Not all people living with CPTSD have a history of childhood trauma, but those who do may struggle relationally because of learned coping mechanisms that served to connect to caregivers in childhood (e.g. perfectionism, people pleasing). Our very first venture in life is connecting with our caregivers; therefore, it is important to understand that children will adopt and repeat behaviors they perceive as aligning with their caregivers.

Such behaviors can and often do cause relational issues in adulthood, as many survivors of childhood trauma do not recognize their behaviors as anything more than how they accomplished that connection in childhood. Many times, these relational issues are explained by attachment styles, but rarely are relational issues connected to learned behaviors related to a lack of safety and choice in childhood.

Those of us with a history of childhood trauma may lose adult relationships because those behaviors that connected to caregivers in childhood are ineffective in healthy adult relationships. My friend Lauren Starnes explained it like this:

“behaviors that served to connect you in childhood serve to disconnect you in adulthood”.

Perhaps the saddest part of childhood trauma is its potential to affect people across their lifespan. Suffering often continues into adulthood and is played out in fractured and lost relationships. Nobody is at fault, really. Usually, loved ones (especially a spouse) are operating with a knowledge deficit.

Knowledge is powerful, and understanding how childhood trauma affects humans has the potential to support survivors of childhood trauma and those who love them. Additionally, trauma survivors are not without responsibility and that is sometimes a hard truth, but healing comes with learning. Knowledge provides safety and autonomy–something those of us with a history of trauma know little about.

But as adult survivors, we can choose to learn and alter ineffective coping, we can choose power, we can learn and we can change. We have a choice now. The work is hard, but it is worth it.

“When you know better, you do better” Maya Angelou

Perhaps one of the most liberating experiences as a survivor of an abusive childhood came when I finally understood the effects of childhood trauma. It wasn’t until I began advocating for survivors that I learned about Adverse Childhood Experiences.

I felt validated and suddenly able to extend grace and compassion for my behaviors that hurt the people I loved. I understood that, given my experiences with abuse and neglect, I was simply doing the best I could with behaviors I had created to survive and connect. There were parts of me that weren’t convinced that I had an abusive childhood, but learning about Adverse Childhood Experiences altered my life and gave my pain a name.

Adverse Childhood Experiences is measured by a questionnaire (10 questions) that probes for abuse (emotional, sexual, physical) and/or neglect (emotional, physical). Also included are separation factors such as severe mental illness in the home (resulting in hospitalization or completed suicide); substance abuse; or imprisonment of a family member. The ACE questionnaire was developed by Kaiser Permanente and the Centers for Disease Control in the 1990s. Originally created as a weight loss study, researchers found a connection between childhood trauma and physical manifestations that caused participants to drop out of the study. Since many survivors of childhood trauma are high utilizers of the health care system (Hargreaves et al., 2019), the ACE study could be foundational to our understanding (and DSM adaptation) of CPTSD.In the meantime, an understanding of maladaptive behaviors that may be present in survivors of childhood trauma could support survivors.

Those who have a history of Adverse Childhood Experiences need social support, but often maladaptive behaviors serve to disconnect them from people. Until survivors recognize these behaviors, they cannot address them. After many fractured relationships, I realized I had work to do including learning healthy ways to connect to my friends and family. For me, two prominent behaviors caused irreparable fractures in important relationships—people pleasing and perfectionism.

People-pleasing can manifest in many ways, but perhaps the most prominent is the inability to say no to others.

Amenability as a child connected me to caregivers, and I learned early to always agree to any plan and never to resist. While this did connect me to my mom in childhood, in adulthood it has served to separate me from people.

For example, when making plans with others, I did not have the language or the ability to simply say “no thank you, that doesn’t work for me,” so I cancelled more plans than I kept. After a while, friends and family stopped asking me to make plans with them. This led to loneliness, shame, and despair.

Once I learned that I simply wanted people to be happy with me and to accept me, I understood that people-pleasing was not the way to deeply connect with them.

Now, when something is asked of me, I do not answer on the spot. My standard is “let me get back to you”—because I know I almost always don’t want to go with that plan. Taking a moment to think allows me to choose to respect the time and energy of my friends and family while also giving me the choice to make a decision based on interpersonal factors (time, energy, desire). Both can be true; I can respect their time and energy, and I can choose to say no–without fear of separation from them.

The key to recovering from people-pleasing is to choose wisely who you allow into your inner circle.

Be careful about anyone whose presence in your life depends on how many times your will is bent to theirs. For those living with a spouse, it is important to invite them to join you on your healing journey. And if people-pleasing is a behavior you use to connect with others, consider having honest conversations with those in your circle. Recruit them to help you. Ask them to stay connected to you even if you don’t accept those dinner plans.

For those of you who love people pleasers, don’t hesitate to go deeper when making plans or when submitting a request to them; their default may always be to make themselves amenable to you.

When the people pleaser behavior is present, gently guide them back to connection with you that is not based on their amenability to your plan.

The opposite is true, though. Be careful about keeping people in your life whose connection to you depends on your performance. Sometimes this means separating from family members; this can feel brutal, but sometimes it is necessary for your healing. Ask me how I know…

Perfectionism is a common maladaptive coping mechanism that is a result of childhood trauma (Smith et al., 2019). This maladaptive coping mechanism, often adopted in childhood, is particularly difficult because perfectionism can equate to vocational and economic success.

However, perfectionism can cause problems in adult relationships because perfectionists also hold others to high standards. The perfectionist can be judgmental of others, particularly when others don’t meet perfect standards. I learned that perfect grades connected me to my mom, something I deeply desired, and as long as I can remember, I never accepted less than 100% in my academic pursuits.

This became painfully clear to me when I submitted my dissertation to my chair. When she requested a minor revision, and I was unable to accept the revisions as minor and deemed the entire document (245 pages) a failure.

During a subsequent counseling session, I realized that it was never about being perfect; it was about being securely attached to my dissertation chair, whom I highly respected. It was a valuable lesson for me and one that I am still learning.

I am learning that I am not perfect, and I am learning that my friends and family are not perfect. I am learning that we grow together and that life is messy, and that mistakes will be made.

Sometimes I sit in imperfection just to demonstrate that imperfection will not kill me. Those imperfections have nothing to do with my value as a human being.

Perfectionism may have served its purpose in childhood, but it will destroy our ability to maintain strong relationships in adulthood. Learning to accept imperfections may always be a struggle, but I am grateful for supportive people around me who remind me that I am valuable even if I never accomplish a single thing in this life. That is true of you too, my fellow survivor.

You do not need to be perfect to be loved; you just need to be you to be loved. For those of you who love survivors of adverse childhood experiences we need you to extend care and compassion, and maybe even congratulations when we stop trying to be perfect for you to accept us.

Keep reminding us that you love us because we are imperfectly human.

Dear Survivor: you can rest now. You are accepted. You are SEEN. You are KNOWN. You are HEARD. You are VALUED, JUST as you are. Dear loved ones, it is important that you get help too. Don’t give up, keep fighting for us.

Remember, nobody did that for us when we were most vulnerable. The best news? There is help, there is hope. There are armies of people who want to stand in the gap for you. I am honored to be one of them.

Sources:

Hargreaves, M. K., Mouton, C. P., Liu, J., Zhou, Y. E., & Blot, W. J. (2019). Adverse childhood experiences and health care utilization in a low-income population. Journal of Health Care for the Poor and Underserved, 30(2), 749–767. https://doi.org/10.1353/hpu.2019.0054

Smith, M. M., Saklofske, D. H., Yan, G., & Sherry, S. B. (2019).
Adverse childhood experiences and multidimensional perfectionism in young adults. Personality and Individual Differences, 146, 53–57. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.paid.2019.03.042

Photo Credit: 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

The Aftershocks of Childhood Shame: A Guide for Survivors

[Content Warning: This article discusses childhood trauma, emotional abuse, animal harm, and shame experiences. Please engage at your own pace and practice self-care while reading.]

Eliana closed her office door and leaned against it, suddenly breathless. Her presentation had gone perfectly—the client was impressed, her boss had praised her work in front of everyone, and the project was greenlit with an increased budget. By all accounts, this was a professional triumph.

Yet here she was, eyes closed, whispering, “I’m so tired,” as the memory flooded back without warning: She was nine, proudly showing her teacher the extra credit project she’d spent the weekend creating. The teacher had smiled, praised her work, and then asked her to present it to the class. Twenty-five years later, she couldn’t remember what happened next, only the crushing feeling that she’d done something terribly wrong by being proud of her work.

This memory, like dozens of others, would ambush Eliana throughout her days—while grocery shopping, during meetings, even when laughing with friends. Each one brought a physical wave of shame so intense it felt like her body was trying to collapse in on itself, along with an exhaustion that went beyond physical tiredness—a soul-level weariness that made her want to simply disappear.

If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. This experience—these ghosts of childhood shame that haunt adult survivors of complex trauma and narcissistic abuse—has a name: “shame flashbacks.” But knowing the term doesn’t ease the burden. What might help is understanding why you should never feel embarrassed about the things you did as a child, and learning how to finally put these ghosts to rest.

The Trauma Earthquake and Its Aftershocks

Childhood trauma like an earthquake—a devastating event or series of events that shakes the very foundation upon which you were building your life. The immediate impacts are obvious and catastrophic, but the damage goes deeper than what’s immediately visible:

• The foundation is compromised: Your developing brain, identity, and nervous system are altered by the experience.
• The supporting structures are damaged: Your sense of safety, trust, and self-worth develop cracks that may not be apparent until weight is placed upon them.
• The architecture becomes adaptive: As you continue to grow, you build your life around these compromised structures—developing strategies and beliefs designed to prevent further collapse.

The shame flashbacks you experience decades later are the aftershocks—seemingly random, unpredictable tremors that can suddenly destabilize you long after the original earthquake. Just as geological aftershocks can continue for years following a major earthquake, these emotional aftershocks can persist long into adulthood.

What makes these aftershocks particularly disorienting is that they often occur when everything seems stable. You’ve built a good life, you’re functioning well, and then suddenly—a memory, a gesture, a comment triggers an aftershock, and you’re plunged back into the feeling of the original earthquake, despite being far from the original danger.

Understanding shame as aftershocks helps explain why:

• The intensity feels disproportionate to the trigger
• The timing seems random and unpredictable
• The sensations are profoundly physical, not just emotional
• The experience can be as disruptive as the original trauma

Throughout this article, we’ll return to this metaphor to help explain both why these shame responses persist and how healing works—not by ignoring the damage, but by carefully reinforcing your foundation and retrofitting your emotional architecture to withstand these ongoing tremors.

