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

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

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

What Didn’t Work

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

What Worked

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

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

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

My Insights

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

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

Closing

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

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

Photo by Rohan Makhecha on Unsplash

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

Grace Mattoli

I started going to therapy and taking antidepressants in my early twenties, continuing a variation of both over the next two decades. In my mid-forties, I was diagnosed with Complex PTSD and began working with a trauma-certified therapist. I started EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing) therapy to treat my C-PTSD. While doing trauma therapy I had a breakthrough, I finally understood that the way my stepparents treated me was abusive. That discovery sent me reeling as I began questioning everything I thought I knew about my upbringing. I’d always struggled to be sure about myself, now knowing it was because I was groomed to believe that my perception of reality was flawed and not to be trusted. Acknowledging that I’d suffered from childhood abuse and that the caregivers who had raised me were abusive left me feeling disoriented and distraught. I spent months digesting what I’d uncovered and struggled to make it make sense.

Once I was able to accept that I was abused, I gradually began to tell others. I started by telling my husband, and all he could do was gently nod with a look that told me he had already known this was true. Next, I told my adult children, who also seemed to comprehend what took me most of my life to figure out. After my immediate family, I started sharing with a few close friends and my in-laws. The more people I told, the less doubt I had that it was merely fiction that I’d somehow made up. I began to believe in myself and my memories. I started to feel a sense of validation; I’d been abused; it was real, and it wasn’t my fault.

I was close with a cousin on my stepdad’s side of the family; we talked and spent time together. I told her my story and filled her in on what had happened. Her reaction was vastly different from the supportive responses I had been receiving. She was outraged that I was saying that I was abused and that my stepparents were the abusers even though we were raised with the same mistreatment.

“What if they find out you’re telling people,” Beth demanded. “They would be so hurt because they love you.”

I was speechless and let her vent, wanting to understand why this was so incomprehensible to her when she experienced the abuse as well.

“And you had a biological dad; if it was so bad with Uncle Duane, why didn’t you tell your dad and make him step up? You could have gone to live with him.”

Taken aback, I answered, “Because I was a kid. I didn’t have the tools to articulate that. I never thought it was an option. That’s like when people ask an abused spouse why they didn’t just leave their abuser.”

The rest of the conversation went along similarly, with me trying to tell my story and Beth dismissing my claims in favor of shaming me. I became more incensed over the next few days as I replayed our exchange in my mind. We had been close, and I thought I could trust her; instead, she went straight to victim-blaming. Beth witnessed the screaming and the cruelty, but she didn’t perceive it as abuse. Instead, she excused it by saying, ‘That’s just how they are,’ while admonishing me for calling it out as abuse instead of keeping the secret.

“Have you heard of secondary abuse,” my therapist asked during our session the following week after I explained my conversation with Beth.

She went on to explain that secondary abuse happens when a survivor speaks up or asks for help and instead is met with invalidation or blame that causes more harm. I suppose it made sense; I’d been in therapy off and on throughout most of my life, doing intense trauma therapy for the past couple of years, and I have made significant progress. I know that Beth had some sessions in the past, but nothing related to trauma and abuse. Beth experienced the same type of abuse and had been conditioned to tolerate and hide it, just like I had.

“I wonder if Beth just isn’t at a place in her life where she’s able to acknowledge it for what it truly is,” I said. “She’s always so positive and lets everything go, maybe too positive?”

“That’s called toxic positivity,” my therapist substantiated.

After the session, I considered that Beth may not have recognized that she was gaslighting and manipulating me with secondary abuse. She was coming from a place of submission and obedience to her abusive parents. Accepting my childhood abuse could have meant she’d have to acknowledge her childhood abuse, and that may have been beyond her limits. It was likely easier for her to keep it all compartmentalized, minimize the issues, and instead dispute my claims as the person rocking the carefully constructed toxic boat.

I resolved to allow Beth and anyone else to believe whatever they needed to believe; I now know my truth. I refuse to allow others to cause me harm because they cannot or will not heal their trauma. I’ve worked hard to heal my traumas, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I refuse to be influenced by those who are set on upholding abusers at the expense of survivors. I’ve put boundaries in place to protect myself and my family from those who would harm us, and I will apply those boundaries to anyone who attempts to perpetuate the damage. My commitment to speaking out is unwavering; I will continue to tell my story of survival in the hope that it could guide others who still struggle.

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.

Sadie Montgomery

Sadie Montgomery was born and raised in the Midwestern United States, where she currently resides on the shore of Lake Superior with her husband and children. She is the award winning author of Atlas of Scars, her debut memoir on Complex Trauma. “I write to connect with survivors, advocate for the community, and raise awareness.”

www.sadiemontgomery.com/

“You Will Not Steal My Spotlight”

I was a victim of multiple “mean girl” witch hunts throughout my formative years. Some situations were more overt; others were covert — in the forms of emotional and psychological abuse. What was especially damaging was that, more often than not, I considered these people to be my friends. With numerous targets on my back, every school day and athletic activity became a war zone, wondering when the next barrage would hit. I noticed and absorbed most things committed against me, even when they were subtle. After a time, the insults and the venom spewed against me all became the same mantra of: “You don’t belong here.” I kept a “brave face” in public and pretended like it wasn’t affecting me, but I went home each night to take it out on my pillow.

I know most friendships end naturally — seasons change, we grow, we move on. But mean girls cannot simply walk away from their friendships as if they died naturally. They must burn the place down and make their old friends suffer intensely. They usually find courage in a cadre of new friends who latch onto and magnify the insults aimed at their victim. While these new friends have no actual animosity towards the target, groupthink and peer pressure overcome decency, allowing them to band together to outnumber the victim. It’s classic female pettiness that groups of women have perfected throughout history and something that’s immortalized in Western culture through chick flicks and reality television shows.

