can offer themselves the self-validation, safety, and unconditional acceptance they were once denied. Re-parenting oneself involves setting healthy boundaries, practicing self-soothing, and gradually rebuilding self-worth independent of external approval.

The Bottom Line: Finding Help is the First Step to Healing and Recovery

Trauma-Informed Steps for Support and Healing for Survivors:

• Validate your experience: The patterns were survival strategies, not character flaws.
• Practice boundary-setting: Start small—say “no” without explanation or apology.
• Regulate the nervous system: Use breathwork, grounding exercises, or body scans to interrupt dysregulation.
• Seek specialized support: Work with therapists trained in complex trauma, attachment, or codependency (e.g., using EMDR, IFS, or somatic approaches).
• Cultivate self-compassion: Use daily affirmations rooted in truth (“I am worthy of mutual, respectful love”).

CPTSD Foundation offers daily support, trauma-informed resources, blogs, and safe communities to help heal from childhood relational trauma and codependency. Explore attachment wounds, neurodiversity, and practical strategies to reduce isolation and rebuild your life.

Your pain is valid. Healing isn’t linear—every small act of self-kindness builds resilience and opens the door to real connection. You’re worthy of peace, mutual love, and full recovery. Help is available—reach out.

Support

Helplines and Immediate Support: If you are in crisis or need urgent support:

• CPTSD Foundation Help Centre
• US: Crisis Text Line – Text HOME to 741741 (24/7); National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – Call or text 988.
• International: Local crisis hotlines, mental health services, or trusted professionals.

References and sources:

• Overcoming Codependency | CPTSDfoundation.org
• Childhood Trauma and Codependency: Is There a Link?
• How Trauma Can Result in Codependency
• Codependency & CPTSD: Understanding & Healing.
• Codependency and Childhood Trauma: Is There a Link?.

Photo by DICSON on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Names have been changed to protect identities. 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.

“Be careful whom you trust; evil cloaks itself in many forms.”

What is love if it doesn’t hurt, or like in my case, crash with a whimper? Perhaps your first crush was like mine? Nick was a 20-something Anglo-Indian with Bobby Deol’s looks, John Travolta’s swagger, and an angelic, disarming purity. We met on a rainy day outside his place; cousin Martin played matchmaker. Me, a rebellious teen with a sassy, blunt bob, shook hands with this shy guy whose guileless grin hit like a thunderbolt. Then he spoke, and it all went downhill — his voice was a bizarre mix of Sachin Tendulkar’s soft drawl and Michael Jackson’s high-pitched lilt. Although I was a die-hard MJ fan, I was gutted. Nope, not my vibe, despite my love for Jacko’s voice.

Jokes aside, all humans are creatures of habit. Our routine is sacrosanct, and so are our friends, family, and community. But what happens if this fragile thread of trust breaks? Much like the Garden of Eden, where roses bloom, you will find thorns. The past is engraved into our DNA as unspoken codes, known as epigenetic trauma.

Trauma from abuse and neglect creates CPTSD, unseen scars that affect both victims and future generations.

The Boomerang!

When you heal from an abusive childhood and CPTSD, it becomes imperative to find opportunities to recover through healthy gene expression by reversing toxic epigenetic patterns. My friend Bella has been through so much pain and trauma; it hurts her even as an adult. Her mother was a stunning single mother living in a small town who attracted many suitors. Unfortunately, she chose an unworthy man, a balding sadist whose charm concealed his vicious nature. Bella, barely 6 years old, immediately recognized that he was someone who made her uncomfortable—a predator in disguise. While her mother, blinded by love, saw his viciousness as humor and his control as love.

The False Pillars of Trust

We all lean on a support system, believing they’ll protect us. But pillars crumble, and Bella’s stepdad was no pillar. Meanwhile, her mother demanded that the siblings call him “Dad” before vows were even exchanged.

This situation resembles those who believe, “if you pretend it doesn’t exist, it will all just blow away!” The red flags were obvious if only her mother had opened her eyes.

