My father finally died a few months ago. Survivors will understand the word finally. I thought he would never die. Billy Joel’s song “Only the Good Die Young” was certainly true in this situation. I had gone no contact about seven years before, but the shadow of power this man wielded over my life continued, whether I was in contact with him or not. I even moved all the way across the country to put space between me and him. Space between the present and the past. The constructed reality he demanded everyone agree with, the dominating presence where no voice save his was heard, the judgmental pronouncements of doom and gloom over your life, the complete lack of understanding or empathy. These were just a few of the ways his brainwashing impacted me. 

These were just a few of the ways his brainwashing impacted me. 

And when he died, instead of the relief I felt at my mother’s passing, a terrible door that had been shut for over sixty years was opened. The parts of me from childhood that had split off and carried the load felt free to come forward, and it was hard. Hard to face them, hard to talk to them, and hard to become an ally to them instead of an enemy. 

There are no words to describe the damage and loss that occur when your parents choose the path of narcissism. To their very grave, my parents never had the slightest inkling of self-awareness or took any personal responsibility. In fact, my sibling and I were “disinherited.” The old threat to keep me within my father’s orbit finally came true. For me, I could understand it; I walked away years ago. But for my sibling who provided for my father financially and took care of his ex-wife, our mother, who otherwise would have been homeless, it was a low blow. Yet again, the narcissist showed his true colors. It did not matter what you did for the man; he did not know how to do anything other than hurt us. His final message? “You are worthless.” 

But I survived, and guess what? My father was wrong. It took everything I had to slog through the twisted spider web of lies he had spun. I spent decades trying to understand, reaching toward the truth that seemed to dissipate into mist at the slightest stress. To quiet the dissonance in my mind, heart, and soul. I used every technique and read every book I could get my hands on, but you know what? I made it. I have written a new chapter, established new relationships, and I walk in truth. What does the Bible say? The truth will set you free? Yep, that’s what it says. I can wonder at the joy in life, pursue dreams and goals I never thought reachable, and more than anything else, I can finish well, leaving a legacy of peace, encouragement, and kindness to my children. 

I pity my mother and father. They never knew how wonderful life could be. It is still hard sometimes, I suppose I will always bear the scars to a certain degree, but I made it. I made it out, and I am so thankful I did not give up. Defy trauma, embrace joy. It is worth it.

If you are interested in my newsletter or reading more content like this, please go to:

https://rebekahlaynebrown.com

Photo by Robert Anasch 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.

Rebekah Brown

Rebekah Brown, a native of the south, now resides in the Great American West. Surviving a complicated and abusive family system makes her unique writing style insightful as well as uplifting. Rebekah is the proud mother of two and grandmother of four.

At first, I tried to push them back in, trying to make them fit into the version of my life I had always known. But no matter how much I willed them away, they kept coming—not in full, cohesive scenes, but in flashes, in body sensations, in a deep, unshakable knowing that left me questioning everything.

And that’s when the real battle began.

The Shock of Remembering

Nothing prepares you for the moment your own mind turns against you. One day, you think you know yourself. The next, you are drowning in memories that do not feel like yours but somehow are.

It feels impossible. Unbelievable. Like something you might have read in a book but never expected to happen in your own life. And yet, there it is.

For me, the shock came with a mix of emotions I did not know how to handle. Grief for the childhood I thought I had. Rage that my brain had kept this from me. Terror that if this was true, then nothing in my life had ever been what I thought it was.

And then came the worst question of all: What if I’m making this up?

The “Am I Making This Up?” Spiral

If you have been here, you know the loop.

• Why now?
• Wouldn’t I have always remembered if it were real?
• What if I’m just looking for attention?
• What if I planted this idea in my own head somehow?

I wrestled with these thoughts constantly, dissecting every memory fragment, analyzing every feeling, desperate for proof that would make it undeniable. But that proof never came in the way I wanted.

Instead, my body became the evidence. The panic that gripped me in certain situations. The way I froze at a touch, I should have been able to tolerate. The overwhelming nausea, the shaking, the way my mind wanted to flee even when I was safe.

My body had always known, even when my mind did not.

But the doubts were relentless. There were moments when I was certain I had broken completely, that I was unraveling, that soon I would not be able to trust a single thought inside my own head. I had been sure of my past once. If that could change, then what else was not real?

