I know you never understood why life felt so heavy so early. You tried to shrink yourself— be quieter, easier, “good enough”—hoping it would make the pain stop. None of that was ever your responsibility. You were just a child, learning to survive in a place that didn’t feel safe. You became so observant. You learned to read every sound, every shift in the room— the meaning behind footsteps, the tone of a voice, the silence that told you it was finally okay to breathe. While other kids were carefree, you were careful. And that carefulness wasn’t weakness— it was protection. It was the way you held on to the part of yourself that refused to disappear.

Then came the day everything broke open. The fight. Loud, terrifying, shaking everything you knew. For a moment, it felt like it might be over— that maybe this meant safety had finally arrived. But it was short lived. You watched your dad hurting, confused, already fighting something far bigger than anyone understood. He was sick. Very sick. When he went to the hospital, it felt like being left behind in a world that still wasn’t safe. But this time you knew how much he loved you. What you didn’t hear— was how proud he was of you. Every school assignment you finished, every day you kept going, every ounce of strength you didn’t even know you had… he saw it. He carried that pride with him to his last breath. Saying goodbye to him happened too fast. And starting over didn’t feel like a fresh start the way you had hoped. You wanted safety, softness, love, and an embrace that didn’t come with fear. Instead, the hurt followed you to your new home with your mom. You found yourself in a familiar place where you were never safe.

But here is what you don’t see yet:

You survive.
Not in a quiet, barely-there way— but in a fierce, stubborn, unyielding way. You endure things that should have silenced you, and instead, slowly, painfully… you find your voice. The day you decide “enough” will hit different. Your words will be direct and unapologetic. They will be steady. Certain. And it will change everything.

And then, heartbreak comes once again.

You lose your mom. Before she could see the life you were building. Before she could stand beside you in the moments you dreamed of sharing. That grief will feel endless. It will consume you. It will settle deep in your bones. And just when you think you’ve learned how to carry it, there will be more loss. Your big sister will get sick. And you will have to say goodbye once again. You will wonder how one heart can hold so much.

But listen carefully:

It does.
And it keeps going.
Because alongside all that loss, something else is growing— something powerful.

You build a life.
A real one. A safe one.
You became the parent you needed. You created a home where love doesn’t hurt, where voices aren’t feared, where children don’t have to shrink to feel safe. You raise incredible kids— kind, strong, loving, whole in ways you had to fight to become.

And then life gives you something you never dared to imagine back then— you became a grandparent. You get to watch laughter exist in spaces where pain once lived.

You are not just the girl who endured trauma.
You are the woman who broke its cycle.
The scars you carry? They are real. They shaped you. But they do not define the ending of your story.

That is your legacy.

You are not just the girl who was hurt. You are the woman who stood up.
The woman who broke the pattern.
The woman who chose something better— and built it with her own hands.

If I could give you anything, it would be this: knowing nothing you went through was wasted—not because it was meant to happen, but because you turned survival into something meaningful.

You made it.
And not just barely.
You built something beautiful out of what tried to destroy you.

So, hold on, even when it feels endless.
Keep going, even when it doesn’t make sense.
There is a future waiting for you—
where love is gentle,
where home is safe, where you are surrounded
by people who fill you with joy.

I promise you—
You get there.
With all my love,
Your future self.

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

Trigger Warning: This is a darker post than I normally would write, but hey, I think this will resonate for many of you. Take care of yourself as you are reading.

Death is final.

It happens to all of us eventually, but when someone close to you dies, it hits just a little more than other deaths.

Have you experienced death of a close relative or a loved one?

We all grieve in different ways, especially if the person who died was a part of your everyday life. There is a five-stage grief cycle by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. Her research is often mentioned when we talk about grief.

Kubler-Ross’ five stage Grief cycle

• Denial
• Anger
• Bargaining
• Depression
• Acceptance

Source: https://www.healthcentral.com/condition/depression/stages-of-grief

These stages of the grief cycle happen to all of us when we encounter death, but the experience of each stage is personal and can take time. You might be stuck in the denial stage for a long time and go through the anger stage in the afternoon.