The Predator’s Playground

One dusk, in her school playground, after everyone had left, the predator struck, forcing a humiliating punishment for being defiant. Right there before her “mother’s” eyes, he asked the 6-year-old Bella to roll down her pants and air her shame to the elements. If she didn’t abide by the ignominy, her ears would be boxed, taunted, or worse. So the scared little girl did so as speedily as she could, turning 360 degrees in a hurry, lest someone catch a glimpse of her unmentionables and laugh at her disgrace. The bald Lilliputian bully thought it was funny. As time rolled on, he proceeded to demean little Bella every day. So much so that she hated being around her mother or him. Then, finally, one day, the little girl put her foot down and threw a tantrum. As they say, bullies hate being called out.

And so that put a stop to the mortification for some time. But the tormentor found other ways to hurt her. The nightmare grew when he married her mother, finding new ways to subvert—locking up Bella, exploiting her fears and phobias, and thrashing her for minor mistakes. Her sibling stood by her, helpless but loyal, enduring the same.

Their mother never questioned. The sadist thrived on this pain; his cruelty became a twisted game. Bella grew moody and withdrawn, her childhood stolen by a man who cloaked perversion in parenting. Even when the siblings became adults, when he returned from his “overseas job,” his harassment evolved—unwelcome touches, suggestive innuendos, all disguised as fun. Relatives turned a blind eye, abetting the crime with silence. What is worse, we may ask—the predator or those who let him roam unchecked?

Pamela Calls Out the “Peeping Tom”

My friend Pam was eleven when she visited her hometown for a wedding. She stayed at her Uncle John’s mansion. Pam loved playing with her gang of little cousins, stirring mischief amid the wedding chaos. One day, while climbing the mansion roof, they caught her uncle John’s youngest son, Nathan, 16 and notorious, sprawled like a snake, peeping into a bathroom window. Pam’s outraged scream rallied the family, their racket drawing the aunts. Nathan was thrashed, his name forever tainted. Later visits to her uncle John’s had the women bathing with extra caution. Nathan’s married now, but do the ladies in the family trust him? Never.

Father Bob’s Redemption

All my life, I have been inspired by the Australian Roman Catholic priest Father Bob, or Robert John Maguire. He was no stranger to abuse and neglect. Born into poverty, his childhood reeked of alcohol and violence, his father’s fists bruising both mother and son. Orphaned by fifteen, losing his sister to tuberculosis at eleven, Father Bob carried scars deeper than flesh. Yet, those wounds didn’t break him; they forged a priest with a rebel’s heart, a champion for the forgotten. He was a man who turned pain into purpose, serving the marginalized with a fire no abuser could snuff out.

The Unending Trauma: An Anarchist’s Creed

Writing this cuts deep, so I shroud it, shielding the raw ache of my own memories. I’m familiar with darkness. As a paradox of pragmatism and rebellion, I always speak my mind. Life has taught me to confront truths. Scars make us realize that trust is earned. Bella’s challenging childhood didn’t break her; instead, she emerged strong, building a life filled with family, community, and a successful career. She learned to forgive—not just her abusers, but herself. Her journey mirrors that of Father Bob Maguire, whose upbringing in poverty and violence shaped him into an advocate for the marginalized. Both their experiences transformed pain into resilience and empathy.

Rewriting the Epigenetic Script

Epigenetic trauma is a silent phantom in our blood, passing pain across generations. Healing doesn’t erase these scars—it transmutes them, forging resilience, redemption, and forgiveness to break the cycle.

1. Awareness: Name the Ghost. Healing begins by confronting the past.

2. Re-regulating the Body: Alter your stress-related genes through meditation, exercise, and breathwork. This will ease anxiety and calm the nervous system.

3. Rewriting the Narrative: Change your story with therapy to transform from victim to survivor.

4. Crafting a New Epigenetic Landscape: When you regulate your lifestyle, you reshape your genes.

5. Breaking the Karmic Cycle: Exploring advocacy work can help. Many survivors of abuse and rape have found healing in the sharing of stories.

Final Thoughts: The Long Road Ahead

Intergenerational trauma is woven into our DNA through epigenetics and shapes who we become. Researchers have unpacked its neurobiological toll, offering sharp intellectual clarity. As for me, Mark Wolynn’s “It Didn’t Start with You” ignited my own CPTSD journey. Parents and children bear the physical, emotional, and psychological scars of past trauma, linked to disorders like depression, PTSD, and chronic fatigue syndrome.

