He too knew the darkness, intimately; instinctively, we spoke one another’s language, like siblings do. Yet there was also a darkness in his disparagement of the objectively good place that, against the odds of the ACE score, had become my reality, a darkness that would expand and soon permeate every aspect of our togetherness. 

In the aftermath of this relationship, I learned more about BPD and its overlaps with CPTSD. I concluded that while I had traits of the former, my symptoms overall added up to the latter.

Since cutting off contact with my family of origin a decade ago, my life had grown and healed in ways I never dared hope for, which is indicative of the context-dependent activation of triggers that is characteristic of CPTSD but not BPD (Martin 2026). Nonetheless, the point raised by my ex-partner – who would you be had it not been for your horrendous childhood – touched a nerve and remains difficult to explore. Partly, this is due to the fact that since day one of my professional life, I had aimed to perform and succeed ‘as if’ – as if everything was, and had always been, hunky-dory. The achievements that ensued from that mindset, and from working as if my life depended on it (which, on reflection, it did, as I was unable to maintain a relationship, and relying on my family of origin was not an option), meant that over the years, I would increasingly find myself in rarefied settings, rubbing shoulders with the super-rich. 

At home with the homeless

I had arrived, it would seem, I had made it, at least professionally. But there is a paradox to flourishing as a survivor of childhood abuse. Mingling with highly accomplished and confident people can seem like a betrayal to an inner child who is certain that this is not where we belong. On a social continuum that extends from homeless junkies via those crippled by personality disorders and suffering from CPTSD to those whose emotional and financial affairs are in marvelous shape, is our tribe not that of Gabor Maté’s hungry ghosts?

Pitiful, revolting, filthy, broken addicts whose stench and existential hopelessness are but a stomach-churning testament to the severity of the crimes committed against their younger selves, a deafening silent scream the world cannot ignore, however hard it tries. No, their wordless reproach goes, I am not okay, and neither were the things that happened when I was a child, nor is the fact that nobody cared to ask questions, let alone intervene. Now look away already, you know you want to.

According to my inner child, it is with these people, like with my BPD ex, with whom I will always share an instinctive, kin-like belonging. In contrast, interacting with emotionally healthy, high-functioning, and immaculately groomed folks while nibbling unpronounceable foods at swanky dos involves painstakingly learning a whole new language.

This, foreign to me, idiom is the shibboleth to social and emotional mobility of dizzying proportions, a leap into the world of generations of professional triumph and familial stability. My blending into these circles is the ultimate ‘as if’, an overcoming of childhood adversity so enormous that my inner child feels invisible, more so as the language barrier works both ways: these graceful sophisticates are protected from many of life’s trials through not just their wealth but by many-layered, strong personal bonds and professional networks, and the permanent severing of family ties is not just a delicate and ugly taboo subject but indeed, beyond comprehension and unfathomable.

Connectedness is everything, and so is family. This is a healthy sphere, seemingly with no concept, let alone first-hand knowledge, of the darkness. Of course, my fitting in here is only skin-deep, and my healing only partial. My private life remains non-existent, a vacuum so obvious that it too is a silent scream, telling the untellable story, making sure the inner child does not go ignored. 

The best revenge

And then I kept investing in my recovery. I am incredibly grateful to be alive at a time when I could stumble across the transformative works of Bessel van der Kolk and Richard Schwartz, among others. Eventually, my private life too began to heal, but only after I made a deal with my inner child, telling her that while my life will more and more look ‘as if’, the past will never be denied or forgotten. And that the best revenge is a life well lived.

Alice Segell is a pseudonym. The author is a wife, researcher, writer and survivor.

References:

Martin, Mozelle (2026), ‘When Dysregulation is not what First Appears: Differentiating BPD, CPTSD with Attachment Dysregulation, Trauma-Bonded Anxious Attachment, Chronic Pain Identity, and Long-Term Instability’, https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/03/24/when-dysregulation-is-not-what-first-appears-differentiating-bpd-cptsd-with-attachment-dysregulation-trauma-bonded-anxious-attachment-chronic-pain-identity-and-long-term-instability/.

