Emotional Flashbacks | CPTSDfoundation.org https://cptsdfoundation.org The Foundation for Post-Traumatic Healing and Complex Trauma Research Thu, 16 Apr 2026 12:13:19 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 https://cptsdfoundation.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/cropped-Daily-Recovery-Support-Globe-iPad-Fav-32x32.png Emotional Flashbacks | CPTSDfoundation.org https://cptsdfoundation.org 32 32 The Exorcism I Needed https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/11/the-exorcism-i-needed/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/11/the-exorcism-i-needed/#respond Mon, 11 May 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987503321 This past week in therapy was really tough. I took a break over the holidays to let my body rest, but I knew that as soon as 2026 came, it was back to the grind.

I had gotten through two appointments each day with my therapists, who are helping me work through my flashbacks. I was exhausted, but I wanted to move my body at least a little. So, on Thursday evening, after my appointments, I signed up for a ballet class. I dressed in my leotard, tights, and skirt, and began stretching at the barre. I was excited. 

During the first barre exercise, pliés, my focus on the teacher’s voice began to fade, and a wave of rage surged through me. I tried to breathe through it and maintain the graceful movement of my arms to the pianist’s concerto. But the flashbacks grew louder with each passing note. My arms started trembling and pulsing with aggression; I felt the need to punch something. Afraid I might have a trauma response that others would notice, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get through class. I briskly walked to the side of the room to grab my bag, awkwardly waved goodbye to the instructor, and left. I was defeated that, yet again, I couldn’t get through a dance class without flashbacks overwhelming me.  

With compassion, I told myself, I’ll try again tomorrow.  

The next day

Friday was my day off from therapy. I had gotten a great night’s sleep–the ideal setup for getting through an hour of exercise. Today’s jam was cardio dance class. I put on my tennis shoes and favorite pink tank top, ready to work. 

Once again, the intensity of the music was overwhelming. With my head hung low, I walked out. 

As I sat in my car, I couldn’t shake my embarrassment. How can I still not get through even one song? I’m so weak.  

I really wanted to move my body, and I knew it’d make me feel better. But clearly, my body wasn’t ready to move. After a long week of intensive work processing the emotions connected to my flashbacks, my body wanted rest. 

But today’s Friday, Natalie! Do something fun! Be normal for once. Go out to eat, or shop around a little bit.  

But even that sounded like too much. I sat quietly in the parking lot, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I asked my body what it needed.  

“A massage,” it quietly whispered. 

A massage? You sure?

I was skeptical, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my recovery process, it’s that my intuition is always right.   

Do I even have the money for a massage? Eh, I’m sure I could make up for it in the budget. 

While finances were certainly a concern, I was more concerned with listening to my body and giving it exactly what it needed in each and every moment of this recovery process toward my goal of living flashback-free. 

The massage

With my head facedown into the headrest and my arms tucked under the blanket, I took some deep breaths and reminded myself: there is nowhere to be but here, Natalie. You deserve this. 

The masseur began his work on my body. The first five minutes were fine–the pressure was light as a warm-up. I felt like I was finally starting to relax. 

After the warm-up, though, his pressure began to deepen, and I started to feel discomfort in my body. Not just physical discomfort, but actual pain. The flashbacks assaulted me as I fought against trauma responses. Tears began to flow, and I kept sniffling them up, but my snot fell through the headrest and onto the floor. 

Can he really not hear me crying? I wondered. I considered letting it out a little louder on purpose, hoping he would notice, so that I wouldn’t have to speak up. 

Just tell him to stop, Natalie. Speak up.  

But I was mute. 

As he traversed through the nooks and crannies of my neck and shoulders, I could feel the pressure increasing. I shivered at the sound of his thumbs rubbing against the sockets. 

Just tell him to stop! 

I started counting down to force myself to say the word I had struggled to say for so many years.

Three, two… not ready yet. 

More tears. 

Three, two, one, st-uh… 

And the cycle kept going for about ten minutes. 

Before I could reach “two” in my next countdown, my system couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed bloody murder, finally having the exorcism my body needed. I started punching the table over and over again.  

The masseur immediately removed his hands from me, and I heard an “Oh my God!” as the door slammed shut.

It was uncontrollable. I screamed until my poor throat couldn’t take it anymore. 

Pretty soon, I wasn’t the only one screaming. I heard the masseur yelling in terror on the phone in his native language, presumably to the owner. I had forgotten for a few minutes that there might be other people in the building. I had only been aware of the interaction between me and the demons. Guilt washed over me, and I told myself to shut up. Slowly but surely, I got everything under control. 

Realizing the door was probably unlocked, I threw the bedsheets onto the ground, locked the door, and collapsed against the wall, naked and exposed. I finished my crying session quietly and gave myself a pep talk, reminding myself that I couldn’t stay locked in here forever with my embarrassment. 

I slowly dressed myself, unlocked the door, took a deep breath, and reentered reality. 

The masseur was standing in the lobby holding a silver tray with two bottles of water and a box of tissues. 

“You okay?” He looked terrified. 

“Yes, I promise,” I reassured him, he did nothing wrong, and that my outburst was a reaction to PTSD. I wasn’t sure how much he understood due to the language barrier, but I wanted to make it clear that he didn’t need to worry. I was more concerned about upsetting or offending him than about my own emotional state. Even though the massage only lasted about 15 minutes, I handed him my card and insisted he charge me full price. 

“No, no,” he shook his head and made an “X” motion with his arms. He handed me water and motioned me to sit on the couch.    

“Just breathe,” he reminded me. 

I pulled some cash out as a tip and said, “Please.”

He agreed to the compromise. 

Was this the exorcism I had been needing? 

Shock and self-punishment

When I got to my car, Exorcism 2.0 happened. 

“I can’t do this anymore!” I screamed into my steering wheel. 

Suddenly, my phone rang, making my body jolt. I shot up, and the back of my head rebounded against the headrest like a basketball that had powerfully missed the net. 

It was the owner. 

“Natalie, sweetheart…” she said in a Vietnamese accent. “Are you okay?”

I told her about my PTSD and that her employee did nothing wrong. 

“My sister has that. It was just an emotional release. Massage can do that sometimes–it’s a good thing. But a deep tissue massage isn’t right for you today. Come back Monday, and I’ll do it myself. Much lighter pressure. Free of charge.”

“Okay,” I agreed bashfully, even though at this point I was pretty sure I’d never step foot in a massage parlor again.

“And don’t cry, Sweetie Pie. I am wiping your tears. Pretty girls don’t cry.” 

Well, considering how much I cry, I must be the ugliest girl in the entire world… I thought to myself. 

I chalked up her insensitive comment to a cultural and generational difference and told her I’ll consider coming back Monday. 

My therapist: on speed dial

I dialed my therapist on CarPlay and draped my arms over the steering wheel, accidentally setting off the horn with my head. 

“Hi, Pretty Girl!” my therapist answered, chipper as always. 

“Heather?” I mumbled through a trembling voice. 

“What’s goin’ on, Sweetheart?”

Exorcism 3.0. 

Pretty girls don’t cry Natalie, remember? 