Nothing ever made me feel more guilty for just existing than the mean girls I’ve encountered. I couldn’t fathom that the people who once seemed to care could transform into creatures consumed with a seething hatred of me, deriving a twisted glee from my suffering. Mean girls turn their noses up at other women, but they are guilty of the very things they criticize. Sometimes, the hatred flows from a need to destroy what the mean girl hates in herself – aiming her poison at that mirror image of herself made flesh. It could be something as simple as the fact that another woman is comfortable in her own skin. If that other woman didn’t strike a nerve in her, she wouldn’t give her a second thought. But if another female threatens her spotlight, she is to blame. And she must be destroyed.

I’m Not the Sorority Girl Type

Growing up as a female in the southern United States, I knew I should prepare myself for social suicide if I didn’t join a top sorority in college. I didn’t realize until I got to college, though, that the Greek system on my campus had ruthless standards. When the sorority rush didn’t work out in the way I had hoped, the rejection made me wonder what was “wrong” with me. For months, I considered trying again to be invited to a sorority I liked. I wanted to fit in with the other young women who looked from their Instagrams like they lived perfect lives in their Barbie Dreamhouses. I attended recruitment events, but something felt “off.”  I thought, Do I want to change myself so I’m accepted by the same people who had already rejected me? Or, could I find other things that aligned more with my goals? I chose the latter, and on that path, I found some of my best personal growth.

Once I became aware of the Greek system’s impossibly high standards, I concluded for myself that the hierarchy the fraternities and sororities put in place for themselves was ridiculous. On campus, there was a derogatory term coined by the Greek system for those deemed to be “beneath” them. They called the outsiders “God-Damn Independents” (GDI). Many people brushed me off as unworthy of their time once they learned that I was a GDI, and these moments were subtle reminders of the rejection I experienced as a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed freshman. But I was never one to look at another person by any labels that they did or did not have. I met many women in college, some who were in sororities and some who weren’t, even supporting my sorority friends at some events. Being a GDI allowed me to build my own unique story on campus without forcing myself to meet the requirements of a system that judges young women based on things I consider to be superficial, such as their attractiveness, social connections, and parents’ wealth. I later looked back and was glad I did not join a sorority.

We Cannot “Fix” Mean Girls

When I was younger, I was competitive. Years of trauma made me realize that nothing was that serious to me anymore. In the past, I had plenty of jealousy toward other girls and women myself. However, I still forced myself to be polite to them (even through gritted teeth), go home and cry about it, and move on with my life, never thinking about it again. I didn’t set out to destroy their lives because I was jealous. Mean girls do not have this emotional maturity, though. They are sore losers. Mean girls relentlessly punish their victims for their success and joy, no longer seeing their victims as human beings with feelings but as emotional punching bags for their own anger.

I hate interpersonal tension. I typically seek to resolve it through mature communication and mutual forgiveness, as any healthy person would. In one bullying situation later in life, I decided to take the “kill them with kindness” approach — returning my bullies’ hatred with genuine kindness, even when my heart was pounding out of my chest. It was an interesting experiment. You see, bullies don’t expect their victims to react this way; they expect them to submit to the abuse. It was my way of sending them the telepathic message of: 1) Why do you feel the need to treat me this way? And 2) You won’t destroy me. Regardless of my fear, each time I conquered the people who had made me suffer deeply with a big smile, it was an empowering “win” for me.

I was a little naive to believe that my kindness might soften their hearts enough to help me resolve the tension. They were unsure how to react once I started taking my power back, and they started losing control over their victim. It made their blood boil, and I watched their own hatred eat them alive as they wrestled with the fact that their victim was beating them at their own game. The continuous rejection and fuming anger in response to my kindness caused discomfort within me, and I continued to absorb their negative emotions as if they were my own. I even wondered if I was still “wrong” for opening my mouth to be kind. But as my repeated forgiveness of them forced their facades to fall like dominoes, I started to become less afraid of them, and I learned through their body language that they were completely terrified of their own victim. They froze in their tracks like deer in headlights, couldn’t communicate properly due to their voices that shuddered in terror and couldn’t even look me directly in the eyes as they cowardly resorted to side eyes, bloodshot with abomination and fear. Those same abusers eventually waved their white flags in their own way, unable to face their victims with dignity, and I knew in my heart that I had won that brutal battle.

When I realized that all the perpetrators throughout my life were driven by fear, it changed my entire perception and made overcoming the ruminations and flashbacks much easier. All those people seemed so intimidating at the time. The way they carried themselves, it felt like they’d hung the moon. But this is by design — they need to be envied to mask what’s really happening on the inside. The real reason they act superior to others is their own deep insecurity and envy of other women.

Most mean girls have multiple victims

My bullies wanted to steal the joy that was left in me because they were internally miserable. Beyond their mocking laughter and sadistic smirks, I never once saw the mean girls in my life genuinely smile. I only saw perpetual pouts, judgmental side eyes, and cold glares through lifeless eyes. If mean girls continue to latch onto other mean girls and feed on each other’s negativity as their source of empowerment, they will never become empowered women capable of standing alone. They dig their own graves — no one enjoys walking on eggshells around cutthroat girls and women, whether at school, in the workplace, or in their personal lives. As time robs them of friends and their victims move on, they’re only left with those cold eyes reflecting back at themselves in the mirror. 

Not Everyone Turns Out to Be a Mean Girl

No matter how many female friendships have turned sour, I’m so glad I put my heart out again. I cherish the female friendships I have today. We are low maintenance, understanding that we all have our own lives. Some have kids, some are freshly married, and others are focused on their careers. The best female friendships are the ones where I don’t have to hold myself back for fear they might ruin our friendship and become my bullies over trivialities. 

Kindness Always Wins

If the mean girls who targeted me knew the extent of the suffering they caused me, they’d probably be satisfied. I doubt I ruined any of their lives; they moved on without a care in the world. Yet, there I was, living in isolation for fear of upsetting more people. I blamed myself heavily for my reactions to their abuse. But the people in my life who knew what I had been through kept reminding me: “You did nothing wrong. You did everything right.” Because abuse is never the fault of the victim. I put in a lot of hard work with some professionals who are trained experts in helping victims of bullying, and the type of somatic therapy that helped me the most in this regard was EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing Therapy). I remember when the professional — who helped me process the memories, emotions, and self-guilt — looked me in the eyes and told me, “One day, you will thank them all.” After my hard work, I no longer feel the need to prove any of my bullies wrong. I can rest my head on my pillow each night, knowing that regardless of the ways I was treated, I chose love and forgiveness in the face of the evil committed against me.