Maté, Gabor (2009), In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts, Close Encounters with Addiction, Random House Canada.

Schwartz, Richard C. (2023), Introduction to Internal Family Systems: A Revolutionary Therapy for Wholeness & Healing, Vermilion.

van der Kolk, Bessel (2014), The Body Keeps the Score, Brain, Mind and Body in the Healing of Trauma, Penguin.

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

When I started on the healing journey as I call it from my abusive childhood, one very important tool that I learned to do is sit with my inner child.  I am a child abuse survivor, physical, sexual, and verbal.  I was raised by pedophiles, my mother being one of them.

At the age of 61, I still carry many scars from the abuse I suffered so long ago.  Every day I work to undo the years of damage that was done to me and reclaim my life.  But as we all know, as survivors, it’s not an easy process.  It takes diligence and a lot of hard work to face the past and heal.

One thing that I have been doing is sitting with my inner child.  I had heard of this method before as a way of healing but had never put it into practice.  And sitting with my inner child was not a conscious decision on my part.  One day that five-year-old little girl that I once was literally reached out to me for comfort.  And it happened in a very interesting way. 

A couple of years ago I started to get this strange feeling.  I would call it a yearning, a yearning to wrap my arms around someone or something for comfort.  And this yearning happened several times a week, out of nowhere.  I had no idea what was going on, so one day I decided to sit with it and see what I could come up with because that feeling wasn’t going away.

It didn’t take me long until I started getting answers.  As I sat there with my eyes closed, suddenly I saw myself at the tender age of five.  I remember that was the age that I felt the loss of my mother’s love the most acutely. 

I loved my mother with such an intensity back then that, to this day, I still struggle to find the words for how I felt.  I literally was obsessed with her.

My greatest wish at that age was to sit on my mother’s lap with her arms wrapped around me so I could soak up the love and comfort that only a mother could provide.  Unfortunately, my mother was not person.  She was an angry, combative, abusive bully who had absolutely no motherly instinct.  My mother never wanted me, and that was a fact that she often reminded me of during my childhood. 

But as a child, it was unfathomable to me that my mother didn’t love me, especially since my love for her was so great.  It seemed the harder I chased after her for love and acceptance the angrier she became and the more she pushed me away.

We moved often when I was growing up.  In fact, we moved so often in my childhood that I lost count of how many houses and states we lived in.  Moving was always a very traumatic and painful thing for me because I had to leave behind so many people and things in my childhood that I wasn’t ready to let go of.  I wasn’t able to form relationships with my extended family, nor did I get to form connections with childhood friends.  I grew up a very lonely and depressed child.

The day that little girl that I once was came to me, I knew exactly what she needed. 

And in my mind’s eye, I wrapped my arms around that little child and hugged her tightly to me, just like I did to my own children when they were that age.  As I held her, I told her what a good little girl she was, how sweet, how kind, how funny.  But most of all, I told her how very loved and special she is, things that I so desperately needed to hear at that time in my life.  This went away after a couple of weeks, and that made me feel her needs were met. 

I am going to be moving soon.  Not far, less than five miles from where I live now.  Since I moved so much as a child, I have to be very mindful of how I approach any move I make as an adult so it doesn’t overwhelm my nervous system.  The new apartment I am going to move into is a good one for me, in a quieter area of town and closer to the barn where I board my horse.  I look forward to the move.  I am ready for a change. 

Well, once I made that decision to move, guess who popped up again?  That little five-year-old in me!  I wondered why she came back.  Is she feeling the vulnerability and fear that another move always brought on and is seeking comfort?  I have no idea what the motivation is, but let me tell you, as soon as she showed up in my mind’s eye, I immediately wrapped her in my arms.  I sat with her, assuring her, comforting her, loving her, anything I felt she needed to quiet the fear.    

It occurred to me one day that this child that shows up in my mind is not the only version of me that needs reassurance.  I look at the pivotal (most painful) points in my life, both as a child, a teenager, a young adult, a middle-aged woman, all those earlier versions of me that suffered so badly during those years also need love, comfort and reassurance.  And I sit with them as well.

