Have you taken some time for yourself today?

If you are a trauma survivor, the answer is probably not. As survivors, the last person we think about is ourselves because we have spent years being suppressed into believing that we don’t exist, that we are nothing, and that we deserve nothing.

An abuser asserts control over us by intimidation and fear. The damage from hearing that we are nothing and we have no voice is deeply ingrained in us. It doesn’t matter if decades have passed since you left home; that core self-image was shattered well before your personality had taken form.

This is why we never stop to think about ourselves.

In this article, I want to address the issue of self-image after suffering child abuse and how this deep wound is difficult to heal.

Let’s start with an exercise:

Look in a full-length mirror where you can see your whole body. If you don’t have one at home, plenty of stores have them. I want you to linger in front of the mirror and look at yourself.

What do you see?

Who do you see?

What does your face look like?

Are you smiling, or do you have a sad face?

What does this tell you about the image in the mirror? Who is this person in the mirror? Where have you been today?

As trauma survivors, we rarely stop and look at ourselves.

Next, look at your body.

What do you see?

What are you wearing?

Why did you wear those clothes today?

How do they make you feel?

When we have a disconnect between ourselves and the world, we don’t always pause to think about what we look like.

Now, back to my first question: How are you feeling today?

Did you find those questions difficult to answer? Why do you think that is?

In our busy world, we rarely take the time to pause and simply be for a while. We’re so busy that we often eat our lunch at our desks; heck, we might even work through lunch. Our calendars are so full that we cannot afford to stop, and it is no wonder that we get sick from stress.

Taking time to notice how we feel is so far down our agenda that we forget to “feel.” It is no wonder that if we cannot “feel,” we also forget who we are.

I want you to look into that mirror one more time. This time, look into your eyes. Someone once told me that eyes are like windows into the soul. I agree with them. Eyes do tell stories about someone, if you look.

What do you see in your eyes? Can you see the emotional pain that you are in?

If you can see it, then maybe you can start to understand that the pain is there. You were deeply hurt, but your life is not over; far from it.

You matter, and you still have many sunrises to discover.

There is so much that your face can tell you, and if you look even closer at your image, there is a road map laid out in front of you.

Every bruise, scar, blemish, and wrinkle has a story. They matter, every single one matters because they are yours.

They tell the exact truth of how much you have had to endure in the past. How brave you were to overcome your trauma; to stand here in this moment, and look at yourself.

My therapist asked me; who do I see when I look in the mirror? I found myself not being able to answer. Then she changed the question and asked me to tell me how other people saw me.

It took me a while to answer because I never really think about myself.

Do you take time to think about yourself?

Who are you?

My therapist had to break it down for me into labels to help me answer her question. I was like a child having their food cut up into bite-sized pieces. But in this case, the food was a simple question of: who are you?

We eventually agreed that I was a wife, mom, author, teacher, etc. Those are all true facts, but I still couldn’t find the words to name them.

If you are finding it tricky to think of who you are, then turn it around and think about how other people see you.

Who are you to others around you? How do they see you?

Think about everything that you have achieved so far, and be proud of every stepping stone it took to get there. I’m not just talking about academics here, but anything you have achieved, no matter how small, is still something.

Where have you been, and what kind of people did you meet along the way?

How did those experiences and people teach you and shape you to who you are today?

You should feel proud of who you are, wherever your life is in this moment. You survived, and your body is your story.

From now on, you have a choice of where you want to go next. You are free to make that choice, and nobody can tell you what to do and how to do it. You are free.

I know these words are hard to read because if you are anything like me, you don’t believe in yourself. It’s hard to feel proud of anything when it doesn’t come naturally.

What do we say to our kids when they cannot do something at first? Well, we ask them to try again, and again, and again. We tell them that by practicing something, eventually they will get better and succeed.

So, take another look in that mirror and practice telling yourself that you matter, and you should feel proud of who you are.

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

Photo by Luis Villasmil 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.

Elizabeth Woods

For more about me: https://www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Elizabeth Woods grew up in a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. Elizabeth is passionate about spreading awareness of what it is like to survive after trauma. She is the author of several books and has written her memoir, telling her childhood story: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds, available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.