As always, Heather listened patiently while I cried. After gathering myself, I shared what had happened. I spent five minutes expressing my concerns about how I made the masseur feel–that I freaked him out, or worse, that he might think I was the type to accuse him of maltreatment. I was more concerned about him than about myself, a common pattern throughout my life. 

“No need to worry about him. He’s an adult. He’ll be fine. I’m more concerned about YOU right now. You’re not driving, are you?” 

I reassured her that I was parked on a side street.

Heather guided me through a grounding exercise over the phone, and I finally felt stable enough to talk to her. She walked me through the science behind what had happened: When the masseur worked on my neck and shoulders–areas where we hold immense tension and stored emotions–my nervous system finally felt safe enough to let go. That “exorcism” feeling? That’s exactly what somatic release looks like. It’s not pretty, and it’s not comfortable, but it’s profoundly healing. 

Heather’s wisdom and motherly energy made me feel so much better. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I told her, with happy tears flowing now. 

“Drive safe, Sweetheart,” she said before hanging up. 

Later that evening

The evening was spent taking some much-needed rest. I had worked so hard during the week. So hard. 

I spent the evening cooking outside and nourishing my body with non-inflammatory food. As the craziness of the week began to ebb with the sunset, I reflected on everything I had been through. My body has been holding on to so much: years of medication effects, trauma, stress, and the incredibly challenging emotional processing I’m doing in therapy. What happened during the massage? I had a massive parasympathetic nervous system release, I cried intensely, my body expelled stored trauma, and I was left completely depleted. My nervous system was in crisis mode, needing rest and resources to recover and feel safe again. And here I was: my feet in the grass, eating healthy, nourishing foods. Nothing about this was a failure. Everything was a win. 

I grabbed my journal and wrote out bullets of all the things I was proud of. 

1) My self-control

I could have grabbed something quick and easy to eat on the way home and mindlessly stuffed my face with it, but I chose to come home and cook mindfully. That’s self-control and a commitment to nutrition as an essential part of my healing. 

2) My wisdom

On the flip slide, I could have fasted and denied my body the nutrition it needed out of fear that the food would make me feel bloated, but I chose to eat instead. That’s the wisdom of listening to my body. 

3) My strength

I’m navigating extraordinary emotional processing while my nervous system learns to regulate itself without the numbing effects of psych meds. That’s strength. 

4) My self-awareness

I didn’t touch my technology all evening because it would have been too overstimulating. Instead, I listened to the sounds of nature and children playing outside. That’s self-awareness. 

Everything was a “win”

Nothing about this experience was a failure. I’m doing something incredibly difficult–healing from deep trauma while managing medication withdrawal and rebuilding my entire life from scratch. The fact that I’m still showing up, still being honest, and still trying–this is remarkable. 

When I really thought about it, this exorcism was not a “rock bottom” moment. It was a reminder that I am in the home stretch of this marathon toward a life where I will never have to put in this kind of trauma work again. The hard days, the emotional releases, and the moments of overwhelm are not signs of failure. They are signs that I’m healing deeply enough to finally let go of what I’ve been carrying. 

Maybe pretty girls don’t cry… but beautiful ones do. And I’m doing beautifully. Even when it doesn’t feel like it. Especially when it doesn’t feel like it. 

 

Featured Photo Credit: Pexels

Graphic Credit: Author

To my readers who have been following my journey: I am excited to share that I have created a personal blog called “Little Cabin Life.” This blog chronicles my healing journey, where I share my experiences and the things I am doing to support my recovery. You’ll also find tips that have been helpful to me along the way. If you’re interested in following my story, please feel free to visit www.littlecabinlife.com.

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

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/11/the-exorcism-i-needed/feed/ 0 Hiding in Plain Sight https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/07/hiding-in-plain-sight-2/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/07/hiding-in-plain-sight-2/#comments Thu, 07 May 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987503075 When is it a good time to admit to your therapist that you have literally army crawled through your house like Rambo to avoid answering the door?

I surely can’t be the only one to pin myself up against the wall and peek through the curtains, waiting for the knocking to stop. Have you ever begged the universe to please let the person on the other side of the door be the UPS guy, so you know he’ll be on his merry way? Once, I hid for an hour because someone wouldn’t stop knocking. I didn’t care what they had to sell; I didn’t want it. I didn’t care what they had to say; I didn’t want to hear it. As it turned out, no one was at the door. I’d been hiding from a persistent woodpecker that had decided to tap manically on the side of my house.

Unfortunately, its Morse code failed to reach the logical parts of my brain; I only felt a wave of “baseless” fear. 

After a lot of therapy and work to regulate my nervous system, I have fewer of the moments I described above. I’m getting better at answering the door. These days, I often voluntarily leave my hidey hole to “connect” with others and even socialize.

I’ve come a long way in recognizing moments of emotional hijack, but I still have work to do.

For example, I’m writing this article because I’ve fled my house like a refugee. I’m not in danger, but I feel like I am. Why? Because an event in my neighborhood has suddenly swelled the population of my small community. It’s amplified my general fear of unexpected visits from people. Why would I feel fear in this context?

It’s simple. The anxiety around the unknown catapults me into a state of panic, locking me in terror about what could come next. When my safety feels compromised, naturally, my fear responses kick in. Having a sense of “control” of my surroundings makes me feel safe.

Usually, I’m able to ground myself and connect with the logical parts of my brain that know I’m safe. I’m getting better at working through these mental and physical nightmares. Other times, my fear responses do all the talking. All humans have fear responses, which are automatic, survival-driven physiological and psychological reactions designed to keep us safe.

These responses came in especially handy in prehistoric times when the threat of being mauled by a predator in the wild wasn’t out of the question. In modern times, this bodily and mental alarm system is less necessary most of the time. For those of us who have lived in persistently dangerous situations like chaotic childhood homes or in abusive relationships as adults, however, these fear responses have gotten a regular workout.

Our nervous systems, already hardwired by nature to fight, flee, freeze, or fawn in the face of danger, often become dysregulated. Our mind and body learn to “warn us” in situations that don’t warrant fear in most people because something about the moment sets off the alarm bells in our overstimulated nervous systems. Suddenly, we’re off to the races, held hostage by our go-to fear responses.

Depending on the situation, I freeze and play a solo game of possum, or, if possible, I flee. Although the logical part of my brain steps in sooner than it once did, it can be tricky when I’m going through a depressive slump. My whole system is just enough off kilter that it doesn’t take much to shift into the fear responses that feel as natural as breathing. Add a hefty dose of depression to the mix, and I find myself on the floor looking at dust bunnies long after the knocking has stopped. 

In fairness, my tendency to avoid people is partly a natural extension of my introverted nature. I need my space to recharge. But it’s more than that.

I think, like so many things, it’s related to trauma. For years, I made myself invisible in a way that extended beyond garden-variety introversion. Some of my reactions cannot be attributed solely to wanting to avoid attention or to being mentally drained from too much “on” time. Wanting to avoid people is one thing, but when fear suddenly pulsates through your body like an angry heavy metal song, it’s a clue that there’s more at play.