My fellow survivors, sitting with your inner child is an amazing tool for recovery, and I highly recommend it.  I really wish I could have done this sooner, but I realize healing happens in its own time.

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

You’ve walked through storms that tested every part of you, and you stood back up, with courage in your heart.

PTSD may have shaped part of your story, but it does not define who you are. You are still whole, still capable, and your light and strength are still in your heart — they have only been waiting for you to see them again.

On this path of recovery, there will be moments of grief, anger, and pain. Let’s not push these feelings away or keep them bottled up. At such times, it helps to sit together, speak with compassion, and support one another.

Despite the past, I want you to believe in yourself. The strength that carried you through the darkness is the same strength that can now guide you toward healing. You have the power to begin anew, to rebuild your life piece by piece into something peaceful, meaningful, and filled with joy.

There is no rush, healing moves at the pace of kindness. Just breathe. Take one small step, then another. Trust that each moment of courage counts, and every gentle choice you make for yourself is a quiet victory.

Leave the pain where it belongs, in yesterday. Open your heart to the possibility that tomorrow can feel lighter. You deserve happiness, love, and a life that feels like home.

You’ve survived the hardest parts already. Now, it’s time to live again: freely, bravely, and filled with hope. The future is yours to create, and it can be beautiful beyond measure.

You are now becoming whole in new and beautiful ways. Gently step into your own light, and trust that every day holds a chance for renewal. You deserve peace. You deserve love. You deserve the good life you’ve always dreamed of: because it’s still waiting for you.

I want you to know that I understand because I’ve walked that path too. You’re not alone in this journey. If you ever need someone to talk to, a voice that listens and truly believes in your courage — I’m here. Always.

With Love and Light,
Jeanne💗

Feature Photo Credit: UnSplash

Graphic Credit: Author Owned

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

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

The Onset of Abuse and Humiliation

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

Confronting the Pain and Building Resilience

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

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

Toxic Patterns  

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

What Codependency Looks Like

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

Ego and the Marriage Trap: A Cautionary Tale

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

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

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

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

The Poison of Unresolved Anger: Paulina’s Story

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

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

The Deeper Message in The Pain

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

Recognizing the Signs of Trauma

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

Common warning signs include:

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

The Secrecy of Silence

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

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

Healing the Inner Child.

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

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

Trauma-Informed Steps for Support and Healing for Survivors:

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

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

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

Support

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

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

References and sources:

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

Photo by DICSON on Unsplash

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

If you’ve read my blog for more than five minutes, you already know I’ve been on this healing ride for a long while. Long enough to have collected a whole scrapbook of “Oh wow, I finally get it” moments… and an equally thick stack of “what fresh hell is this?” ones.

You’d think by now I’d be used to what I can only describe as “the whiplash:” the emotional ebbs, the flows, and the rogue waves that smack you right in the face when you’re just trying to mind your business.

Hate to break it to you, but… nope. Still not used to it. Not even close.

When Every Emotion Shows Up Uninvited

The last 48 hours have felt like hitting some kind of emotional epicenter, as though every feeling I’ve ever had RSVP’d “yes” and showed up early. It’s blindsided me, if I’m honest. I still don’t know what to do with all of it. I’m just here, trying to breathe through the overwhelm and trying not to judge myself for having a nervous system that occasionally goes full fireworks display for no clear reason.

But this is the work, right? Showing up even when you don’t feel ready.

The Junk Drawer of Feelings We Pretend Doesn’t Exist

Sitting with what hurts instead of shoving it back into the drawer to deal with it later. We’ve all done it, right? Slid something painful into that imaginary junk drawer, intending to deal with it later–even though we know “later” could mean anywhere from next week to the next decade. And then one day that drawer bursts open like a pissed-off jack-in-the-box, and suddenly you’re knee-deep in feelings you did not schedule into your day.