Understanding the Roots of Shame: Psychological Frameworks

Before diving into the specific reasons you should never feel embarrassed about your childhood behaviors, it’s helpful to understand several psychological frameworks that explain why these shame responses persist long after childhood:

Complex PTSD and Chronic Shame

Many survivors of narcissistic abuse and childhood trauma develop what trauma expert Pete Walker describes as Complex PTSD (CPTSD). Unlike PTSD from a single traumatic event, CPTSD results from prolonged exposure to relational trauma, and one of its hallmark symptoms is a pervasive sense of shame. This isn’t just occasional embarrassment—it’s a deep, persistent belief that there is something fundamentally wrong with you.

Attachment and Shame

Our earliest attachment relationships shape how we view ourselves in relation to others. Secure attachment develops when caregivers consistently respond to a child’s needs with attunement and care. However, when these attachments are disrupted by narcissistic, neglectful, or abusive parenting, children often develop insecure attachment styles:

• Anxious attachment: Characterized by fear of abandonment and a tendency to seek excessive reassurance
• Avoidant attachment: Marked by emotional distance and difficulty trusting others
• Disorganized attachment: Involving contradictory approaches to relationships, often stemming from caregivers who were both sources of comfort and fear

Each of these attachment patterns intertwines with shame in unique ways, creating relationship patterns where either vulnerability feels dangerous (avoidant) or rejection feels catastrophic (anxious).

The Neurobiology of Shame

Your brain physically changed in response to chronic shame experiences. The neural pathways for shame became well-worn highways in your nervous system, activating automatically at the slightest trigger. However—and this is crucial—neuroplasticity means these pathways can be rewired. Your brain can create new, healthier response patterns with consistent practice and support.

11 Reasons You Should Never Feel Embarrassed About Things You Did As A Child

1. Your brain wasn’t fully developed

As a child, your prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain responsible for decision-making, impulse control, and understanding consequences—wasn’t fully developed. It doesn’t reach maturity until your mid-twenties. You literally didn’t have the brain capacity to respond “better” to many situations. You were doing the best you could with a brain that was still under construction.

2. You processed the world through a child’s perception and modeled what you saw

Children naturally see themselves as the center of their universe—not out of selfishness, but because that’s how developing minds work. When bad things happen around them, they assume they must be the cause. If a parent was angry, depressed, or abusive, you likely internalized that as “I made them feel this way” or “I deserve this treatment.”

This wasn’t your failure—it was a normal developmental response to abnormal circumstances. Similarly, you simply didn’t know there were other ways to be. Your environment was your entire world. If you grew up in chaos, chaos seemed normal. If love was conditional, conditional love seemed normal.

Children learn primarily through observation and imitation. If you behaved in ways that now make you cringe—being manipulative, passive-aggressive, people-pleasing, overly dramatic, or emotionally withdrawn—you were likely mirroring the behaviors that were modeled to you. You can’t blame a child for speaking the “language” they were taught.

3. You were programmed to maintain attachment at all costs

Human children are biologically wired to maintain connection with caregivers—it’s a survival mechanism. When faced with the choice between being authentic and keeping parental love and protection, your instinct for survival kicked in. If you abandoned your true self to maintain attachment, you were following the most basic human programming. This wasn’t weakness; it was your body’s way of keeping you alive.

4. You were taught the wrong lessons about your worth

If you grew up with narcissistic or emotionally immature caregivers, you were likely taught that your worth was conditional—based on achievement, appearance, behavior, or usefulness to others. Children believe what they’re told and shown, especially about themselves. The shame you feel isn’t evidence of your inadequacy; it’s evidence of what you were wrongly taught.

The Unpredictable Spotlight of Shame

Many survivors can recall moments when they were simply existing—playing, daydreaming, or just being a child—when suddenly an adult’s negative attention would spotlight them, often with humiliating comments: “Stop acting like the village idiot,” or “Do you have to be so embarrassing?”

These moments were particularly confusing and damaging because:

• You weren’t self-conscious until that moment—you were simply being yourself
• The criticism came without warning or explanation
• You couldn’t identify what you’d done “wrong”
• It was often performed in front of others, adding public humiliation
• The behavior being criticized was often just normal childhood existence

This pattern taught you that your natural state of being was somehow shameful, that you could be enjoying life one moment and be humiliated the next without understanding why. Over time, this created a hypervigilance about simply existing in the world—a constant background anxiety that at any moment, your very way of being might be deemed unacceptable.

When narcissistic parents use these tactics, they’re rarely actually responding to anything inappropriate in the child’s behavior. Instead, they’re often:

• Using the child as a prop in their social performance
• Attempting to get approval or laughs from other adults
• Asserting control and dominance
• Projecting their own insecurities
• Maintaining their role as the judge of all behavior

The result? A child who learns that existing authentically in the world is dangerous and that shame can strike at any moment, for no comprehensible reason.

5. You didn’t know you were allowed to have needs

Many trauma survivors learned early that having needs—for comfort, attention, help, or even basic care—was somehow wrong or burdensome. You may have been praised for being “so independent” or “such a little adult” when in reality, you were being neglected. Children are supposed to have needs. That’s normal, not shameful.

6. You were responding to impossible situations

Children in traumatic environments often face no-win scenarios: If you spoke up, you were punished; if you stayed silent, you felt guilty. If you showed emotion, you were “too sensitive”; if you didn’t, you were “cold.” The “wrong” behaviors you feel ashamed of were often your attempts to navigate impossible situations with the limited tools you had.

7. You had to become a different person to survive

Many trauma survivors developed a “false self” to please caregivers or avoid abuse. This might have involved being unnaturally quiet, overly agreeable, high-achieving, or taking on caretaking roles. If you feel embarrassed about being “fake” or “performing” as a child, remember that this was a sophisticated survival strategy—evidence of your resilience, not your weakness.

For many, this shift from authentic existence to self-monitoring happened suddenly and repeatedly. One moment you were happily playing, lost in your own imagination or joy, the next moment you were jolted into painful self-awareness by a parent’s cutting remark or dismissive comment. These moments teach children to subconsciously toggle between states: the freedom of unselfconscious being versus the constraint of being constantly on guard against criticism. Over time, many survivors learned to abandon the former entirely, living in a perpetual state of self-monitoring and performance. And much of the time they have no idea they’re doing this.

8. You didn’t know healthy boundaries existed

If your boundaries were repeatedly violated, or if you witnessed unhealthy relationships, you had no model for appropriate boundaries. The times you may have been “too agreeable,” let others take advantage of you, or conversely, when you lashed out to protect yourself—these weren’t character flaws but symptoms of never being taught healthy boundary-setting.

9. Your emotional education was neglected

Children don’t inherently know how to identify, process, or express emotions—they need to be taught. If your caregivers dismissed your feelings (“Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about”), punished emotional expression, or were emotionally volatile themselves, you never received this crucial education. Emotional difficulties weren’t your fault; they were the result of emotional neglect.

10. You were dealing with an adult-sized burden with child-sized shoulders

Many children of dysfunctional families become parentified—taking care of siblings, managing household responsibilities, or emotionally supporting adults. If you feel embarrassed about times you failed at these tasks, remember that no child should have been given those responsibilities in the first place. The failure was in the adults who burdened you, not in your inability to carry that weight.

11. You were reacting to trauma, not choosing behavior

What adults may have labeled as “bad behavior” was often trauma response: hypervigilance, dissociation, emotional dysregulation, or fight/flight/freeze/fawn reactions. These weren’t choices; they were your nervous system’s automatic attempts to protect you from perceived threats. Your body was doing exactly what it was designed to do under threat.

The Body’s Response: Shame Lives in Your Physical Self

Shame isn’t just a psychological experience—it lives in your body. As psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk explains in his groundbreaking work “The Body Keeps the Score,” trauma and chronic shame create lasting physical effects:

Somatic Expressions of Chronic Shame

• Immune System Impact: Research from the ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences) study shows clear links between childhood trauma and physical health problems in adulthood, including autoimmune disorders and chronic inflammation
• Physical Tension Patterns: Many survivors develop characteristic tension in the neck, shoulders, or gut—physical armor against perceived judgment
• Pain Syndromes: Conditions like fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, and unexplained pain disorders often have connections to trauma histories
• Your Body’s Alarm System: Shame triggers can send your nervous system into fight/flight/freeze/fawn states, affecting digestion, sleep, and energy levels

These physical manifestations aren’t “all in your head”—they’re real physiological responses to your experiences. The exhaustion Eliana feels when shame hits isn’t just emotional fatigue; it’s her body responding to a perceived threat with the same intensity as if she were facing physical danger.

Understanding this somatic component is crucial because healing often needs to involve both the body and mind. Practices like trauma-informed yoga, somatic experiencing therapy, or even simple grounding exercises can help recalibrate a nervous system stuck in shame response.

Try This: When shame hits, place one hand on your heart and one on your belly. Take three slow breaths while silently saying, “This feeling is old and was never about me. My body is responding to the past, not the present.” Notice any shift in your physical tension as you acknowledge the source of these sensations.

When Shame Has No Memory: Understanding Implicit Trauma

Not all shame comes with a clear memory attached. Sometimes, you might experience sudden waves of overwhelming shame without knowing why—a formless, nameless feeling that you’ve done something terribly wrong or that there’s something fundamentally flawed about you. This is often connected to implicit memory—experiences that were stored in your body and emotional systems before you had the verbal or cognitive capacity to form explicit memories.

These might include:

Pre-verbal Experiences

Some of our most profound shame can originate from our earliest years, before we could form narrative memories. The infant who cried and wasn’t soothed, the toddler whose excitement was repeatedly met with irritation—these experiences don’t become stories we can recall, but they become feelings embedded in our nervous system.

Atmospheric Trauma

Sometimes it wasn’t a specific incident but the persistent atmosphere of your childhood home. If you grew up with a pervasive sense that you were a burden, unwanted, or somehow “too much,” this might not be attached to any particular memory but was communicated through countless subtle interactions.

Body-based Shame

Many survivors experience shame as a purely physical sensation—a hollowness in the chest, a burning face, a desire to disappear—without a connected narrative. This can be your body remembering what your mind cannot explicitly recall.

The Shame of Existing

Perhaps the most profound form is what some therapists call “existence shame”—the deep sense that your very being, your taking up space in the world, is somehow wrong. This rarely connects to specific memories because it wasn’t created by a single event but by a persistent message that your authentic self was unacceptable.

How to Work with Implicit Shame

When shame arises without memory:

• Acknowledge the feeling without demanding a reason. “I’m feeling shame right now. I don’t need to know why to respond with compassion.”
  Attend to the body sensation. Place a hand where you feel the shame in your body. Breathe into that space with gentle awareness.
• Speak to the feeling directly. “This shame was never about me. It was about the environment I was in and the treatment I received. This feeling is old and doesn’t reflect the truth of who I am or who I’ve always been.”
• Create containment. Visualize the feeling as having boundaries—it is a part of your experience, not the totality of who you are. Imagine putting it into a golden bubble and letting it float up to the sky.
• Remember context. Even without specific memories, you can recognize: “These feelings were formed when I was vulnerable and dependent, in circumstances I didn’t choose.”

