In that world, this translates as trust. I translate it to an expectation…not one that I trust per se, but I do expect it so I can drive, go out and come home. In this ‘trust’ model, you trust that when you lock your door, nobody will come through that door, but a former co-worker told me that her mother always said ‘locks only keep the honest people out.’ And her mother was right. Nobody is accused of breaking and entering because the door was unlocked. And when that locked door is breached and we call 911, cops generally show up. But do these expectations constitute trust? Possibly. But do these trust/expectations constitute Safe?

I have to suppose that for the majority of people the answer is yes. My own therapist likened driving to trust. But for the survivor of childhood trauma, the general ‘trust’ most people have are simply expectations that have no bearing on what is ‘safe.’ Trust and safety are two entirely different things and while survivors have an expectation for general behavior—nobody’s gonna just enter a locked door, the cops will come if called, folks will stop at red lights and stops signs—safety is far more intimate.

I can drive on a roadway and expect you to stop when it’s required, but I have no expectation that you’re going to listen to me or hear me. I have absolutely no connection to the person or persons in another car. As long as they’re in another car, they are safe persons that have nothing to do with me. They are nameless and faceless. They’re just another car on the road. The best reason to avoid them is to not have an accident. An accident would make persons in a car unsafe because that would mean having to interact.

For the survivor of childhood trauma, safe is a lack of attention. Safe is invisibility. And invisibility comes in many forms. It can be running away from the situation. It can be procrastination or laziness. It could be feigning ignorance. It could be excessive helping. It could be silence. It could be angry outbursts. It could be throwing and breaking things. Invisibility can sometimes be physical violence towards others or the self.

To others, these behaviors are anything but invisible. Everyone sees the behavior. And everyone reacts to the behavior. They either dismiss the behavior, justify it in some way, condemn it, or simply accept it. No one ever says this person is trying to be invisible. In fact, the stereotypical thinking is that the person displaying these behaviors is an attention seeker or a bully.

Safe, for the child of trauma, isn’t locked doors, police, or traffic signals. Safe, for the child of trauma, means space that doesn’t produce fear. And for the child of trauma, fear is people. The child of trauma grows and learns which people they can interact with and which ones they can’t. The people with whom they can interact are ones who may have an intellectual connection. It can evolve to an emotional connection, but the very second emotion comes into play, that connection becomes unsafe. And unsafe means becoming invisible. So the relationship is abandoned in some way, whether ghosting or sabotage.

Relationships are work. And they are hard to maintain. Emotional connections are necessary to relationships. The child of trauma doesn’t work this way. Don’t get me wrong. Certainly, the child of trauma tries desperately to maintain the connection, but the emotion is sometimes far too overwhelming.

Safe is invisibility and without emotion. But there is a truth in the stereotypical thinking that a child of trauma is seeking attention. The child of trauma really does want attention but has only survival in seeking it. And seeking attention as a child of trauma is a paradox when invisibility is the only safe place one has ever known.

So what is safe for the child of trauma? The answers will vary by individual, but there are some universals.

Validating the expressed emotion.

• “I see you’re angry and you have every right to be angry. Can you explain why you’re angry?”
• “Yes, it hurts because that person died. It’s ok to cry.”
• “I’m so sorry that my words hurt you. I will need your help so that I don’t that again. Can you tell me about those words?”
• “I see that something has upset you. Can you tell me about it? Please?”

Validating the response.

• “Yes, what that person did was wrong.”
• “Crying is a good response when someone dies. Would you like me to hold you so you can cry? I won’t tell anyone.”
• “I am so sorry that what I said hurt you. You don’t deserve that. Can we talk about this so that I can understand how not to hurt you like that anymore?”
• “Wow, that’s a lot to carry. I’m so sorry you have to go through that. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Safe is invisibility in survival. As adult survivors, safe is being validated for feeling, whatever that feeling may be.

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Tsuhai Nzinga

I am a Freelance Criminologist and Online blogger writing under the pen name Tsuhai Nzinga. In 2018 I graduated from Immaculata University with a Bachelor’s degree in Criminology and published my debut book titled “Tsuhai Nzinga f.k.a. Tia: The Memoir of a Black Girl.” In addition, I host a blog titled In Rogue. I specialize in researching and writing about subjects related to the field of criminology from perspectives ranging from historical to current events. More recently, I have begun what I call my journey to wholeness and I use writing as part of that process. Personal life events inspire much of my writing which also features poetry.

tsuhainzinga.wordpress.com/

Tonight I realized that one of the things I lost was my mother. She didn’t die, but she wasn’t there growing up.

I spent so much of my life in the paradox of knowing that she too was abused but blaming her for not being there.
It hurt. I was hurt.

In this journey, I’ve learned a lot. I recently read an article about grieving what I lost as a result of the abuse. This is a difficult process because there’s this ever-present voice telling me to “quit feeling sorry for yourself.” That voice is the voice of a liar and an abuser. I don’t have to listen to that voice anymore.

As I reflected, it occurred to me that Mom didn’t leave me. She was taken from me.

All these years, on some level, I blamed Mom for not being there when I needed her. I blamed her. Tonight as I realized that the abuser took her from me, several memories come to mind that was designed to manipulate me into blaming Mom.

One Easter, dad dressed us all up in white and we went to Nana’s to see Mom. I have a picture from that day. I later learned from dad that he did it to try and convince Mom to come home. She refused.

On another occasion, dad took me to Nana’s to spend the weekend with Mom. He demanded that she decide to come home that day. Mom said no. dad didn’t let me stay. I cried.

These are two vivid memories that I now realize were part of dad’s manipulation. He made me believe that Mom didn’t want me. These were deliberate acts. It was designed. By him.

My Mom was not there because she was taken from me. She didn’t leave because she wanted to. She left because she had to.

As I grieve this loss, I also celebrate.

I lost Mom to lies. She lost me to the same lies. She has understood that far better than I have.

Recently I had an anxiety attack and Mom was there. She knew exactly what was happening and stayed with me throughout. Mom held my hands. She told me she loved me.

What Mom didn’t know was that the attack wasn’t about the person we were there to mourn. My attack came from seeing dad. He had actually spoken to me when I was leaving the church. I ignored him. Seeing him again at the repast when I was alone made me feel vulnerable and unsafe.

Mom was there. She was there for me. She was right there when I needed her. Because she wanted to be.

Dad took my mother. And now I know that.

Thank you, Mom. I love you. I thank you. And I am so sorry that we were manipulated by such hate.

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Tsuhai Nzinga

I am a Freelance Criminologist and Online blogger writing under the pen name Tsuhai Nzinga. In 2018 I graduated from Immaculata University with a Bachelor’s degree in Criminology and published my debut book titled “Tsuhai Nzinga f.k.a. Tia: The Memoir of a Black Girl.” In addition, I host a blog titled In Rogue. I specialize in researching and writing about subjects related to the field of criminology from perspectives ranging from historical to current events. More recently, I have begun what I call my journey to wholeness and I use writing as part of that process. Personal life events inspire much of my writing which also features poetry.

tsuhainzinga.wordpress.com/