In the days leading up to “official” adulthood, I’d convinced myself that once I exited childhood, the fear and helplessness wouldn’t penetrate as deeply. I was wrong.

Those things only intensified, and I felt helpless in the face of my powerlessness to thwart them. An adult by law now, I still possessed the mangled nervous system of a terrified child who’d long held the responsibilities of an adult. My 18th birthday felt like a cruel joke.

I became an adult long before society deemed me one. My childhood, though it held many glimmers of happiness, had also been suffocated by responsibilities that weren’t mine to bear. The people who should have buffered me from the pain that life sometimes delivers were often instead the perpetrators of chaos and heartache. Furthermore, they often saddled me with the cumbersome weight of adult burdens, expecting me to wear the heavy cloth of unreasonable expectations with a smile. In many ways, the roles of parent and child were reversed; this phenomenon is known as “parentification.” 

Parentification comes at a grueling cost. You learn to take responsibility for things that aren’t yours to bear. You protect the fragile emotions of others at the expense of your own and provide emotional support in places where you should receive it. In other words, you care for those who should care for you. Along the way, you develop a tangled web of unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

As if being robbed of vital pieces of childhood during your childhood isn’t enough, you may carry these burdens into adulthood. This might manifest in several ways, including but not limited to: 

• Social isolation related to exhaustion, fear, and an inability to relate to people your own age or people in general.
• Viewing your needs as burdens.
• Carrying a nameless guilt that seems to bear no origin and strangles your ability to live in the moment. 
• Measuring your worth by what you can do for others and/or accomplishments.
• Caring for others at a cost to yourself and/or finding it impossible to say “no.” 
• Difficulty expressing emotions while feeling responsibility for other people’s feelings.

A quarter of a century after my “formal” induction into adulthood, I mourn the innocence that was torn from my grasp in the dawning years of my life. Longing for the pieces of my childhood that I never lived, I feel pangs of sadness for the fragments of my adulthood that remain trapped in the shadows of my childhood. And…I feel gratitude. While the most vigorous parts of my healing journey have only recently begun to take shape, and chaos has not been a stranger to me as an adult, the weight of my childhood burdens has not broken my back.

Over time, I instead built a backbone of steel. As a child, I didn’t have the strength to wrestle for control nor the power to negotiate my fate. Somehow, I never let the weight completely crush me. My persistence continued into adulthood. While I’ve lived in survival mode for much of my life, I’ve defied the odds again and again. Chances are, if you’re reading this, so have you. We’re part of a club we never asked to join.

In the early stages of rewiring my discombobulated nervous system, I’m no longer afraid, and I’m not powerless. In fact, I’d say the opposite is true. I’ve been told I’m “formidable” and a “force to be reckoned with.”

I agree. I don’t know if I would’ve become this version of myself if not for the pain that paved the way. When I reflect on the fearful, mild-mannered, and shy child I was, I’m surprised by the confidence I bear as an adult. I’m no longer mild, and though feeling safe is an uphill battle, I wouldn’t say I’m always fearful either.

In reflecting on who I was as a child and who I am now, I realize that the common trait I carried from childhood into adulthood is strength. I didn’t have any other choice. As I navigated one nightmare after another, I dug into my reservoir of fortitude. I learned to put up a fight and to keep going even when exhaustion weighed me down. I learned to persevere. Less poetic, but equally true, eventually I arrived at a blissful place where I no longer take anyone’s crap. Over time, those things added up to the person I am today. There’s one word that best captures what I’m describing: resilience. 

In being forced to grow up before we’re ready, many of us develop resilience. Or…maybe we’re born with it? What does the word “resilience” mean? Well, you’ve heard the term, “to hell and back,” right? Resilience is essentially the ability to come back from hell…again, and again, and again. Resilience is not always born in trauma, but I think it takes on a unique “flavor” when it’s rooted in the challenges of “growing up early.” Those of us who “became adults” as children first used our resilience to survive. As a result, we started adulthood both behind and ahead of the metaphorical “starting line.” We entered “adulthood” exhausted and knowing too much.

We see the world through weary, sometimes cynical eyes that belong to a much older person. Have you ever been told you’re old or wise “for your age?” Me too. Although I’d love to have an even-keeled nervous system and a mind that doesn’t play out worst-case scenarios by default, I appreciate the wisdom and strength within me that emerged early; it’s only intensified with time. Furthermore, because of my cynicism and ability to read between the lines, I can detect BS from a mile away, and I’m not afraid to call people out if they have it coming. I’ve been silenced long enough, and my patience for what I refer to as “reindeer games” expired a lonnnng time ago. 

