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)

Photo Credit: Unsplash

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

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

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

The Onset of Abuse and Humiliation

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

Confronting the Pain and Building Resilience

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

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

Toxic Patterns  

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

What Codependency Looks Like

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

Ego and the Marriage Trap: A Cautionary Tale

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

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

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

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

The Poison of Unresolved Anger: Paulina’s Story

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

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

The Deeper Message in The Pain

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

Recognizing the Signs of Trauma

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

Common warning signs include:

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

The Secrecy of Silence

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

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

Healing the Inner Child.

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

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

Trauma-Informed Steps for Support and Healing for Survivors:

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

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

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

Support

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

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

References and sources:

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

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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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“Be careful whom you trust; evil cloaks itself in many forms.”

What is love if it doesn’t hurt, or like in my case, crash with a whimper? Perhaps your first crush was like mine? Nick was a 20-something Anglo-Indian with Bobby Deol’s looks, John Travolta’s swagger, and an angelic, disarming purity. We met on a rainy day outside his place; cousin Martin played matchmaker. Me, a rebellious teen with a sassy, blunt bob, shook hands with this shy guy whose guileless grin hit like a thunderbolt. Then he spoke, and it all went downhill — his voice was a bizarre mix of Sachin Tendulkar’s soft drawl and Michael Jackson’s high-pitched lilt. Although I was a die-hard MJ fan, I was gutted. Nope, not my vibe, despite my love for Jacko’s voice.

Jokes aside, all humans are creatures of habit. Our routine is sacrosanct, and so are our friends, family, and community. But what happens if this fragile thread of trust breaks? Much like the Garden of Eden, where roses bloom, you will find thorns. The past is engraved into our DNA as unspoken codes, known as epigenetic trauma.

Trauma from abuse and neglect creates CPTSD, unseen scars that affect both victims and future generations.

The Boomerang!

When you heal from an abusive childhood and CPTSD, it becomes imperative to find opportunities to recover through healthy gene expression by reversing toxic epigenetic patterns. My friend Bella has been through so much pain and trauma; it hurts her even as an adult. Her mother was a stunning single mother living in a small town who attracted many suitors. Unfortunately, she chose an unworthy man, a balding sadist whose charm concealed his vicious nature. Bella, barely 6 years old, immediately recognized that he was someone who made her uncomfortable—a predator in disguise. While her mother, blinded by love, saw his viciousness as humor and his control as love.

The False Pillars of Trust

We all lean on a support system, believing they’ll protect us. But pillars crumble, and Bella’s stepdad was no pillar. Meanwhile, her mother demanded that the siblings call him “Dad” before vows were even exchanged.

This situation resembles those who believe, “if you pretend it doesn’t exist, it will all just blow away!” The red flags were obvious if only her mother had opened her eyes.

The Predator’s Playground

One dusk, in her school playground, after everyone had left, the predator struck, forcing a humiliating punishment for being defiant. Right there before her “mother’s” eyes, he asked the 6-year-old Bella to roll down her pants and air her shame to the elements. If she didn’t abide by the ignominy, her ears would be boxed, taunted, or worse. So the scared little girl did so as speedily as she could, turning 360 degrees in a hurry, lest someone catch a glimpse of her unmentionables and laugh at her disgrace. The bald Lilliputian bully thought it was funny. As time rolled on, he proceeded to demean little Bella every day. So much so that she hated being around her mother or him. Then, finally, one day, the little girl put her foot down and threw a tantrum. As they say, bullies hate being called out.

And so that put a stop to the mortification for some time. But the tormentor found other ways to hurt her. The nightmare grew when he married her mother, finding new ways to subvert—locking up Bella, exploiting her fears and phobias, and thrashing her for minor mistakes. Her sibling stood by her, helpless but loyal, enduring the same.

Their mother never questioned. The sadist thrived on this pain; his cruelty became a twisted game. Bella grew moody and withdrawn, her childhood stolen by a man who cloaked perversion in parenting. Even when the siblings became adults, when he returned from his “overseas job,” his harassment evolved—unwelcome touches, suggestive innuendos, all disguised as fun. Relatives turned a blind eye, abetting the crime with silence. What is worse, we may ask—the predator or those who let him roam unchecked?