These strong physical reactions can be debilitating. Avoiding them can become a way of life.

Over time, I learned to avoid connections altogether. No matter the setting—my child’s baseball game, the office, or even the bread aisle at the grocery store—I shielded myself from others’ eyes and interest. These habits started in childhood; I learned early on to blend into the background and hide my presence. When I was quiet and withdrawn, I was out of sight, out of mind. I mastered a kind of isolated invisibility, and for good reason. I did this because I learned early on that people are unpredictable and can be dangerous. Danger can, in fact, be on the other side of your door. 

Accustomed to recoiling or running away in fear since I was in diapers, I’m working to retrain my body. I’m trying to convince myself that not everyone and everything is dangerous. I’m working hard to pull myself out of the shadows. The protective bubble around me is expanding while my perpetual anxiety around the possibility of getting hurt shrinks incrementally. The weight of my self-doubt and fear of falling short or being too much is finally receding. Many days, I succeed in this effort to free myself from the shadows.

I challenge myself to “put myself out there” or, at the very least, not run away. It usually turns out okay. Some days, I take significant strides beyond the dark weight of the shadows. On those days, it feels good to be “seen” after all these years of feeling invisible.

Other days, like today, I silently beg the universe to grant me an invisibility cloak. In these moments, I feel frozen in a place I no longer want to live. At the same time, I realize it’s okay to sit in these dark places and hide occasionally…as long as I don’t linger. Sometimes “hiding” is an act of self-care, but there’s a point when self-imposed social isolation transitions into unhealthy territory. I’m learning where that line is and how I can best support myself in those moments of unsolicited terror.

For a long time, I thought I was the only one who experienced this ongoing battle between a desire for invisibility and a desperate plea to be “seen.” I’m finally realizing I’m not alone in this struggle.

I’ve met more and more people like me over time. I’m one of many hiding in the safe cove of the shadows. Others take back stairways to avoid contact with colleagues or walk across the street to avoid saying “hi” to an acquaintance on days when even a two-word exchange feels like too much. Some days, the internal overwhelm makes it impossible for me to stretch myself. I occasionally worry that if I share these inner thoughts and fears, I will be deemed “insane.”

If you are reading this, you may be shaking your head in camaraderie on some level. Fortunately, our fear responses have little to do with sanity and everything to do with searching for safety. Many of us feel like we will never be safe, but it’s human nature to seek safety. Because we may find safety in hiding, we may subsequently feel resigned to never being truly “seen.” Wanting to be seen and understood, I think, is also human nature. So, here we find ourselves…at these strange crossroads of wanting two things that feel incompatible. They may feel that way, but that doesn’t mean they are.

I’ll never meet most of the people who read my words, but I can tell you this: I see you. I understand. We may be hiding, but we are not hiding alone. Nor are we invisible.

I recently asked myself, “Where the hell were you kindred spirits when I was in my teens and twenties”? I felt “weird” for hiding from people like a vampire fleeing the first rays of the morning sun. I assumed there was something wrong with me and that I was completely alone in my fear of people.

As it turns out, there was nothing wrong with me; my actions were self-protective. And…I’m not alone in this fear of people. Decades later, I finally realized why I couldn’t find “my people” for so long. I laughed out loud when it hit me: you were hiding too! It’s one of those “funny, not funny” kinds of things. Many of us play an ongoing game of hide-and-seek with the world. We all have our reasons. Sometimes, retreating into hiding is exactly what we need. We’ve earned that right. We also deserve to be seen.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned on my healing pilgrimage is that two opposing things can be true at the same time. We can hide while we also seek, and even in those moments of hiding, we can still be seen. I want to remind all my fellow hiders that we’re never actually alone…sometimes we only feel that way because we’re in hiding. That’s okay, though…we’ll come out when we’re ready. Until then, we can keep each other company. And…when we heal, peek-a-boo world, here we come!

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

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/07/hiding-in-plain-sight-2/feed/ 4 “The Channel is Right but the Volume is Too High”: Understanding Emotional Triggers https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/09/the-channel-is-right-but-the-volume-is-too-high-understanding-emotional-triggers/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/09/the-channel-is-right-but-the-volume-is-too-high-understanding-emotional-triggers/#comments Thu, 09 Apr 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987502970 In a scene from one of my favorite films, The Iron Giant, a boy named Hogarth plays in a junk yard with his new friend, a giant metal man fallen from space. In the midst of their game, Hogarth pulls out a toy gun and aims it at the giant. Instantly, and without his control, the giant’s vision narrows and goes red, and from his eyes he blasts a laser beam that misses Hogarth by mere inches, searing a hole in the ground below. Witnessing this, Hogarth’s friend and mentor, Dean, intervenes to protect Hogarth and sends the giant away. He only later realizes that the giant’s behavior was defensive, that he had “reacted to the gun.”[1]

I always think of this scene when I’m emotionally triggered. For me, it’s an accurate metaphor for how it feels to become hyperactivated in response to a perceived threat. It is very easy to interpret what’s really in front of you (toy gun) as something far more threatening (real gun), and react more violently than the situation requires. The scene further represents to me how those reactions can have consequences, particularly in our intimate relationships.

…

In recent decades, the term trigger has been co-opted by popular culture to mean any type of strong feeling in the face of an uncomfortable or unpleasant experience.[2] Social media accounts use it for example to mock “woke” people who get offended, and educational “trigger warnings” promise to protect us from potentially disturbing content.

Yet these mainstream uses of the term fail to capture its original meaning, and don’t necessarily cater to the needs of those most prone to feeling triggered: survivors of serious trauma.[3]

As therapists Sue Marriot and Ann Kelley describe, being emotionally triggered occurs when an implicit traumatic memory from our past “flood[s] [us] with a feeling that doesn’t make sense in the present.”[4] This “memory” is not experienced as such, but rather as a sudden physiological experience of acute emotional distress.

While we may be on the right track about what’s actually happening to us (something uncomfortable is most likely taking place), our sympathetic nervous system feels that discomfort at a disproportionate level to the current situation.[5]

To quote Marriot and Kelley, “the channel is right, but the volume is too high.”[6]

Doctor Ramani, an author and clinical psychologist, describes the experience of being triggered using a slightly different metaphor. She explains that when we encounter a situation that evokes our original trauma, we may feel “plucked’ like a guitar string.”[7] Once plucked, that guitar string continues to vibrate long after the threat has passed. As a result, survivors of trauma who are triggered may appear to the outside world as though they are overreacting or having a hard time “getting over it.”

The truth is it simply takes time for that vibration–originating from deep, nervous system-held emotional wounds–to come to an end.[8]

The experience of being triggered or plucked becomes uniquely complicated in response to relational trauma. While episodic traumas–a serious accident or natural disaster, for instance–are also extraordinarily painful, the source of the triggers associated are usually a bit easier to demarcate, such as a particular location, activity, or time of year.[9] Relational traumas, by contrast, can be more nuanced and less clear, making it harder to anticipate potentially triggering events.[10]

Additionally, the intense reactions that result from relational triggers get played out in relationship, meaning that survivors may misattribute the source of their distress to the very people with whom they desire safety and closeness. What’s seen as an overreaction to the non-triggered person then leaves the survivor feeling alone and ashamed, unable to communicate the depth and significance of their experience.[11]

It is essential to understand, however, that emotional triggers do not only stem from “negative” experiences. Survivors of relational abuse may feel triggered by “positive” interactions with an intimate partner because they mimic the love bombing and honeymoon stages in their previous toxic relationships.