Elizabeth is also the author of “Living with Complex PTSD” and the Cedar’s Port Fiction series: “Saving Joshua”, “Protecting Sarah”, “Guarding Noah” and “Bringing Back Faith,” and “Restoring Hope,” available here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BCBZQN7L/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=7e223b5b-1a29-45f0-ad9d-e9c8fdb59e9c&ref_=ap_rdr&ccs_id=931f96e2-c220-4765-acc8-cc99bb95e8bd

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/

What she wrote is honest and deeply resonant. I’m so grateful she was willing to share it here:

When I started my journey into healing my digestive issues in my early twenties, I was eager to learn everything I could about health, well-being, and personal development. What began as a personal search for answers slowly turned into something else: I started taking certification courses, not just to understand myself better, but to help others, as well. After completing my Ayurveda certification almost two decades later, I stepped into the role of health counsellor, ready and excited to work with clients.

Looking back now, years later, I can see much more clearly what happened.

What I truly wanted was simple: to help people. I wanted to understand them, support them, guide them in breaking patterns, and help them heal–just as I had done. But very quickly, my days filled up with other things. Creating programs. Building websites. Writing yet another landing page. Designing freebies. Posting on social media. Learning marketing strategies. Trying to “grow my audience.”

This was all well-meant advice from the various business coaches I worked with–and it wasn’t necessarily wrong. But it slowly drained the life out of me.

It was stressful and time-consuming, and the painful irony was that I was hardly coaching anyone. I spent more time thinking about clever Instagram captions than sitting with real people, listening deeply, and doing the work I was actually trained for and loved.

Without really choosing it, I had become a creator-based entrepreneur–something I never aspired to be. At the same time, I was struggling financially, while being promised six-figure outcomes if I just tried harder, created more, and optimized better.

Over those six years, I created program after program. I hired more business coaches. I followed strategies that didn’t fit me, and watched them fail. The process depleted me, chipped away at my confidence, and eventually left me questioning whether I wanted to keep coaching at all.

But I am not quitting coaching.

What I am quitting are fancy program names, endless landing pages, constant posting on Instagram, and the pressure to produce more content, more materials, and more “proof.” I’m quitting doing things just for the gram. I’m quitting the all-consuming stress. I never wanted that life.

This pivot I’m making now–moving away from being a creator-based entrepreneur and back to simply being a coach–isn’t a step backwards. It’s a return–a remembering. This is a choice to honor how I actually work best, not how the industry says I should.

And maybe this journey was never really about building something external at all. Maybe it was my own healing path: a slow return home to myself. Moving through trauma, hardship, and old patterns of pushing, I was finally ready to listen, trust, and honor my own rhythm.

As we move into a new year, I’m not setting intentions around bigger goals or more output. I’m choosing a different orientation, even though I don’t yet know exactly how it will unfold.

Less pressing.
Less forcing.
Less building from depletion.

More listening.
More honesty.
More choosing ease. 

I don’t have this all figured out. I’m not claiming that choosing peace automatically makes things easy or clear. What I am doing is experimenting–noticing what feels aligned and what doesn’t, and allowing myself to respond, instead of overriding.

This pivot isn’t a final destination. It’s a practice–one I’m committed to trying and trusting.

Christa is a non-diet Ayurveda health counsellor, intuitive eating coach, and body image coach. With her approach, she helps women release stress, guilt, and anxiety around food and helps them to trust their body’s cues again with compassion and confidence. Originally from the Netherlands, she resides in Vancouver with her wife and two cats and is a graduate of “Beyond Surviving.” 

If you are interested in learning more about her work, reach out to her at christa@sageandsaintsayurveda.com. 

I hope her words invite you to pause and gently ask: what would it look like to honor yourself more this year? 

To flow instead of force!
Rachel


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

Photo by Peter Trones 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.

Rachel Grant

Rachel Grant is the owner and founder of Rachel Grant Coaching and is a Sexual Abuse Recovery Coach and M.A. in Counseling Psychology. She is also the author of Beyond Surviving: The Final Stage in Recovery from Sexual Abuse.  Based on her educational training, study of neuroscience, and lessons learned from her own journey, she has successfully used the Beyond Surviving Program since 2007 to help survivors of childhood sexual abuse who are beyond sick and tired of feeling broken and unfixable break free from the pain of abuse and finally move on with their lives.

www.rachelgrantcoaching.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scrubbed Innocence

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo by Alex Shute on Unsplash

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

Heather Jurvelin

Finally feeling truly alive for the first time in my life, I am writing from a place of gradual healing with an eye to the future and a hope of connecting with others on similar paths. Forced to withhold a tsunami of emotions deemed irrelevant under the roof of my childhood “home,” the blank white pages of my notebooks invited my raw reflections without judgment. Writing allowed me to free the burdens of my soul, but at some point, I muzzled myself. My pen lay dormant for years until, at 41 years old, I experienced a traumatic flashback during an everyday activity that shook me to the core. Five days later, I started writing about the things I had long withheld. I couldn’t stop. Written words have once again become my refuge. I now recognize that these words, resurrected from the ashes of my pain, may have the power to help others. Above all, I want to magnify and share the messages that I have most treasured on my journey: we are not alone and we don’t ever have to go back. This is where we live now and the future is ours.