That’s kind of what this week has felt like. As if the universe leaned over, tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered, “Hey, remember that unresolved emotional rubble you were hoping would sort itself out? Yeah… about that.” And listen, I try to be a good sport about healing. I try to roll with whatever comes up. But even I have to laugh when my nervous system decides to deliver all its notifications at once, like some chaotic emotional iPhone: You have 47 new feelings.

Cool. Thanks. Exactly what I wanted this Saturday.

My Nervous System’s Saturday Gift

And what’s funny is that none of the feelings I’m having are new. They’re all familiar regulars: fear, sadness, longing, and that weird anticipatory dread that pops up for no apparent reason, just arriving louder than usual. Like someone turned the emotional volume knob up to eleven and walked away, it’s a lot. And my instinct, the little old me who learned to survive chaos by shutting down, still says, “Push it down. Make it neat and tidy. Don’t feel all of that at once.”

The Old Instinct to Shut Down (And Why It Doesn’t Work Anymore)

But I can’t do that anymore. Every time I’ve tried, it’s ended in absolute fuckery. And that takes more out of me than sitting with the feelings, letting them be, and feeling them. So here I am, doing just that.

But what people don’t realize is that “sitting with it” sometimes looks like staring at a wall, drinking lukewarm tea, internally screaming, and wondering why healing doesn’t come with a handbook or at least a troubleshooting guide. I could use something like, “If you are suddenly overwhelmed by feelings for no apparent reason, please try turning yourself off and back on again.”

But no. All we get is the mess.

Healing Isn’t Neat, But It Is Honest

But at the end of the day, that’s the point. Because healing isn’t about becoming someone who never gets overwhelmed. It’s about becoming someone who doesn’t abandon themselves when they do. And let me tell you, that one stings a little. Because if I’m being brutally honest, the person I’ve abandoned the most over the years is me. I don’t say that to beat myself up, but to acknowledge the truth. When you grow up believing your feelings are “too much,” you learn to make yourself small. You learn to take up as little emotional space as possible.

Learning Not to Abandon Myself

But I’m not doing that anymore (or, at least, I’m trying really hard not to). So here I am, trying to stay with myself through all of this intensity. Trying to remind the younger parts of me that they’re not alone this time. To breathe instead of run. And trying to trust that there’s nothing wrong with me for having big feelings; there’s just a lot inside that finally feels safe enough to surface.

And maybe that’s what this emotional epicenter really is: proof that something inside me believes I can handle what’s coming up now. Proof that my system is opening, rather than breaking.

Messily. Loudly. Inconveniently.

But still opening.

For Anyone Riding Their Own Rogue Wave Right Now

If you’re here too, riding your own rogue wave right now, just know you’re not doing it wrong. Sometimes the heart cracks open not because you’re falling apart, but because something inside you is finally ready to be seen. And honestly? As brutal as it feels… that’s kind of beautiful.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop 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.

Do I tell my parents?
Do they deserve to know what happened to me?
Would they believe me?
Would they hold it with care, or would it break me all over again?

If you’re here, standing in that in-between place, you’re not alone. This is one of the hardest crossroads survivors face. For some, the decision feels clear. For others, like me, it’s layered and ongoing.

Sometimes the abuse happened under your parents’ roof.
Sometimes it was hidden in plain sight.
And sometimes, you don’t even know if they know.

You might find yourself circling questions like:

• Do I owe them this truth?
• Will it bring healing or harm?
• What if they can’t hold it? What if they say the wrong thing, or nothing at all?
• What if I speak it and everything changes—or worse, nothing does?

The truth is, sharing your story with a parent is not required for healing. It is a choice. And like all sacred choices, it deserves time, care, and safety.

Ask Yourself These Questions First

Before deciding to disclose, here are a few grounding questions to sit with:

1. Why do I want to share this?
Is it for connection? Clarity? Validation? To reclaim power? To draw a boundary?
There is no wrong reason, but knowing your why can anchor you.

2. What do I hope will happen? What do I fear might happen?
Give yourself permission to answer both. Hope and fear can live side by side.

3. Have I processed this enough to hold steady if their response is hurtful, shocked, or dismissive?
If not, that’s okay. It may not be time yet.