The experience of grief is personal, but I think it’s far healthier to talk about how you feel than keep it all inside.

Keeping quiet and holding everything inside almost killed me. I needed someone, anyone to hear me and what I had to say. I wrote The Sex-Offender’s Daughter, https://www.amazon.com/Sex-Offenders-Daughter-Story-Survival-Against-ebook/dp/B0BBSV97VF so that my story of abuse and trauma was out there. No one believed me until this book.

Death

Death is a huge topic, but not something I’ve encountered much until now. My experience with death has been through estranged relatives who have dealt with funeral arrangements and everything else.

This time, I’m next of kin, and the person who needs to decide everything about my father’s remains and his estate. Not only that, but I’m also the only one who must do it because no one else cares.

Do I want a funeral? (Hell no! Nobody would come anyway)

Where should he be buried? (As far as I’m concerned, in a hole of undetermined origin).

Do I want a gravestone? (Nope, why would I want one?)

There’s a whole fat can of worms of legal mumbo jumbo when it comes to the death of a person — Sex-Offender or otherwise.

This time, I’m talking about the death of my abuser. My so-called father. The man who was the source of my pain and that of other kids and women. There were so many of them who were affected by his fear and abuse, but here I am dealing with his death on my own.

The Sex-Offender is dead.

He died alone.

He had nobody coming to see him for years as he lay debilitated after a stroke.

I’m not sorry, nor am I sad that I was estranged from the man for decades. He hurt me in the most profound way, and he led others to do the same. He caused so much misery to so many kids and women, but most of all, he hurt me, his only daughter.

• I was broken because of him.
• I left everyone and everything because of him.
• I started my life again because of him.
• I’ve been living in fear all my life because of him.

The fear unlike no other fear

The day finally came that I’d been wishing for all my life. The death of my father. A man I have feared my entire life. I’m talking about the kind of fear that breaks through every thought and action. A fear so profound that it held me in a death grip all my life.

When I received the news of my father’s death, it hit me in the strangest way I’ve ever felt. No matter how much I’ve longed for the day, I was not prepared for the news.

I was about to settle in for the night after my kids had gone to bed. The news came via social media from an extended family member. I had severed all contact and yet this member of the family found me. Words that I had wanted to hear all my life were delivered as a matter of fact, and all I felt was:

Nothing.

I felt completely calm, and I remember saying to my husband “I don’t care,” and went back to my writing.

But my brain and body had other ideas.

In all that “fine-ness” that I was trying to convey to the world. I was definitely not fine.

The truth is, after a few days, that blissful numbness was no longer. I’m now going through a whole range of emotions. It’s a rollercoaster of deep trauma, moments of clarity, depression, sadness, exhaustion, anger, and a strange sense of inner peace.

All these emotions are rolled into an undulating energy soup that rises and falls like waves inside of my head and chest. It changes every second of every day like a kaleidoscope of light fluctuating in the wind.

So there, Kubler-Ross. I’m an anomaly. I don’t go through those five grief stages. They take over me all at once and more.

Maybe I should invent my own grief cycle that matches what I’m feeling?

Each day is different than the last, each hour, each minute. They all hold some new memories, recently revealed thoughts, or glimpses from my past. A new truth formulating from an adult viewpoint about what was going on. The sudden realization of what it meant.

It consumed me and crushed me. The weight of knowing what he did to me and so many others. I have no words to explain these feelings coursing through my blood.

• Am I feeling “Denial?” No way. I know what happened loud and clear. I’ve lived with the horror all my life.
• Am I feeling “Anger?” You bet, I’m a raging tornado of anger.
• Am I “Bargaining?” Bargaining for what? That he be more dead?

Do I have “Depression?” Well I see the way I’m feeling as normal. Yes, I’m hurting but I’ve come a long way to live my own life free from trauma and abuse. Do the memories still follow me? Yes, but I don’t think traumatic events can go away.

Do I feel “Acceptance?” Yes, I have accepted my life and moved on.