Furthermore, although it’s aggravating to have a hypervigilant nervous system that sometimes drags me into overly strong bodily and mental reactions to small things. The “big stuff” doesn’t really faze me in the same way it seems to others. I view life as a bit of a jack-in-the-box, and I know there’s always more crap rolling down the line. And…I know I can deal with whatever it is because I’ve dealt with so much already. 

I’ve crammed the pain of multiple lifetimes into one. This probably explains why I’ve never felt “my age.” Suspended between youth and old age, some days, I feel closer to age 70 both mentally and physically. But…something’s shifting. As I heal, some days I feel seven, but not the burdened seven-year-old I was. I see glimpses of the real seven; as I heal, I experience moments of unfettered joy that sparkled like rare diamonds in the dark cave of my childhood but could never be held.

I’ve learned a thing or two since then, though. Perhaps it’s because I feel like I’m at a place in my life where there’s less time left, but my goal has shifted from survival to thriving. Please join me. We’ve been surviving for far too long. It’s time to live.

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 post Becoming an Adult In Childhood: Ancient Innocence appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

During that stay my psychologist tried to get me to hug my mother during a session. I was sitting in my sparsely furnished room, on top of my bed with the reversable pink and blue comforter, and I was gripping the fabric so tight in my fists that my knuckles went white.

I told the psychologist, “I can’t remember the last time anyone hugged me.” Facts. I never did hug my mother, even though the psychologist kept insisting, session after session. My mother was putting on a show for the clinician, and I saw right through it.

Some kids grow up surrounded by physical affection and closeness, but some don’t. I was one of those children. My paternal grandmother showered me with love and I was addicted to it. That feeling was stripped from me when we moved 5 hours away to Northwest Indiana.

I don’t think any of my teachers had a clue in what type of environment I was getting raised. I don’t think any alarm bells were going off for anyone because no one notices what happens to a child who never gets tucked in or kissed on the forehead. No one notices what happens when a child grows up without getting hugged or consoled when they’re hurt. No one notices because nothing visible happens to that child.

What happens is the child’s body notices. The child’s body keeps notes. The nervous system is keenly aware of what’s going on. Long before we have words for loneliness, we learn what comfort feels like or what it doesn’t feel like.

We are wired for touch

Touch is not a luxury, it is a developmental need. Attachment theory demonstrates that children rely on caregivers for the basic life necessities like shelter and food, but they also rely on caregivers for emotional and physical comfort.

Harry Harlow’s famous monkey studies showed that infant monkeys consistently preferred a soft, comforting ‘mother’ over a wire mother that just provided food. Modern research continues to demonstrate that affectionate touch supports emotional regulation, social development, attachment security and overall well-being. Children who long for touch are not needy; they are responding to a basic human need.

When affection is missing

Children will often adapt to what is available to them, to what their environment provides, rather that recognizing that something’s missing, or what they’re experiencing is wrong. They may grow up thinking that parents weren’t supposed to provide anything other that what is needed for basic survival. They may not understand that their parent was emotionally distant until they have the exposure to families that are different, and it will cause a great deal of confusion for children from families where affection was absent.

As a child you cannot miss what you never knew existed, but your nervous system still knows that something’s absent that you developmentally require. The absence of affection is generally an invisible loss because, to these children, it just feels normal.

Research suggests that experiences of affectionate touch during childhood are associated with specific attachment styles and comfort with touch later in life.

Looking for love in all the wrong places

Children who grow up emotionally and/or physically deprived often become adults who hunger for connection. This might manifest itself in various ways, like becoming attached too quickly to people who show you the kind of affection you did not experience as a child. Sometimes those people aren’t the best people from whom to receive the affection.

Sometimes the energy we have attracts people who feel comfortable, familiar, and if your childhood environment was traumatic, filled with emotional instability and abuse, you might be attracting someone who behaves the same way, even though initially the attention received feels good.

Emotionally neglected people will feel intensely attracted to people who give them warmth and validation, even though that person might be emotionally immature and even abusive. The unprotected adult survivor might ignore relationship red flags.  Doing so is not evidence of weakness; it’s evidence that you’re trying to fill an unmet need. When you’re starving, receiving crumbs can even feel like a feast.

When touch becomes entangled with pain

For some people, love and sometimes friendships can arrive wrapped inside emotionally abusive packages. The person might ‘love bomb’ you, might give you validation and affection that’s followed with criticism, their safe and loving touch might end up conditional over time and emotional abuse might reside alongside physical affection.

Over time, choosing someone who feels familiar and comfortable might become someone who is not emotionally safe. Once that occurs too often, your body will perceive the person as a threat, and the closeness with that person that used to feel wonderful becomes dangerous and your body knows before your mind does because it recognizes a familiar pattern it has felt before.

Studies on attachment and childhood emotional maltreatment indicate that early neglect and later harmful relationships can affect future relationship quality, trust, and emotional regulation.