Mean girls cannot fathom that other women can be successful without being mean girls— because the only way they know how to achieve their success in life is by hurting innocent women who get in their way. Only weak women bully other women. Strong women don’t revel in others’ weaknesses; they rejoice in uplifting their gifts. Strong women don’t loudly support women’s causes in public but privately bully the women in their lives. Strong women support other women regardless of social, political, or religious differences. Strong women know that every woman is allowed to shine her light without threatening her own.

The only thing that makes the mean girls of the world powerful is the power that we choose to give them. Rather than feeling humiliated by them, victims should laugh off their immature behavior and embrace humble flattery that we’re living rent-free in their heads, even if they’re operating off the blatant lies they tell themselves about us. I now know that if another woman is angered by my existence when I am not doing anything wrong to her, it is her issue, not mine. I will never again bow down to women who act like the queens of the world but, in actuality, are internally angry about the fact that the world does not bow down at the feet they’ve used to trample the bright lights of other women.

I would rather stand alone than participate in being a bully or a bystander. In the future, if I ever have to choose between fitting in with a group of women who bully other women to be admired by others or being on the outside, mocked by them as a “God-Damn Independent,” I’ll choose to be a God-Damn Independent any day of the week.

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels

Natalie Rose

My name is Natalie, and I am a survivor of about 13 years of absolute psychological torture from Complex PTSD symptoms. For the longest time, I thought I was inherently sick and broken beyond repair. I spent over a decade running around in circles in the medical system trying to figure out what was “wrong” with me and how to “fix” it.

♡ What is Complex PTSD? ♡

Complex PTSD symptoms come from severe, prolonged, and numerous incidents of trauma, typically of a relational nature. Symptoms can come from any type of trauma, though, and the trauma doesn’t necessarily have to stem from childhood — adults can develop CPTSD as well. Trauma can damage the brain and shrink the hippocampus, causing many of the symptoms of CPTSD. I decided to go public with my story to be a voice for the voiceless. There are too many survivors being told CPTSD is a lifelong sentence, and they are not being given the tools they need to overcome their symptoms.

♡ My Story ♡

I endured multiple types of traumas starting at around age thirteen, including numerous situations of both individual and large-group interpersonal cruelty. Some of these situations forced me to switch environments. My body couldn’t fathom what was happening, and my nervous system shut down. I saw danger everywhere, operated in a panicked survival mode, and lived in fear, anxiety, and isolation. I did my best to appear “normal” on the outside, keep a smile on my face, and control what was happening on the inside, distracting myself with extreme workaholism and doing nice things for others. I took active steps to keep branching out in confidence again, but these traumas kept piling onto each other and overlapping. I wasn’t ready to give up yet, though, because I knew my family and friends would be distraught if I did. The most difficult and heartbreaking part of my story is that the two communities I set out to seek healing in—religion and the medical system itself—caused further trauma when some religious leaders, congregation members, and medical professionals chose to take advantage of my vulnerability for their own motives. In most of these situations, I didn’t even realize I was a victim until outsiders pointed it out for me and that my vulnerability made me a target of malicious people. Each future situation of being targeted was just salt on the wound of the original incident.

♡ My Struggles to Find Answers ♡

What I went through all those years was so severe, and my symptoms and physical body reactions as a result were so excruciating that I went as far as to see a neurologist, concerned that my symptoms were the result of some sort of nervous system disorder. However, he returned with no paperwork in his hands to inform me that there was nothing wrong with me but that I was simply completely traumatized, and my body reacted accordingly. I finally realized that my symptoms were not the result of an inherent mental or physical illness and began to take a trauma-based approach to my healing after many years of believing that I was “sick” for the rest of my life. My true progress began when I finally rejected the lies that were told to me that I would have to manage my symptoms for the rest of my life and made the decision to believe that I was fully capable of healing from my excruciating pain.

♡ Finding My Own Healing ♡

I am excited to share tips for natural, somatic, and holistic healing that have helped me overcome things like dissociation, flashbacks, sleep challenges, anxiety, hypervigilance, and more. I began to pursue unique methods of healing after many years of not seeing much progress through westernized care, and this was the catalyst for fast-tracking my healing. I aim to help survivors overcome their feelings of self-guilt, blame, and humiliation and help them realize that their bodies had normal reactions to abnormal situations.

I’m so glad I didn’t give up when my pain felt unbearable. I know what I’ve survived. I know the work I’ve put in to overcome it. I am finally living a life of consistent peace and contentment, and I am sharing my story from the other side. I hope to encourage other survivors that there was never anything wrong with them to begin with and that they are capable of living healthy, happy, and fulfilled lives. I aim to live my life in love of both others and myself, understanding that everyone has a story of their own. I am grateful to the CPTSD Foundation for giving me an opportunity to share my story.

♡ Personal Blog ♡

To learn more about my healing journey, please visit my personal blog, “Little Cabin Life,” at:
littlecabinlife.com

The AIP model is widely used to explain “observed results” (Hill, 2020) of EMDR therapy. The AIP model is a good start for understanding why EMDR is demonstrating efficacy in patients with PTSD, as well as patients with PTSD with a comorbid severe mental illness (Hase & Brisch, 2022