This formless shame can be the most difficult to address precisely because it lacks a narrative you can reframe. Yet by acknowledging its existence and responding with the same compassion you would offer to your remembered child self, you can gradually create new implicit memories—ones of being met with understanding rather than judgment.

When Children Harm: Understanding and Healing from Your Most Shameful Actions

Among the most painful shame experiences survivors carry are memories of times when, as children, they harmed others—perhaps another child, an animal, or themselves. These memories often carry the heaviest burden of shame because they seem to confirm the deepest fear: “I really was bad.”

A man in his sixties shared that his most persistent shame came from a memory of killing a turtle when he was six years old—an act he has carried as evidence of his inherent badness for over five decades. What he revealed later was that at the time, he was being sexually trafficked by his parents from infancy. This context changes everything about how we understand his childhood action.

The Neurobiology of Re-enactment

When children experience severe trauma, especially ongoing abuse, their developing brains and nervous systems are profoundly impacted. Children who harm others or animals are often:

• Re-enacting their own victimization: Attempting to process overwhelming experiences by shifting from the powerless position to the powerful one
• Responding from a dysregulated nervous system: Acting from fight/flight activation rather than from the higher reasoning centers of the brain
• Expressing unspeakable emotions: Using behavior to communicate feelings they have no words for and no safe person to tell
• Seeking a sense of control: Trying to gain some agency in a life where they have none

The “Identification with the Aggressor” Defense

Psychologists recognize that children sometimes psychologically identify with their abusers as a survival mechanism. This doesn’t mean they become like their abusers in character, but rather that they may temporarily adopt behaviors they’ve experienced as a way of making sense of their trauma or trying to master their fear.

Contextualizing, Not Excusing

Understanding the context of harmful actions you took as a child doesn’t mean excusing them or suggesting they didn’t matter. Rather, it means recognizing that:

• A child acting from trauma is fundamentally different from an adult choosing to harm
• Your actions emerged from your circumstances, not your character
• What you did then reflects what was done to you, not who you inherently are
• Children have extremely limited tools for processing severe trauma

Healing from Your Most Shameful Actions

If you carry shame about something harmful you did as a child:

1. Recognize your complete context. Don’t isolate the behavior from the full circumstances of your childhood. What else was happening to you? What were you being exposed to? What resources for processing emotions were available to you?
2. Apply developmental understanding. Children at different ages have different capacities for impulse control, emotional regulation, empathy, and understanding consequences. Your action needs to be viewed through the lens of your developmental stage at the time.
3. Practice fierce compassion. Imagine watching another child with your exact history do what you did. Would you condemn them as inherently bad, or would you recognize their pain and need for help?
4. Allow for grief alongside shame. Many survivors find that beneath their shame is profound grief—for the animal or person they harmed, but also for the child they were who was so desperate and alone that this action seemed necessary.
5. Consider symbolic amends. While you can’t undo the past, many survivors find healing in making contributions to related causes—supporting animal welfare organizations, child protection agencies, or other efforts that help prevent similar suffering.

Remember: One action, even a harmful one, taken by a traumatized child does not define their character or worth. It is a symptom of their circumstances, not their soul. That child—you—deserved help, not condemnation.

When Good Deeds Feel Shameful: The Paradox of Trauma-Induced Shame

One of the most confusing aspects of shame flashbacks is that they can attach to positive memories as easily as negative ones. Many survivors share the bewildering experience of feeling intense shame when remembering acts of kindness or generosity they performed—organizing charity events, helping others, sharing gifts, or expressing care.

A survivor might recall organizing a care package project for people serving overseas, only to be flooded with embarrassment rather than pride. Another might remember publicly thanking someone who helped them, and feel overwhelming shame at the memory. Despite having done something objectively good, the emotional response is pure, visceral shame.

This happens for several interconnected reasons:

The Distorted Mirror of Visibility

For those raised in environments where being seen was dangerous, memories of being visible—even for positive reasons—can trigger delayed shame responses. While a part of you genuinely wanted to contribute or express care (by organizing the care packages, for example), another part—the protective part shaped by trauma—later responds with alarm: ‘You’ve made yourself visible. You’ve taken up space. This is dangerous.’

This explains the confusing experience of feeling genuinely motivated to do something meaningful, only to be ambushed by shame afterward. The shame isn’t about what you did, but about the perceived danger of having been noticed at all, which might lead to unfair judgement—a danger that was very real in your childhood. Just for existing.

The Contamination of Small Mistakes

When a small mistake or misunderstanding occurs within an otherwise positive action (like stumbling over words during a thank-you speech or forgetting to acknowledge someone important), the trauma brain magnifies this detail until it consumes the entire memory. This is because in abusive environments, tiny imperfections were often used as justification for disproportionate punishment or criticism.

The Discomfort of Positive Regard

Many survivors were conditioned to feel uncomfortable with positive attention or appreciation. If doing good things led to being singled out for praise, and praise was followed by heightened expectations or eventual disappointment, your nervous system might have learned to associate even positive attention with danger. And simultaneously, you may crave affirmation as reassurance against your deepest fears.

The “Who Do You Think You Are?” Effect

In narcissistic family systems, taking initiative often triggered the narcissist’s insecurity. A child demonstrating competence, leadership, or generosity might have been met with comments like “Who do you think you are?” or “Look who thinks they’re so special.” This teaches you that stepping into your power is somehow arrogant or wrong. Societal forces (e.g., school shaming, religious guilt, cultural hierarchies) often compound personal shame, making it harder to unravel. Especially in systems where:

• perfectionism is rewarded,
• self-worth is tied to productivity,
• self-criticism is mistaken for humility.

Healing This Particular Wound

This specific type of shame—shame for good deeds—can be particularly persistent because it’s so irrational, and yet so visceral. Here are approaches that can help:

1. Practice the “Both/And” perspective: “I both made a small mistake AND did something genuinely kind and worthwhile.”
2. Document objective feedback: Keep a record of the actual responses you received for your actions, not just the shame response your brain generated later.
3. Challenge the ownership of shame: When shame arises around a positive memory, ask “Whose voice is this? Who benefits from me feeling ashamed of my kindness?”
4. Reframe visibility: Practice saying “It’s safe for me to be seen doing good things” when these memories arise.
5. Honor your younger self’s courage: Recognize that any act of generosity or leadership requires you to overcome the very conditioning that now generates shame about it.

For many survivors, this shame diminishes over time with healing work, but it can persist for decades. The good news is that recognizing this pattern as a trauma response rather than legitimate shame is itself a significant step toward freedom. Your rational mind recognizing the irrationality of the shame is the beginning of its power diminishing.

Righteous Anger: The Path Through Shame

For many trauma survivors, there’s a crucial emotion that’s often missing in their healing journey: healthy anger. Survivors of narcissistic abuse were frequently punished for showing anger or taught that their anger was inappropriate, selfish, or dangerous. As a result, many survivors skip the anger phase of healing and default to self-blame and shame.

Why Anger Matters in Healing

Righteous anger—anger in response to genuine mistreatment—serves several important functions:

• It establishes boundaries: Anger signals “This treatment is not acceptable”
• It reallocates responsibility: Anger says “This wasn’t my fault; it was wrong what they did”
• It provides energy: Anger can mobilize you out of the paralysis of shame
• It honors your worth: Anger confirms “I deserved better than what I received”

The Shame-Anger Connection

Shame and anger are often two sides of the same coin. What looks like shame (“I’m terrible”) may actually be anger turned inward (“They treated me terribly”) because directing anger outward felt too dangerous in your childhood environment.

Accessing Healthy Anger

If you find yourself drowning in shame about past experiences, try these approaches:

1. Witness your child self: Imagine watching what happened to you happening to another child. What would you feel toward the adults in that scenario?
2. Write an unsent letter: Express all the anger you weren’t allowed to show then. No one needs to see this—it’s about accessing the emotion.
3. Use physical release: Punch pillows, scream in your car, or engage in intense exercise to help move the energy of anger through your body safely.
4. Validate the anger: Tell yourself “I have every right to be angry about how I was treated.”

Remember that healthy anger doesn’t mean acting aggressively or holding onto bitterness—it means acknowledging the natural emotional response to mistreatment as part of your healing process. For many survivors, allowing themselves to feel angry about their mistreatment creates space for the shame to finally begin dissolving.

When Present Becomes Past: Adult Shame Flashbacks

Thus far, we’ve primarily addressed shame related to childhood experiences or memories. But one of the most insidious aspects of trauma-based shame is how it infiltrates your adult experiences, creating new shame flashbacks about current events in your life.

Eliana’s experience at the beginning of this article illustrates this perfectly—her professional triumph triggered a shame response not because she did anything wrong in the present, but because the situation shared elements with past experiences where being visible led to painful consequences.

Why Adult Experiences Trigger Old Shame

Several mechanisms explain why perfectly ordinary—or even positive—adult experiences can trigger profound shame responses:

1. Pattern Recognition Gone Awry

Your brain is constantly scanning for patterns based on past experiences. When it detects elements that share features with earlier trauma (even subtly), it can activate the same emotional and physiological responses:

• A boss’s neutral feedback might trigger the shame response originally connected to a critical parent
• Receiving appreciation might activate the shame originally tied to moments when praise preceded disappointment
• Making a minor mistake might trigger the shame response from when mistakes led to humiliation

2. Emotional Time Travel

Trauma can create what therapists call “emotional flashbacks”—where you emotionally time-travel back to how you felt during traumatic periods, even without specific memories. During these states:

• Your emotional age regresses to how old you felt during the original trauma
• Your perspective narrows to match the limited understanding you had then
• Your body responds with the same physiological stress reaction
• Your beliefs temporarily revert to the negative core beliefs formed then

3. Nervous System Conditioning

Your nervous system developed conditioned responses to certain types of situations. When similar contexts arise in adulthood, your body responds automatically before your conscious mind has time to evaluate the present reality:

• Physical sensations of shame (face flushing, chest tightening, stomach dropping)
• Urges to hide, disappear, or apologize excessively
• Overwhelming fatigue or sudden disconnection from others
• Harsh self-criticism that seems to arise from nowhere

How to Distinguish Healthy Remorse from Trauma-Based Shame

Not all negative feelings about your actions are trauma responses. Healthy adults experience appropriate regret, remorse, and accountability. Here’s how to tell the difference:

Healthy Remorse:

• Is proportional to the actual impact of your actions
• Leads to specific behavioral change and repair
• Passes with time and corrective action
• Feels clean and clear, not toxic and overwhelming
• Focuses on the behavior, not your worth as a person
• Empowers you to do better

Trauma-Based Shame:

• Feels disproportionate and catastrophic
• Leads to global self-condemnation (“I’m terrible”)
• Persists despite evidence or reassurance
• Creates physical symptoms and exhaustion
• Attacks your fundamental worth and right to exist
• Paralyzes rather than motivates change

Breaking the Adult Shame Cycle

When you find yourself experiencing shame about current experiences:

1. Name the time travel: “I’m having an emotional flashback. This overwhelming shame is from my past, not my present. This shame was never truly about me.”
2. Orient to now: Identify specific ways your current situation is different from your childhood—the power you have now, the resources available, the people who support you.
3. Address the younger part: “The part of me feeling this shame is young and scared. That makes sense given my history, but I’m an adult now and can respond differently.”
4. Check external reality: Seek perspective from trusted others about whether your action warrants the intensity of shame you’re feeling. Often, what feels catastrophic to you appears minor to others.
5. Practice exposure with support: Gradually increase your tolerance for situations that trigger shame (like visibility, making mistakes, or receiving praise) while maintaining compassion for your responses.