Therapist Nadine Macaluso, in her book Run Like Hell, explains how our nervous systems become addicted to the cycle of abuse: “Because of the ongoing manipulative love tactics, your nervous system becomes ungrounded. Love-bombing is so extreme that it creates a flood of the feel-good neurotransmitter dopamine in the brain…the same neurotransmitter that…drives the addictive cycle of cocaine.”[12]

Psychotherapist William Brennan in turn explains that survivors may find positive moments therefore “traumatic to experience because of fear and powerlessness…the fear of relapse, craving, difficulty in error monitoring, [and] longing.”[13] In other words, the entire abuse cycle–love bombing, devaluation, and discarding–becomes triggering to the survivor in the aftermath of the relationship.

…

The good news for survivors of trauma is that, with therapy, mindfulness, self-care, and other forms of healing, the pluck becomes smaller, the string tighter, and the vibration shorter.[14] Like the giant, we may still have moments that take us out of ourselves, but we can begin to build the tools of self-awareness and self-regulation that makes repair possible.

Our nervous systems, so easily wired for threat, can thankfully be re-wired to incorporate feelings of safety and connection.

As Hogarth reminds the giant at the end of the film, “You are what you choose to be.”[15] No matter how reactive or powerless our emotional triggers make us feel, we indeed have a choice in how we respond to our trauma. And in fact, with intention, care, and support, the learning that comes from trauma can even become our superpower.

[1] Bird, Brad, director. The Iron Giant. Warner Bros., 1999.

[2] “Understanding Emotional Triggers – Why Your Buttons Get Pushed and What To Do About It.” Therapists Uncensored, episode TU08, 28 Sept. 2016.

[3] Jones, Payton J., et al. “Helping or harming? the effect of trigger warnings on individuals with trauma histories.” Clinical Psychological Science, vol. 8, no. 5, 1 June 2020.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Doctor Ramani. Why You Should STOP Saying the Narcissist TRIGGERED You… 20 Feb. 2023.

[6] “Understanding Emotional Triggers.” Therapists Uncensored.

[7] Doctor Ramani. Why You Should STOP Saying the Narcissist TRIGGERED You.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Macaluso, Nadine. Run like Hell: A Therapist’s Guide to Recognizing, Escaping, and Healing from Trauma Bonds. (Greenleaf Book Group, 2024), 62.

[13] Brennan, Will. “Intensive Training on Narcissistic and Psychopathic Abuse | Part II.” PESI.

[14] Doctor Ramani. Why You Should STOP Saying the Narcissist TRIGGERED You.

[15] Bird, Brad, director. The Iron Giant. Warner Bros., 1999.


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

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/09/the-channel-is-right-but-the-volume-is-too-high-understanding-emotional-triggers/feed/ 1 Living With Trauma: A Life On The Edge https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/09/living-with-trauma-a-life-on-the-edge-2/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/09/living-with-trauma-a-life-on-the-edge-2/#comments Mon, 09 Feb 2026 11:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987501314 Living with Trauma is not easy. It can include a daily rollercoaster of emotions, most of which are unwelcome. It feels like being inside a constant washer spin cycle of hurling emotions, as we plunge in and out of trauma memories.

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

Photo by Amanda Phung on Unsplash

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/09/living-with-trauma-a-life-on-the-edge-2/feed/ 1 My Skin Knows I’m a Survivor https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/12/31/my-skin-knows-im-a-survivor/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/12/31/my-skin-knows-im-a-survivor/#comments Wed, 31 Dec 2025 12:51:55 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987502398

One sweltering July when I was fifteen, I was camped out on a shaded picnic bench at nerd camp. While furiously pushing the buttons on my calculator and drilling exercises for my upcoming exam, I heard rustling in the grass ahead of me. When I looked up, I saw a small army of dudes wearing backwards hats marching toward me. 

Oh, it’s Brad. I rolled my eyes, wondering what he wanted this time. 

Brad stood, arms crossed, at the head of his minions. (Brad had the illustrious role of the most popular guy at nerd camp. And, please, take that with a grain of salt… because it was still nerd camp!) In perfect formation behind Brad were two of his posse members. Let’s just call them both Chad. 

With an intimidating demeanor, they stopped in front of the picnic table. Brad looked me in the eyes and blurted out:

“I’ve got to tell you something, Natalie. You’d be so pretty if it weren’t for your skin.” 

With that, Brad and his Chads turned around and walked away laughing. I buried my head, and the symbols, notations, and numbers in my textbook became indistinguishable from my sea of tears. 

My skin condition develops

I wasn’t born with severe acne and rosacea. I went through the usual phase of adolescent acne, which cleared up as I went through puberty. However, during my first year of high school (and coinciding with the onset of my CPTSD), my skin began to deteriorate. At the time, I didn’t understand what these flashbacks were or why they were triggering such intense emotions in me. Nevertheless, at age fourteen, I began a more than ten-year battle with both cystic acne and rosacea.

Endless criticism and mockery

Brad and his Chads definitely weren’t the only ones who shamed me about my skin. For years, not a day went by without someone mocking it or, at the very least, pointing it out for me – as if I wasn’t already aware of it.

I wanted to scream back at them: “I’m not stupid! I know it’s there. It’s literally burning right now. Please, be my guest and touch it! Make it burn even more!” 

But I kept quiet and internalized the pain. Nightly, I writhed in bed, haunted by traumatic memories. I screamed agonizingly into my pillow as my akathisia made me restless and agitated. Through it all, my skin burned and burned. 

No filters and unsolicited advice

Some people have no chill. The comments I received were ruthless, with kids being the harshest. I can’t blame them – they say exactly what they think. Even more biting than the blunt munchkins were the elderly Southern women with no tact who offered me unsolicited advice in that condescending “awww, bless your heart!” kind of way.  

One woman told me she believed Jesus had the power to heal my skin and asked if she could pray for me. She grabbed my hand, bowed her head, and asked Jesus for a miracle. Another woman interrupted a Zoom call I was taking outside a coffee shop, sat down at my table uninvited, and gave me a five-minute pep talk, telling me to “keep fighting and stay strong.” 

While much of the criticism was petty, belittling, or condescending “help,” some people were just downright cruel. I’d like to award silver, bronze, and gold medals to the most creative names that hateful adults called me over the years: “Girl on Fire,” “Tomato Face,” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” 

(I admire your creativity, but please, find your humanity!)

Regardless of their approach, they would always conclude their condescending remarks with a “positive” reminder like: “Don’t worry, you’re still so beautiful” or “Keep smiling, though. Your personality makes up for it.”

I’d wait until I got back to my car to let the tears flow, their saltiness making my rosacea burn even more. 