What Does It Mean to Be an Ally?

Being an ally means more than expressing support—it means actively standing with and advocating for LGBTQ+ individuals in a way that uplifts, protects, and respects their identities. In the context of therapy and mental health, allyship also means creating affirming spaces where people of all gender identities and sexual orientations feel welcomed and understood.

Mental Health Disparities in the LGBTQ+ Community

LGBTQ+ individuals face significantly higher rates of mental health challenges, including depression, anxiety, PTSD, and suicidality. According to The Trevor Project, 41% of LGBTQ+ youth seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year. These aren’t just statistics—they’re reflections of the real-world pain that stems from marginalization, bullying, family rejection, and lack of access to affirming care.

Being an ally can help disrupt these harmful patterns.

Why Allyship Matters in Therapy

Therapists hold a unique responsibility—and opportunity—to foster trust and safety. For LGBTQ+ clients, a validating therapist can be life-changing. Affirming care can reduce mental health risks, increase self-acceptance, and build resilience. On the flip side, experiences with non-affirming professionals can retraumatize clients or push them away from seeking care altogether.

This means being an ally in therapy isn’t just “nice to have”—it’s necessary.

Here are a few ways allyship shows up in therapeutic settings:

• Using inclusive language and asking for (and respecting) pronouns.
• Educating ourselves continuously about LGBTQ+ issues, terminology, and lived experiences.
• Challenging biases, both our own and those present in systems or structures that affect our clients.
• Creating a safe and welcoming physical space, including visible signs of support like inclusive literature, Pride symbols, or nondiscrimination policies.

How Everyone Can Be an Ally

Allyship isn’t only for therapists or mental health professionals. Friends, family, coworkers, and community members all have a role to play. Here are some simple but powerful actions:

• Listen without judgment and believe people when they share their identity with you.
• Speak up against anti-LGBTQ+ comments, jokes, or policies—even when it’s uncomfortable.
• Support LGBTQ+ rights through advocacy, education, and voting.
• Celebrate LGBTQ+ joy, not just struggle.

A Commitment to Inclusive Care

At Brickel and Associates, we are committed to providing inclusive, trauma-informed care for LGBTQ+ individuals and families. Whether you’re seeking support as an individual, a couple, or a parent navigating questions around identity, you are welcome here. Our team continues to learn, grow, and advocate—because allyship is not a destination. It’s an ongoing practice rooted in compassion, humility, and action.

We see you. We support you. And we’re honored to walk with you.

If you’re looking for affirming therapy or would like to learn more about our approach to inclusive care, reach out to our team. We’re here to help.

Robyn Brickel

Robyn is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with 20+ years of experience providing psychotherapy, as well as the founder and clinical director of a private practice, Brickel and Associates, LLC in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia. She and her team bring a strengths-based, trauma-informed, systems approach to the treatment of individuals (adolescents and adults), couples and families. She specializes in trauma (including attachment trauma) and the use of dissociative mechanisms; such as: self-harm, eating disorders and addictions. She also approaches treatment of perinatal mental health from a trauma-informed lens.

Robyn also guides clients and clinicians who wish to better understand the impact of trauma on mental health and relationships. She has a wide range of post graduate trauma and addictions education and is trained in numerous relational models of practice, including Emotionally Focused Couple Therapy (EFT), the Psychobiological Approach to Couple Therapy (PACT), and Imago therapy. She is a trained Sensorimotor Psychotherapist and is a Certified EMDRIA therapist and Approved Consultant. Utilizing all of these tools, along with mindfulness and ego state work to provide the best care to her clients. She prides herself in always learning and expanding her knowledge on a daily basis about the intricacies of treating complex trauma and trauma’s impact on perinatal distress.

She frequently shares insights, resources and links to mental health news on Facebook and Twitter as well as in her blog at BrickelandAssociates.com

To contact Robyn directly:

Robyn@RobynBrickel.com

www.BrickelandAssociates.com

brickelandassociates.com/

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

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

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

Rose’s life was tragically stolen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Names in this story have been changed for anonymity. 