Animal studies reveal early stress rewires brain regions like the hippocampus, impairing cognition. Science shows us that lifestyle and therapy can shift gene expression. You may not be able to erase your past but you can rewrite your story, and heal your darkest shadows for the generations that come after you. It is time to find your path—whether through art, expression, service, community, reading, or therapy—and rewrite your own destiny.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Names of people have been changed to protect their identities. 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.

References and sources:

NCBI

PMC

Psychology Today

Verywell Mind

Johns Hopkins Medicine

Photo by digitale.de on Unsplash

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.

The Black Sheep Hath Landed

When we were kids, I would climb trees or run wild with the boys, and Melanie would sit in a corner playing with dollhouses or reading a book. To get her to participate in any game was a herculean task. She disliked playing outdoors, didn’t like to socialize or attend birthday bashes, and kept to herself… The consequence of being kids from a dysfunctional family created two extreme personalities. I guess that’s how psychology works: in the absence of love and attention, you either withdraw into a shell or go out and seek it with a vengeance.

Poor Mel bore the brunt of my unpredictable personality. I drove her crazy by demanding attention, fighting, and bickering to get what I wanted ad hominem.

Full-Blown ADHD: Summer Days Drifting Away

One summer, I found myself bored and without company. All the neighbors were off for the holidays. But my 8-year-old mind wanted excitement, so I decided I wanted Mel to play with me. She refused even as she sat reading a book beneath the shade of a gooseberry tree, too busy to comply. I strode over, irate that she thwarted my plans. Above her head, nestled in the branches of the tree, hung a beehive, buzzing with activity; an evil, impish grin took over my face. I picked up a stone, threw it at the conclave of humming insects, and ran for my life. A clueless Melanie remained seated when, all of a sudden, piercing stings rained on her body from every direction. She ran, yelling and screaming, while I stood there, hands on hips, wondering if she would be ready to play now. Needless to say, Granny thrashed me, and that got me sobered up really fast.

My ADHD was definitely in full swing. Being precocious and hyperactive, I devised every possible prank and scheme to get my way. I was spirited and stubborn, a combination that was exhilarating for me but challenging for the adults trying to supervise me. My mother was busy dating and paid little attention to us, which allowed me to run wild and create chaos. I would kick, scream, and plot to get what I wanted. My grandmother would sit me down and warn me, but a brat wants what a brat wants. Mel endured my endless tantrums and fights without complaint. Eventually, when I turned 11, I had to grow up, as that was when my mother left us to get married, and her priorities changed.

Grandma: My Parent, Teacher, and Best Friend

After a year at boarding school, my mom, who often delayed fee payments, moved us to Uncle Lionel’s house. Grandma lived with us, too. After Grandpa passed away, she primarily stayed with Melanie and me because she wanted to look after us. She was the only one who genuinely cared about our well-being and taught me important values that I cherish. But we had our share of fights. I was a tough kid to raise—mischievous and pigheaded. Grandma would raise the cane, and I’d challenge her to “thrash me.” A few minutes later, we’d either be laughing or I’d be sulking, and she’d come to comfort me. Sometimes, I regret making her cry with all my antics, but beyond that, we were blood… Though she was my grandmother, she was the only real mother figure I ever knew. Our bond was incredibly precious.

Today, she is no longer with us, and I feel her absence deeply. I cherish the memories of walking to college with my sister; that journey took us an hour and was filled with laughter and dreams. Our grandmother, with her caring nature, always made sure we had a hearty breakfast before sending us off. Mostly, we would scrounge for pocket change to buy shampoo sachets, a small treat that felt like a luxury. On festive occasions, Grandma would lovingly stitch dresses for us. The fact is, she was one of the few people who understood that trauma lay beneath my hyperactive ADHD traits.

Phobias and Mischief

I vividly recall my tomboy phase, a time filled with adventure and mischief. I would climb trees, play with boys, and raise hell. My greatest joy came from racing across the fields with my neighbors and playing games like hide-and-seek and seven stones. I was also friends with Melanie’s classmates, who were the older boys.

A drawback of my childhood was my intense dislike of lizards. I have carried this phobia with me ever since. Being Indian means living with the many varieties we see here. My friend Donna aptly calls them “flycatchers.” I remember being afraid of the lizards darting around in Grandma’s garden. The chameleons especially revolted me, and boys, as usual, zeroed in on my phobia. Whenever they had a chance, I was chased with plastic lizards, live ones, and every color of lizard in between. Being the hellraiser I was, I always got my revenge one way or the other. “Don’t mess with me” was my motto.