When the World Feels Unreal

One of the hardest things about repressed memories resurfacing is how they shatter your sense of reality. Everything becomes uncertain: your past, your identity, your relationships. And if you are anything like me, you crave certainty. You want someone to confirm what you remember, to tell you it is real, to give you something solid to stand on.

But most of the time, that doesn’t happen.

I started second-guessing everything. I would stare at old photos of myself as a child, looking for signs in my own eyes. Did I look happy? Did I look scared? Could I have been hiding something even from myself?

And then there were the nightmares. The ones that left me gasping for breath, the ones where I woke up drenched in sweat, my body aching in ways I could not explain. My mind tried to tell me they were just dreams, but my body told a different story. The fear, the disgust, the panic. It was real.

I had to learn how to exist in the in-between, to trust myself even when I had doubts. To accept that my brain had done what it needed to do to protect me and that just because I didn’t remember for decades didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

The Despair of Not Knowing

No one talks enough about the despair. The way it can swallow you whole. When you start remembering pieces of something so unthinkable, its weight is unbearable.

I remember curling up in bed, unable to move, unable to function, my mind replaying the same thoughts on a loop.

“This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
But what if it is?
What if I’m losing my mind?
What if I’m just broken?“

Nothing shakes your sense of reality like waking up one day and realizing your past is no longer what you thought it was.

I would search my memories for signs, clues, anything that would either validate or disprove what I was starting to uncover. But memory does not work like that. It does not arrive neatly, in perfect order, with timestamps and witnesses. It drips in, slowly, sometimes violently, and often without warning.

And then came the darkest thoughts.

“What if I’m making this up because I want an excuse for my struggles?
What if I’m just broken beyond repair?“

I became convinced I was unraveling, that I would wake up one day completely lost inside my own head. The fear was not just about what had happened to me; it was about whether I could ever trust myself again.

The Darkness That Almost Swallowed Me

The grief was unbearable. It was not just about the memories. It was the loss of the life I thought I had. The childhood I had once cherished now felt like a dream I had woken up from too late.

And the worst part? There was no one to validate it for me. No way to prove or disprove what my brain was screaming at me.

There were days I couldn’t breathe under its weight. Days I wondered if I would ever feel normal again. Days I thought maybe it would be easier if I just disappeared.

This is the part people don’t talk about. The way the pain can feel so heavy that it drags you under. The way remembering doesn’t feel like healing at first. It feels like dying.

Grounding Through the Chaos

If you are in this place, if your world feels like it is cracking open, and you do not know how to hold the pieces, I want you to know you are not alone. And you are not broken.

Here are some things that helped me (and might help you, too):

• Validate your emotions, even when you doubt your memories. Your feelings are real, no matter what.
• Find safe people to talk to. Whether it is a therapist, a coach, a support group, or trusted friends, do not do this alone.
• Ground yourself in the present. When the past tries to pull you under, remind yourself that you are here, now. Feet on the floor. Breathe in your lungs. Safe.
• Give yourself permission to not have all the answers. Healing is not about proving what happened. It is about reclaiming yourself.

You Are Still You

When the past cracks open, it can feel like you are losing yourself. But you are not. You are still you. Maybe even more than you have ever been.

I won’t pretend this journey is easy. It is disorienting, painful, and sometimes feels impossible. But you are not alone. You do not have to have every answer to start healing.

Your story matters. Your pain is real. And you deserve to heal, whether the world ever sees your truth or not.

You Are Not Crazy. You Are Remembering.

If you are here, in the middle of the storm, feeling like you might not make it out, I need you to hear this.

You are not broken. You are not making this up. You are not crazy.

Your brain protected you the best way it knew how. And now, it is giving you back what you are ready to hold.

You do not have to remember everything to heal. You do not have to prove anything to be worthy of support.

Your pain is real. And you are not alone.

Hold on, friend, even when it feels impossible. Hold on.

Because the other side of this? It’s worth it. And so are you.

Photo by Vincent Burkhead 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.