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

Photo by Kane Reinholdtsen on Unsplash

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

Victoria B.

Can’t anyone see the errors?

Your mind starts to drift beyond the meeting. Your kids are waiting patiently for you to come home, and you can’t wait to see their young faces light up as you walk through the door.

One of your co-workers coughs and sets down a half-filled glass of water on the table. He makes noise doing so, and mumbles an apology.

The presentation carries on, but the numbers and profit margins only get worse. Things just don’t add up. You sigh and inwardly cringe at the errors in the data. Something is not right.

Do you speak up and risk the room and your boss resenting you for pointing out the mistakes? Or do you let it go? After all, you just want to go home. 

The answer is not always a definitive “yes.” There are many reasons why we don’t speak up in meetings and in work settings. We fear being ridiculed and laughed at, or even worse–being completely ignored.

I usually speak up in situations like these, but reactions from colleagues have not always been welcomed. The truth can sting even the most stubborn of people. We have to find the right way to tell the truth. One way is to sugar-coat the obvious by buttering up our boss first in order to not offend, and then gently break down their useless presentation.

Why do we have to so carefully protect the egos of our colleagues? Why not just tell the truth?

The answer is that most people take criticism badly, even if you are right. There is a silent etiquette at play in the work environment, and sometimes we get it wrong. If not done carefully, helping might even be taken as offensive.

I’ve worked in several different offices before returning to work in an elementary school. It’s interesting to see the office/work politics happening between colleagues. Basically, it’s a microcosm of all kinds of people doing projects who would otherwise never mix outside of work. Of course, everyone is professional, but there is a tension caused by the politics that hangs in the air of our workspaces.

As a trauma survivor, I see the subtle shifts in body language like silent alarms. It’s interesting how human beings communicate with their bodies (and facial expressions) without saying a single word. I can tell if someone is not being truthful or holding something back, and I wonder why they choose not to speak their mind. Why can’t we be more honest with each other?

These same traits exist in the school environment, as well. The teacher’s lounge can be a toxic place, and sometimes I choose to be outside with my students instead of indoors with colleagues. Other times I need a break, and stay in my classroom pretending to organize. Truth is, I just need ten minutes to organize my thoughts without anyone else’s interference or opinions.

What do you do in your work environment when something is not right? Do you speak up, or do you let it slide?

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

Photo by Patrick Fore 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.

Elizabeth Woods

For more about me: https://www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Elizabeth Woods grew up in a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. Elizabeth is passionate about spreading awareness of what it is like to survive after trauma. She is the author of several books and has written her memoir, telling her childhood story: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds, available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.

Elizabeth is also the author of “Living with Complex PTSD” and the Cedar’s Port Fiction series: “Saving Joshua”, “Protecting Sarah”, “Guarding Noah” and “Bringing Back Faith,” and “Restoring Hope,” available here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BCBZQN7L/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=7e223b5b-1a29-45f0-ad9d-e9c8fdb59e9c&ref_=ap_rdr&ccs_id=931f96e2-c220-4765-acc8-cc99bb95e8bd

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/

A Dragonfly Mosaic: My Journey from Fear to Love is the working title of the memoir I’m currently writing. It chronicles a lifetime shaped by complex trauma and my ongoing path toward healing. The sudden death of my mother when I was fifteen was the primary event that fractured my sense of safety, but it was not the only one. I grew up in a chaotic household dominated by my father’s severe alcoholism. Over time, I also experienced the premature deaths of my brother, sister, and longtime best friend. My life included domestic violence, police brutality, being struck by a truck while crossing the street, and a near-fatal reaction to medication. Of all these experiences, profound loss and abandonment cut the deepest.

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

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

What Didn’t Work

Along the way, I tried many healing modalities that did not help me. These included energy-based practices, such as Reiki, which aim to balance the body’s energy centers. I tried homeopathy, based on the idea that “like heals like” through highly diluted substances. I tried Rolfing, a bodywork approach that attempts to release trauma through manipulation of the body’s fascia. While these practices may help others, they were ineffective for me. Some talk therapy experiences were also unhelpful, particularly those with counselors who were not trained in trauma-informed care. I spent years talking about my pain without learning how to process it. I also explored Internal Family Systems (IFS), which views the psyche as a system of “parts” guided by a core, compassionate Self. While this framework gave me valuable insight and language for understanding myself, it did not reduce my trauma symptoms. Each unsuccessful attempt left me more discouraged, reinforcing the belief that I was broken or beyond repair.