From Touch-Starved to Touch-Afraid

The heartbreaking twist is that many people who once desperately wanted affection might recoil from it later because the body senses danger. The reaction becomes instantaneous, even if the mind doesn’t want to, even if the relationship partner doesn’t like it and you fight about it, repeatedly. An unsafe partner that you are committed to stay with will undoubtedly affect your nervous system’s ability to accept touch and intimacy without fear.

Over time, touch with your partner will feel uncomfortable. Without even thinking, you might flinch when the partner reaches for physical connection because you are now uncomfortable with affection from someone your nervous system knows to be unsafe. You might become hypervigilant about emotional and physical attention with your partner. Your inner child that once craved affection and attention becomes the adult who no longer trusts it.

Avoiding touch isn’t always about not wanting closeness. Sometimes it’s about not feeling safe enough to receive it.

Learning That Safe Touch Exists

Healing often begins when affection is no longer tied to conditions, manipulation, or performance. It is vitally important to remove yourself from unhealthy relationships. That might be very difficult because if you have children, that becomes complicated. If your unhealthy partner recognizes his or her contribution to your distrust in them, and is willing to work on their abusive tendencies, then there might be hope to maintain the relationship.

However, your nervous system will not be duped. It will take a great deal of time and work on both sides. Your partner must work on their abusive tendencies and become consistently safe. You need to set boundaries to what you will accept and what you will not and you must hold your partner to those boundaries. They must experience consequences of breaking those boundaries. This healing work will be very painful; I’m not going to sugar coat it.

What to strive for

Adult survivors of emotional abuse and complex trauma need to find relationships (romantic and otherwise) with people who are consistently safe. The partners need to know, on an intimate level, the trauma you experienced so they know how to encourage connection, affection, and intimacy in ways that feel safe to your nervous system. If you’ve been in unsafe adult relationships previously, your nervous system will be skeptical and distrustful like a dog that has been chronically beaten by a previous owner.

The goal is not becoming more affectionate. The goal is feeling safe enough to choose it. Small steps, small efforts, and micro affections will help, but your partner must feel safe to your nervous system. Be kind to yourself because your nervous system wants the best for you. Sometimes healing looks like allowing yourself to lean into a hug instead of bracing for what comes next and having a partner who is informed and patient is paramount to your comfort level with touch.

Some children grow up hungry for touch, and some adults spend years searching for it. Sometimes adults spend years learning to trust touch again. Beneath these experiences is the same truth: we were never designed to survive without connection. The part of you that still longs to be held in safe, familiar, and comfortable arms is not broken, it’s just part of being human.

Resources

Book: Running on Empty by Jonice Webb

Book: The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk

Book: Attached by Amir Levine and Rachel Heller

Book: Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson

References

Beltrán, M. I., Harrison, N. A., & O’Brien, J. T. (2020). Affective touch experiences across the lifespan: Developmental and individual differences. Neuroscience & Biobehavioral Reviews, 118, 659–669. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neubiorev.2020.08.018

Narvaez, D., Wang, L., Gleason, T., Cheng, Y., & Lefever, J. B. (2019). The importance of early life touch for psychosocial and moral development. Psychology, 10(11), 1443–1466.

Packheiser, J., et al. (2024). A systematic review and multivariate meta-analysis of the effects of touch interventions. Nature Human Behaviour, 8, 1060–1077.

Simpson, J. A., & Rholes, W. S. (2017). Adult attachment, stress, and romantic relationships. Current Opinion in Psychology, 13, 19–24.

Tejada, A. H., Dunbar, R. I. M., & Montero, M. (2020). Physical contact and loneliness: Being touched reduces perceptions of loneliness. Adaptive Human Behavior and Physiology, 6, 292–306.

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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 post From Touch-Starved to Touch-Afraid: The lasting impact of touch deprivation appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

*Why? What did I do to deserve any of this?*

As the days went by and I dragged myself up each morning to work two jobs and do my best impression of a normal person, something began to shift. Slowly. Reluctantly.

Maybe this wasn’t a punishment. Maybe it was a lesson.

I had run so far from everyone and everything that had ever hurt me that I had ended up running from myself, too.

I had stopped cooking — the one thing that had always been mine. I stopped answering phone calls. I stopped going places. I had completely isolated from the world. And when I finally sat still long enough to ask myself why, the honest answer was uncomfortable.

I wasn’t afraid of other people hurting me. What more could anyone take that hadn’t already been taken?

What I was really afraid of was facing myself. Facing how deeply disappointed I was in *me.*

I had done so much healing. I had worked through so many broken places. But there was one part I had been circling around for years without ever walking straight into it — the part of you that feels things on your behalf. The part that needed my forgiveness before anyone else’s.