Danica Alison

Danica Alison is an optimist, deep thinker, and out-of-the-box adventurer who finds meaning in life’s chaos. She’s a writer, a healing advocate, and someone who believes healing is a journey best traveled with curiosity, humor, and a little bit of rebellious joy.
A lifelong lover of stories, both lived and told. She is passionate about exploring the messy, beautiful process of being human. Whether she’s writing, learning, or connecting with others, she brings a mix of warmth, honesty, and a refusal to fit into neat little boxes.

www.DanicaAlison.com

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

An Existential Identity Crisis

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

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

Becoming a Social Outcast

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

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

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

The Birth of the Fear of Abandonment

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

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

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

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

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

Walking Away From Abuse

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

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

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

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

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

Rising from the Ashes

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

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

Final Thoughts: Know Thyself and Thou Shall Know Thy God

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

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

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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

Jenney Clark

Jenney Clark is an Indian author and poet, best known for her book “Don’t Be Afraid to Love.” She has published eight books, including “Magic of the Ancients,” and hosts a podcast titled “Awakened Souls.” After leaving a successful job in the service industry, she pursued her passion for writing and became a life coach. Raised in a small town in India she discovered her psychic abilities at a young age and developed a strong interest in Tarot, astrology and numerology. She enjoys connecting with a diverse range of friends, including artists and writers and lives in a cozy “cubby hole” in Hyderabad with her dog, along with her beloved books and music

jenneyclark.com/

Understanding the Impact of CPTSD on Personality

Trauma fundamentally changes how individuals view themselves, others, and the world around them. In CPTSD, the effects are often pervasive, shaping emotions, beliefs, and behaviours. Common personality changes may include hypervigilance, where individuals are constantly alert to potential danger, and persistent low self-worth, driven by feelings of guilt or shame. Many people with CPTSD also experience emotional dysregulation, where they struggle to manage intense emotions, often cycling through anger, sadness, or anxiety. These changes are survival mechanisms developed during periods of trauma but tend to persist, disrupting relationships and everyday life even when danger has passed.

How CPTSD Impacts Trust

Trust is one of the most significant casualties of prolonged trauma. The very essence of CPTSD involves a betrayal of safety, which creates deep-seated mistrust in people, systems, and even oneself.

For individuals with CPTSD, trusting others often feels unsafe or even dangerous. Relationships may be approached with suspicion, skepticism, or outright avoidance, as they constantly anticipate betrayal. Conversely, some survivors may overextend trust to gain approval or prevent rejection, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation or re-traumatisation.

Trust issues also extend inward. Many survivors struggle with self-doubt, questioning their own perceptions, decisions, or worth. This internalised mistrust can feel paralysing, preventing individuals from confidently navigating relationships or decisions. Furthermore, fear of intimacy often develops, as the vulnerability required for deep connections triggers reminders of past betrayals, leading to emotional walls and isolation.

Personality Changes Over Time

The cumulative impact of trust issues and trauma responses often leads to significant long-term personality changes. While not universal, many people with CPTSD experience heightened sensitivity to rejection. This can cause intense emotional reactions to perceived slights, even if unintentional.

Defensive behaviours are also common, such as isolating from others or relying on perfectionism as a means of control and protection. These coping mechanisms, while initially protective, can prevent individuals from forming meaningful connections or embracing growth.

Chronic guilt or shame also becomes a dominant trait for many. Survivors of prolonged trauma often internalise their experiences, believing they are fundamentally flawed or to blame for their suffering. These beliefs shape identity and self-esteem, making it difficult to engage confidently with the world.

Lastly, relationships may oscillate between extremes of closeness and distancing as survivors struggle to balance the fear of abandonment with the need for connection. This dynamic can lead to cycles of idealisation and devaluation, further complicating personal and social interactions.

The Path to Healing and Growth

While CPTSD creates significant challenges, healing and growth are attainable with the right tools and support. Rebuilding trust and addressing personality changes involves small, intentional steps and a willingness to confront past wounds.

• Seek Trauma-Informed Therapy: Approaches like EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing), Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT), or Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) are highly effective in addressing trauma’s root causes and teaching new coping mechanisms.
• Rebuild Trust Gradually: Begin by trusting yourself through small commitments and achievable goals. Surround yourself with safe individuals who demonstrate reliability and respect.
• Practice Self-Compassion: Healing guilt and shame starts with kindness toward yourself. Techniques like mindfulness, journaling, and affirmations can challenge negative beliefs and reinforce your worth.
• Develop Healthy Boundaries: Learn to set and maintain boundaries in relationships, protecting your emotional and mental space while fostering mutual respect.

Engage in Support Networks: Whether through support groups, friends, or community resources, connecting with others who understand your journey can provide strength and validation.

A Journey of Transformation

The effects of CPTSD on trust and personality are deeply ingrained but not insurmountable. Healing requires patience, persistence, and support from trusted professionals and networks. Through intentional effort, survivors can begin to rebuild their sense of self, reclaim their resilience, and foster healthier, more fulfilling relationships.