However, there is still much unknown about EMDR, and even though the AIP model helps researchers understand what is happening, there are still great questions as to why this modality helps with PTSD and provides immense relief for patients. Two schools of thought are worth noting here and are the lynchpins of EMDR. First, EMDR is thought to mimic slow-wave sleep (Pagani et al., 2017). Slow-wave sleep is of much interest to researchers as professionals become more aware of the importance of sleep for general health and memory consolidation (Putilov et al., 2017). During slow-wave sleep, memories are consolidated as more recent research describes the brain (in slow-wave sleep) as an “optimizing memory consolidator” versus the waking brain working to process stimuli (Rasch & Born, 2013). The mechanism of slow-wave sleep is much more complicated than is presented here; slow-wave sleep involves much of the brain’s anatomy and neurotransmitters (Rasch & Born, 2013). Slow wave sleep is recorded using an electroencephalogram (EEG), and brain waves during bilateral stimulation in EMDR are almost identical to slow wave sleep on the EEG (Pagani et al., 2017). These findings help researchers understand the mechanisms of bilateral stimulation on the brain and help explain why EMDR is effective for PTSD, as negative memories are consolidated during bilateral stimulation, much like sleep memory consolidation (Putilov et al., 2017). Understanding how the brain consolidates memory and under which conditions is essential for researchers—this study by Pagani et al. (2017) supports the hypothesis that memory consolidation during these slow brain waves explains why EMDR effectively treats trauma, as bilateral stimulation mimics slow wave sleep. Still, researchers still do not understand much about EMDR. However, there is a second point of interest to researchers. EMDR is thought to tax working memory, making reprocessed memories less vivid and traumatic for patients (Van Den Hout et al., 2011).

Before addressing how EMDR taxes working memory, it is prudent to summarize the hypothesis of why EMDR works to reduce symptoms of PTSD. It is thought maladaptive memories are consolidated less vividly under bilateral stimulation conditions, causing less distress for the patients. Patients are asked to focus on some of their worst memories during bilateral stimulation.  It is thought that dual taxation of working memory causes the memory to consolidate less vividly than before bilateral stimulation (Manzoni et al., 2018). Symptoms are measured using Subjective Units of Disturbance (SUD); the Manzoni study demonstrated a reduction in SUD scores.

PTSD can be debilitating, and EMDR demonstrates great promise in helping patients live everyday lives without traumatic flashbacks and other ills of PTSD.

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.

Amy Watson

I am a Florida girl who loves a simple life, Jesus, family, friends, football and the beach (usually in that order). I am a native of Jacksonville, Florida, but have spent most of my adult life on Florida’s west coast.

While being introduced for a speaking opportunity a few years ago, the pastor asked me “who are you?”. The words that followed shocked even me: “I am the precious daughter of the most high God”. There were many years when I would not have answered that question as I did that day.

This article shall focus on this type of trauma and a specialist in treating it, Anne Wright.

What is Complex Relational Trauma?

To treat complex trauma, you must first know what it is. Complex relational trauma, although not found in the current Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DMS), forms when a person experiences neglect, abuse, and severe maltreatment as a child.

Complex relational trauma is abuse carried out by primary relationships with parents, caregivers, guardians, or anyone who has power over the child. Complex trauma happens when the abuse is repeated and for an extended time. Sometimes complex relational trauma continues into adulthood through other relationships with abusers, such as the person’s intimate partner.

An unconscious need to repeat the unhealed trauma is at the center of unhealthy relationships in adulthood because they are conditioned to form them from childhood.

Signs and Symptoms of Complex Trauma

The wounds from childhood carry into adult relationships and function in the background of conditions such as major depression, anxiety, and personality disorders like borderline personality disorder.

The physical effects of complex trauma often manifest as migraines, hypervigilance, and stomach issues. Complex relational trauma has many symptoms associated with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

The other symptoms include:

• A sense of worthlessness
• Neediness
• Attention-seeking behavior
• A deep mistrust of others
• Social anxiety
• Social avoidance
• Anger
• Rage
• Deep sadness
• Flashbacks

Unfortunately, if a child is taught neglect, abandonment, and maltreatment are normal behaviors, they are more likely to have these patterns repeat in their lives.

The Ways Complex Relational Trauma Effects Adult Survivors

As you can imagine, complex trauma leaves deep marks on those who experience it. In adulthood, complex relational trauma manifests with some of the following signs and impacts.

• Difficulty forming and maintaining healthy relationships
• Avoiding intimacy
• Avoiding close relationships
• Feeling strongly that one should be completely self-sufficient
• Needing a relationship but also have an intense fear of abandonment
• Needing to be perfect
• Putting others first and neglecting one’s own needs
• Use dissociation as a go-to defense mechanism
• Lack of self-regulation and impulse control

Left untreated, complex relational trauma can lead to a substance abuse disorder, physical illness, the formation of mental illness, self-harm, and even suicide.

Treating Relational Trauma

Coping with relational trauma’s effects is difficult but can be done. First, you must recognize that what you have been experiencing all your life is the effects of relational trauma.

Three types of treatment go together that you can get for treating complex relational trauma, including talk therapy, medication, and adding things you can do for yourself to your life.

Psychotherapy. Various types of psychotherapy can help mend a person who has suffered relational trauma.

• Talk therapy. Talk therapy, also known as psychotherapy, helps address trauma of all types and the mental health conditions it causes. Talking to a therapist can help you understand relational trauma’s symptoms and how it has affected your life. A therapist can also help you understand yourself better and bring to light your behaviors, including your thought patterns, and increase your sense of self.
• Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). CBT is a form of psychotherapy treatment that is effective for many problems. CBT, according to research, helps improve functioning and improves the person’s quality of life. Some studies suggest it is as effective or more than other forms of treatment.
• Dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT). DBT is an evidence-based psychotherapy that research suggests can be useful in treating mood disorders and suicidal ideation. Dialectical means combining opposite ideas to change thought patterns.
• Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR). This therapy is a technique that involves moving one’s eyes a specific way while processing traumatic memories. EMDR helps to heal you from trauma or other distressing life experiences. It is vital that EMDR be used only in the presence of a therapist who is qualified to perform it, as it can bring to the surface strong emotions.

The CPTSD Foundation is pleased to promote an outstanding EMDR practitioner, Annie Wright, whom we will introduce in this piece and highlight in later posts.

Medication

Although there is no medication for treating complex relational trauma directly, meds can help with the mental health conditions that often form because of it. While medications aren’t always necessary, they can be beneficial.

Adding things to your treatment, you can do for yourself. Various self-care strategies can help you cope with complex relational trauma. The self-care strategies aren’t the same for everyone.