What Worked

One therapy that made a meaningful difference was EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). EMDR involves processing traumatic memories through guided eye movements, allowing the brain to refile them in a less distressing way. I was able to enter the altered, almost hypnotic state this therapy requires with relative ease. During sessions, my mind would move fluidly between memories, linking past experiences in unexpected ways. Often, an older, wiser version of myself would appear, offering comfort and re-parenting the younger me. In this sense, EMDR allowed me to retell my life story. While EMDR helped me significantly over time, in the short term, my symptoms intensified, especially my nightmares. Healing, I learned, is rarely linear. Another form of therapy that has helped—and that I continue to use—is Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT). ACT taught me something I had never learned before: how to stop fighting my pain. Instead of trying to eliminate difficult thoughts and emotions, ACT encourages acceptance while committing to a life guided by values. What I love about ACT is its practicality. It gave me concrete tools to sit with pain rather than flee from it. Over time, this approach freed me from relying on others for emotional regulation. I became more grounded, more independent, and more compassionate toward myself.

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

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

My Insights

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

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

Closing

I hope this post has offered comfort, insight, or a sense of companionship on your own journey. If you’d like to explore further, please visit my website, where you can read my latest post on the therapeutic value of Siddhartha and Slaughterhouse-Five for those living with CPTSD. You can also sign up for my newsletter to be notified when A Dragonfly Mosaic: My Journey from Fear to Love is released.

Biography
Grace Mattioli is the author of three novels: “Olive Branches Don’t Grow on Trees,” “Discovery of an Eagle,” and “The Bird that Sang in Color.” She is currently working on a memoir, “A Dragonfly Mosaic: My Journey from Fear to Love,” and several short stories. She lives in Portland, Oregon, with her husband and her cats. Her books are available from all major online book sellers, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Apple Books.

Photo by Rohan Makhecha on Unsplash

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

Grace Mattoli

The clock can’t be fixed, but it functions just well enough to insist on remaining in my life.

This year feels different.

Life circumstances have pulled me back toward a period between 2013 and 2016—years marked by chaos, conflict, and past trauma layered atop older wounds. I had long since moved forward, but I am again navigating doctors, therapists, and courts. Systems designed to help now mirror a time I worked hard to survive.

My former husband is reliving his own trauma history, responding to the present as though it were the past. Years ago, his serious mental illness was evaluated by doctors, and while some diagnoses were ruled out, his grasp on reality was not consistently intact. Anyone who has lived with someone in this condition knows this truth: you cannot reason with someone who is time-collapsed into trauma and out of touch with reality. Attempts to explain, correct, or defend only pull you deeper into the spiral.

As a parent, my primary task is containment—protecting my 15-year-old son from being drawn into an emotional reality that is not his responsibility to carry. And yet, even with firm boundaries in place, I find myself spending more time revisiting events I believed were behind me.

Like that clock in storage, the past keeps chiming—insistent, familiar, yet out of tune and slightly inaccurate.

So the question becomes essential rather than philosophical:

How do we keep another person’s unresolved trauma from pulling us out of the present and back into a time we no longer live in?

Trauma Lives Outside of Time

One of the most disorienting aspects of complex trauma is its relationship to time. Trauma does not age chronologically. It does not move forward simply because years pass. When someone has not processed or integrated their experiences, their nervous system can remain anchored to a moment of threat long after the danger has ended.

To the person holding the broken clock, the time it shows still feels very real.

For survivors of CPTSD, this can be especially dangerous. Many of us learned early that safety depended on vigilance—on monitoring emotional shifts, anticipating explosions, and preventing collapse. When someone around us becomes destabilized, our nervous system may respond automatically, pulling us into an old role: mediator, protector, translator, and peacekeeper.

But engaging with someone who is time-collapsed does not bring resolution. It brings reenactment.

You cannot convince a clock to tell the correct time by arguing with it.

When Compassion Turns Into Self-Abandonment

For trauma survivors, boundaries often come tangled with guilt. We confuse compassion with participation. We fear that stepping back makes us cruel, uncaring, or disloyal—especially when the other person is clearly suffering.

But compassion does not require immersion.

We can acknowledge another person’s pain without stepping into their emotional storm. We can recognize that someone is reliving something that feels real to them–without agreeing to live there, too.

CPTSD survivors are particularly vulnerable to emotional contagion. Another person’s dysregulation can feel physically destabilizing, triggering old survival responses: hypervigilance, dissociation, panic, or collapse. What looks like “overthinking” is often the nervous system scanning for danger it has learned to respect.

