This is where you come from, this is who you are, and don’t you forget it. Let’s cut you (and whatever semblances of confidence and self-esteem you have scraped together since last we met) down to a devourable size. Then let’s be having you, again and again and again.

Just like old times. Only you’re no longer little. What makes this even more fun is that you are all grown up now, and back here out of your own free will. Things can’t have been so very terrible, can they, if you keep rocking up for more of the same, and to play happy families for all to see. For you are in your prime now, and potentially so very powerful.

There are no victims, only volunteers; my dear, dare I say you are asking for it?

Like the best torturers, we never left any marks (and will not have to answer to any court) but there is the danger of you realising your strength, and of you finding the words for what we have done, and for what we are. The truth to us is a like a red rag to a bull, and to keep it at bay we have to keep you discombobulated and uncertain of yourself at all times while with us: trapped in that painfully familiar, utterly false childhood self – lying, self-denying, desperately trying to please us, accepting that truth, love, confidence and happiness are unthinkable and unspeakable in this house.

You are what we want you to be, a nothing, a joke, a tool to be used at our convenience.

We will do whatever it takes. Words for us are deadly blades in this, your first home. Even after all these years, we can still take your breath away with our unfettered sadism and creative callousness. But we are getting on, and as we grow old and frail, we use your stupid morality against you: you would not want to upset someone weaker than yourself, would you?

Well, that’s a good one coming from unrepentant child abusers, but in this as in other matters, we take great delight in duping you. The past, of course, is for us to rewrite as we see fit. Go there at your own peril – we will call you a liar, a fantasist, a lunatic, whatever it takes to shut you up, and more.

Why go? Why yank your inner child back to the place it worked so hard to escape – they might have crippled you for life, but hey, it’s a holiday or a special family event, that somehow is reason enough?

You likely go because you need the approval and validation of the world in a primal, desperate way, and thus want to do right by its standards. You hunger for a healthy normality, but the thought of having a family of your own scares you senseless, as does the thought of a Christmas all by yourself.

And while the world out there pays lip service to the protection of children, it is all out of sympathy when it comes to adult survivors of child abuse – how bad can it have been, you turned out alright, be grateful, forgive … anything other than the truth will do, on this much of the world concurs with the predators. 

And yet, fortunately, the world has also begun to change over the last decade or so. 2025 saw the release of Eamon Dolan’s excellent book, The Power of Parting, Finding Peace and Freedom through Family Estrangement – one of many powerful experiential and academic contributions to a thriving field focused on legitimising cutting abusers out of one’s life.

Alice Segell is a pseudonym. The author is a wife, researcher, writer and survivor.

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

Alice Segell

Alice Segell is a pseudonym. The author is a wife, researcher, writer and survivor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I am not quitting coaching.

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

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

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

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

Less pressing.
Less forcing.
Less building from depletion.

More listening.
More honesty.
More choosing ease. 

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

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

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

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

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

To flow instead of force!
Rachel


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

Photo by Peter Trones on Unsplash

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

Rachel Grant

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

www.rachelgrantcoaching.com

What Does It Mean to Be an Ally?

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

Mental Health Disparities in the LGBTQ+ Community

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

Being an ally can help disrupt these harmful patterns.

Why Allyship Matters in Therapy

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

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

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

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

How Everyone Can Be an Ally

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

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

A Commitment to Inclusive Care

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

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

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

Robyn Brickel

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

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

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

To contact Robyn directly:

Robyn@RobynBrickel.com

www.BrickelandAssociates.com

brickelandassociates.com/

Can’t anyone see the errors?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you like reading my posts, then please follow me.

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

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

Elizabeth Woods

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

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

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

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/

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

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

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

What Didn’t Work

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

What Worked

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

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

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

My Insights

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

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

Closing

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

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

Photo by Rohan Makhecha on Unsplash

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

Grace Mattoli

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

To Joy!