God had placed me in that tent, in front of myself, with nowhere left to run. It was time to apologize to her. To say *I’m sorry for believing everyone else instead of believing in you. I’m sorry for talking to you the way I would never let anyone else talk to you. I’m sorry for abandoning you when you needed me most.*

Living in that tent was, in a strange way, the only thing that was going to hold me accountable for how I had treated myself.

Here is something I had to reckon with that I don’t hear people talk about enough: I was as much to blame for my pain as anyone who had abused me — not because what they did was acceptable, but because I had allowed their voices to become my own. I had bought into the abuse. I had repeated it to myself long after they were gone. I had every opportunity, eventually, to stand up for myself and chose not to — because I didn’t know how, because no one had ever taught me, because I had missed somewhere along the way the lesson about protecting yourself.

But here is what I also learned: blame is a dead end. Looking for someone to hold responsible for your pain — including yourself — keeps you standing in the wreckage instead of walking away from it. At some point you have to put it down. All of it. And just begin.

So I began to forgive. Myself first. Everyone else after.

—

And as I did, my life got better. Therapy became less like combat and more like conversation. Eventually, I found a real roof and a real bed, and I thanked God every morning for clean sheets in a way I never had before and never will stop.

I still carry things from those days. I read a room the moment I walk into it. I catch the microexpressions people don’t know they’re making. Small talk drains me in ways I can’t always explain. Some of those things I may never lose — and I’ve made my peace with that. They are the scars of someone who survived, and survival leaves marks.

But I also learned something the tent gave me that I wouldn’t trade: I learned to rely on myself. And slowly, carefully, I learned to trust again. Not everyone is out to hurt you. The ones who are will show you quickly. And you are more capable of recognizing them now than you have ever been.

The tent didn’t break me.

It introduced me to myself.

And that person — the one I met on the ground with a dog and a backpack and nowhere left to hide — turned out to be someone worth knowing.

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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 post Once, I Dropped My Basket appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

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The post 8 Things Survivors Need to Stop Apologizing For | Part 2 | Having Boundaries appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

Nobody is immune from stress, regardless of age and we all have one thing in common — we react. How we react to stress is different for everyone, but there is a simple way we can all calm:

Through breathing

I see the way stress affects those around me. In my colleagues, my students and my own family and friends. None of us are good at juggling too many things, but many of us do.

I know I do. I take on too much and then I wonder how I’m going to get through it all.

Most of us forget that one of the most powerful tools that you have available is your breath. Breathing happens whether you think about it or not. It’s automatic, like a car engine stuck in gear.

Your breath is vital to keep you alive. Everything in your body is dependent on it. Without breathing, we would die within minutes.

When you are stressed, your breath often gets faster and shallow while your body goes through physical changes to cope with stress. It releases hormones to prepare your body for fight or flight to combat the situation.

Slowing down your breathing is the quickest way to calm down and get your body to go back into “safe mode.”

There are many benefits of doing regular simple breathing exercises to relieve anxiety, emotional overwhelm, panic attacks and improve your sleep.

As a trauma survivor, I have used many types of breathing techniques when I’m feeling overwhelmed or triggered.

I want to share these with you.

Five Finger Breathing

This is something you can easily do anytime and anywhere. I use this all the time and I’ve taught it to my students. Even kindergartners can do it.

Spread out one of your hands so that you have room between your fingers. (A little like reaching the keys on a piano). I usually start from the bottom of my thumb but you can start from your little finger, if that feels more natural.

How it works:

Put your index finger at the base of your thumb then trace your index up the thumb as you breathe in. Hold your breath to the count of 1,2,3 then exhale as you trace your index down the other side of your thumb. Keep breathing in and out as you move your index from your fingers to your little finger.

Star Breathing

This one is similar to the five finger breathing, but instead of tracing your fingers, you trace the shape of a star in the air. You can even do it on a piece of paper if it works better for you.

How it works:

Inhale on each line of your star shape, tracing up with your index. Hold for 1,2,3. Then exhale going down. Repeat as many times as you need to.

Tracing shapes or familiar symbols is repetitive and will slow down your racing thoughts and giving you focus.

Box Breathing (4–4–4–4)

This technique is repetitive and steady, which should help calm those racing thoughts in no time. It’s a great one to try if you simply cannot calm down and your breathing is almost out of control. This works if you stick to the times four rule.

How it works:

Breathe in for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Breathe out for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Repeat.

Belly Breathing

This is a technique that requires you to sit down or stand. Choose a space where you feel comfortable and won’t be disturbed for a few minutes.

How it works:

Put one of your hands on your belly and breathe in slowly through your nose. Take notice of how your body feels as your lungs fill with air. Hold to the count of 1,2,3. Then exhale through the mouth.