Boundaries, then, are not a moral stance. They are a physiological necessity.

Boundaries as Timekeepers

Healthy boundaries are not walls meant to punish or exile. They are closer to property lines—clear markers of where one person ends and another begins. They do not erase history. They simply prevent history from overrunning the present.

In trauma recovery, boundaries often function as timekeepers. They help us stay oriented to now.

When someone insists on engaging from an old emotional reality, a boundary says: I recognize that this feels urgent to you, but I am choosing to live in the present.

This may look like limiting conversations, declining emotional engagement, or allowing professionals—not family members—to hold therapeutic responsibility. It may feel cold at first, especially to those of us conditioned to respond in a dysregulated way.

But stability is not cruelty.

Parenting in the Presence of Unresolved Trauma

When children are involved, the stakes are higher. Children should not be asked—explicitly or implicitly—to inherit unfinished emotional business. They should not be pulled into loyalty binds, emotional caretaking, or adult conflicts rooted in the past.

As parents, we may feel torn between empathy for another adult’s suffering and fierce protectiveness toward our children. This tension is real—and exhausting.

Containment becomes an act of love.

Sometimes that means keeping our children anchored in the present, even when another adult is living in the past. It means refusing to let yesterday’s pain dictate today’s relationships. And it means protecting children from being pulled into someone else’s unresolved history.

Letting the Clock Stay in Storage

I still haven’t donated the clock.

That matters.

Letting something remain in storage is not the same as denying its existence. It is a recognition that while the object may hold history, it no longer belongs in my daily life. It does not deserve a place on the wall simply because it once did.

This is what healthy boundaries often look like in practice. Not dramatic cutoffs. Not erasure. But intentional distance.

I don’t have to throw the clock in the dumpster.
I don’t have to hang a clock on my wall that can’t keep time correctly.
I simply decided not to organize my life around it.

Choosing the Present

Healing often involves reclaiming our right to live in the current time—to experience relationships, parenting, and daily life without being pulled backward by someone else’s unresolved pain.

Some people will continue to measure time by moments of loss, betrayal, or fear. That does not obligate us to do the same.

Boundaries are how safety becomes predictable.
They are how compassion stays humane.
They are how the present remains livable.

And sometimes, healing looks like this:

Choosing a clock that keeps time with who you are now—and letting the others keep chiming quietly, somewhere out of view.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

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

Wendy Hoke

Wendy Hoke is the author of The Bishop’s Cross: A Journey to the Truth and co-author of The Church of Gomorrah: When Sexual Abusers Remain in the Church. Her grandfather was a pedophile who preyed on little girls in his own family. The Bishop’s Cross looks into the family dynamics that enable a child molester to continue unabated.

She has been successfully writing for others for many years, first in the financial industry and now as a content curator and ghost blogger. She has finally put pen to paper to tell her own story. You can contact her directly through her website, wendyhoke.com.

wendyhoke.com/

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

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

Trauma carries on long after it happened. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who decides what’s important?

Breaking Free

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

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

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

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

Taking Back Control

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Setting Goals

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

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

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

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

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

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

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

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

Here are a few links to my top articles:

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

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

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

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

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

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

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

Elizabeth Woods

For more about me: https://www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Elizabeth Woods grew up in a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. Elizabeth is passionate about spreading awareness of what it is like to survive after trauma. She is the author of several books and has written her memoir, telling her childhood story: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds, available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.

Elizabeth is also the author of “Living with Complex PTSD” and the Cedar’s Port Fiction series: “Saving Joshua”, “Protecting Sarah”, “Guarding Noah” and “Bringing Back Faith,” and “Restoring Hope,” available here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BCBZQN7L/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=7e223b5b-1a29-45f0-ad9d-e9c8fdb59e9c&ref_=ap_rdr&ccs_id=931f96e2-c220-4765-acc8-cc99bb95e8bd

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

To Joy!

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

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Rachel Grant

Rachel Grant is the owner and founder of Rachel Grant Coaching and is a Sexual Abuse Recovery Coach and M.A. in Counseling Psychology. She is also the author of Beyond Surviving: The Final Stage in Recovery from Sexual Abuse.  Based on her educational training, study of neuroscience, and lessons learned from her own journey, she has successfully used the Beyond Surviving Program since 2007 to help survivors of childhood sexual abuse who are beyond sick and tired of feeling broken and unfixable break free from the pain of abuse and finally move on with their lives.

www.rachelgrantcoaching.com