Remember that these adult shame flashbacks are aftershocks—they don’t reflect your current reality but rather the continued reverberation of past events through your nervous system. With practice, you can learn to recognize them as such, reducing their power to define your present experience.

When Shame Feels Protective: Why We Resist Letting Go

One of the most surprising aspects of healing from shame is encountering our own resistance to letting it go. Even as the rational mind understands that these shame responses are irrational and harmful, a deeper part often clings to shame as if it were vital for survival. This isn’t a failure of healing—it’s a normal part of the process that needs to be approached with understanding.

How Shame Became a Protection Strategy

In trauma-informed approaches like Internal Family Systems (IFS), these resistant parts are understood as “protectors” that developed for good reasons. Your shame response may have originally served essential functions:

• Prevention of further harm: “If I feel ashamed enough, I’ll prevent myself from ever taking a risk that could lead to criticism.”
• Connection maintenance: “Feeling shame when I stand out keeps me from threatening relationships with caregivers who were threatened by my achievements.”
• Identity coherence: “This shame has been with me so long that it feels like part of who I am—who would I be without it?”
• Moral compass: “My shame proves I care about doing the right thing and prevents me from making mistakes.”
• Control illusion: “If I blame and shame myself, I maintain the illusion that I could have controlled what happened to me.”

Signs You’re Resisting Shame Release

You might be experiencing protective resistance if you notice:

• Intellectually understanding shame concepts but not feeling any emotional shift
• Finding yourself arguing with supportive messages (“That’s not true in my case”)
• Physical tension when trying shame-release exercises
• Feeling anxious or unsafe when imagining life without shame
• Worrying that without shame, you’d become selfish or careless

Building a Relationship with Your Protective Shame

Rather than fighting against this resistance, try approaching it with curiosity:

1. Acknowledge the protective intent: “I understand this shame feels necessary for my safety or identity.”
2. Dialoguing with shame: Ask your shame, “What are you afraid would happen if you weren’t here?” Listen for the answer without judgment.
3. Gradual release negotiation: “What would you need to feel safe enough to let me feel less shame in just one specific situation?”
4. Establish new protections: “Instead of shame, I can use discernment, boundaries, and values to guide my actions.”
5. Honor the service: “Thank you for trying to protect me all these years when I had few other resources.”

Building this relationship with your protective “shame parts” creates space for them to trust that you’ll remain safe as you gradually release their grip on your life. This is definitely not something to “power through.” This approach honors the wisdom of your whole self—including the parts that developed these strategies in response to genuinely difficult circumstances.

Breaking Free: Moving Beyond Childhood Shame

Understanding intellectually that you shouldn’t feel embarrassed about your childhood self is one thing. Actually releasing that shame is another. Here are some practices that can help transform these painful shame flashbacks:

Recognize the Flashback

When a memory ambushes you and that wave of shame hits, name what’s happening: “This is a shame flashback. This is my past, not my present.” Simply recognizing the process can help break its power.

Meet Your Younger Self with Compassion

When a memory surfaces, try this exercise: Visualize yourself at that age, in that moment. Now approach this child as the adult you are today. What would you say to them? How would you comfort them? Would you judge them harshly, or would you offer understanding? Practice directing the compassion you’d show to any vulnerable child toward your own younger self.

Challenge the Shame Narrative

For each memory that brings shame, ask yourself:

• What did I believe this said about me as a person?
• Who taught me to interpret it this way?
• How would I interpret this same behavior in a child I love?
• What context or understanding am I missing from my adult perspective?

Create a Reparative Witness

Many shame flashbacks persist because your child self needed a protective, supportive adult who wasn’t there. Now, you can be that person. When memories arise, practice saying (either silently or aloud): “I see you. This wasn’t your fault. You were doing your best. I’m here now.”

Practice Physical Grounding

Shame flashbacks often trigger the body’s stress response. When one hits, try:

• Placing a hand on your heart and one on your stomach
• Feeling your feet firmly on the ground
• Taking five slow, deep breaths
• Naming five things you can see in your present environment

This helps return your nervous system to the present, where you are safe.

Share Selectively

Shame thrives in isolation. Consider sharing your experience with a trusted person or trauma-informed therapist. Often, speaking our shame aloud in a safe space can diminish its power.

Develop a Mantra

Create a brief phrase you can repeat when shame flashbacks occur: “That was then, this is now.” “I was a child doing my best.” “I release all shame that was never about me, and isn’t mine to carry.”

The Self-Compassion Hurdle: When Kindness Feels Wrong

For many survivors, one of the most challenging aspects of healing is the practice of self-compassion. Despite intellectually understanding the concepts we’ve discussed, you might find that treating yourself with kindness feels:

• Fake or inauthentic
• Undeserved or unearned
• Selfish or self-indulgent
• Vulnerable or dangerous
• Foreign or uncomfortable

This resistance isn’t a character flaw or a sign that you’re “doing it wrong”—it’s a natural response when self-criticism was either modeled to you or became a survival strategy.

Why Self-Compassion Feels Threatening

According to self-compassion researcher Dr. Kristin Neff, there are several reasons why survivors struggle with self-kindness:

1. Familiarity with criticism: Harsh self-judgment feels normal because it mimics how you were treated
2. The drive for control: Self-criticism creates the illusion that you can prevent future mistakes or rejection
3. Identity concerns: If self-criticism has been part of your identity, compassion can feel like losing yourself
4. Misunderstanding compassion: Many survivors confuse self-compassion with self-pity or letting yourself “off the hook”
5. Fear of vulnerability: Self-compassion requires acknowledging pain, which can feel frightening

Easing Into Self-Compassion

Rather than forcing self-compassion (which often increases resistance), try these gentler approaches:

• Start with compassion for others: Practice kindness toward others, then toward your younger self, before attempting it for your current self
• Use the “good friend” perspective: Ask what you would say to a dear friend in your situation
• Begin with permission: “I’m allowed to be kind to myself about this specific thing”
• Acknowledge the discomfort: “It feels strange to be kind to myself, and that’s okay”
• Try physical self-compassion: A gentle hand on your heart can convey kindness even when words feel impossible
• Start with neutrality: If kindness feels impossible, begin with “I don’t have to condemn myself for this”

Remember that self-compassion is a skill that develops with practice. The discomfort you feel is not evidence that you’re undeserving of kindness—it’s evidence of how deeply you were taught that you were undeserving. And that teaching was wrong.

Rebuilding Your Foundation: Long-Term Healing from Shame

Returning to our earthquake metaphor, healing from chronic shame isn’t about pretending the damage never happened. It’s about carefully assessing the structural damage to your foundation and systematically reinforcing it to withstand future aftershocks.

Understanding Structural Damage

Just as structural engineers assess buildings after earthquakes, trauma-informed therapy helps identify where your psychological foundation has been compromised:

• Connection circuits: Your brain’s capacity for safe relationships
• Regulation systems: Your nervous system’s ability to maintain equilibrium
• Identity structures: Your core beliefs about yourself and your worth
• Agency architecture: Your sense of control and efficacy in your life

The Rebuilding Process

Healing involves reinforcing these damaged areas:

1. Foundation stabilization: Developing basic emotional regulation skills and safety practices
2. Structural assessment: Identifying the core beliefs and nervous system patterns that were damaged
3. Reinforcement: Gradually introducing new experiences and perspectives that strengthen your capacity to withstand shame triggers
4. Architectural upgrades: Building new response patterns that allow you to respond to shame triggers with compassion rather than collapse
5. Regular maintenance: Ongoing practices that continue to strengthen your resilience and self-relationship

Living in a Rebuilt Structure

A fully retrofitted building doesn’t look damaged anymore, but it has been fundamentally changed by the experience of the earthquake. Similarly, healing from chronic shame doesn’t mean returning to some imagined state of “never having been traumatized.” Instead, it means:

• You recognize aftershocks when they happen, but they no longer destabilize your whole structure
• Your foundation has been reinforced with compassion and understanding
• You’ve built beautiful new rooms in your life that weren’t part of the original blueprint
• You understand the engineering of trauma in a way that helps you support others
• You appreciate the resilience of your structure in a way others might never understand

This is why many survivors, once sufficiently healed, speak of being grateful for aspects of their journey—not for the original earthquake, but for the person they became through the process of rebuilding.

Copyright Notice: This excerpt is from my forthcoming book. All content is © 2025 Worldwide Groove Corporation. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or use of this material without permission is prohibited. Thank you for respecting my work. 😊

Photo Credit: Author, Substack

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I ran across a link to the study titled “Family Experiences Study” when it came across a support group’s combined chat labeled something like PENN State University ACES questionnaire.

Seeing that title pop up on my screen (having a few minutes to kill), I thoughtwhy not?!  I already knew I had 7 ACEs, so I doubted this would enlighten me much, but I was curious about the “science” behind it. So, I answered the questions.

I think I was the third person to share my ‘score’ in response to the post. I did so as a way to communicate that I found the criteria for the study rather unrealistic–impossible even.

The divisions for the results were presented as follows:  

• 0-84 = Non-Clinical Range (unlikely PTSD)
• 85-167 = Subclinical Range (potential for PTSD)
• Greater than 167 = Clinical Range (likely PTSD).

My score was 319. Another member in our support group posted their number, and it was even higher (it smacked my gob good and well!).

I shouldn’t have been that surprised. The survey just confirmed what I already knew. The idea of going from 7 to 319 was a bit of a whiplash, but I recognized that different scales measured different things. Best to not get hung up on numbers.

The amazing thing about this combination of events, and the reason for this little foray, is not the number the test gave me (a score 45 times greater than the number previously in my head): it was the shockwave sent through our online support community.

As one might imagine, since we were all CPTSD types, we were data- and information-oriented. Thus, there was a lot of curiosity about how this survey worked.

*Ping. 245
*Ping. 303
*Ping. 287
*Ping. 333

And on it went. I’m surprised we didn’t freeze the server.

Along with the numbers were lots of jokes:

“What did I win?”

“Hey, I ACEd it.”

“Hold my beer.”

“Perfect Score!” 

Some of the humor got pretty dark.

However, it also provided a sense of validation.