Pamela Calls Out the “Peeping Tom”

My friend Pam was eleven when she visited her hometown for a wedding. She stayed at her Uncle John’s mansion. Pam loved playing with her gang of little cousins, stirring mischief amid the wedding chaos. One day, while climbing the mansion roof, they caught her uncle John’s youngest son, Nathan, 16 and notorious, sprawled like a snake, peeping into a bathroom window. Pam’s outraged scream rallied the family, their racket drawing the aunts. Nathan was thrashed, his name forever tainted. Later visits to her uncle John’s had the women bathing with extra caution. Nathan’s married now, but do the ladies in the family trust him? Never.

Father Bob’s Redemption

All my life, I have been inspired by the Australian Roman Catholic priest Father Bob, or Robert John Maguire. He was no stranger to abuse and neglect. Born into poverty, his childhood reeked of alcohol and violence, his father’s fists bruising both mother and son. Orphaned by fifteen, losing his sister to tuberculosis at eleven, Father Bob carried scars deeper than flesh. Yet, those wounds didn’t break him; they forged a priest with a rebel’s heart, a champion for the forgotten. He was a man who turned pain into purpose, serving the marginalized with a fire no abuser could snuff out.

The Unending Trauma: An Anarchist’s Creed

Writing this cuts deep, so I shroud it, shielding the raw ache of my own memories. I’m familiar with darkness. As a paradox of pragmatism and rebellion, I always speak my mind. Life has taught me to confront truths. Scars make us realize that trust is earned. Bella’s challenging childhood didn’t break her; instead, she emerged strong, building a life filled with family, community, and a successful career. She learned to forgive—not just her abusers, but herself. Her journey mirrors that of Father Bob Maguire, whose upbringing in poverty and violence shaped him into an advocate for the marginalized. Both their experiences transformed pain into resilience and empathy.

Rewriting the Epigenetic Script

Epigenetic trauma is a silent phantom in our blood, passing pain across generations. Healing doesn’t erase these scars—it transmutes them, forging resilience, redemption, and forgiveness to break the cycle.

1. Awareness: Name the Ghost. Healing begins by confronting the past.

2. Re-regulating the Body: Alter your stress-related genes through meditation, exercise, and breathwork. This will ease anxiety and calm the nervous system.

3. Rewriting the Narrative: Change your story with therapy to transform from victim to survivor.

4. Crafting a New Epigenetic Landscape: When you regulate your lifestyle, you reshape your genes.

5. Breaking the Karmic Cycle: Exploring advocacy work can help. Many survivors of abuse and rape have found healing in the sharing of stories.

Final Thoughts: The Long Road Ahead

Intergenerational trauma is woven into our DNA through epigenetics and shapes who we become. Researchers have unpacked its neurobiological toll, offering sharp intellectual clarity. As for me, Mark Wolynn’s “It Didn’t Start with You” ignited my own CPTSD journey. Parents and children bear the physical, emotional, and psychological scars of past trauma, linked to disorders like depression, PTSD, and chronic fatigue syndrome.

Animal studies reveal early stress rewires brain regions like the hippocampus, impairing cognition. Science shows us that lifestyle and therapy can shift gene expression. You may not be able to erase your past but you can rewrite your story, and heal your darkest shadows for the generations that come after you. It is time to find your path—whether through art, expression, service, community, reading, or therapy—and rewrite your own destiny.

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

References and sources:

NCBI

PMC

Psychology Today

Verywell Mind

Johns Hopkins Medicine

Photo by digitale.de 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.

There can be a sadness that emerges when we begin to truly see, when we wake up to the realization that we have lived much of our lives in survival stress. It is the grief of recognizing that our choices, our relationships, our very sense of self may have been shaped by the unseen hand of a nervous system wired by our past for both protection and presence.