The 4,7, 8 Breathing Technique

This technique is great for reducing anxiety and panic attacks quickly. It’s helped me several times when I’ve felt this way.

It’s simple and you can do it anywhere and at anytime. I’ve noticed that not many people are even aware when I’m doing it. I’ve done it in meetings, in elevators, the mall, and even in the food market.

How it works:

Inhale to the count of 1,2,3 and 4. Hold your breath for 7 seconds. Then exhale to the count of 8 seconds.

Rainbow Breathing

This technique works best when you either stand up with a straight back. I’ve done this while sitting cross-legged too, but it only works when your back is straight.

How it works:

Imagine that you are drawing an invisible rainbow above your head.

Inhale as you spread both arms out wide and lift them into an arc above your head. Hold to the count of three. Then exhale as you let your arms down slowly into their normal position by your sides.

The Shoulder Drop Technique

This technique is good if you are feeling tense or angry. You can do it anywhere but if you’re conscious of prying eyes, privacy is best.

How it works:

You simply inhale as you lift both shoulders. Hold for a few seconds. The relax your shoulders while you exhale. Repeat as many times as you need and focus on the out breath. With every breath, you will start feeling your body becomes less tense.

A final note:

Being stressed is not a nice feeling, and most of us feel that way every day. There’s just too much going on. By trying out these simple and quick techniques, you will start feeling much better.

I know they all worked for me.

I hope you will start to feel the difference in your body too, as your body regains its equilibrium.

Which one will you try first?

Let me know which one has helped you the most.

Take care

Remember, you matter.

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

If you like reading my posts, then please follow me.

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

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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

More from Elizabeth Woods:

• How Do You Manage Stress?
• Are You Feeling Valued?
• Do You Have Humility?

The post The Power of Your Breath appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

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

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

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

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

Never  Hide Your Voice: Own it

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

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

Lack of Empathy, and Dehumanization

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

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

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

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

When “Your Circle” Weaponizes Power &Triggers CPTSD

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

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

The “Outcast/Blacksheep” Syndrome

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

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

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

Tales from the Trenches

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

Consider the dynamic I encountered a few years back.

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

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

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

Discrimination and Baiting Crowd: Why This Triggers CPTSD

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

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

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

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

Choosing “Real Love” Over “Fake Safety”

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

If you’re feeling alone, consider this:

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

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

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

Practical Steps for Healing from Trauma

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

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

Resources & References

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

International Support for Adult Bullying, Trauma & Isolation:

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

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

Photo by Luke Leung on Unsplash

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

The post Your Circle Is Your Mirror: Cliques, Gatekeeping & Life Lessons appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

That victim frequently faces dismissal and derision.

Let me describe aspects of my situation to give you an idea of what can happen.

Disclosure: Prelude and Aftermath

At the age of 57, I finally committed to telling the truth. I had been sexually abused by my maternal grandfather, Konrad Koosmann, a Bishop in the American Lutheran Church, between the ages of 7 and 9. I went public in a big way. I wrote a book and advertised it beginning in March 2020.

(The book was originally titled: Family Legends, Family Lies. Due to a dispute with the publisher, it has been republished with the current title: The Bishop’s Cross)

The lengthy prelude to this decision included decades of trying to address the abuse with my mother. When I was a teenager, her sister went public with the news about their father being a child molester. Then I watched silently as the entire family, led by my mother and Konrad, cut her out, smeared her as mentally ill, and declared her “dead” to the family.

Every effort I made to broach the topic led my mother to initiate similar smear campaigns against me. When my brother announced his engagement, I watched as my mother told his fiance, “you’re the daughter I’ve always wanted!” Anytime she saw my boyfriend, she warned him to stay away from her “mentally ill daughter.” My parents adopted me, and she told me that the adoption agency had given her defective babies. There’s more, but you get the picture. 

When I published the book, I expected to be treated as my aunt had been: cut out, cut off, smeared, derided, declared “dead” to the family.

That is part of what happened. 

At the same time, many members of my family, especially on my father’s side, remembered my aunt’s accusations against her father, and they publicly supported me.

The Aftermath

My mother passed away in June 2025. She left instructions that I was not to be called or told of her death, and no one was to invite me to her funeral. But, family reached out to me, anyway. I wasn’t the only person blacklisted, either. She had a lengthy list of “enemies.” The old battle lines would not be buried with her.

She was polarizing in life, and polarizing in death. 

Last year, I thought a lot about how she tried to send hatred of me down across generations–specifically, to my son. By banning me from her funeral, she banned my son from the family.  It was guilt by association directed at an innocent child to protect her “legacy” with descendants.

The Escalation 

Then came a stark escalation that illustrated how deeply the old family defenses still operate.