“I feel seen.”

“That was on the nose.”

“I think it’s time to find myself some real support.”

However, we knew that these weren’t school grades and that there was no competition. None of us saw this as a race–and it certainly wasn’t something one might “win.” Overall, there was tremendous support for one another, and it was a beautiful thing to see.

Still, there was one thing that we largely agreed on: how was it possible for anyone to land in the Non-Clinical range?

The idea that there are ideal normal people out there running around with (I’m not sure how to say this) a supportive family, good childhood memories, a yard full of unicorns and bunnies–this was, frankly, unbelievable. Personally, I can’t imagine what it might look like. The concept is completely alien.

Well, good for them, I guess. I hope they realize how fortunate they are. 

To wrap up this little news report (not really a proper essay, is it?), I guess I’ll give a shout out to the researchers at Penn State and a Thank You for providing a resource that let, at least, one CPTSD community laugh, cry, think, and come together in mutual support.

Photo credit: 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 wrote this poem a few months ago, drawing from the well of ancient, long-buried feelings about the first time my mom forced my mouth open and poured Dawn dish soap into it. I was four. Although I had received spankings with a variety of objects over the last year (when her new partner introduced physical child abuse to the mix), this was new. As I choked on the pungent combination of soap, snot, and tears, I grappled with confusion and fear. Soapy bubbles of snot popped around my face, and I struggled to breathe. The soap burned my throat and nostrils. My mom, who had never done anything this cruel, tightly gripped the insides of my elbows, screaming at me to stop crying. 

To this day, I am only half sure what I “did” to bring on that previously foreign punishment. I only have a flash of a memory and clues from what came after to guide me in making deductions about what motivated her to unleash a new brand of assault. It was the first time of many. Washing our mouths with soap became a go-to when a hard smack across the face or tightly gripping our cheeks didn’t suffice after we “said something we shouldn’t have.” Sometimes it was a curse word; other times, an opinion. The times when my mom suffocated my opinions stung the most. 

There’s a little part of me that thinks that the first time I “got the soap,” it may have been after I shared my thoughts about her new partner; I didn’t like him and didn’t want him there. I solidly remember saying such while living in the house where I first choked on soap; whether that statement led to my oral “baptism” or not, I will never really know. I only know that time and time again, my words fell silent. The person who should have listened to me and heard me instead again and again gagged me. Had she asked me why I didn’t like him, it may have saved me from nearly a decade and a half of the sexual abuse and mental abuse that he initiated as early as he did the beatings. 

She didn’t ask, though. Instead, she silenced me. I learned to shut myself up, closing off my thoughts and feelings from the world. I sewed them up tightly within, and over the years, I only allowed them to escape when safely veiled beneath the mask of my poetry. 

I learned to suppress the truth of my reality, even from myself. For the next three and a half decades, I downplayed the cruelty of some of the things I experienced. That’s not to say there weren’t parts of me that knew many of those things weren’t right…that they were downright abusive. Of course, I KNEW that. I just couldn’t allow myself to FEEL it for a very, very long time. If you’re reading this from a place of trauma yourself, I suspect you know exactly what I’m saying.

I didn’t want to feel these things for a simple reason: I love my mom. Despite the cruelty of what I just described, I want to emphasize that she’s not a horrible person. She did, however, do some very bad things. Sometimes, even worse, she didn’t always do the things she should have done to protect her kids…like listen to us when we needed her to hear us the most. I have a lot of very strong feelings around those things. Only in recent years have I allowed myself to acknowledge and truly embrace those hard feelings. Those feelings come across strongly in the poem above. There are parts of me that take issue with some of the lines that erupted from me because they feel too binary. I’ve come to learn that life truly is not and does not have to live on a pendulum of sharp swings from one extreme to another. And…despite my hesitation around this “black and white” perspective, I’m keeping those uncomfortable lines in the poem. Those uncomfortable lines are a part of my truth. I need to feel them just as they are so that I can finally work through them and move forward.  

For me, a key part of moving forward lies in putting words to my experiences and accepting my story for what it is. Sometimes I wonder where my ability to string words into powerful phrases originated. I think that maybe it comes from that place within that was time and time again suppressed, choked, and gagged. When I write, I experience a ferocity of feeling, both freeing and terrifying in its ability to help me find meaning in the meaningless. Again and again throughout my life, I have returned to the refuge of my words. Fortunately, there were some things within me that simply couldn’t be silenced. I clung to the life raft of the words no one could take from me. I disguised my feelings in the poetry I wrote relentlessly as a child and teenager, and even sporadically throughout my adulthood, until a year ago when the floodgates opened, and it ALL began pouring out in a river of emotions. These days, I have again begun to write poetry, and I am learning to write my story in a much more direct kind of way. I’m taking ownership of my words and story. We ALL deserve to reclaim the words and the feelings that were taken from us. 

Scrubbed Innocence

You lit a lava fire that blazes in my throat
Its flames engulf me in fear 
They rage, burning the broken bridges
Between then and here 

In silencing my words, you murdered my trust in you
Violent echoes of the past
Color my eyes in lonely shades of blue
Your mutilation of motherhood 
Cast my world in shadows
A violation of my childhood
left me alone, bearing too much to handle

You suffocated my sense of safety
Left me drowning in my tears
Instead of saving me from my hell
You trapped me in yours

Your cruelty choked my confidence
The scorch of my tears ran through rivers of snot 
You scrubbed away my innocence
Nightmares bubbling to the top

You stood center of some of my darkest hours
You were supposed to be my soft place
You were supposed to be my mother
Instead, I’m left with smoldering embers of an unnamed guilt
The parts of you that loved me
No longer felt

I’m still choking on your brutality
Buried beneath suffering remembered
Your conscience stands empty
After all that I endured, after all the pain you rendered

Photo by Alex Shute 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.

Filicide (n): is the deliberate act of a parent killing their own child. In 1969, Dr. Phillip Resnick published research on filicide and stated that there were five main motives for filicide, including “altruistic,” “fatal maltreatment,” “unwanted child,” “acutely psychotic,” and “spousal revenge.”

You know the houses that end up in the newspaper where a parent kills all the kids, and everyone is shocked? I come from one of those; I just made it out alive. There were numerous threats, even what could be considered an attempt, on my life while my brain was developing.

Several of Dr. Phillip Resnick’s categories fit the household I grew up in. Two stand out the most to me: acutely psychotic and fatal maltreatment. Acutely psychotic filicide occurs when a parent in the throes of acute psychosis kills his or her child with no comprehensible motive. Fatal maltreatment filicide may occur because of child abuse, neglect, or Munchausen syndrome by proxy. In fatal maltreatment killings, the goal is not always to kill the child, but death may occur anyway. Acutely psychotic is a match for many of our childhood experiences, such as being chased with a knife or threatened with death in the car. But fatal maltreatment (with Munchausen syndrome by proxy) is a match for what occurred over the course of my sister’s 43 years of life, a form of filicide in slow motion.  

Rose’s life was tragically stolen

I do believe the pain of helplessly watching my sister, Rose, tormented for decades as an adult, culminating in a devastating loss, was worse than anything done directly to me in childhood. My sister was the kindest person I’ve ever known with a heart of gold. She was beautiful and smart with all the potential in the world. It was not my sister’s fault. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who truly understands that. It’s incredibly hard to heal while financially ensnared with the source of your childhood horror. Rose’s life was tragically stolen. 

My name is Victoria, and I live with my husband of eleven years, Jack, and my 9-year-old son, Owen. I’ve essentially been in therapy and mental health treatment my entire adult life. I was left with numerous humiliating symptoms and no believable story for how I came to have them. When I told the truth, I would usually be interpreted as the delusional one. I was thrown out into the world with no life skills and a wicked case of CPTSD. I don’t even want to know what I’ve spent on therapy or treatments by now. Probably a couple of hundred thousand. I spent a long time wondering what was wrong with me. Now I wonder if I simply had a perfectly rational response to perfectly irrational circumstances.

I’ve created an anonymous website to raise awareness about surviving life-threatening abuse perpetrated by primary caregivers in childhood, to show how this abuse can continue into adulthood, and to improve treatment outcomes for survivors. After years of research, I have discovered there are no studies on the experiences of adult survivors of this specific pattern of abuse.

www.filicidesurvivor.com documents a lifetime of severe financial, psychological, physical, and coercive control within a family system that ultimately contributed to my sister’s death. It offers a personal perspective on clear blind spots in the mental healthcare system, and the resources in place meant to protect us, such as Child Protective Services and Adult Protective Services. I’m sharing this experience so that others in similar homes may recognize the signs earlier, trust themselves, and find a way out.

Thus far, I’ve only met one person in my life to report life-threatening abuse from a parent. She is much younger than I, and likened her lived experience to dying inside a little every day, invisibly. And I’ve never met anyone whose mother told them to kill themselves or told them, as well as their siblings, that they deserve to die. But I do believe and know there are people like me out there who probably feel all alone in this as I do. So here I sit, writing to you. 

I was 40 years old when I first learned the word “Filicide.” I was in search of community. I wanted to know if what I was telling people was, in fact, reality. I couldn’t easily track down individuals with similar life-threatening childhood experiences. I learned the term, but I quickly realized I was right. There is no community that I could find. I found one small study of seven live children of attempted filicide. The children either had to have wounds to prove it, or the parents had to admit it. I wouldn’t qualify. My injuries are invisible, and the idea of my parents admitting fault in the slightest is laughable. I promise, I HOPED and TRIED for a long time to get through to them. It’s impossible, and no psychologist would tell me to speak to them. 

Few can wrap their heads around biological “parents” who would do this. It is very hard to be believed. Further, my “father” was a top executive at an international food/beverage company, an arrogant millionaire, and 6’5”. It’s impossible for me to explain to others how a 5’5” woman with no job completely controlled him. I don’t understand it myself. Sometimes I think I’m interpreted as arrogant simply for stating his job title, but I’m not saying it out of ego. I believe his career is how they got away with a lifetime of abuse, and why my sisters and I have rarely been believed. People do not expect child abuse like what we went through to come from a household like mine with wealthy, educated “parents.” Socioeconomic status and professional credibility can act as a shield that prevents abuse from being recognized. Multiple clinicians have described my “parents’” behavior as consistent with severe personality pathology and psychosis. 

There are many severe traumas in the world, and my heart goes out to each one of you. People who work on and overcome traumas are warriors. Because no matter what, you’re facing a painful uphill battle. And other trauma survivors have been the people who carried me through my darkest days. Severe traumas certainly include fighting in war, sexual abuse, having alcoholic, abusive parents, parental abandonment, racial trauma, and more. I have not directly experienced many of these severe traumas. I cannot speak to the impact all these traumas have on individuals as I feel it’s comparing apples and oranges. What I will say is that I’ve often felt alone in my trauma being understood. While we all have our own powerful and unique stories, I often feel some of the broader categories of severe traumas have more community access to others who have experienced the same, more understanding of the impact, and perhaps more general acceptance in society. However, society’s understanding of the effect of trauma on individuals with CPTSD is still staggeringly inadequate.