Frantically searching for a cure

If these tone-deaf women were right about one thing, it’s that I kept a smile on my face regardless. Each time I moved my facial muscles to smile, though, every centimeter of my skin would burn in agony. I didn’t wear makeup because it only accentuated the redness and intensified the pain.

For years, I tried all sorts of dermatological treatments to eradicate my Tomato Face. I took antibiotics that ranged from mild to the most potent available. I underwent laser and microneedling treatments. I even went through multiple rounds of ActiveFX surgery, where I was put under anesthesia and had to recover for an entire week indoors, avoiding sunlight as the blisters healed. I tried everything, but nothing dermatology offered could make my face the same color as my body.  

The reality of my condition

It wasn’t until embarking on my healing journey and rejecting the narratives of mainstream medicine that I realized my skin condition wasn’t strictly dermatological. Once I quieted the outside world, I realized my skin condition was emotional. Although I couldn’t articulate this understanding until over a decade after its onset, my heart conveyed what autoimmune blood tests, Dr. Google, and dermatologists’ confusing opinions could never validate: the redness stemmed from the repressed emotions linked to my trauma.  

My skin knows what I’ve survived

While the outside world may have only seen my Tomato Face for its fiery color, my skin understood what I was enduring better than anyone.   

My skin believed me and listened to me when no one else would. 

My rosacea comprehended the traumas I was enduring during a time when I desperately sought answers from “specialists” and “experts” who dismissed me as mentally ill and suggested I was worthy of institutionalization. 

My rosacea reflected the pain of the blood-curdling screams that erupted when I was alone in my apartment, tormented by the flashbacks I had no idea how to exorcise from my mind, body, psyche, and soul. 

My rosacea was the barrier for all the times I wanted to lash out at my perpetrators, scream in their faces, and give voice to the pain they caused me. Instead, I kept silent and went home to scream at myself in the mirror.  

My skin reflected the red flashing lights of all the ambulances that arrived at my apartment in the middle of the night because of panic attacks, hallucinations, and akathisia. 

My skin was a billboard, screaming my inner turmoil even when the world assumed I was in control.

A love letter to my skin

My skin is far from perfect today, but I’ve made incredible progress since discovering the root cause of its issues: my bottled-up emotions. I wrote a love letter to my skin and hung it on my mirror so I can read it aloud every morning. 

To my precious skin, 

How are you doing? Really, how are you? Has anyone asked you that lately? If not, I want to be the first to do so. 

You’ve been through so much pain. I’m truly sorry for all the ways you’ve been violated over the years. I know the comments from outsiders don’t make it any easier. Sometimes, people mock you. Other times, they stare in horror, disgust, or bewilderment. Or they offer unsolicited advice on who you “need” to be to be considered perfect. 

I believe you are already perfect, and I love you very much. I never intentionally harmed you. I have been doing everything I can to nurture you and protect you. I am working hard to give you the life you deserve. One day, you will be completely restored, just as I will be fully restored to who I always was. The flashbacks will be gone. 

I will never give up on you. Thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for showing the world that I am a trauma survivor. Thank you for believing me, seeing me, hearing me, listening to me, and understanding me. Thank you for being one of the most beautiful aspects of me. Thank you for making me… me. 

Take all the time you need to heal. You are perfect just the way that you are. 

With love, 

Natalie

All the progress I’ve made

Recently, I was sitting at a picnic table in a local park, enjoying the sun. Two little girls, around the ages of four and six, pranced up to me from another picnic table. They began climbing all over me, showering me with compliments. 

“I love your earrings! I love your shirt! You’re so pretty! Can you be our big sister?”

I braced myself, anticipating the moment they would stop being so sweet and start laughing at my skin. I followed their eyes, expecting them to linger on one of the bulging cysts on my chin. However, their gazes never went where I thought they would. They were focused on me, the whole Natalie. 

I was filled with an overwhelming sense of love, reminding me how much I look forward to becoming a mother one day. I fought back tears, realizing for the first time in a long time that children no longer see my skin that’s the color of a firetruck. They see me. I’ve made so much progress in my recovery. 

They turned back to their mom, shouting across the way, “Mama! Can she be our new sister?”

My skin makes me… me.

My skin is a symbol of my strength. I am confident that one day my skin will fully heal. However, no matter how much I desire its complete restoration, I will never expect perfection. Even if traces of my past skin condition remain, I won’t fret. I will forever cherish the scars that stay with me. They are the souvenirs of everything I’ve survived. 

To my readers who have been following my journey: I am excited to share that I have created a personal blog called “Little Cabin Life.” This blog chronicles my healing journey, where I share my experiences and the things I am doing to support my recovery. You’ll also find tips that have been helpful to me along the way. If you’re interested in following my story, please feel free to visit www.littlecabinlife.com.

Photo by El S 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.

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/12/31/my-skin-knows-im-a-survivor/feed/ 1 When the Client’s Body Reacts, but the Story Isn’t True https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/12/03/when-the-clients-body-reacts-but-the-story-isnt-true/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/12/03/when-the-clients-body-reacts-but-the-story-isnt-true/#respond Wed, 03 Dec 2025 10:43:05 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987501067 Tears, tremors, and vivid descriptions can be compelling. They are not proof. In complex trauma, memory is less a film reel and more a patchwork of emotional flashbulbs, fragments, and protective edits. Somatic reactions tell us that something mattered to the nervous system. They do not tell us who, where, or when. Therapy becomes dangerous not when clients struggle to remember, but when therapists stop being curious.

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.

Cover Image: jonathan-borba-OhU7gVp0D7c-unsplash.jpg

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/12/03/when-the-clients-body-reacts-but-the-story-isnt-true/feed/ 0 The Ancestral Fear Lurking Beneath Your Bed https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/10/14/the-ancestral-fear-lurking-beneath-your-bed/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/10/14/the-ancestral-fear-lurking-beneath-your-bed/#comments Tue, 14 Oct 2025 13:34:57 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500690 Most people treat sleep habits as personal quirks. One in particular divides the room: letting your feet hang over the edge of the bed. Some find it soothing. Others feel a surge of anxiety at the thought. This is not only folklore or horror-movie residue. The reaction has a lineage that blends survival reflex, trauma conditioning, and basic physiology.

Why the edge can feel unsafe

Humans did not evolve on memory foam in locked bedrooms. For most of our history, we slept on the ground, in caves, in huts with thin doors. Exposed limbs meant exposed entry points. Predators target extremities and the neck because access is easier. The nervous system solved that problem by favoring positions that protect the core: curl, cover, and tuck. That is not fear. It is pattern recognition preserved across generations. The amygdala still scans in the background during sleep, and it does not retire just because you purchased a better mattress.

Evolutionary memory that is still on duty

Even today, the brain runs a quiet night watch. On the first night in an unfamiliar place, sleep becomes asymmetric; one hemisphere remains more alert while the other rests. Laboratory work has demonstrated this first-night effect with imaging that shows a built-in vigilance system holding partial guard. That is biology, not superstition, and it helps explain why the edge of a bed in a new setting can feel like a cliff rather than a cushion.