4. Do I have support ready, a friend, therapist, or coach to debrief with afterward?
You are not meant to carry this alone, no matter how strong you are.

If You Do Choose to Share, Prepare Yourself First

Here are a few things that can help:

• Write down what you want to say.
  It can be a letter, a few bullet points, or a full narrative. Organizing your thoughts helps you stay grounded.
• Practice.
  Talk it through with someone you trust. Let your nervous system rehearse what it feels like to be witnessed.
• Set boundaries before the conversation.
  Say things like, “I just need you to listen right now,” or “I’m not looking for advice or debate.”
• Prepare for all outcomes.
  They may meet you with compassion, or they may not. Your truth is still valid.
• Have a plan for how to step away if needed.
  If things get overwhelming, you get to pause, end, or redirect the conversation.

And If You Decide Not to Tell Them? That’s Valid Too.

You do not owe anyone your story. Not even your family.

You can be deeply healing and wildly brave without ever telling your parents what happened.

Not telling doesn’t mean you’re hiding. It means you are choosing what is safest, kindest, and most aligned for you right now.

And if your answer changes later? That’s okay. This journey is not linear.

Final Thoughts

This part of your story, the telling, the not telling, the wondering, still belongs to you.

You don’t have to rush. You don’t need anyone’s permission. You get to honor your truth in whatever way feels right. You are not broken. You are becoming. And that is powerful.

As for me, I still haven’t shared my story with my parents.
They can’t even hold my warm memories without minimizing them, so I’ve chosen not to interrupt my peace just to be met with silence or dismissal. I may never get the response I would hope for, and that’s a grief I’ve learned to hold gently. For now, protecting my healing matters more than being understood by people who never truly saw me.

And maybe that’s the bravest choice of all.

Photo by Ioann-Mark Kuznietsov on Unsplash

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

The Black Sheep Hath Landed

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

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

Full-Blown ADHD: Summer Days Drifting Away

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

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

Grandma: My Parent, Teacher, and Best Friend

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

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

Phobias and Mischief

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

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

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

Quirky and Quirkier Friends

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

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

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

Summing up: What Children Believe, They Become

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

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

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

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

But the grief is still there. Quiet. Confusing. All-consuming. It lingers in the silence. It whispers in the questions. It pulses through the ache of “what could have been” and “what should have been.” And the hardest part? Much of this grief doesn’t have a clear source, an ending, or even a name.

This kind of grief is often called ambiguous loss. It’s what Dr. Pauline Boss describes as a loss that’s unclear, without closure. For those of us healing from complex trauma and childhood abuse, ambiguous loss is everywhere. We grieve things that are hard to define, like the version of ourselves we never got to be, the family we pretended we had, or the safety we told ourselves existed. It’s the pain of losing something that may not have ever truly been there.

There’s the grief of the childhood you didn’t get. Maybe you’ve spent years trying to convince yourself it “wasn’t that bad” or that others “had it worse.” But at some point, in healing, you start to see the cracks. You begin to understand what should have been. You realize that while other kids were being nurtured, protected, and celebrated, you were surviving. That grief runs deep. It’s mourning the little you who was robbed of joy and innocence, without ever realizing it at the time.

Then there’s the grief of the dreams you used to have. Maybe you imagined a life full of love, or a version of success that made it all feel worth it. And now? Now you’re sorting through the wreckage of expectations that were built on survival. You’re letting go of the hope that healing would look a certain way, or that life would one day “make sense.” The grief of unmet dreams isn’t dramatic or cinematic. It’s often quiet. A slow unraveling. A daily reckoning with reality.

And finally, there’s the grief of rebuilding. Starting over, not from scratch, but from scar tissue. Piecing together a new identity after realizing the one you had was shaped by trauma. There’s grief in that too. Grief in the loss of illusion. In the loneliness of transformation. In the deep fatigue that comes from carrying your story and choosing to heal anyway.

So, how do we heal grief like this?