Recently, I found four X posts (Twitter) that my cousin had made in January 2025. This cousin is the son of my mother’s sister, the sister who also accused the patriarch of sexual abuse. The vitriol and violence were stunning. Without disclosing his X handle, this is what he wrote (still up on X as I write this):

The Irony

These words came from the son of the aunt who had once been punished for making the same accusations against Konrad. My cousin is treating me the way my mother treated her sister for telling the truth.

The internet is forever, but tweets can be deleted just the same. I took screenshots of these posts before reposting and responding to each one. Then I posted those screenshots to my Facebook account. He put it on social media. I intended that it remain on social media even if he deletes it, and I intended for all of my family to know what he posted.

Some family members who sided with my mother and cut me out are still connected to my FB account. At the same time, I have many family members who have backed me publicly. Some of them posted messages of support in front of everyone–including the naysayers.

Not one of my detractors had the temerity to criticize me openly on FB.

Still, I’m aware of the continuing controversy going on in conversations, email, texts. And the family at large is beginning to see that my mother left her entire estate to her former daughter-in-law, the “daughter she always wanted,” and to the only other grandchild, her son. This includes all the contents of her home, such as my elementary school photos. I assume those will be tossed into the trash. My mother used money for a couple of reasons: reward loyalty and cut off an entire branch of family–mine.

While that may sound like bitterness over money, it is not. I’ve known for decades that she had done this. If anything, it played a role in my decision to come forward with the truth. I reached a point in life where I took control of my own narrative, despite the blowback.

On my Facebook post about my cousin’s tweets, I said that my only regret was not coming forward with the truth sooner. One cousin said this in response:

“I have always believed you. I, too, wish you would have spoken up earlier so you would not have had to bear so many years of pain with no support. Blessings to you and much love.”

Speaking the truth carries a cost. Some family members will choose the comfort of the old legend over the discomfort of reality. Yet every time a survivor breaks the silence, we weaken the shame that has protected predators for generations. That is why I will never regret coming forward.

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

Photo Credit: Unsplash

The post Why We Remain Silent appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

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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 post 8 Things Survivors Need to Stop Apologizing For | Part 1 | Needing Rest (video) appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

In 2 days, I will send my two teen sons off to summer camp for a week. I will have the entire place to myself for 6 nights. I have decided to use the time to revamp my Christmas ornaments, which are an amalgam of inherited color schemes, mismatched design motifs, and competing textile finishes. I have collected an array of spray paints, foliage to preserve for garlands and wreaths, and inexpensive pool noodles to use as topiary bases.

The last 12 months have been heavy. My mother passed away. My dog died. My older son was hit by a car (he’s ok), lawsuits, small claims court, family court, a very ill ex-husband, 2 surgeries for me, and more. This was in addition to dealing with a few family members who continue to attack me for telling the truth about child sexual abuse by my grandfather.

In the midst of this heaviness last year, I decorated the house early for Christmas, a few days before Thanksgiving. As always, I was dismayed by the lack of coordination in ornaments and decor unlike my living area, which is awash in harvest vineyard colors.

Then a week later when I picked my older son up from woodshop, he was hiding something behind his back. I wasn’t allowed to see it. Later that day, a wrapped Christmas present showed up under the tree.

“It’s for you, mom. I made it in woodshop just for you,” my son said.

My excitement was boundless. As a single mom, Christmas had become just for the kids. There was never a present for me under the tree. 

On Christmas morning, the living room became a hurricane of flying wrapping paper ripped from packages as the boys opened their gifts. Finally, It was my turn. 

I opened my one Christmas present. It was a piece of wood 4 inches wide, 16 inches long, and 1 inch deep.

“It’s a piece of wood.”

“No, mom, it’s a cutting board.”

“No cutting board is 4 inches wide.”

“It’s portable. You can take it camping.”

“Oh, great! Then it has a dual purpose right? If a bear comes along, I can hit it over the head with my portable cutting board.”

Despite my disappointment, the silliness of it all became the predominant mood. Suddenly, the heaviness of the year lightened immeasurably. 

And this has led to my upcoming project to redo the Christmas decorations, to bring them in line with the rest of my decor. And this has become a metaphor for redecorating my heart in preparation for the holiday season of 2026.

Christmas trees often become collections of memories:

• the handmade ornament,
• the kindergarten reindeer,
• Grandma’s angel,
• the souvenir from Disneyland,
• the ugly ornament Aunt Martha loved.

Most of those memories are pleasant. But some are painful. Still they are a record of life. And now my kids are teenagers.

Instead of all new ornaments, I will transform them. I will repurpose them, just as I repurpose memories both pleasant and painful. 

When my boys were young, a cohesive color palette was unnecessary. They didn’t care. It was simply an abundant tree. Yet, I saw too much visual noise, too much incoherence.