The memories hurt with the same force as they did when they happened. Conversations played out in my head, words that cut me deeper than a knife. Followed by past actions that were terrifying and horrific.

At the same time as these emotions, I must deal with the people who were in my father’s life. The ones who have no clue who he was. There are many legal issues on my shoulders as next of kin to a man with no known will. A dangerous man society had forgotten.

But I haven’t forgotten. I know exactly who he was.

To make everything worse for my head, this is happening in a different time-zone that I don’t live in. I don’t know the estate laws, and don’t want to be spending any time in that place again.

I’m never going back to that place.

My father was a sex-offender and a murderer. He died alone without any friends or family, and I’m not feeling bad that I wasn’t there. I don’t owe the man anything because he stole everything from me.

He took my innocence, my childhood, my trust, and my identity, but even in death he comes back to haunt me.

I’ve lived in a different time zone for decades, to get away from my father and his evil ways. Death is final and doesn’t wait for anyone. It can’t be ignored, which is what my instinct wanted me to do. I wanted nothing to do with it.

He had been “dead to me,” for years.

So, there I was trying to deal with everything and get back in touch with relatives who I had not spoken to in decades. Hearing those voices again and speaking his name triggered something profound within me. Something I thought I had left firmly in my past.

My body started remembering again, after hearing his name. This time the flashbacks kept on coming relentlessly. Each memory fired a bullet of pain into my present life. I developed a tremor, and felt the pain hit me in parts of my body where invisible bruises came to life. They reminded me of a past I had wanted to forget. Each pain brought a vivid memory of horrifying evil.

Then the crying started. I felt out of control of my own body. Giant tears escaped from my tear ducts and rolled down my cheeks in quick succession. I had to stop what I was doing and try to get through whatever this was.

• A panic attack?
• An emotional shut down?
• Some kind of break down?

The scary thing was that I had no control over my emotions. They took over as the memories hit me in waves after waves.

I didn’t grieve his death. This was something else. This was more than grief. But I have no words for it. My memories were focused on everything he did to me and others. A life of pain and abuse. The trauma of the deaths he had been involved in.

If this is what closure feels like, then I want no part of it. I tried reasoning myself out of it. That it was normal to feel sad and the memories would eventually go away. (I guess I tried the bargaining for a spell.)

It didn’t work.

I tried grounding techniques and drew on all the tools of coping with trauma triggers that I’ve mastered over the years.

It didn’t work.

I tried breathing techniques to calm my racing heartbeat from the intense fear from the memories.

It didn’t work.

If anything, the slower breathing made a giant weight bloom in my chest and I felt like I was about to explode.

I kept on crying and let a few deep sobs escape as the memories took over. The pain was way worse than anything I’d ever felt before. The only way I can describe the feeling is by having a lifetime of memories hijack my consciousness at the same time.

I cried so hard, my chest felt like it was going to burst from the pain, and yet the memories kept coming.

The Power of Abuse Lives On

The shadow of power my so-called father wielded over my life continued, whether I was in contact with him or not. I moved time-zones to put space between me and him. A chasm between the present and the past.

It didn’t work.

The truth was, he was alive in the world and carrying on with his evilness even after I left.

The constructed reality my father demanded of everyone around him. His dominating presence where no voice apart from his own was heard. The judgmental pronouncements of doom and gloom over the lives of others. The complete lack of understanding or empathy for anyone, or any life form around him.

I survived, and guess what?

My father was wrong.

I’m not stupid.

I can live without him.

Laughter does exist.

I could get away and make it on my own.

I did not get sick and die after breaking my silence when I published “The Sex-Offender’s Daughter.

It took everything I had to leave. I spent decades trying to understand what had happened to me and why I was feeling different from others. I spent years searching for the truth that seemed to dissipate into mist at the slightest negative. To quiet the dissonance in my mind, heart, and soul.

I used everything I knew and read every book I could get my hands on, but do you know what? I made it. I have started again, established new relationships, and I encompass integrity, honesty and truth in my everyday life.

The Bible says, “The truth will set you free.”