First, we name it. You can’t grieve what you haven’t acknowledged. Maybe it feels silly to mourn something that “wasn’t real” but your body remembers the absence. Your heart knows what it needed and didn’t get. Naming that loss validates it.

Then, we give ourselves permission to mourn. Really mourn. Cry, write, rage, go quiet. There’s no right way to grieve. No rule book. Grief is not a problem to solve. It’s a process to move through with care.

Ritual can help too. It might feel awkward at first, but creating space to honor what’s been lost matters. Light a candle for your inner child. Write a goodbye letter to the version of you that stayed silent. Say out loud the dream you thought would save you. It doesn’t need to be grand. It just needs to be honest.

As we grieve, we start to reimagine who we are becoming. This part is slow and fragile and fierce all at once. We learn to build an identity rooted in truth, not survival. We stop asking who others want us to be and begin asking, “Who do I want to become now?”

And maybe most importantly, we find others who get it. The kind of grief that comes with trauma is lonely. But it doesn’t have to stay that way. When we share our stories, something shifts. We are no longer invisible. We are seen. And when we’re seen, we heal a little more.

Grief isn’t always loud. Sometimes it shows up as exhaustion. Or numbness. Or the quiet ache of realizing that the past cannot be changed, but the future is still yours to shape.

If you are grieving a childhood, you never got…
If you are mourning a dream that never came true…
If you are piecing your life back together, one scarred fragment at a time…

You’re not broken. You’re in process. And that, dear friend, is brave, meaningful work.

A Personal Note:
I didn’t fully understand this kind of grief until I was in it. Until I found myself mourning things I couldn’t even name. If you’re in that space too, I just want you to know that you are not alone. This isn’t the kind of grief most people talk about, but it’s real. And it deserves tenderness. You are worthy of healing, of rebuilding, and of a life that feels like it finally belongs to you. Take your time. Hold your heart gently. You’re doing work that matters.

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

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

An Existential Identity Crisis

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

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

Becoming a Social Outcast

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

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

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

The Birth of the Fear of Abandonment

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

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

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

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

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

Walking Away From Abuse

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

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

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

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

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

Rising from the Ashes

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

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

Final Thoughts: Know Thyself and Thou Shall Know Thy God

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

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

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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

Life is a series of dominoes—each experience triggering the next, creating a chain reaction that shapes our journey

For those navigating the path of healing from complex trauma, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the weight of past experiences. But within this very sequence lies a profound lesson: the domino effect can be harnessed as a force for resilience and transformation.

Healing from complex trauma is not a linear process; it’s a journey with many twists and turns, setbacks and triumphs. Like a domino setup, it may seem that one fall could cause the collapse of the entire structure. But what if we reframed our perspective? What if, instead of fearing the falling dominoes, we embraced the potential they hold?

The first step in this journey is acknowledging your strengths, no matter how small, because our strengths are the resources we can use to build from. You’ve endured and survived. That resilience is the cornerstone upon which you build your path to healing. Each domino represents a step forward—a trauma recovery coaching session, a moment of self-reflection, a meditation, a prayer, the decision to confront a particular fear, a day, or even just an hour or a minute where you can choose self-care over self-doubt.

Often, we underestimate the power of small actions. Imagine each action as a domino, poised to tip the next one. A kind word to yourself or seeking support from a friend or an online support group—these seemingly small actions set off a chain reaction. They create momentum, gradually shifting the trajectory of your healing journey.

There will be many moments when you feel stuck, when progress seems halted, to be sure. So it’s crucial to remember that just as a chain reaction slows at times, it doesn’t mean it’s stopped. It only takes one domino to restart the cascade—a moment of insight, a breakthrough with your coach, or a newfound coping mechanism. These moments reignite the domino effect, propelling you forward once again.

Healing from complex trauma requires patience and understanding. Be gentle with yourself at your current ability level, when the road feels arduous. Remember, it’s okay to rest. Even in rest, as you catch your breath, the dominoes are still in place, ready to move when you’re rejuvenated and prepared to continue.