While the road to recovery may be challenging, it also offers opportunities for profound transformation. By addressing the wounds of the past, individuals with CPTSD can step into a future defined not by their trauma but by their strength, growth, and renewed ability to trust.

If you have been impacted by betrayal, you might like to check out my blog, Betrayal Trauma & CPTSD. https://cptsdfoundation.org/2022/09/22/betrayal-trauma-cptsd/

Photo from Unsplash: timo-stern-EvcUtLF12XQ-unsplash.jpg

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.

Tracy Guy

Tracy Guy is a published author and a proud guest writer for the C-PTSD Foundation. Professionally, Tracy has experience in mental health and muti-trauma nursing and is now a full-time registered counsellor working with people struggling with complex trauma, anxiety, and grief. Her passion for writing, unwavering instinct to help others, and professional and lived experience drives Tracy to support and advocate for those suffering from debilitating traumatic experiences and C-PTSD. Tracy hopes to raise understanding and awareness of C-PTSD, more specifically, the association of C-PTSD with abusive relationships.

“You Will Not Steal My Spotlight”

I was a victim of multiple “mean girl” witch hunts throughout my formative years. Some situations were more overt; others were covert — in the forms of emotional and psychological abuse. What was especially damaging was that, more often than not, I considered these people to be my friends. With numerous targets on my back, every school day and athletic activity became a war zone, wondering when the next barrage would hit. I noticed and absorbed most things committed against me, even when they were subtle. After a time, the insults and the venom spewed against me all became the same mantra of: “You don’t belong here.” I kept a “brave face” in public and pretended like it wasn’t affecting me, but I went home each night to take it out on my pillow.

I know most friendships end naturally — seasons change, we grow, we move on. But mean girls cannot simply walk away from their friendships as if they died naturally. They must burn the place down and make their old friends suffer intensely. They usually find courage in a cadre of new friends who latch onto and magnify the insults aimed at their victim. While these new friends have no actual animosity towards the target, groupthink and peer pressure overcome decency, allowing them to band together to outnumber the victim. It’s classic female pettiness that groups of women have perfected throughout history and something that’s immortalized in Western culture through chick flicks and reality television shows.

Nothing ever made me feel more guilty for just existing than the mean girls I’ve encountered. I couldn’t fathom that the people who once seemed to care could transform into creatures consumed with a seething hatred of me, deriving a twisted glee from my suffering. Mean girls turn their noses up at other women, but they are guilty of the very things they criticize. Sometimes, the hatred flows from a need to destroy what the mean girl hates in herself – aiming her poison at that mirror image of herself made flesh. It could be something as simple as the fact that another woman is comfortable in her own skin. If that other woman didn’t strike a nerve in her, she wouldn’t give her a second thought. But if another female threatens her spotlight, she is to blame. And she must be destroyed.

I’m Not the Sorority Girl Type

Growing up as a female in the southern United States, I knew I should prepare myself for social suicide if I didn’t join a top sorority in college. I didn’t realize until I got to college, though, that the Greek system on my campus had ruthless standards. When the sorority rush didn’t work out in the way I had hoped, the rejection made me wonder what was “wrong” with me. For months, I considered trying again to be invited to a sorority I liked. I wanted to fit in with the other young women who looked from their Instagrams like they lived perfect lives in their Barbie Dreamhouses. I attended recruitment events, but something felt “off.”  I thought, Do I want to change myself so I’m accepted by the same people who had already rejected me? Or, could I find other things that aligned more with my goals? I chose the latter, and on that path, I found some of my best personal growth.

Once I became aware of the Greek system’s impossibly high standards, I concluded for myself that the hierarchy the fraternities and sororities put in place for themselves was ridiculous. On campus, there was a derogatory term coined by the Greek system for those deemed to be “beneath” them. They called the outsiders “God-Damn Independents” (GDI). Many people brushed me off as unworthy of their time once they learned that I was a GDI, and these moments were subtle reminders of the rejection I experienced as a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed freshman. But I was never one to look at another person by any labels that they did or did not have. I met many women in college, some who were in sororities and some who weren’t, even supporting my sorority friends at some events. Being a GDI allowed me to build my own unique story on campus without forcing myself to meet the requirements of a system that judges young women based on things I consider to be superficial, such as their attractiveness, social connections, and parents’ wealth. I later looked back and was glad I did not join a sorority.