I can wonder at the joy in life, pursue dreams and goals I never thought reachable, and more than anything else, I can finish what I start and do well, leaving a legacy of peace, encouragement, and kindness to my own children.

I feel sorry for my mother and father. They never knew how wonderful life could be. It’s still hard sometimes.

I miss the role-models that a mom and dad bring. I’ve never known what that’s like, but I give it to my own children every single day because I love them.

Love has turned my life around.

I will always bear the scars from the trauma and abuse to a certain degree, but I made it. I made it out, and I am grateful for my own resilience.

I did not give up. I defied trauma and abuse and started again.

I embrace joy and the goodness in everyone I meet.

Life is worth it.

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

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

Moments later I was led into a room down a dimly-lit hallway where the heavy boot treads of the large officer in front of me echoed off the concrete walls. My heart beat heavy in my throat and I desperately needed water. I dutifully sat down at the table, as instructed, picked at the bleeding cuticles on my fingers, and the officer asked me what I wanted to report.

I looked up at the man, mid-40’s, thick brown hair, mustache, watery blue eyes, and tried to explain that I ran away from my mother who was cruel. I told him that she was critical, mean, neglectful, made me feel like I was useless and a burden, and I couldn’t take living there any longer. It sounded stupid to say it out loud, and after the man wrote in his book, and closed it, he asked a simple, loaded question, “do you have any bruises?”

How do you tell someone that inside you’re a festering pool of pus and blood and pain? No one could see the injuries that were done to me over the course of my childhood. I didn’t even have the words to explain how I felt to the officer sitting in front of me that day who told me there was nothing he could do if I didn’t have bruises, welts, or other marks from physical abuse.

Emotional abuse isn’t something most people would notice. Often, especially around other people, it’s silent, subtle, and chronic.

It includes, but isn’t limited to: constant criticism, belittling, ignoring your emotions, shaming, mocking, or dismissing your needs. It can also include withholding affection, the silent treatment, emotional unpredictability, children expected to act like a parent (parentification), being made to feel guilty over things you cannot control, pitting you against other family members (especially siblings and the other parent in separation situations) or pitting them against you.

Back then, in the 1980’s and the 1990’s, therapists didn’t have knowledge about emotional trauma and its relationship to complex traumatic childhood experiences. They didn’t have training to notice it. As a matter of fact, children who were in therapy who had the strength to tell the truth (the fight response in trauma) were likely ignored. That’s what happened to me, repeatedly. No one listened, no one heard, and no one helped.

Emotional pain matters. It mattered then, and it matters now.

Many survivors think that other people have had it worse than they did, and perhaps that’s true in some cases, but your pain matters anyway. Emotional abuse is invisible, but its impact is severe. The scars it leaves are difficult to see to outsiders, but take a very long time to heal for victims and affects their ability to deal with emotions and have healthy relationships for the rest of their lives.

For many kids, their brains normalize their environments. So, what they experience, even if it’s horrible, abusive, and just plain messed up, to them, it’s just ‘normal’. For kids with emotionally abusive caregivers, their survival depends on loyalty to the parent, not analysis and reflection. It could be very dangerous for a child to recognize that how they are being treated is abuse, especially if the child acted on their realization (ask me how I know).

If a child doesn’t have a flight or fawn or freeze response to their trauma and, like me, was/is a fighter by nature, then their abuser might have said things like this:

“You think your life is bad?”

“You’re too sensitive“

“Everything I do is for you“

“I’m the best [mom] or [dad]“

“This is discipline“

“This is tough love“

“You owe me everything for what I’ve done for you and what I put up with“

“You’re ungrateful“

When people who were emotionally abused grow up, sometimes they recognize that things were not right, but sometimes they don’t. Some people, like me, knew it all along and had no one to save them from the torment. Sometimes people are still drinking that poison-spiked Kool-Aid mommy made and smiling while drinking it because they don’t know any better. Adulthood should bring distance between you and the abuser, and that distance might allow you to see clearly what really happened, especially if you’re experiencing relationship, communication, and emotional issues.