Trauma history changes the map

Trauma shifts sleep from rest to strategy. People with childhood abuse, severe neglect, or control-based punishment often adopt positions that prioritize mobility, concealment, or both. Some sleep near the edge with one leg ready to move because escape has been coded as necessary. Others cannot tolerate uncovered limbs at all and cocoon under blankets even in warm rooms, not for comfort but for defense of the areas perpetrators once accessed. These choices are rarely conscious. They are solutions installed by experience and maintained by a threat-biased nervous system.

Posture, perception, and what the research suggests

Sleep posture correlates with emotional states in population studies and clinical reviews. Fetal-style sleepers more often report higher stress and adverse life events. Supine sleepers show a higher association with sleep paralysis in several samples. Side and edge positions vary; for some, the choice is airflow and spinal ease, for others, it is a safety cue learned a long time ago. None of this proves a single rule. It does support what clinicians observe: position is not random for many survivors.

Temperature, physiology, and learned associations

Feet are fast radiators. Specialized vessels in the hands and feet move heat quickly, so a foot outside the covers can lower body temperature and help with sleep onset. Biology does not operate in a vacuum, though. If cold feet were paired with fear, isolation, or punishment, the same sensation can function as a warning rather than a comfort. The body votes based on memory more than on textbook physiology.

Practical steps that respect biology

Start with observation rather than force. Notice how your body positions itself in the first moments of waking and the last moments before sleep. Those are honest windows. Make small experiments without pressure. If you want to test more exposure, begin with a toe or ankle rather than a full limb and see what the body permits. Do not copy someone else’s version of calm. One person sprawls because their system is quiet; another curls because their system is careful. Adjust the room before you try to adjust your biology. Lower the bed, soften the lighting, and set a temperature that signals safety. Some people settle with breathable sheets and a light-weight throw; others require no weight at all. There is no universal fix. The point is to give the nervous system current evidence that the environment is safe in the present day.

Final thoughts

Edge anxiety is not drama, and it is not immaturity. It is a living record of what kept people safe. If your legs lock tight or you pull the blanket over your head every night, that is not a flaw. It is survival programming that has not yet been given a stable reason to retire. Whether you sleep centered like a sandbag or hold the perimeter like a lookout, the pattern makes sense once the history is named. Your brain did not forget what life taught it, especially at night.

References

Tamaki M, Bang JW, Watanabe T, Sasaki Y. Night watch in one brain hemisphere during sleep associated with the first-night effect in humans. Current Biology. 2016;26(9):1190-1194.
Jalal B, Romanelli A, Hinton DE. Sleep paralysis in Italy: frequency, symptoms, and the role of cultural interpretation. Consciousness and Cognition. 2017;51:298-305.
Suni E, Chen W, Jungquist C, et al. Sleep position and mental health: a scoping review. Sleep Health. 2017;3(6):460-467.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 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.

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/10/14/the-ancestral-fear-lurking-beneath-your-bed/feed/ 3 CPTSD and the Brain: A Battle Inside Your Head https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/08/25/cptsd-and-the-brain-a-battle-inside-your-head/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/08/25/cptsd-and-the-brain-a-battle-inside-your-head/#comments Tue, 26 Aug 2025 00:36:46 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500983 The human brain is a wild mix of wiring, chemistry, and memory, running everything from your heartbeat to your deepest thoughts–all while somehow letting you remember the lyrics to songs you haven’t heard in twenty years. Beautifully magnificent… and sometimes, frustratingly mysterious.

It’s a powerhouse of possibility,  and it’s also a paradox. It keeps us alive. Helps us create. Love. Imagine. It’s where the best parts of us live–the cleverness, the humor, the wild creativity, the gut instincts, and the empathy.

But it’s also where the trauma lives.
Where the fear lives.
Where the ghosts of what we survived are still pacing the halls.

A Hypervigilant Command Center

If you live with CPTSD, then you know that it’s not just a brain. It’s a hypervigilant command center. Always alert. Always scanning. Always assuming the next bad thing is just around the corner–even when life is calm.

When you walk into a room, you don’t just enter. You calculate. You assess. You map out the exits, read every face, and listen for tone shifts. You don’t even realize you’re doing it; it’s automatic.
Learned from years of needing to be ready, just in case.

Emotional Hijacking: When the Past Invades the Present

Then someone says something. Maybe it’s nothing–a joke, a pause, or a look that lingers a second too long. Boom, your body’s gone tight, your stomach drops, and your thoughts scatter.

Suddenly, you’re back in a memory you never meant to revisit.
Not fully reliving it, but emotionally hijacked by it.
The fear, the shame, the worthlessness.
All of it, flooding in as if it never left.

Ruminating in the Ruins

Your brain starts looping.
Was it me?
Did I mess up again?
Are they mad?
Am I too much? Not enough?
What did I do?

You start ruminating.
You replay the conversation.
You pick apart every word, every silence.
You fill in blanks with worst-case scenarios.

And you don’t even want to be doing it; it just happens.

You know it’s happening. You see it happening.
But knowing doesn’t stop it.

It’s as though your own inner monologue is unraveling you in real time.
And you’re powerless to stop the unraveling.

This Is What CPTSD Can Look Like

Not always flashbacks.
Sometimes, it’s a slow, invisible spiral that pulls you under with nothing dramatic on the surface.
Just a brain quietly trying to protect you… in all the wrong ways.

The Whispered Lies in the Dark

And sometimes, yeah, the thoughts get dark. Not always suicidal. But heavy. Bone-deep exhausted. The kind of dark where you lie in bed and feel like a failure for simply existing.
The kind where your brain whispers:

“You’ll never get better.”
“This is just who you are.”
“People only tolerate you.”
“You’re too much.”
“You’re alone in this.”

And if you’re tired or overwhelmed–or just raw that day–you believe it.

Even though you know it’s the trauma talking.
Even though you’ve done the therapy.
Even though you’ve read the books, taken the meds, and journaled your guts out.
You still believe the lie your brain is screaming at you.

The Hardest Fight: Your Own Mind

That’s what makes healing so hard.
You don’t just fight symptoms.
You fight your own mind.

And it’s not because you’re weak.
It’s because your brain adapted perfectly to survive what happened to you.
It just doesn’t know you’re safe now.
It doesn’t know the war ended years ago.

What I’m Holding Onto

But here’s the part I’m learning, what I try to hold onto when it all feels too much: This brain, this chaotic, overworked, trauma-stamped brain of mine… It’s still trying and still showing up and still learning.

It laughs.
It makes art.
It remembers weird 90s trivia.
It falls in love.
It gets back up, even when it swears it’s done.

It is, somehow, still mine, and still beautiful.
Not because it’s perfect.
But because it keeps going.

Tender. Tired. Trying.

Beautifully magnificent. And also:

Tender.
Tired.
Trying.

Maybe that’s the point. Healing doesn’t erase the trauma. It means we learn how to live with a brain that’s been through hell, and that we choose, every day, to love it anyway.

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco 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.