Self-care strategies might include:

• Eating regularly and getting enough good sleep to enhance your mood
• Finding healthy ways to unwind, such as exercise or meditation
• Identifying the triggers of your anxiety, trauma responses, and depression and finding ways to cope that work for you
• Use journaling or a creative hobby as emotional outlets
• Stay in contact with your loved ones, including intimate partners
• Attend a trauma-informed support group

Your therapist will most likely have items to add to this list.

An Introduction to Annie Wright

Annie Wright is a licensed psychotherapist who works with her clients to overcome relational trauma. Annie works differently than ordinary trauma workers as she helps those who have experienced isolation and single-incident trauma.

Coming from a relational trauma background, Annie Wright learned what she was experiencing had a name, and, in her thirties, finally understood how to overcome it. Nearing the age of forty, Annie is a trauma recovery specialist and a licensed psychotherapist helping adult children of abusive and neglectful parents overcome their pasts and create future lives for themselves.

Annie Wright is known for her signature relational trauma recovery trauma work. She also offers attachment-focused EMDR therapy as an added supplemental or stand-alone treatment.

Ms. Wright states on her website that EMDR is widely researched and based on neuroscience-informed integrative therapy discovered to treat distressing emotional symptoms. Using bilateral stimulation such as eye movements, alternating auditory sounds, or bilateral physical sensations, EMDR aids your brain’s natural impulse to metabolize negative memories and behavior patterns.

Ending Our Time Together

Complex relational trauma changes lives by creating an environment that mimics the maltreatment they suffered in childhood. Those who live with the effects of complex trauma often find themselves in destructive relationships or in none at all.

There are adequate treatments available that can alleviate the tragic symptoms of complex trauma. Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) can significantly aid in overcoming the side effects of complex trauma by aiding your brain in utilizing its natural propensity to choose better-thought patterns.

Annie Wright is a therapist who employs EMDR to treat her clients to change their lives. Our next post will discuss Annie Wright’s practice and add more information about EMDR.

“Trauma fractures comprehension as a pebble shatters a windshield. The wound at the site of impact spreads across the field of vision, obscuring reality, and challenging belief.” – Jane Leavy

“Trauma is a fact of life. It does not, however, have to be a life sentence.”

– Peter A. Levine

Are you a therapist who treats CPTSD? Please consider dropping us a line to add you to our growing list of providers. You would get aid in finding clients and helping someone find the peace they deserve. Go to the contact us page and send a note; our staff will respond quickly.

Shortly, CPTSD Foundation will have compiled a list of providers treating complex post-traumatic stress disorder. When it becomes available, we will put it on our website www.CPTSDFoundation.org.

Visit us and sign up for our weekly newsletter to help inform you about treatment options and much more for complex post-traumatic stress disorder.

The Healing Book Club

As of May 7th, 2022, the current book will be – “A Practical Guide to Complex PTSD: Compassionate Strategies to Begin Healing from Childhood Trauma.”

by Dr. Arielle Schwartz.

Here is an Excerpt –

Repetitive trauma during childhood can impact your emotional development, creating a ripple effect that carries into adulthood. Complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD) is a physical and psychological response to these repeated traumatic events. A Practical Guide to Complex PTSD contains research-based strategies, tools, and support for individuals working to heal from their childhood trauma. You don’t have to be a prisoner of your past.

Learn the skills necessary to improve your physical and mental health with practical strategies taken from the most effective therapeutic methods, including cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT), dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT), eye movement desensitization, and reprocessing (EMDR), and somatic psychology. When appropriately addressed, the wounds of your past no longer need to interfere with your ability to live a meaningful and satisfying life.

This book includes the following:

• Understand C-PTSD—Get an in-depth explanation of complex PTSD, including its symptoms, its treatment through various therapies, and more.
• Address the symptoms—Discover evidence-based strategies for healing the symptoms of complex PTSD, like avoidance, depression, emotional dysregulation, and hopelessness.
• Real stories—Relate to others’ experiences with complex PTSD with multiple real-life examples in each chapter.

Start letting go of the pain from your past—A Practical Guide to Complex PTSD can help show you how.

If you or a loved one live in the despair and isolation of complex post-traumatic stress disorder, please come to us for help. CPTSD Foundation offers a wide range of services, including:

• Daily Calls
• The Healing Book Club
• Support Groups
• Our Blog
• The Trauma-Informed Newsletter
• Daily Encouragement Texts

All our services are reasonably priced, and some are even free. So, sign-up to gain more insight into how complex post-traumatic stress disorder is altering your life and how you can overcome it; we will be glad to help you. If you cannot afford to pay, go to www.cptsdfoundation.org/scholarship to apply for aid. We only wish to serve you.

Mindfulness, Prayer, and Meditation Circle

Meditation can be an integral part of healing from trauma. Our 9-week self-study video course helps you integrate this fantastic grounding, centering, and focus method. Join the Mindfulness, Prayer, and Meditation Circle today!

A new Trauma-Informed Yoga program is now available! Check out our information page about this highly requested new program! #yoga #traumainformed #cptsd #mentalhealth #recovery #wellness https://cptsdfoundation.org/traumainformedyoga/

 Do you have goals you need help reaching, or help define what goals suit you? Have you considered working with a #traumainformed coach? Learn about a new opportunity and a Free Discovery Call!

UK Support

Shirley Davis

My name is Shirley Davis and I am a freelance writer with over 40-years- experience writing short stories and poetry. Living as I do among the corn and bean fields of Illinois (USA), working from home using the Internet has become the best way to communicate with the world. My interests are wide and varied. I love any kind of science and read several research papers per week to satisfy my curiosity. I have earned an Associate Degree in Psychology and enjoy writing books on the subjects that most interest me.

www.learnaboutdid.com

“Breathe deeply.”

I close my eyes and belly breathe as my EMDR therapist scoots her chair closer. This is standard practice in our weekly sessions. Soon she’ll tell me to open my eyes, focus on a certain phrase or idea, and follow her finger left and right. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Crossing the brain hemispheres is supposed to help process and eventually heal trauma.