So now I’m asking, where’s my comparison on who knows what it’s like to have your “mother” threatening and/or attempting to kill you while your brain was developing?

One critical aspect identified in the study I found of seven children is the theme of “I’m alive thanks to my siblings.” I discovered after decades in therapy that I had been living with a severe case of Survivor’s Guilt over my sister, Rose. I feel like this could have been identified far sooner if this topic were researched. Survivor’s Guilt in a Filicide Survivor is likely to be significant due to the unique sibling bonds under lethal threat. 

Please be aware that www.filicidesurvivor.com contains descriptions of severe parental abuse, psychological trauma, and death. Some content may be triggering, so it is important to prioritize your safety and mental health. If you are able to relate to this content, please consider processing this information alongside a qualified mental health professional.

The site includes our story, redacted evidence (family messages, witness statements, police statements, and counselor reports), and resources. Most people do not believe me without evidence, so this is unfortunately necessary to tell our story. Over time, I hope this space can also serve as an anonymous platform for others who want to safely share their experiences.

One lesson I learned throughout this process is the nature of the psychological double bind. If I stay silent, I betray myself and my sister. Speak, and feel conditioned fear, guilt, and shame. I choose the path of speaking. I choose truth. My loyalty is to my sister, and my heart is with survivors. If even one person recognizes their own family in mine and breaks free, then our story will have made a difference. 

If you are a mental health professional interested in researching this topic, I welcome the opportunity to speak with you.

Names in this story have been changed for anonymity. 

Source: https://jaapl.org/content/33/4/496

Photo by Kane Reinholdtsen 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 sudden death of my mother when I was fifteen was the primary event that fractured my sense of safety, but it was not the only one. I grew up in a chaotic household dominated by my father’s severe alcoholism. Over time, I also experienced the premature deaths of my brother, sister, and longtime best friend. My life included domestic violence, police brutality, being struck by a truck while crossing the street, and a near-fatal reaction to medication. Of all these experiences, profound loss and abandonment cut the deepest.

I was eventually diagnosed with complex PTSD. For years, I lived with symptoms that shaped every aspect of my life: nightmares so intense that I had to scream myself awake, panic attacks, intrusive thoughts, and severe depression that led to suicidal ideation. I lived in a constant state of hypervigilance, plagued by anxiety and somatic symptoms, particularly digestive issues. I never felt safe.

The pain I carried felt unbearable. When it tried to surface, I did everything I could to suppress or escape it. Fantasy, emotional withdrawal, and constant movement became my coping strategies. Throughout my twenties and early thirties, I moved from place to place, believing that if I just kept going, I could outrun what lived inside me. Fear kept my pain alive, and fear kept me running. Even after I eventually settled down, the struggle continued. I tried to escape my pain by leaning heavily on others—calling, crying, seeking relief outside myself. Over the years, I explored a wide range of therapeutic approaches, both conventional and alternative. Slowly and often painfully, I moved from a life ruled by fear, addiction, and suicidal ideation toward learning how to sit with pain, integrate it, and ultimately meet it with compassion and love.

What Didn’t Work

Along the way, I tried many healing modalities that did not help me. These included energy-based practices, such as Reiki, which aim to balance the body’s energy centers. I tried homeopathy, based on the idea that “like heals like” through highly diluted substances.  While these practices may help others, they were ineffective for me. Some talk therapy experiences were also unhelpful, particularly those with counselors who were not trained in trauma-informed care. I spent years talking about my pain without learning how to process it. Each unsuccessful attempt left me more discouraged, reinforcing the belief that I was broken or beyond repair.

What Worked

One therapy that made a meaningful difference was EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). EMDR involves processing traumatic memories through guided eye movements, allowing the brain to refile them in a less distressing way. I was able to enter the altered, almost hypnotic state this therapy requires with relative ease. During sessions, my mind would move fluidly between memories, linking past experiences in unexpected ways. Often, an older, wiser version of myself would appear, offering comfort and re-parenting the younger me. In this sense, EMDR allowed me to retell my life story. While EMDR helped me significantly over time, in the short term, my symptoms intensified, especially my nightmares. Healing, I learned, is rarely linear.

Medication was another critical piece of my healing, though I resisted it for years. Doctors, friends, and family members encouraged me to try antidepressants, but I was in deep denial about needing them. When I finally started Prozac at twenty-nine, it made a profound difference. It quieted my relentless mental loops and helped me to feel a sense of calm and clarity. I was fortunate not to experience significant side effects. Of the medications I’ve tried, Zoloft—the only SSRI FDA-approved for PTSD—has been the most effective for me. In more recent years, I participated in a guided psilocybin journey that helped me in ways that feel almost beyond language. It softened a deep, pervasive fear that had lived in my body for decades. Importantly, this experience did not replace my medication; it complemented the foundation I had already built.

Alongside professional support, I developed personal practices that continue to sustain me: meditation, prayer, exercise—especially yoga—time in nature, and nourishing my body with whole foods. I learned to see food as medicine, cut out alcohol and caffeine, limit sugar, and listen to what my body truly needed.

My Insights

My healing truly began when I stopped searching for one magical answer. I let go of the fantasy that there was a single cure, healer, or method that would make me whole. Instead, I accepted that healing from complex trauma is complex—it requires many tools, used together, over time. I stopped viewing conventional and alternative approaches as opposing camps and began embracing whatever genuinely helped. Even as psilocybin brought profound insight and relief, and as I continue to do occasional self-guided psilocybin journeys, I chose to remain on Zoloft, resisting the cultural pressure to abandon medication. Healing, I learned, does not have to follow someone else’s ideology.

For a long time, I believed I needed to be fixed. I was chasing perfection, a common trait among those with CPTSD. I wanted my pain to disappear, as if a magician could erase it and leave me unscarred. Eventually, I realized that my pain was not a defect—it was a part of me shaped by survival. I no longer demonize my pain or run from it in fear. I meet it. I sit with it. I listen to it. I love it. In doing so, I’ve become more whole—not by erasing the broken pieces, but by assembling them into something meaningful. I see myself now as a mosaic: fragments once shattered, carefully pieced together into a work of art that symbolizes resilience, growth, and transformation. A dragonfly mosaic. Healing is no longer something I’m trying to “get over with.” It’s an ongoing, living process—one I’ve learned to honor and even cherish.

Closing

I hope this post has offered comfort, insight, or a sense of companionship on your own journey. If you’d like to explore further, please visit my website, where you can read my latest post on the therapeutic value of Siddhartha and Slaughterhouse-Five for those living with CPTSD.

Photo by Rohan Makhecha 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.

We hear about trauma this and trauma that. The word trauma is used so much that it’s almost lost its true meaning. If you have been affected by real trauma, you know how much it hurts. 

Trauma doesn’t go away on its own. Trauma doesn’t just stop existing once the traumatic events have ended.

Trauma carries on long after it happened. 

In the case of PTSD, or Complex PTSD, triggers can keep following survivors 24 hours a day. I know this by personal experience–I’ve lived it. And you might be living like this, too, right now, or know someone who is.

News and media report traumatic events like popping corn. Story after story is broadcast to the world about one horrific event after another.

Who reports on the aftermath? Does anyone care anymore? Who is bold enough to stand up and talk about trauma victims after a harrowing event? Not many of us. We hear nothing but crickets. Radio silence. Yet, there are those of us who live with trauma every single day. That is why I write–because our voices matter. Everyone matters.

For many trauma survivors, it is a struggle to get through a single day, because that trauma impacts how people carry out even the simplest daily tasks. It is hard to connect with other people.

Survivors who have suffered from prolonged trauma (over months and years) are more prone to struggle with regulating emotions.

For example, a small passing comment or a certain tone of voice can trigger an involuntary flashback that can derail an entire day. We don’t talk about it because we can’t. It’s too painful and, even if we could, it’s private. Instead, trauma survivors nod and agree even when we are screaming inside. We abandon ourselves to please others and keep things going. We push far past our own boundaries. But there is no one to stand up for us and help, because no one sees our struggles. It feels like nobody cares. We become invisible.

Trauma survivors don’t exist in the world: we get tucked away in the news— buried by noise.

Who decides what’s important?

Breaking Free

I’m a trauma survivor, and I escaped childhood abuse and harrowing trauma. I was a teenager when I left everything I knew and started again.

After a life riddled with abuse, survivors usually have no idea how to live and take care of themselves–or how to be around other people.

Social events are awkward, and even a visit to the food market can be frightening because we are reminded of the threats from our abusers. The echoes of trauma still ring loud and clear inside our heads. Even though we have broken free, that “voice” is still in our minds, dictating our every move.

It can take years for this voice to go away. I realized quickly that if I was to survive alone in this world, I had to start thinking of myself first. So, how do you do that when you have never before been in control of your own life? I soon discovered that living free gave me my answers over time. It was a matter of survival.

Taking Back Control

I was an avid reader and enjoyed watching movies and people. I could sit on a park bench for hours observing others, taking invisible notes of how people behaved. It fascinated me to see how they interacted, and reacted to things–and to each other.

Watching people like this gave me ideas about how others socialized without the presence of abuse. I have always been hyper-vigilant, and I learned to put my skills to good use.

I noticed that people did not shout hurtful words at each other. Parents hugged their kids instead of being cruel, and there were no raging insults or fights. Something stirred within me–curiosity, mixed with desire.

I started to hope that the world was really like this. The more I saw affectionate and smiling people, the happier I became. I started smiling, even though I still felt emotionally raw.

With each passing day, I set myself small goals to achieve. These were goals that may have seemed silly to someone who has had free will, but to me, they were enormous. I started being more mindful of my body, and once a day I tried to just sit and breathe.

It may seem weird that such a small change would help, but it turned my life around. By paying attention to my body, I was able to notice when I was tense–or relaxed.

Once I had a feel of what tense and relaxed “felt like,” I could do something about it and follow through appropriately with what needed to be done next. I had been doing “research” by watching others, to see how someone might act. This helped me understand that I could actually choose how I felt, and not just let trauma-related reactions overwhelm me and take over.

Setting Goals

One of my first goals was to never go hungry again. I also promised myself that I would try to eat the best I could with the money I earned. I would choose carefully to eat foods I enjoyed, while making sure I had a balanced meal. I introduced more vegetables and fruit into my diet, and I started to feel more energy. Better nutrition made me feel good, and I noticed I didn’t get sick as much.

My second goal was to shower every day because it made me feel better. I took time to shampoo my hair, and I allowed myself to stay under the water for as long as I wanted. My complexion started to change quickly. My skin was looking less grey, and I had a new brightness in my cheeks.