 Also, these reptiles remind me of other dark moments, like being locked out of my home in the dark of night as a form of punishment for my hare-brained schemes. It was traumatizing for me, like many other such incidents, but I took it, and I suppose it toughened me. You might say chameleons are symbolic of how one can also adapt to a situation and protect oneself.

Quirky and Quirkier Friends

Since I was a social oddity, my friends tended to be like me. Damien was one such friend and Melanie’s classmate. He had an impish smile and a bag full of tricks. He was forever into tomfoolery and loved making wagers. During my teen years, I dared him to shave off his mustache. Sure enough, the next day, he showed up bright and early, completely clean-shaven. Everyone thought it was funny, but not Damien.

Over the years, I noticed that my choice of friends was different. I preferred buddies based on their character and kindness, not their popularity. They were unique, both male and female, and I usually had nicknames for them. I had this friend Sandra, whom I named Jack, and she called me Mike because I liked Michael Jackson.

 I still don’t mind being an oddball; I’ve always said normal is boring.

Summing up: What Children Believe, They Become

Yes, childhood trauma can increase the risk of ADHD symptoms.  Kids with ADHD especially need special care, including cognitive behavioral therapy and a strong support system both at home and in school. More importantly, engaging in activities that keep their curious minds busy can significantly help with impulse control. Don’t blame a child with ADHD; they are still learning how to regulate their emotions. Recovery from ADHD is a journey that takes time and patience. The CPTSD Foundation offers Daily Recovery Support and a Trauma-informed weekly newsletter for individuals healing from complex trauma.

In the end, remember this: family, friends, and love are all that truly matter. Let go of all hatred and set yourself free. If someone has hurt you, forgive them and embrace love, because love conquers all.

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Names of people have been changed to protect their identities. 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.

My cousin Martin was the kid with the heart of gold, much misunderstood but always loved. He represented the epitome of a rebel.

Echoes of the Past

Martin was the cousin brother I was close to growing up. He was my 3 am buddy when I needed one. He never judged me and was very grounded. He was someone I could run to when I needed protection or advice. I relate the church and rock songs with him. He was an Ozzy Osbourne fan and a hardcore musician. He could strum his guitar with sweet nostalgia.

On the flip side, he would call a spade a spade, even if the offending person were an elder. Everyone in the family hated his guts, but we, the younger lot, found his candor refreshing. Besides, his parents doted on him while his sisters adored him, present company included.

Martin had a girlfriend named Kareena, whom he loved with all his heart. During college, Martin fell into bad company, and things went from fun and games to dangerous. There was the ADHD and addiction spiral; Martin got into drugs and the fast life… big time.

Sometimes, I think the tales from my family crypt could scandalize the average person… Although rebel isn’t a bad word, to some, it depends on the context. Still, my family consists of rebels like Martin and me… and though I loathe saying this, even my mother. Yeah, Mom. Like it or not, I am like you… including our birth numbers… Then there is my niece, Pia, who shares the same master number, 22. What’s more, she is a lot like me: fearless and outspoken. They say, “Good things come in 3s.” Sorry to digress. Oh yes, our family has its share of oddballs, the kind who have laughed in the face of fate and blazed a few trails… But you can never accuse any of us of being a bunch of bores.

Now, this part is scary. I remember once when Martin showed me those needle marks on his hands and laughed; I thought he was kidding. The next time there was something in his pocket, he told me it was a party drug. I told him to keep that dopey thing away from me. He thought I was funny, laughed, and said I was too prim and proper.

After that, Martin seemed to grow awfully thin. The drug addiction had slowly taken its toll. I did my bit of nagging, scolding and what have you… for Christ’s sake, this was my brother, but to no avail… Martin wasn’t the kind to take anybody’s advice but his own.

I grew worried, as did his parents. He was constantly fighting at home; there were mood swings and dark rage… temper tantrums and filthy clothes. My eyes fill as I write this. He went off the edge. His physical appearance became gaunt; he hardly bathed and spoke very little. Those who loved him berated him to get his act straight, and yes, he tried. 

Martin tried to get off drugs and straighten out for a while. He completed his education and found gainful employment with a travel bureau. His job demanded that he tour extensively within and outside the country. For a while there, he seemed to have gotten it together; he even found his niche. Tragically, the career phase ended when he relapsed into his addiction.