Recovery isn’t about accumulating more. It’s making decisions about which memories deserve a prominent place in my home, on my tree of abundance. It’s choosing what truly belongs.

Every year we unpack boxes filled with memories.

Some still make us smile.

Some we keep out of obligation.

Some we haven’t looked at in years.

Healing asks a simple question:

Which memories deserve another season?

I have spent the last 12 months editing my life.

Not deleting it.

Editing it.

Keeping:

• relationships that nourish
• traditions that still fit
• colors that bring peace

Releasing:

• visual clutter
• emotional clutter
• obligations
• inherited expectations

My ornaments reflect my identity, and not every ornament belongs on the tree. Some can remain packed away. Not every part of my history deserves equal prominence. Not because I’m in denial. Quite the opposite. I took those memories out, looked at them, analyzed their significance, and put them back in the box. 

The boys will head off to camp in a couple of days, leaving me with six quiet nights and a garage full of spray paint, ribbons, preserved greenery, and bins of Christmas ornaments waiting for their makeover. By the time Thanksgiving arrives, I hope the burgundies, deep plums, sapphire blues, timber greens, and antique brass finishes will finally feel like they belong together.

But I already know the most important part of the project won’t be the colors.

It will be the decisions.

Some ornaments will receive fresh paint. Others will stay exactly as they are because they already tell the story I want them to tell. A few may quietly return to the storage box for another year. None of those decisions erase the past. I choose which ornaments to display.

Recovery has never asked me to forget.

It has asked me to choose.

To choose which relationships nourish me.

Which traditions still fit.

Which expectations no longer belong to me.

Which memories deserve to remain on display, and which can be gently wrapped in tissue paper and placed back in the box—not because they are unimportant, but because they no longer define the room.

When people talk about healing from complex trauma, they often imagine becoming someone entirely new.

That has not been my experience.

Healing has felt much more like decorating a Christmas tree.

The ornaments are still mine.

The memories are still mine.

Even the painful ones helped shape the person I have become.

But today I get to decide where they hang.

And then there is one object that will never need repainting or repurposing.

The little “portable cutting board.”

The piece of wood that made me laugh after one of the heaviest years of my life.

The epic prank of a teen boy on his mother.

I still tell him that one day I’m going to mount it on a walnut plaque with a brass plate underneath.

The engraving will read:

Piece of Wood. Christmas 2025.

He rolls his eyes every time I say it.

I laugh every time.

And perhaps that is the greatest gift of healing.

Not that every ornament finally matches.

Not that every painful memory disappears.

But that after years of surviving, there is once again room for laughter beneath the Christmas tree.

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 post Christmas in July – Redecorating My Heart for a Season of Healing appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.

And in that quiet, a thought begins to form—sometimes softly or sometimes with a weight that feels impossible to move:

The way back to myself feels distant… unclear… or gone altogether.

So you stay with what you know. Even when other options are available. Even when something wiser in you knows and senses there is a different way. Because when support and adequate resources were once missing, the body learns something very important:

It learns that the old way of adapting is safer than risking something new.

The Invisible Bridge

What so many people carry—often without ever saying it out loud—is this:

A quiet knowing that the bridge back to themselves isn’t actually gone…

…it’s just hard to see right now.

Maybe it feels too unsteady. Maybe too far away to trust. Maybe there’s a part of you waiting for proof—that if you take one step toward it, everything won’t come crashing down.

And yet…

There is still ‘That Thing’. That subtle, persistent pull. The one that doesn’t let you fully turn away from yourself. The one that keeps calling you back—again and again—even when you’ve tried to silence it. It can feel like being tied to a rock.

The Rock is what you survived and how you survived it

In essence, you are the rock that saved yourself, and it got you this far.

So imagine this:

You are standing on a rock in the middle of rising water. This rock gave you something solid when everything else felt overwhelming, unpredictable, unavailable, or unsafe.

So, of course, you stayed with the rock, you learned how to balance there. How to make it work. How to survive on something that was never meant to be permanent.

But now… the water is rising.

And something in you knows:

You can’t stay here forever.

This is the in-between space.

Not quite where you were…not yet where you want to be.

And in this space, so many feelings can surface all at once:

• stuck
• hesitant
• under pressure
• frozen

You want to move. You’ve tried to move. You may even feel the impulse to fly…

…but the wings you need to spread stay tucked beneath the weight of ‘That Thing’.

When “That Thing” Has No Name

Sometimes people call it a limiting belief, a core wound, or trauma. But often, it doesn’t feel that clear. Sometimes it’s the residue of what you’ve lived through—what you’ve witnessed—what was said to you… or what was never said when it needed to be.