We Cannot “Fix” Mean Girls

When I was younger, I was competitive. Years of trauma made me realize that nothing was that serious to me anymore. In the past, I had plenty of jealousy toward other girls and women myself. However, I still forced myself to be polite to them (even through gritted teeth), go home and cry about it, and move on with my life, never thinking about it again. I didn’t set out to destroy their lives because I was jealous. Mean girls do not have this emotional maturity, though. They are sore losers. Mean girls relentlessly punish their victims for their success and joy, no longer seeing their victims as human beings with feelings but as emotional punching bags for their own anger.

I hate interpersonal tension. I typically seek to resolve it through mature communication and mutual forgiveness, as any healthy person would. In one bullying situation later in life, I decided to take the “kill them with kindness” approach — returning my bullies’ hatred with genuine kindness, even when my heart was pounding out of my chest. It was an interesting experiment. You see, bullies don’t expect their victims to react this way; they expect them to submit to the abuse. It was my way of sending them the telepathic message of: 1) Why do you feel the need to treat me this way? And 2) You won’t destroy me. Regardless of my fear, each time I conquered the people who had made me suffer deeply with a big smile, it was an empowering “win” for me.

I was a little naive to believe that my kindness might soften their hearts enough to help me resolve the tension. They were unsure how to react once I started taking my power back, and they started losing control over their victim. It made their blood boil, and I watched their own hatred eat them alive as they wrestled with the fact that their victim was beating them at their own game. The continuous rejection and fuming anger in response to my kindness caused discomfort within me, and I continued to absorb their negative emotions as if they were my own. I even wondered if I was still “wrong” for opening my mouth to be kind. But as my repeated forgiveness of them forced their facades to fall like dominoes, I started to become less afraid of them, and I learned through their body language that they were completely terrified of their own victim. They froze in their tracks like deer in headlights, couldn’t communicate properly due to their voices that shuddered in terror and couldn’t even look me directly in the eyes as they cowardly resorted to side eyes, bloodshot with abomination and fear. Those same abusers eventually waved their white flags in their own way, unable to face their victims with dignity, and I knew in my heart that I had won that brutal battle.

When I realized that all the perpetrators throughout my life were driven by fear, it changed my entire perception and made overcoming the ruminations and flashbacks much easier. All those people seemed so intimidating at the time. The way they carried themselves, it felt like they’d hung the moon. But this is by design — they need to be envied to mask what’s really happening on the inside. The real reason they act superior to others is their own deep insecurity and envy of other women.

Most mean girls have multiple victims

My bullies wanted to steal the joy that was left in me because they were internally miserable. Beyond their mocking laughter and sadistic smirks, I never once saw the mean girls in my life genuinely smile. I only saw perpetual pouts, judgmental side eyes, and cold glares through lifeless eyes. If mean girls continue to latch onto other mean girls and feed on each other’s negativity as their source of empowerment, they will never become empowered women capable of standing alone. They dig their own graves — no one enjoys walking on eggshells around cutthroat girls and women, whether at school, in the workplace, or in their personal lives. As time robs them of friends and their victims move on, they’re only left with those cold eyes reflecting back at themselves in the mirror. 

Not Everyone Turns Out to Be a Mean Girl

No matter how many female friendships have turned sour, I’m so glad I put my heart out again. I cherish the female friendships I have today. We are low maintenance, understanding that we all have our own lives. Some have kids, some are freshly married, and others are focused on their careers. The best female friendships are the ones where I don’t have to hold myself back for fear they might ruin our friendship and become my bullies over trivialities. 

Kindness Always Wins

If the mean girls who targeted me knew the extent of the suffering they caused me, they’d probably be satisfied. I doubt I ruined any of their lives; they moved on without a care in the world. Yet, there I was, living in isolation for fear of upsetting more people. I blamed myself heavily for my reactions to their abuse. But the people in my life who knew what I had been through kept reminding me: “You did nothing wrong. You did everything right.” Because abuse is never the fault of the victim. I put in a lot of hard work with some professionals who are trained experts in helping victims of bullying, and the type of somatic therapy that helped me the most in this regard was EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing Therapy). I remember when the professional — who helped me process the memories, emotions, and self-guilt — looked me in the eyes and told me, “One day, you will thank them all.” After my hard work, I no longer feel the need to prove any of my bullies wrong. I can rest my head on my pillow each night, knowing that regardless of the ways I was treated, I chose love and forgiveness in the face of the evil committed against me.