The Downward Spiral

After that, he was in and out of rehab several times. His parents and the rest of us were devastated, especially his girlfriend. By then, I am ashamed to say, I had lost touch with him. I was living my own hellish nightmare, mind you (as I have written in my first book). The last I heard of him was when my aunt told me his tragic story.

And that’s how my cousin, a man full of energy and verve, with a girlfriend, a promising career, and a bright future, was gone. Many years later, I continued to search for signs in the world around me. We had exhausted every possible avenue to locate him… Yet, deep down, I sensed he was truly gone… from this world.

The Ripple Effect on Family

Martin’s life was shrouded in numerous secrets… struggles with addiction, cycles of rehabilitation… he faced these challenges repeatedly. However, breaking old habits proved to be exceedingly difficult… and likely, they ultimately probably cost my dear brother his life. How do I know for sure that he’s gone? Well, for one, he’d never have been so callous as to abandon his family for so many years without so much as a whisper. Deep down in my gut, I just knew. 

Before he left, Martin managed to summon the strength to get his girlfriend married to a suitable guy. He has never been seen or heard of since. We understood that addiction had taken over. He didn’t want to ruin Kareena’s life or the family’s.   There was no letter, no conspiracy theories, nothing…he just upped and vanished from our lives.  As for his parents, my aunt grew sick with anxiety, which turned into a deadly disease—cancer. She battled her condition for many years; I know what pain and love can do to the physical body; it eats away your soul. Martin’s parents are no more; they passed away within a year of each other.

The Night the Dead Visited Me

About a year after I began writing my first book, Martin appeared to me in a dream. I was afraid at first. He was the same, only leaner, and as I looked at him, something in his demeanor calmed me. Slowly, I began to feel quite tranquil… I was surrounded by a strange white light … He watched me with a deep, soulful expression and earnestly asked me to write his story. He wanted me to hunt down his journals and chronicle his life. Since I am not really on great terms with the family, I do not see how I can do so. More importantly, with the passing away of his parents, his sister had the onus of responsibility, and I didn’t want to intrude on her. You see, Martin is a sore topic with the clan; asking for his journals would likely stir a hornet’s nest. Still, I have a feeling whatever he may have written during those years may still be lying around somewhere.

Summing up: There is No Shame in Seeking Help!

My dream made one thing clear: I am now certain beyond doubt that Martin is an angel up there. He has passed on. The one thing I will forever be grateful to Martin for is that while he was sober, he was an exemplary brother. He never once judged me; he always protected me from the wrath of my dysfunctional family and didn’t encourage idle gossip about me. I regret not checking the alarming signs or intervening. I will always love you, brother. Your short life with us lives on in our memories. Your love won our hearts even if the addiction took you.

There are some things that we will never get the chance to redo. That is why, if you are reading this and you or a loved one suffers from addiction, I sincerely urge you to get help soon before it’s too late.

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

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.

I have faced many traumas in my life and experienced repeated betrayal, often from those we are told we can trust—family.

An Existential Identity Crisis

I consider myself a quirk of fate; by some macabre twist, I was launched into a profoundly dysfunctional family. I grew up fatherless in a middle-class Roman Catholic household in a small South Indian town. My older sister Melanie and I were raised by our young, widowed mother in our maternal grandparents’ home, where we lived with an extended joint family.

I discovered that my father passed away from a heart attack just months after my mother conceived me, so I never knew him. Growing up without a father left me feeling empty, which may have influenced my tendency to form fleeting connections with abusive relationships and toxic friendships. The absence of pictures of my dad was heartbreaking, as it felt like all memories of him had been erased. I understand my mother likely acted out of her own grief, but it was painful that she didn’t encourage us to talk about him, leaving many questions unanswered.

Becoming a Social Outcast

At first, my mother worked hard as a teacher at our school until my soon-to-be stepfather, a medical student seven years younger, came into the picture. In the conservative town we lived in, rumors about the teacher and the young man quickly spread, and all hell broke loose at my grandparents’ home. The entire family was upset with her new relationship, but my mother was so in love that she didn’t care.

The school was even worse; we became social outcasts overnight, facing snide comments from classmates and family friends who labeled us as “the daughters” of the “flighty widow.” The reputation stuck.