At first, my trauma wouldn’t budge from its hiding places. I don’t blame it. Covert narcissistic child abuse is no joke. From a young age, I was taught that emotions were dangerous and that I was to blame for some pretty scary stuff. That caused Complex PTSD, layers of trauma that constantly get re-traumatized. Basically, my fight or flight got permanently switched on so I’ve been in survival mode my whole life. It’s really challenging to undo.

The more I learn about INTERNAL FAMILY SYSTEMS, the more fascinated I become. My non-mental-health-professional understanding is:

In order to protect itself from melting down, my brain split into parts (trauma-splitting or fragmentation). I have 4yr old, 6 yr old, 12 yr old Jamies that hide separately, each with their own unprocessed trauma. These EXILES are deep-rooted and heavily protected.

When I first sought help I said “it feels like I have a Manager personality that allows me to do functional things, like grocery shopping while I’m having a panic attack.” It turns out I was right. The PROTECTORS are called MANAGERS and FIREFIGHTERS.

The MANAGERS help with functional things like sleeping, eating, interacting, and focusing on goals. They keep us in our heads to help us AVOID danger.

FIREFIGHTERS help when they think we ARE in danger. They send us signals through our bodies that distract us in order to help. They are also responsible for unhealthy behaviors like addiction.

6 months of weekly EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing) sessions showed me just how strong and prepared my protector parts are. I get sudden pangs of hunger, exhaustion, muscle cramps, tinnitus— anything my body can think of to keep me from accessing the trauma itself. When things get really bad, I can lose my ability to read, like my brain unplugging things so they don’t blow a fuse.

Still, there’s progress. I’m more aware of how my parts work and am even able to loosen some muscles. I just haven’t BEFRIENDED them, which I’m told is the key to healing. When I get frustrated, I picture my friend giving his mother CPR at Christmas, unable to revive her. If EMDR helped him heal that, it can help me.

Through trial and error, my therapist realized that I respond best to storytelling and visuals. My answers have slowly moved from “I don’t know” to more detailed information. Today we’re doing an activity called COMMUNITY ROOM.

“Just breathe. Picture a room…”

Picturing a room is good. It gives me a concrete image to start from. Without this detail, I get lost in racing thoughts. Overwhelmed. This used to happen when I was in school. I just needed one thing to focus on to be successful, which was not how the school worked.

“Let me know when you see the room”

After a few minutes…I see it!

“Open your eyes and follow my finger.”

Left right left right…

“Take a deep breath. What do you notice?”

A deep starvation burns from my throat to my sternum. I always eat before my sessions, because this firefighter constantly shows up. It helps me distinguish what it actually is. The hunger shows up at home too, which makes me overeat, often never feeling full. Then I feel shame and it sends more hunger. Oy!

“Ask the hunger how old it is.”

This is new. Usually, she just reminds me it’s a firefighter. Hmmm…breathe deeply, focus internally…how old are you?

8 jumps right up. Ok, 8 and…16.

“Ok, ask 8 and 16 if we can have permission to move forward.”

I ask and suddenly memories from those ages clog my brain at once.

“It’s ok, put those in the container. Tell them we’ll get to them later.”

In our first sessions together I created an imagined container to put distracting thoughts. We use this a lot and I use it at home. Accepting and managing instead of denying. Denying is what makes things worse.

“Ok, do we have permission to move forward?”

Yes. The hunger instantly disappears. It still boggles my mind how all of this works. I’m talking to my younger parts and they’re answering?!

“Now, invite all of your parts to join you in the room.”

Between eye movements, I close my eyes, breathe deeply and invite my parts. They’re reluctant. I’m not surprised. We’ve previously been able to access my parts for just a few seconds. Then they suddenly turn to demons and attack me.

“Let them know they don’t have to do anything but show up.”

Instant relief rushes through my body. I hadn’t even realized how tense my shoulders were until she said that. They loosened immediately and parts started showing up! The really young ones first, 4, 6. Then some of the older, 11, 12, 13. Then a block.

9 or 10 doesn’t feel safe. I can feel their fear.

“Ask them what they need.”

A blanket and a chair to hide under.

“Give them a blanket and a chair.”

I imagine a blanket and a chair. The part scurries underneath

Whoa! 16 is angry, hostile. Like tiny little stabs in my brain.

“Ask 16 what they need.”

To get the FUCK out of here (16’s words). They’re furious. Stomping, arms crossed. Standoffish.

“What does she need in order to do that?”

A car. I imagine a car. She gets in and takes off. I don’t blame her. 16 was filled with traumatic experiences. It was the age I fully realized that my father was not a parent and that he meant me harm.

My parts fill the room now, sitting around a giant table drinking chocolate milk and water. Why? I’m not sure. They’re joyful, the way my theme park co-workers and I were when management brought cake. It’s a real “characters love cake” vibe.

I see myself sitting at a giant drawing table watching all of the parts enjoying themselves. From the tips of my fingers, across my shoulders and all the way down my other arm are soldiers standing guard, tall spears in their hands and helmets on their heads. That makes sense since those muscles are constantly tight.

We spend some time in the room exploring who’s in attendance. Processing a few emotions with eye movement and deep breaths, our hour is up.

“When you’re ready, open your eyes and return to the room.”

Done.

“Really great work today. For homework, I’d like you to draw the Community Room”

No problem. It’s so vivid in my head. Ta-dah!

After 6 months of weekly sessions, we finally accessed my parts AND they agreed to come together, which is the ultimate goal. We’ll use this room in future sessions to strengthen their bond and begin to heal the actual trauma. Looking forward to being a cohesive team instead of a body of fragmented parts. Let the befriending begin!

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Jamie Donmoyer

Creative storyteller and recovering scapegoat of a narcissistic parent, working through Complex PTSD one post at a time

In August of 2021, I began EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) therapy to deal with childhood trauma. With 15 years of talk therapy under my belt, I’d just finished a month of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy at a mental health facility. I was diagnosed with Complex PTSD due to prolonged trauma: emotional, verbal, physical, and sexual abuse from my narcissistic father.