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/08/25/cptsd-and-the-brain-a-battle-inside-your-head/feed/ 6 When the Past Cracks Open: Navigating Repressed CSA Memories in Adulthood https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/04/10/when-the-past-cracks-open-navigating-repressed-csa-memories-in-adulthood/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/04/10/when-the-past-cracks-open-navigating-repressed-csa-memories-in-adulthood/#comments Thu, 10 Apr 2025 23:56:21 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500106 For most of my life, I had no reason to question my past. I had warm childhood memories, a solid understanding of who I was, and no indication that something darker lurked beneath the surface. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, my mind cracked open, and pieces of a story I never asked for started falling out.

At first, I tried to push them back in, trying to make them fit into the version of my life I had always known. But no matter how much I willed them away, they kept coming—not in full, cohesive scenes, but in flashes, in body sensations, in a deep, unshakable knowing that left me questioning everything.

And that’s when the real battle began.

The Shock of Remembering

Nothing prepares you for the moment your own mind turns against you. One day, you think you know yourself. The next, you are drowning in memories that do not feel like yours but somehow are.

It feels impossible. Unbelievable. Like something you might have read in a book but never expected to happen in your own life. And yet, there it is.

For me, the shock came with a mix of emotions I did not know how to handle. Grief for the childhood I thought I had. Rage that my brain had kept this from me. Terror that if this was true, then nothing in my life had ever been what I thought it was.

And then came the worst question of all: What if I’m making this up?

The “Am I Making This Up?” Spiral

If you have been here, you know the loop.

  • Why now?
  • Wouldn’t I have always remembered if it were real?
  • What if I’m just looking for attention?
  • What if I planted this idea in my own head somehow?

I wrestled with these thoughts constantly, dissecting every memory fragment, analyzing every feeling, desperate for proof that would make it undeniable. But that proof never came in the way I wanted.

Instead, my body became the evidence. The panic that gripped me in certain situations. The way I froze at a touch, I should have been able to tolerate. The overwhelming nausea, the shaking, the way my mind wanted to flee even when I was safe.

My body had always known, even when my mind did not.

But the doubts were relentless. There were moments when I was certain I had broken completely, that I was unraveling, that soon I would not be able to trust a single thought inside my own head. I had been sure of my past once. If that could change, then what else was not real?

When the World Feels Unreal

One of the hardest things about repressed memories resurfacing is how they shatter your sense of reality. Everything becomes uncertain: your past, your identity, your relationships. And if you are anything like me, you crave certainty. You want someone to confirm what you remember, to tell you it is real, to give you something solid to stand on.

But most of the time, that doesn’t happen.

I started second-guessing everything. I would stare at old photos of myself as a child, looking for signs in my own eyes. Did I look happy? Did I look scared? Could I have been hiding something even from myself?

And then there were the nightmares. The ones that left me gasping for breath, the ones where I woke up drenched in sweat, my body aching in ways I could not explain. My mind tried to tell me they were just dreams, but my body told a different story. The fear, the disgust, the panic. It was real.

I had to learn how to exist in the in-between, to trust myself even when I had doubts. To accept that my brain had done what it needed to do to protect me and that just because I didn’t remember for decades didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

The Despair of Not Knowing

No one talks enough about the despair. The way it can swallow you whole. When you start remembering pieces of something so unthinkable, its weight is unbearable.

I remember curling up in bed, unable to move, unable to function, my mind replaying the same thoughts on a loop.

“This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
But what if it is?
What if I’m losing my mind?
What if I’m just broken?“

Nothing shakes your sense of reality like waking up one day and realizing your past is no longer what you thought it was.

I would search my memories for signs, clues, anything that would either validate or disprove what I was starting to uncover. But memory does not work like that. It does not arrive neatly, in perfect order, with timestamps and witnesses. It drips in, slowly, sometimes violently, and often without warning.

And then came the darkest thoughts.

“What if I’m making this up because I want an excuse for my struggles?
What if I’m just broken beyond repair?“

I became convinced I was unraveling, that I would wake up one day completely lost inside my own head. The fear was not just about what had happened to me; it was about whether I could ever trust myself again.

The Darkness That Almost Swallowed Me

The grief was unbearable. It was not just about the memories. It was the loss of the life I thought I had. The childhood I had once cherished now felt like a dream I had woken up from too late.

And the worst part? There was no one to validate it for me. No way to prove or disprove what my brain was screaming at me.

There were days I couldn’t breathe under its weight. Days I wondered if I would ever feel normal again. Days I thought maybe it would be easier if I just disappeared.

This is the part people don’t talk about. The way the pain can feel so heavy that it drags you under. The way remembering doesn’t feel like healing at first. It feels like dying.

Grounding Through the Chaos

If you are in this place, if your world feels like it is cracking open, and you do not know how to hold the pieces, I want you to know you are not alone. And you are not broken.

Here are some things that helped me (and might help you, too):

  • Validate your emotions, even when you doubt your memories. Your feelings are real, no matter what.
  • Find safe people to talk to. Whether it is a therapist, a coach, a support group, or trusted friends, do not do this alone.
  • Ground yourself in the present. When the past tries to pull you under, remind yourself that you are here, now. Feet on the floor. Breathe in your lungs. Safe.
  • Give yourself permission to not have all the answers. Healing is not about proving what happened. It is about reclaiming yourself.

You Are Still You

When the past cracks open, it can feel like you are losing yourself. But you are not. You are still you. Maybe even more than you have ever been.

I won’t pretend this journey is easy. It is disorienting, painful, and sometimes feels impossible. But you are not alone. You do not have to have every answer to start healing.

Your story matters. Your pain is real. And you deserve to heal, whether the world ever sees your truth or not.

You Are Not Crazy. You Are Remembering.

If you are here, in the middle of the storm, feeling like you might not make it out, I need you to hear this.

You are not broken. You are not making this up. You are not crazy.

Your brain protected you the best way it knew how. And now, it is giving you back what you are ready to hold.

You do not have to remember everything to heal. You do not have to prove anything to be worthy of support.

Your pain is real. And you are not alone.

Hold on, friend, even when it feels impossible. Hold on.

Because the other side of this? It’s worth it. And so are you.

Photo by Vincent Burkhead 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.

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/04/10/when-the-past-cracks-open-navigating-repressed-csa-memories-in-adulthood/feed/ 8 “Was It Even Abuse?” Unpacking Psychological Abuse https://cptsdfoundation.org/2024/09/10/was-it-even-abuse-unpacking-psychological-abuse/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2024/09/10/was-it-even-abuse-unpacking-psychological-abuse/#comments Tue, 10 Sep 2024 08:27:57 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987489816 What type of abuser can break their victim enough to land her in an ambulance without even touching her? The psychological abuser. 

They walk like us, they talk like us, and they may even have pristine reputations in their communities. However, nothing can prepare a victim for the way her life will change once a psychological abuser “picks” her.