Mean girls cannot fathom that other women can be successful without being mean girls— because the only way they know how to achieve their success in life is by hurting innocent women who get in their way. Only weak women bully other women. Strong women don’t revel in others’ weaknesses; they rejoice in uplifting their gifts. Strong women don’t loudly support women’s causes in public but privately bully the women in their lives. Strong women support other women regardless of social, political, or religious differences. Strong women know that every woman is allowed to shine her light without threatening her own.

The only thing that makes the mean girls of the world powerful is the power that we choose to give them. Rather than feeling humiliated by them, victims should laugh off their immature behavior and embrace humble flattery that we’re living rent-free in their heads, even if they’re operating off the blatant lies they tell themselves about us. I now know that if another woman is angered by my existence when I am not doing anything wrong to her, it is her issue, not mine. I will never again bow down to women who act like the queens of the world but, in actuality, are internally angry about the fact that the world does not bow down at the feet they’ve used to trample the bright lights of other women.

I would rather stand alone than participate in being a bully or a bystander. In the future, if I ever have to choose between fitting in with a group of women who bully other women to be admired by others or being on the outside, mocked by them as a “God-Damn Independent,” I’ll choose to be a God-Damn Independent any day of the week.

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels

Natalie Rose

My name is Natalie, and I am a survivor of about 13 years of absolute psychological torture from Complex PTSD symptoms. For the longest time, I thought I was inherently sick and broken beyond repair. I spent over a decade running around in circles in the medical system trying to figure out what was “wrong” with me and how to “fix” it.

♡ What is Complex PTSD? ♡

Complex PTSD symptoms come from severe, prolonged, and numerous incidents of trauma, typically of a relational nature. Symptoms can come from any type of trauma, though, and the trauma doesn’t necessarily have to stem from childhood — adults can develop CPTSD as well. Trauma can damage the brain and shrink the hippocampus, causing many of the symptoms of CPTSD. I decided to go public with my story to be a voice for the voiceless. There are too many survivors being told CPTSD is a lifelong sentence, and they are not being given the tools they need to overcome their symptoms.

♡ My Story ♡

I endured multiple types of traumas starting at around age thirteen, including numerous situations of both individual and large-group interpersonal cruelty. Some of these situations forced me to switch environments. My body couldn’t fathom what was happening, and my nervous system shut down. I saw danger everywhere, operated in a panicked survival mode, and lived in fear, anxiety, and isolation. I did my best to appear “normal” on the outside, keep a smile on my face, and control what was happening on the inside, distracting myself with extreme workaholism and doing nice things for others. I took active steps to keep branching out in confidence again, but these traumas kept piling onto each other and overlapping. I wasn’t ready to give up yet, though, because I knew my family and friends would be distraught if I did. The most difficult and heartbreaking part of my story is that the two communities I set out to seek healing in—religion and the medical system itself—caused further trauma when some religious leaders, congregation members, and medical professionals chose to take advantage of my vulnerability for their own motives. In most of these situations, I didn’t even realize I was a victim until outsiders pointed it out for me and that my vulnerability made me a target of malicious people. Each future situation of being targeted was just salt on the wound of the original incident.

♡ My Struggles to Find Answers ♡

What I went through all those years was so severe, and my symptoms and physical body reactions as a result were so excruciating that I went as far as to see a neurologist, concerned that my symptoms were the result of some sort of nervous system disorder. However, he returned with no paperwork in his hands to inform me that there was nothing wrong with me but that I was simply completely traumatized, and my body reacted accordingly. I finally realized that my symptoms were not the result of an inherent mental or physical illness and began to take a trauma-based approach to my healing after many years of believing that I was “sick” for the rest of my life. My true progress began when I finally rejected the lies that were told to me that I would have to manage my symptoms for the rest of my life and made the decision to believe that I was fully capable of healing from my excruciating pain.

♡ Finding My Own Healing ♡

I am excited to share tips for natural, somatic, and holistic healing that have helped me overcome things like dissociation, flashbacks, sleep challenges, anxiety, hypervigilance, and more. I began to pursue unique methods of healing after many years of not seeing much progress through westernized care, and this was the catalyst for fast-tracking my healing. I aim to help survivors overcome their feelings of self-guilt, blame, and humiliation and help them realize that their bodies had normal reactions to abnormal situations.