Seven Months In

In the cozy office with the tan swivel chairs and auburn fluffy rug, my EMDR therapist moves her hand left and right. I follow with my eyes, breathing deeply. I’m focusing on a specific scene, a memory of a traumatic event from my teens. The eye movement crosses the left and right brain hemispheres to help connect neural pathways that didn’t develop due to trauma.

So, what does that do? Well, according to my therapist, brains are built with mechanisms to keep them from melting down. My brain coped with the constant abuse by splitting into disconnected parts. It’s called Trauma Splitting and it basically means that 5-year-old, 7-year-old, and 9-year-old Jamie are frozen in time, holding the fear connected to the traumatic events. Even though I’m an adult, my nervous system still reacts to those individual parts, sending me physical and emotional flashbacks, such as intense fear even when I’m perfectly safe.

Connecting the right and left brain allows the adult part to meet the child parts and guide them through to heal. Then, the memory becomes ONLY a memory, not a nervous system reaction. Pretty cool, huh?

When I first began EMDR, my body was a series of tense knots tightening and releasing (I’m told trauma is stored in the muscles). The only way I could focus and be still was by lying on my back on the floor. After several months, I’ve now graduated to sitting in a chair, which I imagine my therapist appreciates (or at least her back does).

We’re working through Accelerated Resolution Therapy. It’s taken months of weekly sessions to get here. My body built a lifetime of protection, so we first had to train it to let its guard down enough to be able to access the trauma. We’ve done tapping and light stream. I even deep breathe and ask my body what it needs (and it answers! That blew my mind). Some resistance remains but has subsided enough to finally dig into the core of the trauma.

Over several sessions, we’ve been working through one particular event. Some (earth-shattering) memories surfaced recently, but I’ve always remembered the details of this event. It was a defining moment. I realized my father wasn’t a parent and that I was truly on my own to protect myself.

The Event

It started as most things did. My father heard that a friend’s daughter was doing something that he thought people would be impressed by, so he decided that I was going to do it too. He went about his “Jamie’s going to be a soccer referee” campaign by convincing my mother that I would make a lot of money. “Yes, the classes are far away, but Jamie can carpool.” By the time I found out about the classes, my father had already paid for them, a trick he knew would cause my mother to say “We’ve spent the money, you’re going.” Which she did.

I was 16. Twice a week for 9 weeks (on school nights) I drove 45 minutes one way through heavy snowstorms for a 3-hour class. I distinctly recall skidding on black ice and crashing into a snowbank thinking “I don’t even want to be a referee, and now I’m going to die!”

I had no intention of using my certification, but my dad worked with my Mom again with the money angle. “We paid for the classes, you’ll referee games to make the money back.” I reffed a little kids’ game and I was terrible. The coaches yelled. I had no idea what I was doing. When it was finally over I vowed to never referee again.

Fast forward to a stormy Saturday. I was home alone when the phone rang. It was my father.

“I need you to get down here and ref this game.”

The ref canceled the game because it was pouring, thunder and lightning. I pointed out the danger and my dad went on a tirade, threatening me to “get my ass down there now, or else.” After several no’s and phone hang-ups, I finally relented. The dreaded parent/child power imbalance rears its head.

The field was puddles of mud, and lightning in the distance. Why weren’t parents pulling their kids off the field? My father strutted around, the hero who’d saved the game. Many of the players went to school with me. I wasn’t qualified to ref this age group (or really any age group). My glasses were fogged, and I was shorter than most of the players, I stumbled along as best I could as my father glared at me from the sidelines.

Then it happened. I made a call that the other coach didn’t like. He ran onto the field and pushed me hard into the mud, knocking the wind out of me. He towered over me, shoving his bushy mustache in my face and spitting as he screamed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad run onto the field. “Oh, thank God!” I thought. “He’s coming to help me.”

No. He screamed at me then screamed at the coach, not about pushing me, but about his coaching style. Then the girls on the field started in on me. I’d had enough.

“F$&K all of you! I’m going home!!” I screamed, storming off. I was later grounded for “using language” and received the silent treatment from my father for several days, his favorite punishment. He’d prepare my Mom with all of the reasons he was angry at me so she could communicate them to me, then he’d pretend that I didn’t exist (a common narcissist tactic). When I complained about being grounded and tried to explain what happened my Mom said “Well, you really can’t use that kind of language.” Completely missed the point, which was typical. Throughout my childhood I’d reported some pretty severe abuse to her, she’d even witnessed a lot of it, but she took no action. I felt trapped and powerless, and it wasn’t over.

On Monday at school, I ran into a group of girls from the game who started in on me again. Rage rose up from deep inside and I roared at them “I WAS FORCED TO REF! I DIDN’T WANT TO! NOW SHUT YOUR MOUTHS AND GET OUT OF MY WAY! Rarely did anyone see this side of me. I must have had demon eyes because they looked terrified and scattered. I stormed down the hallway and out the door, skipping the rest of the school day. “Fine,” I thought. “I’m already in trouble for no reason, I may as well do something I’m not supposed to do.”

I know this is just a memory, but my nervous system doesn’t. It reacts now as if the danger is in front of me today, quick pulse, cold sweat, terror. The deep feeling of powerlessness. I tense up. Processing the Trauma:

Follow My Hand 

“Rate the trauma intensity from 1–10.”

10. Definitely 10.

“What do you feel?”

Panic. Anguish. Disappointment. Betrayal. Terror. Powerlessness.

“Focus on those feelings and follow my hand.” Back and forth for 30–40 seconds.

Following is hard. It makes me drowsy. My mind often wanders away from what I am concentrating on, but I’ve been trained to deal with this. I remember to thank the thoughts that come in, send them on their way, and return to the activity. Often the other thoughts are what my therapist calls “Firefighters” who are trying to protect me from the trauma.

“Now choose a scene from the story, repeat it in your head, and follow my hand.”