My third goal was to buy myself better-fitting clothes so that no one would tease me anymore. I bought jeans and shirts that fit my body type. I also got a few more pairs of shoes so that I had choices, and could have shoes for exercising that were different from my shoes for work.

These three simple changes may seem silly and basic to someone who has not been abused. Yet, for me, these changes signaled the start of my life as a free woman. I took responsibility for my choices, learned to prioritize what I needed, and woke up to life beyond just survival. I felt great.

We don’t have to let trauma make our decisions for us. There are small–and very effective ways–to start taking our power back right now. 

My name is Lizzy. I’m a trauma survivor, a wife, a mom, a teacher, and an author.

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:
https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484here.

Here are a few links to my top articles:

How to Explain Complex PTSD to Loved Ones
https://medium.com/illumination/how-to-explain-complex-ptsd-to-loved-ones-769f81d437ab

Looking for a Change?
https://medium.com/activated-thinker/looking-for-a-change-f391e85abbd7

A Search for Identity
https://medium.com/beyond-lines/a-search-for-identity-893df7c970c2

Are You Searching for Peace?
https://medium.com/illumination/are-you-searching-for-peace-cd54d76231c8

Are You Dealing With Burnout?
https://medium.com/illumination/are-you-dealing-with-burnout-374f774141b4

Photo by Jon Tyson 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.

Give yourself the pleasure of a functional life filled with people who believe you, who trust you, love you, and who accept the beauty and the wonder that is your strength.

I recently connected with Alle C. Hall, a sought-after author, speaker, writing instructor, and incest survivor known for her profound and compassionate insights into the joy, challenges, and successes that come from harnessing the creativity that heals trauma.

She and I had a great conversation about the power of stories to heal and reclaim joy, and I’m so glad to introduce you to this powerhouse woman!
—
RACHEL: What inspired you to start writing about/exploring this topic?

ALLE: I began writing professionally only a few months prior to uncovering a true willingness to accept the trauma that defined my childhood. Prior to that, I didn’t think about being abused; it was as complex and as simple as that. I survived well enough, given that I did not know how to love or be loved. Although I didn’t understand so at the time, it was as if having my work published gave my inner child that last little boost she needed to come forth and say, “Heal me. Now.”

In my healing process, I spent seven, maybe eight years in recovery from an eating disorder, alcoholism, and PTSD related to surviving childhood trauma before it occurred to me that my story could be altered in this fun (for me) way–and become a good book. Until the idea dawned, I found being a journalist completely satisfying.

I often wrote about women’s issues: topics such as female genital mutilation and sexism in the workplace. S*xual assault. My favorite piece to date was supposed to be a review of the musical Miss Saigon, but the day the copy was due, news broke that an Asian woman had been murdered by her husband. This white guy had (as I refer to in the article) “purchased” her through the magazine Cherry Blossoms. Claiming he was physically abusive, she was filing for divorce. She was in the actual courthouse when he walked up to her and shot her dead. She was pregnant.

I couldn’t help but see the overlap between magazines that marketed young, beautiful Asian women to white men in the States and the issues presented in Miss Saigon: denying female autonomy, the objectification of young Asian women, the insistence that they be beautiful, and the imperialistic dynamic often present in relationships between white men and Asian women. Suffice it to say, the show did not come across well in my review.

These such stories of women and girls have been critical to me. I remember when I first realized that the way girls were shaped by society was inequitable, unbearable, and just plain nonsensical. As soon as I started dedicating myself to writing about these things, I experienced a great sense of freedom from seeing sexism and misogyny right there in print. It gave me great purpose to be able to use my creativity to nail patriarchy and its toxic offshoots.

One afternoon at work, I had the entire outline for a book pop into my head: a girl is being abused, steals money to run away, comes into contact with a Lonely Planet guidebook, and decides to go to Asia. She gets to Asia and fucks up entirely due to the fact that she’s brought her own history in her backpack with her. I come across Tai chi and many generous and caring people who practice Tai chi.

There was never a question that the main character would find Tai chi. It wasn’t an element of the novel I weighed or debated. This detail existed from the moment the story popped into my head. My own practice led to choices about life that wouldn’t have happened had I not pursued the light and the positive circles that Tai chi offers.

It felt as though the story had been inside of me already for years: Asia, incest, pain, Tai chi, freedom, and learning to thrive. As I came to writing, it was only a matter of time until a novel based loosely on my childhood was going to come out.

Why write a novel? I published a number of first-person essays describing elements of my childhood and how I got through them. For some reason, the story in As Far as You Can Go Before You Have to Come Back just had to come out as a novel.

Why?

When I figure that out, I will be accepting my Nobel for Science.

RACHEL: What key insights or lessons have you learned through your experiences with this subject?

ALLE: I’ll start with something many of your readers already know: most abuse is not snatch-her-off-the-street. Most abuse is perpetrated by family and/or other trusted adults. Every survivor I come in contact with struggles with wanting to have their family, particularly the perpetrator, admit to the abuse and apologize. There is, sometimes unspoken, often subconscious–an idea that getting them to apologize is the key to healing.

Don’t wait for anyone else’s acknowledgment before you let yourself heal. Believe in yourself and move into your recovery program. Give yourself the pleasure of a functional life filled with people who believe you, who trust you, love you, and who accept the beauty and the wonder that is your strength.

And be open to miracles. You never know who in your family or community is going to come out in support of you.

Secondly, I would stress that financial independence is really critical.

I’m not saying you need to be rich. I’m saying you need to know you can take care of yourself.

It is very hard to experience healing when those who caused the damage are partially or in full your source of income–even paying for your recovery processes.

For two years, I made between $6.50 and $8.50 an hour as a receptionist. It was the only job I could handle while in the initial stages of getting my head together. But I got by. I was really proud of supporting myself despite every person in my childhood who told me I couldn’t. I had always been dependent on my family. Slowly, step by reasonable step, I built a career writing and teaching about surviving trauma through harnessing creative expression.

Which brings me to my final point: unresolved trauma sits like a blanket, wet and heavy over the hippocampus, which is a part of the brain primary to holding the different facets of trauma: the physical, the spiritual, the emotional, the sexual, and the intellectual. The hippocampus can file images of the abuse separate from the memory of it, and separate from the emotions locked there: anger, shame, pain, guilt, and loneliness.

The hippocampus is also the seat of our creativity. Anyone can work to harness whatever form of creativity they enjoy to physically push the trauma out of their body. I know people who discover they are visual artists, chefs, potters, or great storytellers. Or maybe they make quilts, or parent in the most amazing way imaginable. It doesn’t matter what you do to express yourself. As long as it doesn’t involve damaging or illegal behavior, you can harness that creativity to flush the trauma and generate still more creative expression, flushing out still more trauma.


RACHEL:  What challenges or misconceptions do you think people face when dealing with this topic, and how can they overcome them?

ALLE:  I’ll start with that last part, because it’s the easiest to formulate sentences about–though perhaps the hardest to commit to: you just cannot give up.

No matter what life throws at you, no matter what kind of break you might take from your healing, and whatever trouble you might get into because of that break, you have to come back to pursuing personal joy and ultimate peace.

My experience is that overcoming trauma and abuse comes down to accepting that while it was bad and horrible and wrong, it did happen. I learned to accept that it happened without condoning it.

So, how does a person do that? I think that one’s addictions are the easiest place to begin because there’s a free, accessible process: 12-step programs. These days, many good books you’ll come in contact with while working the steps include addressing childhood trauma. The best one I’ve read is called Iron Legacy by Dr. Donna J. Bevan-Lee.

If you want to learn about recovery through written exercises and reading personal essays, get Iron Legacy. If you want to learn about it via a story, get mine.


RACHEL: Are there any common myths or misunderstandings about this topic that you’d like to address?

ALLE: What a timely question, given how we are focused on the women abused as girls (and older) by Jeffrey Epstein, Ghislaine Maxwell, and all those powerful, rich men. It wasn’t until a month or so ago that we started hearing the women referred to as survivors. They are generally called victims.

The public at large needs to be shown that while abuse survivors were victimized, we are no longer victims. We live with joy in conjunction with an awareness of–and despite–the world being what it is.

Another misconception is that the survivors are at fault. The truth is: we didn’t hurt anyone. We didn’t commit crimes. Child abuse is a crime.

In addition, there is the idea that we’re supposed to be weak–perhaps kept in bed, and fed soup.

Of course, people are shocked and horrified when they hear what I went through, and that is fair. But too many people lack the understanding of how strong someone has to be to survive childhood trauma, and sexual trauma. We are so strong.


RACHEL: What resources, tools, or next steps would you recommend for readers who want to dive deeper into this topic?

ALLE: It is of primary importance to accept that you need help getting through this. While you might have been alone when the abuse took place, you aren’t alone now. There are so many amazing people with wisdom to share about surviving, healing, and thriving, and they want to listen and help. There are great worlds of joy to experience, and they are waiting for you.

As I’ve said, and will reiterate here: 12-Step programs.

Additionally, there is a wonderful national non-profit organization called She Recovers. They have local groups and online communities that meet regularly.

I have a small, private Facebook group called Reading and Writing Trauma. I’d love you to join us–especially if you like reading books about surviving trauma. Also, if you’re interested in writing and even publishing your stories, we’re a great place to get that information.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/587401290619506


—I wholeheartedly echo everything Alle has shared here. If you’re on a journey of healing or exploring how creativity can help you move forward, I encourage you to check out her work, her novel, and the wonderful resources she offers for insight, encouragement, and inspiration.

To Joy!

Rachel\
P.S. If you’re ready to take the next step in healing from abuse and would like to explore enrolling in the Beyond Surviving program, start by applying for a Discover Your Genuine Self Session.

Photo by x ) 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.

Self-care

It is vital to take time out for yourself in the build-up to Christmas. The stores and food markets are teeming with products and people. It can get a little wild out there, and it’s important to think about our own health. If you fall apart, then who’s going to wrap those presents and get the house ready for family and guests?

Have you had any time for yourself today? Do any of your family members or friends need support? Even a brief conversation to check in on someone who is struggling can mean so much to the other person.

Who is watching the kids in all the preparation mayhem? Do they have to tidy their bedroom for a long-awaited relative to come and sleep in their room? How are they feeling about it all? Do we even stop and listen?

For me, as a survivor of child abuse and trauma, the holiday season comes with mixed emotions every year. Now that I am an adult, I can enjoy the holidays with my family and see the excitement the festivities bring to my own children each year. Being a mom is a wonderful gift, and I treasure my kids every day of the year. The holiday season is also a reminder that not every child is as lucky as my kids. I was that child once, and I sometimes had the worst time of my life during the holidays because I was forced to see my bio-father, who was a sex offender, and so were his friends. I feel that I must write about these children because they still exist nowadays. Please keep an eye out for children who seem like they are not enjoying the holiday season this year. Don’t let them just slip away by doing nothing. If you see signs of abuse, you must report it. There are far too many children who are suffering from abuse, and the holiday season is especially a time to keep an eye out for anything that doesn’t seem right.