I’m so glad I didn’t give up when my pain felt unbearable. I know what I’ve survived. I know the work I’ve put in to overcome it. I am finally living a life of consistent peace and contentment, and I am sharing my story from the other side. I hope to encourage other survivors that there was never anything wrong with them to begin with and that they are capable of living healthy, happy, and fulfilled lives. I aim to live my life in love of both others and myself, understanding that everyone has a story of their own. I am grateful to the CPTSD Foundation for giving me an opportunity to share my story.

♡ Personal Blog ♡

To learn more about my healing journey, please visit my personal blog, “Little Cabin Life,” at:
littlecabinlife.com

I was living in a different country, and had one friend, and no family around me when I fully accepted that my marriage had gone past the point of rescue. I was deeply entrenched in the most vulnerable position I had ever been in my life, with the added responsibility of holding my daughter close, during the torrents of change that we were embarking on.

I separated from my husband but remained living in the same house. No one fully knew the situation as I placed all my energy into beginning an external restructure plan to rebuild a life for me and my daughter. I worked around our schedule and attended to the most important job of all, being a mom while forming a new secure base. 

When we moved from the house, I handed my ex the easiest divorce of all time. I fought for nothing − only an average monthly sum to help financially support my daughter (which, of course, he stopped paying after a couple of years). I choose peace and freedom of movement back to the USA, instead of long-haul arguments over possessions, properties, and pensions. He agreed to all without any objection.  

I had begun putting my nursing qualification and intuitive healing abilities to work and became a Craniosacral Therapist. The training was intense. I was not aware nor resourced to deal with everything that my body remembered, but I did not. 

Years of betrayals, not just by my ex-husband, but those of a dangerous neighbor, an uncle, a deeply disturbed teacher, my father, and a brother of a friend had left somatic emotional scars and memories that slowly over time began to overwhelm my nervous system.  

I continued with the training and established a business that worked for me and my daughter. I showed up as a stable, happy mother, therapist, and yoga teacher.

It is truly amazing how well we can cope − until we don’t! 

The band-aids brought me to better times. My daughter was growing and I had slowly developed a solid new relationship with a sober, loving, strong partner by my side.

Eight years along, I was breathing deep sighs of relief while feeling held by the arms of my inner beliefs in true love. I was letting go and sharing the responsibilities of single parenting while trusting deeply in my new relationship. The irony of it all is that my heart and body fell out of agreement. 

My trusting heart was moving forward, but my body’s inner surveillance system overpowered me and began to pull me back. 

**It is so important to attend to your physiology before psychology, as it will win every time.**

“You cannot use thinking solutions for physiological issues.” (Dr. Andrew Huberman)

Inside I was beginning to literally shake underneath the true toll of all the betrayals. Anxiety began to take a firm foothold in my body and my nervous system eventually said “enough” as full-on panic entered every domain of my being. 

Thankfully I had some awareness of what was happening and tools on board to get me through the day. But deeper work on my nervous system had to be done to fully break the bonds of betrayal and relieve their burden on my biology. Talk therapy, although a little helpful, fell short. 

I needed to take firm hold of the reins of my nervous system and slowly regain its trust as I began living life in the present and not from the intrusive reminders from the past.

I know this:

Everything in life is better when you have your nervous system on board. 

What I needed was a complete nervous system overall and indeed that is what I did. I pulled all my knowledge together from nursing to craniosacral therapy, yoga, the vagus nerve, polyvagal theory, and gut health and basically taught myself how to reclaim my physical, mental, and emotional health, stability and well-being. 

Self-study is the most beneficial study of all: know yourself well and know your nervous system well. It’s your best ally when healing the bonds of betrayal. 

Do you need to heal the bonds of betrayal?

Let’s have a conversation on how I may be able to help you.

www.handsoftimehealing.com

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.

Roseanne Reilly

Are you carrying more than you can process?

I’m Roseanne, a practitioner in Neuro-Somatic Stress & Emotional Integration,
and the creator of The Listening Lab, powered by Core NeuroCare©.

I help people move beyond stress and beneath emotional overwhelm—
into a place where you begin to feel like your coming together rather than falling apart.

Roseanne provides a deep soul-led healing experience, 1 to 1 and small group mentoring online and in-person

Roseanne Reilly DipNUR, APCST, ERYT500hr CEP

Downloadable Resources at www.handsoftimehealing.com

Free Resources at https://www.youtube.com/@HandsofTimeHealing

www.handsoftimehealing.com