It is very painful to realize you have been abused, and your abuser will not admit what they did, will not admit the way they treated you was wrong, and if you even bring it up, they’ll likely gaslight you and make you feel like it’s your fault. Best to just leave them out of your journey of recognition and healing.

Your feelings are real. Your experiences are valid. Healing starts with acknowledging what happened and accepting that you deserved love then, and you deserve love now. No matter where you are, you are not too late to start healing.

Suggested resources:

Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson, PsyD (book)

Running on Empty: Overcome Your Childhood Emotional Neglect by Jonice Webb, PhD (book)

Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving by Pete Walker (book)

Strathearn, L., Giannotti, M., Mills, R., Kisely, S., Najman, J., & Abajobir, A. (2020). Long‑term cognitive, psychological, and health outcomes associated with child abuse and neglect. Pediatrics, 146(4), e20200438. https://doi.org/10.1542/peds.2020-0438 (article)

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

What if my nervous system is so damaged from childhood trauma that no amount of therapy and practice will reteach it a sense of safety in places and situations that trigger me?

Is it possible for a nervous system to be so severely damaged by trauma that no amount of therapeutic techniques help 100 percent? 

These are questions spinning around in my brain regularly, and I’m now speaking them because I can’t push them down anymore.

I was suppressing these thoughts because I wanted to keep up hope that I could “fix” my nervous system and repair damage done by trauma. I want to have faith in the power of neuroplasticity. None of this is to say that nothing has helped me. I have seen progress in building up some resilience.

However, there is so much more progress to be made, that I grow frustrated at the rate healing takes. Being in an intensive outpatient program (IOP) has shown me how much work I need to do on myself, and quite frankly, it’s overwhelming. The amount of work is dizzying, and I can’t always seem to get a grip on myself when I think about all the therapy and practice I need to do.

 There are so many techniques and modalities for trauma, and through the IOP I have received a taste of a couple that seem really helpful, such as Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) and somatic exercises.  DBT and somatic work are modalities that I have been wanting to do for a while, but it’s so hard to find therapists who take insurance for somatic therapy.

I’m cracking down on practicing my meditation, somatic movement, breath work, and emotional regulation skills. It becomes overwhelming, and I want to cave under it all at times. There are so many facets of my trauma and mental health in general that need to be addressed, it almost feels as though I need a specialized therapist for each one.  

For instance, I noticed the other day that while doing a body scan, I struggle with body scans, because I struggle to be in my body. I don’t love my body. In fact, I don’t even feel neutral about my body. I have so much dislike for my body that goes way back to my childhood and conditioning, that I don’t even know where to begin. When I talk to therapists about this, they don’t seem to have the best of answers or to be the most comfortable talking about the topic.

It’s very weird, and it makes me feel like I have to do the work all on my own. I have to do my own research into how to even feel neutral about my body and then how to feel positive about my body. The frustration grows.

 Dental and medical phobia are other mental health conditions I have that seem to need their own therapists. All therapists I’ve had have recommended exposure therapy, but they don’t seem to go into detail about practical ways that I can expose myself to the dentist and the doctor. One therapist once recommended that I practice just entering and leaving a doctor’s office without doing anything. I imagine myself entering the building to my primary care provider’s office, standing there for a minute and then leaving.

If I did this frequently enough, wouldn’t they notice and question what I was doing? It might just draw too much attention and would be really weird. No one seems to have good exposure techniques that I can try. Maybe there aren’t any. Maybe that’s just the pessimism speaking.

There’s also the entire childhood trauma I experienced. I had to live in a near-constant state of unbearable anxiety as I walked on eggshells around my mother and former stepdad. The abuse from teachers and incessant bullying created a deep wound within me that I am carrying with me as an adult. This trauma makes living and functioning in important ways very difficult for me. I struggle with severe anxiety at work due to my fear of authority figures and of punishment if I make mistakes. That’s because I was screamed at and hit on multiple occasions for making mistakes as a child. The list goes on. 

I’m not really sure how to end this. I guess I really want to have hope, but I need to acknowledge that realistically, I can’t always be hopeful in my treatment.

There will be bumps along the way.  I need to forgive myself, show myself compassion, and know that it’s okay for me not to heal “perfectly”. 