Community and support are pillars of strength. Surround yourself with individuals who uplift and encourage your journey. Share your story (only what feels ok and safe to share), and connect with others who have walked similar paths. In doing so, you create a network of interconnected dominoes, each supporting the other, amplifying the power of collective resilience.

As the dominoes fall, each one symbolizes progress—a testament to your courage and determination. Embrace the idea that healing is not about erasing the past but about finding peace from it. Your wounds turn into scars and your scars tell stories of your survival, resilience, and eventual triumph.

IT’S NOT MAGIC, IT’S SCIENCE:

WHAT EXPONENTIAL GROWTH TRULY LOOKS LIKE 

Imagine this: a single domino can topple another, and that one, in turn, can set off a chain reaction. This simple idea embodies the science of the domino effect—an illustration of how small actions can lead to massive results. The “magic” lies in the exponential growth inherent in this phenomenon: When a domino falls, it can knock over another domino that’s about 1.5 times larger. This seemingly minor increase in size results in a progressively greater force. After just 23 dominoes, the last one would be as tall as the Empire State Building. And with only a few more, those dominoes could stretch all the way to the moon!

This scientific principle mirrors the journey of recovering from complex trauma. Initially, taking those first small steps might not seem significant, but each action creates a ripple effect, setting off a sequence of events that gain momentum over time.

So, as you embark on your trauma recovery journey, remember the power of the domino effect. Every small step forward is like toppling a domino, setting in motion a chain reaction of healing. Embrace the compounding effect of these actions, knowing that they have the potential to create a monumental shift in your life.

1st Domino:

The size of a standard domino is roughly about 2 inches by 1 inch (5 cm by 2.5 cm).

5th Domino:

Comparable to a smartphone, measuring approximately 5.5 inches by 2.75 inches (14 cm by 7 cm).

10th Domino:

Roughly the size of a standard laptop, around 15 inches by 9.5 inches (38 cm by 24 cm).

20th Domino:

Similar in size to a small flat-screen TV, approximately 1.05 meters by 41 inches by 20 inches (0.52 meters).

23rd Domino:

Reaching the height of an average adult, standing at about 5 feet 7 inches tall (1.70 meter).

26th Domino:

Towering to the height of a two-story house, at approximately 14 feet 5 inches (4.39 meters).

29th Domino:

Standing at approximately 1,454 feet (443.2 meters) tall, the height of the Empire State Building.

50th Domino:

Using the initial domino as a reference (approximately 2 inches or 5 cm tall), it would take around 50 iterations of the 1.5 times growth to achieve a height capable of reaching the moon. So, after merely getting to the 50th domino in the sequence, with the exponential growth continuing, you could literally reach or even surpass the distance to the moon (238,855 miles or 384,400 kms from Earth)!

This staggering illustration showcases the incredible power of exponential growth in the domino effect, and the astonishing progression in size as the dominoes continue to fall. From the small scale of handheld objects to human-sized and even architectural and astronomical proportions, this sequence illustrates the tremendous impact that the cumulative effect of small actions can have as we take one step back, then one small step forward, and then another, and another, on our brave journey towards trauma recovery. In the face of daunting challenges, you may not always be able to see it, yet it is a scientific fact that every small action sets off a chain reaction, capable of monumental outcomes.

WHAT’S THE POINT?

Within the simple fall of a domino lies a profound lesson—the power of resilience and the potential of incremental progress. Each step forward, no matter how seemingly small, contributes to the exponential chain reaction of your growth and transformation.

As you bravely navigate the journey of healing from complex trauma, remember the wisdom of the domino effect and trust the resilience within you because as a survivor, you have indeed survived 100% of everything you have had to endure to get to this very blog post today.

Embrace your process, with all its highs and lows, knowing that your actions, each one akin to toppling a domino, carry within them the potential for monumental transformation, in the same way that the humble acorn carries within its tiny, hardened shell, the promise of a mighty oak.

ARE YOU READY TO RECOVER WITH THE SUPPORT OF

A CERTIFIED COMPLEX TRAUMA RECOVERY COACH? 

BOOK A FREE 45-MINUTE DISCOVERY CALL WITH ME!

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.