“I can only hope that we’ll one day wake up in a better world, where children are no longer being abused or mistreated.” ChildInsider.com

Our world has changed a lot since the 70’s and 80’s, when people would rather brush things away and ignore child abuse than face it and help a child. The stigma around talking about sex has changed in recent years. TV, films, and other media are open about sex and relationships. We have the internet and social media, where anyone with an internet connection can look up information and news. There is worldwide exposure to sexual abuse scandals being brought out into the open. People are beginning to talk about it more, but it is still not enough. Knowing that sexual abuse or any kind of abuse is happening in our society is one thing. Accepting that it is happening right now, here in your city or town, and doing something to stop it is another.

Do you have what it takes to stand up and help a child who is being abused? Do you know how to do it? Who to call?

The ChildHelp National Child Abuse Hotline 800-422-4453 is available 24 hours a day here in the US. 

In the UK, you can contact the NSPCC (National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children) Helpline by calling 0808 800 5000

In my opinion, if as many as one more child suffers from abuse the way I did, it is one child too many. We can prevent this from happening by being vigilant. Let’s try to stop these sexual criminals from hurting our most precious gifts – our children! Our future! Our everything! The joy of growing up in a nurturing and stable environment is something every child deserves.

Signs of child abuse:

A child who is being exposed to sexual abuse or any abuse will use coping mechanisms to survive the trauma in any way they can. I know, because I was an abused child throughout my childhood, but it doesn’t matter if the abuse happened just once or repeatedly. If a child has been abused, their lives will have changed, and so will their behavior. It can be a gradual or instant change. These are some of the behaviors that an abused child might display:

Trust
An abused child will not trust anyone and will be suspicious of new situations. They may seem hypervigilant and suspicious of anyone. A child who is being abused becomes very good at reading people around them and deflecting attention away from them.
Health
A child who is suddenly developing chronic headaches, feeling sick, or having urinary or STD infections is a sign that everything may not be well
Emotional outbursts
Abused children may come across as not being in control of their bodies; for example, they might display various emotions in quick succession, like anger followed by sadness followed by running away, almost like a traffic light is changing colors at an intersection. The same child may react very oddly to certain situations, like laughing if someone is hurt or starting to cry profusely at a bumblebee that is lying dead in the grass.
Posture/image
Watch how a child holds themselves, how they walk, and how they behave around other children. An abused child may seem unusually jittery and tense.
Language
Watch their language. What does it sound like? Would a normal 6-year-old use “those words,” or can you hear something strange? A child might start ‘making up’ stories and drawings of the abuse or making up characters who act like abusers. The child might use language that they have been exposed to that contains words a child should not know.
Physical contact
A child might suddenly hate physical contact or being touched and recoil if anyone touches them.
Hiding and unusual attachments to objects
A child might feel so scared and threatened that s/he hides. A child might be overly attached to a blanket, a pillow, or a teddy bear. Having something soft and tactile could be a small relief for a traumatized child. Pay attention to anything that “feels wrong.”

An older traumatized child may suddenly withdraw from everyone. Please pay attention to how this happens and what might have triggered it.

Pushing limits / hurting others/violence
An older child may be starting to break the limits. What happens if?… Destroying property and hurting others. A child might feel threatened and become paranoid. They may become enraged or distressed and be rough with toys or animals.
Terror
A child might suddenly get terrified of something that reminds them of their abusers/s. I was terrified of clowns and often had nightmares about clowns entering my room at night and hurting me. I also developed a phobia of snakes.
Crying
A child might start crying without a reason and not be able to stop, or become hysterical over nothing, or suddenly become angry at the sight of men with beards or someone with glasses. This could be an unconscious reaction to someone who reminds them of their abuser.

There are many ways that abuse manifests itself in children’s behavior, and it is our responsibility to act on anything that doesn’t see right. Children are all different, and the behavior one child displays is different from another. It depends on the child’s surroundings and where the abuse takes place to determine which coping strategies they will use. There is every chance that nothing is going on when children act out, but would you be willing to take that risk if that child was being abused?

Let us all enjoy the holiday season in a safe and happy environment.

Photo by Benjamin Wong 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.

No matter what you think, believe, feel, say, or do, there will be a percentage of people out there who disapprove, possibly vehemently disagree with what you do, and/or who you are

This essay reflects my attempt to understand precisely how and why I fear disapproval from others. The question came to me when I heard the idea that no matter what, a percentage of people will never agree with you. For the moment, put aside the fact that the game of percentages is the reality from which our world among humans is made. I still fear rejection, and I know I am not alone. The journey of this essay is my attempt to understand why I have been so limited in my life. It has been fear. The fear of criticism and the basic experience of rejection that occurs when someone is upset with me. It is challenging to be present and express oneself fully in all respects if we are constantly controlled by the fear of conflict with others. This is not intended to be a lecture or an educational piece on the topic, but rather a platform to awaken myself and any readers. This is a brief essay filled with ideas that I hope will prompt the reader to ponder. It is intended to spark a moment of reflection, allowing you to consider the ideas presented here. Perhaps a moment that could change your life, as I am attempting to do with my own.

No matter what you think, believe, feel, say, or do, there will be a percentage of people out there who disapprove, possibly vehemently disagree with what you do, and/or who you are. Yes, even to the point of raging against you vocally and possibly doing worse. So, we sit silently and cringe, afraid to behave at all in some cases. Alternatively, we can take the opposite extreme and behave boisterously as if we are wholly committed to our group’s norms, attitudes, and beliefs. To the point of sometimes being a bit hysterical.

What is the percentage for you? The turning point where you might give in to the majority group and suddenly adopt their thinking to avoid disapproval? When you see or fear it is now at 50.01% disapproval, do you suddenly reshape your thoughts and behavior to the “ever-evolving” majority’s percentage of approving expectations? Have you ever thought about this, the fact that you cannot escape disapproval by a percentage of people, no matter what? Think about that. No matter what you do, say, or think! The percentage of people is not as much a consideration of numbers, but more importantly, a matter of who exactly those people are who are important to you. Alas, for some of us, it is not only the identity of those people. It has become almost all people. Wow, what an emotional burden!

We are enculturated.

We are enculturated. Meaning we take on and become the norms and beliefs of our world around us, the environment in which we live, “our tribe.” It is as natural for humans as breathing air. We need to feel we are welcomed as part of a community. BELONGING, the need to be accepted by peers, is present in most of us, though it may not be a conscious process. It is a real, powerful, and invisible force.

What do I think? How do I behave? What do I feel? Why and how do I hide what I think, behave, and feel? I am an individual who fears anger, confrontation, and rejection from others. Too often in my life, I have found myself to be a chameleon, changing colors (fawning) in the face of differing opinions and attitudes of others. A people pleaser. A silent soul. I think I’m just one of the Silent Majority in life. What are the percentages? What percent of people feel like I do, fearful of being expressive for fear of doing or making a social gaffe? It is a deeply subconscious process that requires significant effort, thought, and attention to awaken to or change. That can be scary and potentially filled with anxiety.

Here is the bugaboo: something is seriously off. Something went haywire in my life. My reaction to another person’s disapproval and/or anger toward me is to think that something is simply wrong with me. As I look into the years of therapy and to the current moment of participation in therapy, there was trauma experienced in the moment of angry emotions confronting me from another. Trauma. Deep-seated, buried, unadulterated traumatic experience coming to life with every raised eyebrow, misperceived facial expression, or distinct angry behavior from another. Coming toward me, or at times just displayed by another in my presence. Either way, I experience an emotional event that borders on a severe trauma being relived, a trigger. Trauma in my past is something that is not clearly remembered. The recollections of some of my emotional and early physical abuse are vague. As I have discovered in individual therapy, the more diffuse and felt but unseen, the deeper and the more horrific the event that fills my nerve endings now, fifty-to-sixty-plus years later.

As with all my writings, and this one is no exception, the initial inspiration morphs beyond my original intent of the writing. I land where my inner guide directs me. I’ve come to realize that my understanding of percentages is a revelation about why I shouldn’t be concerned about disapproval from 49.9%. It turns out, as I have come to see, I was horribly traumatized in my childhood, at an early and vulnerable age.

It is not easy to come to terms with the subconscious processes that have terrorized and crippled one’s life, preventing it from flourishing. I’ve realized that trying to find an escape from inner torment by witnessing the percentages of a culture in conflicting duality does not work for me. I cannot think my way out of past learned emotional trauma. Believe me, my life has been a crystal-clear example of someone trying to heal emotional pain through magical thinking. Clarity of thought, in the form of a more accurate understanding of problems, is a step forward from a negative, unrealistic method of inner self-talk. Indeed, positive self-regard is a significant step forward, helping to mitigate and manage negative feelings. I am seeing that, more than positive self-talk, self-love is the avenue out of the internal mental illness I have lived with throughout my life.

One consequence of being traumatized by our core caregivers, usually mom and/or dad, is a deep-seated internalized mistrust. When in the presence of psychic and physical abuse, a child learns not to trust others, especially those in authority. The absence of unconditional love is the existential trauma in life, and you might say, of our time. All those tirades of screaming, hitting, and shaming terrorize children and could well leave a lasting mark that may forever change a person’s direction in life. It could leave them unable to trust anyone. If my primary source of affection (parent) abused me, knowingly or not, I may learn they cannot be trusted to love me, or worse yet, think love means being abused!

If my mother was unable to love me, to the extent that I did not ‘feel it’ as a child, that is certainly not my fault. Children do not misperceive the lack of love coming from a parent; instead, deep down, they feel unlovable. By intuitively knowing that love is absent, we blame ourselves. Mom would love me if I were not so… How do we, in the face of mistrust, with deep-seated subconscious fear of being rejected, find a healing love? When love from the outside is presented authentically or not, I have learned to think it is somehow not genuine. There is a con to it; it is fake, pretended, or acted. There is a “thought process” within them of “I should be loving towards this person,” that is going on, but it may or may not be ‘feelable’ to the person who has not experienced enough parental love. There is mistrust, and potentially, a numbness, which is unfortunate. But the world “is what it is,” as they say, and we must move on, facing reality as best we can.

How do I learn to love myself with the emotional lifelong dissociation and alienation from an abusive and narcissistic mother? Self-love. I can start by forgiving myself for the array of inappropriate behaviors that I have unwittingly shown to others. I can let myself off the hook for having an emotional engine that pushes me to eat more and more in an attempt to find comfort. I can try harder to accept myself as an overweight individual and attempt to be gentle with myself in losing weight. I can forgive myself for being emotionally shut down and come to understand what has happened to me to make me so stoic, emotionally frozen, and at times paralyzed from self-expression. It is OK to cry. Or in my case, it is OK to weep uncontrollably. Weeping is a part of reclaiming those feelings. I can understand now that my life has not been easy, and it was not by choice.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

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