As a grown woman, I understand that my widowed mother had the right to move on and lead her life. However, at age five, I only felt the loss of friends. Back then, single mothers dating wasn’t common in rural India, and my mother was blissfully unaware, caught up in her new romance as she traipsed around town in love-infested bliss.

The Birth of the Fear of Abandonment

When I was in third grade, she finally married and a few years later moved to the Middle East with her new doctor husband, leaving behind two lonely kids and a controversial reputation.

At every family event, we were seen as the “orphan Annies” and “oddballs,” garnering pity or scorn from others. In that conservative town, we stood out, burdened by a reputation we longed to escape. This likely fueled my craving for love and contributed to  ADHD and borderline personality disorder, which I discovered many years later.

Meanwhile, my childhood became a series of moves between relatives, amplifying feelings of abandonment. We were treated as unnecessary baggage, and the meager food we received was often rationed. Name-calling and forced chores made us feel like maidservants, whether cleaning the house, doing laundry, cooking, or babysitting. I was not yet 13, and I often went to bed hungry.

With each move, my sister and I faced a new set of accusations. In hindsight, I believe this wasn’t because we lacked virtue, but rather because our relatives were tired of bearing the burden of my mother. This was their way of “passing the buck” to someone else. Meanwhile, our mother hardly contributed to our expenses or sent money to those who took care of us.

Though Mom would visit us occasionally, her relationship with us, her daughters, changed dramatically. She refused to believe what we had endured and the ongoing criticism from our “overburdened” relatives. Instead, she relied only on hearsay, choosing to accept the narrative that portrayed us as the problem.

Walking Away From Abuse

At a relative’s home, life became so chaotic that we went from being poor, abandoned orphans to harassed teens overnight. The saddest part was that no one, especially our mother, wanted to believe us. They preferred to sweep everything under the rug rather than face the discomfort of the truth. I realized they chose not to support us because it allowed them to avoid their responsibilities.

As a result, in an effort to protect ourselves, two vulnerable girls walked away from a highly volatile situation and sought help from strangers. We felt unsafe among our own family.

Believe it or not, since then, we have mostly been estranged from our mother and socially isolated from our relatives. Aside from the odd occasion, I haven’t spent time with my relatives or mom in decades. Mom systematically and deliberately cut us off from any contact with the family.

 There is bullying, and then there is bullying of the worst kind; it’s called “social isolation,” the kind that was perpetuated by my dysfunctional family and also by friends at school.

This is the kind of bullying where “the strong” band together and trample “the defenseless” because there is strength in numbers—often aided by money, peer pressure, or the seniority that comes with age.

Rising from the Ashes

As a teenager, I found myself alone and began working hard to support myself. Life took a difficult turn; I met many people from whom I learned valuable lessons. I made numerous mistakes due to poor judgment and misplaced trust, but I’ve always managed to rise from them. While I regret those lapses, I would live my life the same way again because my past has shaped who I am today.

My career choice allowed me to meet many people. Early on, I took various odd jobs, each helping me develop new skills and fueling my ambition for success. I was open to any challenge, adapting and learning as I went. Eventually, I spent several years in the hospitality industry.

Final Thoughts: Know Thyself and Thou Shall Know Thy God

Along the way, I made friends and learned that everyone is unique; no one is perfect; certainly not people with the “pointy fingers.” Nevertheless, I noticed that most people focus on four basic needs: food, money, power, and sex—but not necessarily in that order. Whereas for me it has always been like Freddy Mercury sang that “crazy little thing called LOVE.“ But when we go through abuse, neglect, and trauma and don’t find love, we settle for mediocrity or less. Trauma comes in many forms, but it’s our choice whether to continue the cycle of family karma or to break it. The buck stops with you.

Whichever way it goes, childhood trauma makes you do the thing you’ve been “conditioned” to do all your life. I understand how challenging it can be to navigate through trauma, and I want to share what has helped me along the way: love, friendships, books, music, and spirituality. Healing is not a straight path, and I certainly don’t consider myself an expert. I’ve experienced the many faces of depression, including a recent episode of panic and anxiety, which I know can feel overwhelming. If you’re struggling, please remember that you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to your loved ones and consider seeking therapy. It’s so important to take that step and not delay getting the support you need. If you are like me, you deserve to find peace and healing.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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.