I replay the events on the field. Being attacked, unable to breathe, forced to be there, surrounded by angry people, and with no one helping me. The speed of the back and forth motion intensifies and I feel like I will nod off to sleep, but I don’t. I follow her hand and continue to repeat the scene.

This is part of processing the pain, unfreezing it. Like the “Liquid Plumber” of therapy, it unclogs my brain pipes so that thoughts and emotions can flow through the system and actually exit.

We delve into the details of the scene and continue the eye movement. My therapist asks me if anything sticks out from the scene. Yes. I focus on that part during the eye movement. We continue until nothing sticks out, nothing left to process.

Rewriting the Scene

“Now you are going to rewrite this scene. Direct it any way you want to.”

Huh? Rewrite? But facts! This is an actual event! Lies are dangerous!

Just thinking of rewriting history makes me tense. I’ve always been a stickler for facts. Knowing the truth was the only way to combat my father’s lies. Because he constantly put me in danger, I had to be keenly aware of my surroundings, a.k.a. Hypervigilance. I remember tiny details like exact words spoken, the tone and pitch of a voice, and whether someone used their left hand or right. I can picture it in my mind and push “play” in my head.

When I was 5, on the bus home from school, I heard Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl” for the first time and instantly memorized it. I wanted my Mom to get me the album, so I went home and sang it to her word for word as she stared, shocked. It’s still my favorite song.

The thing is, in my profession, I create stories all the time, but retelling this story without the facts seems impossible. How do I even start?

“What can you change in the story?” asks my therapist. “How about your father? He could be anything. He doesn’t have to be human.”

I close my eyes. Suddenly I’m like Ray in Ghostbusters, only instead of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, my mind lands on a Twinkie. A human-sized Twinkie (a la “Twinkie the Kid” from the 70’s commercials). A smiling, happy, bright yellow Twinkie who wants to protect me.

Why a Twinkie? I’ve only eaten like 5 Twinkies in my entire life (this Philadelphia gal prefers Tastykakes).

I think it’s a combination of 2 different “safe space” exercises we’d done:

• LIGHTSTREAM: I picture a color moving from my head to my toes, washing away the tenseness. Bright yellow is my warm, safe color.
• Picture someone I trust with me in a space where I feel safe. My Grandma is at her house. (She’s the one who gave us Twinkies).

It’s nice to know that my subconscious is making use of that information.

The Opposite

Now that I have an image, I realize that I just need to imagine the opposite of everything that happened.

The Twinkie calls me to check in, tells me he loves me, and is glad I’m not in the rain. It’s too dangerous to be out. I go to the field anyway and he’s so glad to see me but still worried for my safety. I assure him I can handle it.

As I enter the field, the girls are so grateful that I’m there. “Thank you for coming to ref our game. It was so nice of you to rush over here to help us play.”

But with the coach, I’m stuck. I can’t seem to reset the attack.

“What do you need?” asks my therapist.

A sword!

“1, 2, and through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead and with its head, He went galumphing back.” — Lewis Carroll.

Slay the Jabberwock!

The coach lunges at me and I stick the sword right through him. Everyone cheers. The Twinkie runs out over to see if I’m ok.

“Now repeat the new scene and follow my hand.” I follow with my eyes, as the Twinkie protects me. I feel warmer, lighter. We process each detail as we’d done with the real story.

Flipping the girls’ attitudes was especially impactful. That was a deep pain. My therapist points out how important peers are to a teenager, especially when there’s no support at home. When they’re kind, I don’t have to let out the rage monster that I’m so ashamed of. The same monster I saw rage from my father on a daily basis, whether it was because the remote didn’t work or because I didn’t greet him in a timely manner. He’d accuse me of being the problem, the one who was out of control (and get my Mom on board). When the girls are grateful I feel a kinship, as if someone understands.

My therapist checks back in.

“From 1–10, what’s the intensity now?”

5… Progress down from 10

“What do you feel now?”

Anger, rage (no longer powerless and terrified)

“Good. You should feel angry. Any rational adult would feel angry at that situation.”

Well, that’s surprising. I‘m so used to suppressing my emotions, especially anger because it’s attached to shame. Usually, I get angry and it automatically gets covered over, then later it comes out as a big reaction to something benign.

Later that day, that’s exactly what happened.

The Big Flush

I’d worked for 3 days prepping information requested for a project. The email response, however, was critical and demanding. It was obvious they hadn’t read the information I’d provided. Normally this wouldn’t be as big an issue but the disrespect, and unfairness, bubbled up. RAGE!

I went for an angry walk, I yelled about it, I rewrote it in my mind “what it should have said was THANK YOU and then questions. Demands are unnecessary.” I basically threw a gigantic, frustrated tantrum. And then…

It was gone. The anger had flushed through and actually exit-ed. That had NEVER happened before. EVER. Usually, it‘s a rage/shame/anger tornado stuck on repeat pinging around me like a pinball, but today I felt it exit!

Next Steps

In the following session, I was fully invested in the alternate story. We revisited parts that stood out, did the eye movement and invited helpers to paint and wallpaper over any parts that were still problematic. The coach needed attention. I used my sword to fling him into the sky and POOF! He disappeared. Then my Grandma and a friend helped me paint and wallpaper over where he’d been. All in my imagination.

We invited all of my parts (ages 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…all the way to 43!) to throw any trauma they want into a mental bonfire. At first, it was slow, age 4 had a lot, and ages 7, 8, and 11 did too. After that, it went super fast, as I continued the eye movement.

“Get rid of the pile, any way you want, make sure there is no trace.”

I shot down demons guarding the pile, then blew everything up. I used a giant vacuum (like the one in Spaceballs) to gather all of the dust, then shot it into space, never to be seen again.

At the End

So, seven months into EMDR and I’m seeing results. I’m hopeful that all of this internal turmoil will eventually be flushed out. On the fluffy carpet, in the tan chair, I’m hopeful, even knowing there are more disturbing traumas to come.

There’s a bright yellow light at the end of the tunnel! Twinkies for everyone!

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Jamie Donmoyer

Creative storyteller and recovering scapegoat of a narcissistic parent, working through Complex PTSD one post at a time