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

Yes, because of my CPTSD, I was a people-pleaser. This was like a survival-mode I learned as a child. And that doormat syndrome was often painful for me, for many years. Until one day, I had had enough and decided to change. Here is what I learned:

Studies show that people-pleasing significantly increases the risk of burnout. People-pleasers are especially susceptible because their difficulty setting boundaries and their desire to be loved by everyone directly lead to chronic stress and emotional exhaustion.

Maybe you’re an empath, and perhaps you’ve often heard, “Oh, you’re so kind.” Many of us were raised to be good girls or good boys to earn our parents’ approval and affection. Nothing is more traumatic for a child than losing that parental love.

Children who experience love withdrawal when they make a mistake naturally become people-pleasers. What many don’t realize is that these patterns often lead to depression and chronic burnout later in life.

Being taught to be a good girl or boy as children turns people-pleasing into a learned, but deeply painful emotional pattern. At home, in church, and at school, the message was the same: we had to be kind and nice. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be loved and might even be rejected by our entire social circle, triggering primal survival fears in young hearts.

The roots of that chronic fear of rejection run deep and are triggered in every area of life, both private and professional. Naturally, we always do more than we’re asked to do, driven by that OCD-like need to keep everyone around us happy. This is where burnout and depression gently take root, growing over time when our efforts remain unreciprocated.

Yes, people will love you as long as you serve them in one way or another. The people-pleaser is often the best student, the most perfect secretary, the kindest boss, and, of course, the ideal parent. People like you because you’re always the first to help others.

But one day, the sky becomes clouded. You notice that weird feeling in the background and realize that people may be abusing your kindness: they aren’t there for you when you need them and don’t appreciate all your efforts. Often, we respond by working harder, trying harder, and performing better until we find ourselves in the doctor’s office, exhausted and perhaps diagnosed with depression.

There is a lasting impact of early approval‐seeking.

When you grow up trained to be a people-pleaser, it often looks on the outside as if everyone likes you; but they stop liking you as soon as you learn to say, “Sorry, no. I can’t help this time.” The more you establish healthy boundaries, the more they criticize you, accusing you of selfishness.

When a people-pleaser awakens and starts setting boundaries, their children often rebel because their parent suddenly says “no” as part of a healthy upbringing. Coworkers begin to gossip because they can no longer exploit your kindness and must handle their own tasks. Employees in your team, too, have to learn to respect their boss in earnest.

And, of course, all the groups that once welcomed you (as a volunteer, donor, or committee member) will let you go as soon as you stop paying with your time or money. They never truly cared about you, only about the resources they could extract.

Maybe, those so-called best friends, or even family members, will tell you that you’ve disappointed them lately, because as a people-pleaser you were their favorite trash bin for emotional issues. But since you learned to say “no” and you’re no longer as available as before, of course, they’re disappointed: they can’t use you for their narcissistic intentions anymore.

Now, another important point: as people-pleasers, we were often trained to forgive and taught that we should always remain kind and nice to those who hurt us. In many situations, this pattern is deeply harmful. It’s one of the main reasons so many of us end up feeling exhausted, depleted and depressed

Depending on the situation, yes, we may forgive, but we don’t have to stay in contact.

If you keep seeing toxic, negative, critical narcissists and other manipulative people, you’ll never move forward or reach your goals in life. If you feel worse after every conversation, that’s a clear sign it may be better to move on.

Like my grandfather used to say, “It is often wiser to spend a season in your own gentle company than to remain surrounded by those who do not truly see, honor, or respect your sacred light. When you lovingly release connections that no longer feel aligned, you create beautiful, open space for the Divine Universe to bring in people who genuinely cherish you.”

It’s wonderful to be kind and helpful – so long as it’s mutual and the appreciation is genuine, valuing you as a person rather than your performance. You are not a doormat or a trash bin for other people’s unresolved issues, jealousies, laziness, or frustrations. There is great relief on the other side of healthy boundaries, and sometimes going no-contact is simply the healthiest way to protect your peace of mind.