A psychological abuser’s goal is to utilize mental tantalization to break a victim’s psyche down over time, make her appear crazy, and isolate her from mutual connections without leaving a trail of evidence. After you’re discarded from a relationship with one of these personalities, the abuser will spit seething venom at you, disempowering you and removing your humanity and self-worth. They don’t care who you were before, during, or after your relationship with them, as they utilize hot and cold behavior to make you question your reality. You’re not a human being; you’re a commodity to be exploited in their game of life. To these personalities, everything is your fault. No matter how many nice things you do for them, nothing is good enough. No matter who you are, what you say, or what you do, your existence enrages them. If you look them in the eyes, there’s nothing there — almost as if they have no conscience. Even being given the “death glare” or “sociopathic stare” by one of these people is enough to transfer that intense hatred of you into yourself and make your body shake. Their sadism lurks behind a facade of innocence.

Who is the Psychological Abuser? 

Psychological abusers are emotional toddlers in adult bodies. The abuse doesn’t have to happen in a romantic or familial relationship, as is most commonly discussed. Abuse can occur in any type of relationship or environment—schools, workplaces, churches, or any communities where humans gather. Abusers have plenty of experience — they typically have multiple victims. While psychological abuse can be so crafty that the victim might even question if she is really a victim, they know exactly what they do to you, and they enjoy it. But the words “abuser” and “bully” are the last words they would use to describe themselves. They don’t think they are doing anything wrong.

While it isn’t possible for victims to diagnose these types of people, just be aware that they have serious pathological issues consisting of narcissistic, sociopathic, and psychopathic tendencies. I don’t typically subscribe to using the word “normal” to describe human behavior because of the history of the word being used to ostracize people who do not conform to groupthink. However, I’m fine with using the word “normal” to describe healthy people in relation to these abusive personalities. Psychological abusers live in an entirely different reality than normal people do.

Who Do Abusers Target? 

Abusers target people who have something they do not or cannot have themselves. Since nothing is ever good enough for them, they envy those who are content with themselves. They typically target empaths — people who have an innate joy and genuine gratitude for life, see every human being as worthy of love and tend to see the good in others. Their animosity toward empaths comes from a place of not being able to fathom how another person can have that much joy regardless of life circumstances. 

Abusers can work alone or in groups. Typically, they eventually rope “flying monkeys” into their games — minions who either overtly or covertly help the abuser perpetrate the abuse. Often, these flying monkeys do not even know the victim personally. Since the abuse is so insidious, even these flying monkeys might not understand the full extent of the torment inflicted on the victim. If these supporting actors could see the full extent of the abuse, they may stop being pawns in the abuser’s destructive game. Unfortunately, most of these flying monkeys don’t want to understand the harm they’re complicit in, but they want to be part of the group and win the abuser’s praise, and they get their own power trip satisfied in the process.

For reference, The term “flying monkey” comes from The Wizard of Oz. The Wicked Witch of the West puts them under her spell.

The Average Person Does Not Understand Psychological Abuse

Psychological abuse can be an amorphous force, very difficult for an outsider to detect. Abusers often charm other people close to their victims, so these people have no reason to believe that the abuser is doing anything wrong to them. Outsiders may even ask, “What did they even do to you?”

It’s sneaky. As the victim, I couldn’t even fully put it into words myself. This is precisely why abusers utilize psychological abuse as their weapon of choice. They are crafty enough to know that if they did it in any other way, they would “get caught” by outsiders. The victim may be told that she’s “overthinking it” or that it’s “just how she’s perceiving it.” The power dynamics, manipulation, hot and cold behavior, gaslighting, and mind games form a Stockholm Syndrome-style trauma bond, which makes the victim believe: “Maybe they’ll eventually give me closure.” The victim may come across as “unable to move on” from the relationship when, in reality, she is wrestling with that trauma bond as she tries to fathom what is being done to her after the discard and seek a resolution to the tension. 

The mind games taunt the victim with a false hope for closure and an ending to the sick games, but that closure never comes. If victims question what’s going on, perpetrators use tactics like gaslighting and denial to pretend like nothing is happening and boomerang the blame back onto the true victim, further making her question her own reality. They may even try to convince others, and even themselves, that they are the victims. Don’t be fooled. They are not victims.

Abusers want their victims to spend their time wondering what they did wrong, but the only thing they did “wrong” was threaten their inflated ego by simply existing in their vicinity. Their tactics come from a need to control their environment and manipulate the people around them so that their world is centered around the one and only thing that matters: themselves. 

Some Mental Health Professionals Misunderstand Psychological Abuse

During my years in the mental health system, I tried bringing up some of these situations to the clinicians I saw, believing that they would be able to help me understand the painful symptoms I was experiencing in my body as a result. What I learned, though, was that many medical professionals don’t understand this type of abuse and will even go as far as to blame and retraumatize the victim further. 

After these gut-wrenching experiences with professionals I opened my heart to, I took active steps to seek out experts trained to handle victims of psychological abuse. The professional I started working with was so helpful, and she was open about being a survivor herself. 

Having felt victimized by other mental health professionals when I first met with her, I still wasn’t sure if what I had endured was abuse or if I was truly a victim. I had a list of all the things I had experienced as a result of what I had been through, many of which the medical system had previously written off as “all in my head,” giving me outlandish diagnoses. I also “confessed” all my reactions to the abuse along the lines of fight, flight, freeze, and fawn reactions. Some of those trauma responses were made out of dissociation. I felt so guilty for these reactions, and I felt like this professional needed to know how “awful” I was for making my abusers uncomfortable with my attempts to reconcile the tension. In my case, I was not a victim of just one psychological abuser. I was a victim of more than one perpetrator, and they banded together to target me, feeding off each other. 

After going through my laundry list of symptoms and reactions with this professional, I put my notebook down and looked up at her with eyes full of tears. I waited for her to tell me that I was a horrible person and that I had done everything wrong. I waited for her to laugh at me. I waited for her to tell me I was crazy. I waited for her to tell me that perhaps I was the abuser myself. And I waited for her to kick me out of her office since I was probably too much to deal with. 

She paused for a while and looked me in the eyes, saying, “You did nothing wrong. And it’s not just in your head. Everything you’ve shared tells me that you were targeted by psychological abusers.” 

Getting that validation was incredible for me. As a survivor herself and an expert researcher on the subject, nothing phased her—she had heard it all. She reassured me that everything I was experiencing was perfectly normal. I felt so seen, validated, and heard for the first time in so long. It often takes someone who has survived the same thing to truly understand where a victim is coming from, and I finally received that validation from someone who understood. As I looked into the eyes of another survivor who had been in my exact shoes, even though she was a trained professional much older, both of our eyes teared up, and we shared a humbling moment of our hearts touching one another. My work with her was transformative in understanding the reality of what I had been through and overcoming my self-guilt. 

Many Do Not Understand It, But Psychological Abuse is Insidious

Psychological abuse is real, and it is insidious. There are times when flashbacks and emotions still come up for me, but I implement grounding and nervous system regulation tools to remind myself that I am safe.

Survivors, while you may feel incredibly isolated in healing from this despicable form of hidden abuse, know that there is a community of C-PTSD survivors who have been or are in your shoes. We are all healing together. From one survivor to another, you are so strong, and I believe that you can overcome it.  

Photo by Lil Artsy on Pexels

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.

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