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

Photo by x ) on Unsplash

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

Rachel Grant

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

www.rachelgrantcoaching.com

Centuries later, the myth of Cassandra lives on in contemporary culture not as legend, but as the very real phenomenon of gaslighting. Gaslighting, a term that developed from Patrick Hamilton’s 1938 play, Gas Light,is a form of emotional and psychological abuse that manipulates victims into doubting their thoughts, perceptions, feelings, and memories.[3] Like Apollo, abusers use gaslighting to “undermine self‐confidence” and “cause victims to doubt their sense of reality and/or sanity.”[4] In particular, abusers use gaslighting to cause their victims to “back down, withdraw complaints, and assume responsibility for conflicts in the relationship.”[5] In Cassandra’s case, Apollo undermined her right to bodily autonomy (and moreover, her right to assert that right) by discrediting her ability to tell the truth and be believed. In doing so, he stripped away her power and her integrity. Ultimately, by driving her to madness, he turned her against herself.

If this dynamic sounds familiar, it’s because gaslighting is an ancient method of manipulation used not only by individuals, but by oppressive systems like patriarchy, racism, and capitalism (though that is by no means an exhaustive list). It is a darkly brilliant one–what better way to control people than by making them question their own self-preservation instincts? What evil genius, to make them believe there’s something wrong with them if they advocate for themselves!

The phenomena of gaslighting and, therefore, cognitive dissonance are especially present in pathological love relationships

Philosophy professor Cynthia A. Stark, in her article “Gaslighting, Misogyny, and Psychological Oppression,” remarks on gaslighting in the context of patriarchy: “[m]isogyny is enacted…primarily through the displacement component of gaslighting: men who are credibly accused of abuse by women (or the allies of those men) punish women for those accusations by ascribing defects to them to ‘explain’ their accusations…the stronger the evidence of abuse…the more sinister is the attribution of the defect.”[6]

She goes on to say that “gaslighters adopt the plainly immoral assumption that a female victim of grievous harm has no right to complain if the perpetrator is a high-status male.”[7] Today, this tactic remains effective and pervasive. People are willing to have opinions as to the reasons for why women come forward with alleged abuse (they’re needy, mentally ill, selfish, etc.). Other, that is, than the obvious one: they’re telling the truth.

With regard to racism, examples of cultural and collective gaslighting are equally infinite. Consider the psychiatric diagnosis drapetomania, or runaway slave syndrome, which was used to diagnose and pathologize runaway slaves in the Antebellum period, or the fact that psychiatrists in the Civil Rights Era used the concept of schizophrenia to portray Black Americans as “violent, hostile, and paranoid” (to this day, Black and African American people are diagnosed with schizophrenia more than White people).[8] These “diagnoses” represent just one of many efforts to pathologize and stigmatize the very appropriate fight or flight responses–the righteous anger and desire for freedom–that ensure black people’s survival in a racist society.

And then there is capitalism, which is “the biggest gaslighter of them all,” according to the science, psychiatry, and social justice journal Mad in America. In their article “Capitalism and Coercive Control,” they write that “most people recognize that the system is unfair and brutal, but authority figures of various sorts keep telling us how great it is, how lucky we are to have a job and how free we are.”[9] Personally, I have tried to opt out of the rat race as much as my circumstances allow–partly because of lifestyle preferences, and partly because my C-PSTD brain simply can’t take it. I am easily overwhelmed by highly competitive atmospheres, harsh or unforgiving communication styles, any real or perceived violation of personal boundaries, and authoritarian bosses who make me walk on eggshells. As such, I have chosen an untraditional, lesser-paying career path to protect my peace and mental health. This is a choice I often have to remind myself is the best choice for me.

In short, we as a global society feel the effects of structural gaslighting through oppressive systems like racism, capitalism, and patriarchy. But how are we affected on a personal level? What does the experience of being gaslit actually feel like? How does gaslighting occur in relationships? Why exactly is it so damaging?

In short, we as a global society feel the effects of structural gaslighting through oppressive systems like racism, capitalism, and patriarchy.