Warning signs you’re a doormat for others include chronic exhaustion and resentment, guilt when you say “no,” and feeling used or unappreciated. And the cost of continuing to “be good” often shows up as burnout, depression, and loss of identity, along with relationship imbalances at home and work.

It’s better to be alone for a short time than to stay with people who have no honest respect for you, who belittle, judge, and criticize you just to keep you pleasing them. When you let go of the wrong people, you create space for the divine universe to bring better people into your life.

The good news is that you can build a healthier tribe: because you deserve people who truly support you, respect your boundaries, and uplift your self-worth.

If this message resonates and you need help with a similar situation, feel free to reach out.
With warm regards,
Jeanne
💗

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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?.

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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.

Some days, the nightmares keep us awake all night and haunt us during the day for no apparent reason. It’s like having a perpetual shadow glued to your back, and it won’t leave you alone.

The days when you don’t understand the flashbacks are even worse. Fear sets in, and it makes you feel uneasy.

Have you ever felt that way?

Have you ever stood in a queue in the food market and started to tremble?

I have.

It wasn’t one of my finest moments. It was years ago, and I still remember it because of how I felt.

I had just been to therapy, and it had been a big session with a lot of triggering memories. I should have driven straight home, but I needed some essential items for the following day.

As I stood in that queue with people all around me, I noticed I was hot. My heart decided to run a marathon in my chest, and my body trembled, like a leaf in the wind. My hands were full of items so I couldn’t just leave. The room fell silent all around me, and I felt as if I was right back in my worst moment. I felt his hands around my neck, squeezing ever so gently…

NO — I screamed inside my head and squeezed my knuckles on my items without anyone seeing what I was doing. The loaf of bread came out a little worse for wear, but other than that, my groceries survived my hands. I breathed in and out slowly and focused my eyes on a poster advertising a brand of diapers. I must have read the slogan several times until my brain understood its meaning. I wiggled my toes in my sandals to feel the floor.

Another time, I was at one of my friends’ barbecues. Lots of adults talking, kids running around, music playing from a boom box. Everyone was enjoying themselves. One of the dads went to the kitchen to get a knife to cut some meat, and he walked across the yard towards the grill. Suddenly, my whole world slowed down. All the voices and music stopped, and I froze. All I could do was stare at that knife as it bobbed in a hand that was walking across the yard.

My flashback took me to a very different hand that was walking towards me with a menacing grin. My scream made everyone stop, and it catapulted me back into the present. Someone had turned off the boom box, and everyone stared at me. Our kids were frozen in place.

A familiar voice put his hand on my back, said my name, and where we were. My husband turned me around and held me. His firm body with the familiar smells made me realize where I was, and I was shaking.

After a few minutes, I found myself sitting in a chair with a glass of iced tea in my hand. The music was playing, the adults were talking again, and the kids carried on playing.

These flashbacks can happen anytime to a trauma survivor. It doesn’t matter where you are or who you are with.

Like the turtle, a trauma survivor has to survive the constant cold water showers (triggers) that threaten to consume us. The most important thing is that you have a strategy to cope with them as they happen because they will. There is nothing worse than not being prepared for an emotional onslaught.

My advice to all trauma survivors out there is this.

1. Have a coping strategy that works for you during the day. I have several that I draw on and use at work and wherever I end up during the day.
2. Grounding is a great technique that helps get you back to the present moment. Use your senses to ground you firmly back into the present.
3. Allow yourself to “bail out.” If the flashback isn’t going away, have an excuse ready to leave the room if you are with people.
4. Time — Always make sure that you are fully back in the present moment before you return to what you were doing. If you need a break, tell someone that you are popping out for a coffee break or something that you can easily manage.
5. Self-care — This is the big one. You have to look after yourself after a flashback. I know this doesn’t come easy for a survivor, but you have needs. If your body has reacted to a trauma memory, you will not be able to function for a while without some kind of care plan. A glass of water, a snack, a short walk around the office, or maybe close your eyes for five minutes to shake a building headache.