This sadness is not the sharp, immediate sting of loss, nor the acute heartbreak that follows devastation. It is an ache—a deep, tender sorrow that pools in the body like a riverbed worn smooth by time. It lives in the weight of the chest, the quiet exhaustion behind the eyes, the subtle heaviness in the limbs. It is the sign we do not even realize we are holding.

Sadness as a Nervous System Imprint

The body learns to carry it as a familiar companion, whispering, This is just how things are.

For some, sadness settles as a quiet withdrawal —a loneliness and a feeling of isolation. Maybe a shutdown every now and again that numbs the edges of life. For others, it intertwines with the breath, constricting the chest in a gentle but persistent grip. It can manifest in the way we move, how we carry our shoulders, the way we hesitate before reaching out, a lack of boundaries that constrict our hearts, or a cold emptiness that invades the core of our being. And yet, this sadness that can often feel like a permanent weight is a messenger, not a captor. When we resist it, suppress it, or fear it, it sinks deeper into the nervous system and numbs our capacity for joy and inner peace. But when we learn how to use our nervous system to help us heal, and how closely entwined emotions are to this system, we can allow our sadness to guide us towards our truths and an enriching presence.

Helping Sadness Feel Safe

Much like a child who has learned not to cry for fear of being unheard, yelled at, or shamed, our sadness needs to know that it is welcome here and that there is a grief for the loss of time. As we move forward with a nourishing, deeper wisdom. Sadness is not something to be banished or fixed, but something to be held tenderly. If we stay connected to how we respond to our sadness, it can feel safe with us and create immense space for all of us, and not just the history of our experiences embedded in the memory and pathways of survival.

By placing a hand over the ache and saying, I see you. You are allowed to be here too, and how that can create a shift that opens to a broader horizon. The sharpness dulls, the sting of emotional pain is soothed, the weight lightens, the sadness softens in the warmth of our attention. This is the beginning of true integration—not just intellectually understanding our past, but giving our nervous system permission to be with and hold more lightly what it has stored for so long. 

The Healing Language of Sadness

“Sadness gives depth. Happiness gives height. Sadness gives roots. Happiness gives branches. Happiness is like a tree going into the sky, and sadness is like the roots going down into the womb of the earth. Both are needed.” — Osho

To feel sadness deeply is to know that we are alive and room for so much life, your definition of life and feeling alive to enter your bloodstream, and you begin to flow more freely. It is a testament to the parts of you, that kept getting up, that kept searching, that longed for more, that believed that there has to be more to life than this, that yearned for a quality of inner safety a deeper connection, and inner ease but perhaps never fully received or experienced it. Sadness is the soul’s way of acknowledging what still can be.

When the heart weeps and the body feels, it does so because it recognizes something greater inside itself than what it has been externally given- it invites your soul and a deeper truth to fully emerge.

And that is where the release begins with the truth within this present moment that can feedback new information to this super vigilant system, instead of relentlessly tracking for danger, error, and everything that could go wrong, we also learn how to track for all that is ok, warm and friendly in this moment. 

Create A Soft Landing

Taking the edge off sadness is not about erasing it or getting over it. It is about creating a space for it to breathe and rest, rather than something we must endure. It is about meeting it with a deeper breath, a deep inhale, along with another inhale and a long, slow exhale, no matter how restricted it might feel to breathe, try not to force it, inhale as naturally as you can, allowing every exhale time to receive that tender warmth. In doing so, you are offering the whole of you back to yourself, no matter who stole parts of your heart and soul; you are now reclaiming all parts of you. You create copious amounts of space for joy, not as a forced antidote, but as a natural counterpart that emerges when we no longer fear the depth of our own sorrow.

“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” — Rumi 

Sorrow is healing  the wounds and carving a pathway to openness for you to meet your true self,  shining a light on you. Hold yourself tenderly, softly, gently, and steadily, and notice how your nervous system begins to respond when it feels safe with you and with the deeper knowing that even in our sorrow, we are whole.

Cheering you along from survival to a soul revival.

Photo by Melissa Askew 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.