Sometimes it’s not a thought; it can be a sensation. Like an overwhelming tightness, or a drop in the pit of your stomach. A constriction in your throat or a holding pattern in the body that says:

“Not yet… It’s not safe, I feel so anxious, and I don’t know why”

And this is where so many people get stuck—trying to think their way out of anxiety and through something that lives beneath the thoughts, feelings and the sensations.

Sensations Are the Portal

There is a different way back. It does not ever require haste or force or over-analysis. It’s watchful of those bypassing pathways, and it does not abandon the part of you that needed that rock in the first place.

This is through a listening pathway.

When you begin to gently turn toward the sensations in your body—with less fear, fix, and fight. You no longer need to react to or override these valuable nuggets of information; you can decode their message with listening skills. Inviting them to feel heard, and then something can and will begin to shift in a different way.

Those sensations…the ones that once felt like blocks and barriers… become portals.

Portals into the places where ‘That Thing’ has been held, stored, protected, and waits.

And when the right kind of support meets you there—attuned, steady, patient— you don’t have to push yourself to fly. Your system begins to reorganize from within.

Learning to Fly Without Leaving Yourself

Flight doesn’t come from forcing your wings open; it comes from feeling safe enough to let them unfold. And that safety isn’t built by pretending the rock didn’t matter or by jumping away from it too soon. Layering strategies on top of something that still needs a deeper level of attention and care is built slowly.

Relationally.

Somatically.

Honestly.

For example:

Instead of overriding the tightness in your chest with positive thinking, or by explaining it away, you might learn how to feel safe enough to listen to its needs and message… just long enough for something within you to mobilize…while feeling supported—so it doesn’t overwhelm you.

Instead of pushing past the freeze, you begin to notice the smallest signals of readiness—a breath that deepens…a shoulder that softens…a moment of curiosity returning.

Instead of abandoning the rock, you build the capacity to stand with it without it being the only place you can exist.

And over time, that old, ‘I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place‘, changes to ‘there is a rock stuck between me and me‘. You learn you can return to that rock—not as a place you’re stuck… but as a place you once survived. A place that no longer holds you down or defines perceived limitations.

The Return

When the right support meets you in this process, you begin to feel more at ease with the home, and beyond the rock is clarity, peace, and calm. The bridge between you and you feels more stable, trustworthy, and yours.

And perhaps the most beautiful part of all that I have witnessed in clients is that your soul celebrates your return, the ultimate return of a truer sense of you.

It’s like a reconnection of a deeper remembering, a reunion with the parts of you that never left—they were just waiting for the conditions that made it safe to come forward again. When you return to these portals of sensation you are speaking to a layer of being that reaches deeper and so the freedom you feel is more expanded.

If You’re Standing on the Rock you Survived

You recognize the signs of trauma that can leave you feeling like the way back to yourself is distant, unclear, or gone altogether. You stay with what you know, even if other options are available.  You reflect with self-empathy to the times when support was once missing, and you recognize that you’re trusting the old way of adapting more than new ways of living. And you quietly believe, deep down inside yourself that the bridge back to themselves is far from gone, it’s just hard to see it clearly right now because maybe it does feel …

• too unsteady
• to far away to trust 
• that you need proof that it’s all going to work out..

The proof is in knowing there is still ‘That Thing’,  ‘That Thing, that keeps pulling you back’, Like you are tied to some rock..

If you are standing somewhere in that in-between space, not quite where you were, but not yet fully where you want to be, and perhaps you know you can’t stay the way you are.  Maybe the water is rising around the rock you survived and now stand on.

And you recognize the old familiar feeling of being stuck, hesitant, under pressure, frozen. You want to fly, you’ve tried to fly, but the wings you need to spread stay tucked beneath the fear of  ‘That Thing’ . You don’t have to figure it out alone.

When you build a relationship with fear, you fear the portal less, and you can choose a place to land where you can safely lay ‘That Thing’ to rest.

I want you to know this:

I see you.

Even if you feel alone. Even if the bridge feels unclear. Even if ‘That Thing’ still feels hard to name and unblock.

This is the work I do. I help you reconnect with yourself—to gently meet and give ‘That Thing’ a place to land—and to unblock the pathway to your own homecoming.

So that, in time, when ‘Other Things’ show up, you have a new pathway to follow. So that you don’t just leave the rock of survival behind…you learn how to fly without ever leaving yourself.

An Invitation

If something in you feels ready—even just a little—

I invite you to connect with me. You can send a private message here

https://www.handsoftimehealing.com/about

RISE to WISE | 1:1 Healing Work Through the Listening Lab™ & CoreNeuroCare©

Because the way back to yourself was never gone, you have been busy building your way back to move forward. Behind the fog of trauma, it’s all there, it’s been there all along—waiting for you to feel safe enough.

Bridge graphic created by the author Roseanne Reilly.

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 post The Bridge You Thought Was Gone appeared first on CPTSDfoundation.org.