My name is Lizzy, and I’m a mom, teacher, author and mental health blogger. I write for those who don’t always feel that they have a voice. For more about me, my books and articles check out my website: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support my writing, and buy me a coffee.

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484here

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Many clinicians meet clients who arrive with ritual abuse claims, fractured timelines, no corroboration, and a history of moving from specialist to specialist in search of answers. Most are not fabricating. Many are not remembering with precision either. A common statement appears in these rooms: if the body reacts, it must have happened. It sounds compassionate. It is not. It shortcuts assessment, confuses physiology with fact, and turns treatment into a confirmation loop. The alliance becomes a mirror that reflects back whatever the client fears most, rather than a container that steadies and clarifies.

Consider a typical presentation from practice. A client recalled being left overnight in a freezing basement. The concrete floor, footsteps overhead, a cold doorknob out of reach. The scene held sensory weight and carried real fear. Later, family records showed the home had no basement. The conclusion is not that nothing happened. The conclusion is that the image may have fused borrowed fragments and emotional truths into a single picture the nervous system could organize around. The body reacted. The target of that reaction was misidentified. What needed work was not a fast-track diagnosis based on physiology, but a paced inquiry into what the body was trying to protect and what events might actually fit the pattern.

The nervous system encodes threat. Implicit memory lives in posture, breath, and gut. None of that provides coordinates. Somatic evidence flags significance. It does not settle attribution. Collapse those two and accuracy drops. In trauma care, accuracy is not a luxury. It is ethical triage. Misreading hyperarousal as proof of incest, or adopting a story that later fails against hospital logs or sibling testimony, harms clients and families and erodes trust in the field. The emotional pain remains real. The backstory can still have holes.

Memory science has been clear on this point for decades. Some dislike the mess that research exposed, but disliking a finding does not erase it. Suggestion is powerful. The therapeutic relationship amplifies that power because trust lowers a client’s defenses against influence. Recovered memories do occur. They can surface slowly and unevenly and later find support in records or witnesses. They do not usually arrive polished, and they never deserve to be declared true on the basis of shaking hands or a rolling stomach. The correct posture is steady attunement, careful pacing, and respect for a mind that can both shield and distort.

The larger problem is cultural. Many therapists fear that skepticism will be heard as betrayal. They worry about appearing to side with perpetrators. They default to affirmation in order to avoid conflict. Caution then gets mislabeled as minimization, and verification gets mislabeled as doubt. In that climate, it is tempting to protect one’s reputation rather than the client. That is not care. That is drift.

A responsible approach is plain and repeatable. Stabilize first. Map what the body does before, during, and after certain narratives. Separate sensation from story. Ask where the language came from and what other explanations could fit the same physiology. Invite corroboration where it is possible to do so without harm. Hold space for what cannot yet be known. Keep the alliance strong without making promises the facts cannot carry. Somatic validation and factual verification are not enemies. They are different tools used for different questions.

Good therapy does not hand people answers. It teaches people how to hold possibility without certainty, and how to test what can be tested while protecting what still needs time. If a client reports abuse, the report is taken seriously and treated with respect. The work then proceeds without rushing the story into a fixed shape. Memory is important. That is why it deserves clinical accountability rather than slogans or ideological immunity.

Final thoughts

Somatic truth and factual truth are not the same category. Both matter. One guides immediate regulation and safety planning. The other guides attribution, repair, and justice. When clinicians keep those lanes clear, survivors get care that is humane, scientifically honest, and legally durable.

References

Scientific American. People Likely Aren’t as Susceptible to False Memories as Researchers Thought. 2025.
Murphy G, et al. False Memory Replication Dataset. University College Cork. 2023.
Loftus E. The “lost in the mall” technique. 1995.
Otgaar H, et al. The return of the repressed. Perspectives on Psychological Science. 2019.
McNally RJ. Remembering Trauma. Harvard University Press. 2003.
van der Kolk BA. The Body Keeps the Score. Viking. 2014.
Lynn SJ, Lilienfeld SO, Merckelbach H, et al. Dissociation and dissociative disorders. Clinical Psychology Review. 2014.

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