The most overarching answer to these questions lies in the term cognitive dissonance. Cognitive dissonance occurs when one is faced with two sets of competing and dichotomous relationship experiences, memories, and opinions and/or emotions.[10] When an abuser gaslights their victim, they are causing that person to feel cognitive dissonance–a sense of deep, often surreal, inner conflict of contrasting perceptions about the partner, the relationship, and themselves.[11] This inner confusion and conflict, if ongoing, can lead to severe impairments to a victim’s functioning, including chronic second‐guessing and doubting one’s decisions, overthinking and analysis paralysis, extreme guilt about setting boundaries, and rigid expectations of self and others.[12]

The phenomena of gaslighting and, therefore, cognitive dissonance are especially present in pathological love relationships. The Institute for Relational Harm Reduction and Public Pathology Education revealed in their 2007 Aftermath Symptom Survey that cognitive dissonance is the number one symptom survivors feel after a relationship with a pathological abuser. Narcissists and psychopaths, who have naturally dichotomous Jekyll-and-Hyde personalities, force their victims to navigate their inherently contradictory and crazy-making behavior. In turn, survivors experience their pathological partners as sources of both immense validation and extreme punishment, of generosity and encouragement yet horrible degradation and cruelty, and of both the best and absolute worst experiences of their lives.[13] Victims come to expect extremes in a relationship, and often view themselves in similarly extreme and contradictory ways.

…

The myth of Cassandra parallels the gaslighting that oppressed and abused people face. However, there is a hopeful difference between the myth and reality. While Cassandra was never believed (her accurate predictions of the fall of Troy and the death of the Greek king, Agamemnon, went unheeded), victims of gaslighting can take comfort in the knowledge that, even when they feel most insane and alone, there is always someone who believes and understands. And sometimes it only takes one person to pull us out of the fog.

I recently finished Shari Franke’s memoir, The House of My Mother: A Daughter’s Quest for Freedom, which chronicles her adverse childhood under the control of her vlogger mom, Ruby Franke. In it, she describes one of these “being pulled out of the fog” moments. For the first time, an adult in her life, her therapist, tells her that her mom is emotionally abusive. The word “abusive” at first feels exaggerated and extreme to Shari, and she can hear her mother’s disdainful voice in her head telling her she’s being dramatic. But then…

“It felt like I was waking up from a long, hazy dream. The fog was lifting, and in its place was a blinding, brilliant truth: It wasn’t me. It had never been me. The dysfunction, the chaos…it was all Ruby. It always had been.”[14]

Shari’s epiphany in this moment mirrors my own experience, when my therapist became the first person to call my father’s behavior abusive, and when I finally realized that there was never anything wrong with me. When I started to distance myself from the lie that was causing me so much pain and suffering. It touched me that in both stories, one person had such an immense impact in relieving our gaslighting symptoms.

In her essay, “Testimonial Injustice,” Miranda Fricker defines testimonial injustice, a similar concept to gaslighting, as “a kind of injustice in which someone is wronged specifically in her capacity as a knower.”[15] I wish for every survivor that they can break free from the influences of gaslighting and testimonial injustice, and rebuild, with the help of those who believe them–their capacity as knowers.

[1] Rajan, V. G. Julie, and Sanja Bahun-Radunović. Myth and Violence in the Contemporary Female Text: New Cassandras. (Routledge, 2016), 1.

[2] Ibid., 1.

[3] Marlow-MaCoy, Amy. “Narcissistic Abuse for Therapists Empower Clients to Break Free and Recover from Gaslighting, Emotional Manipulation and Coercion.” (PESI), 22.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Stark, Cynthia A. “Gaslighting, misogyny, and psychological oppression.” (The Monist, vol. 102, no. 2, 9 Mar. 2019), 227.

[7] Ibid., 229

[8] Dr. Corey Williams, opinion contributor. “Black Americans Don’t Trust Our Healthcare System – Here’s Why.” The Hill, 25 Aug. 2017.

[9] “Capitalism and Coercive Control.” Mad in America: Science, Psychiatry, and Social Justice, 10 Aug. 2022.

[10] Brown, Sandra L. “Narcissistic and Psychopathic Abuse: Clinical Tools, Techniques, and Trauma-Informed Treatment Protocols.” (PESI), 23.

[11] Ibid., 26.

[12] Marlow-MaCoy, Amy. “Narcissistic Abuse for Therapists Empower Clients to Break Free and Recover from Gaslighting, Emotional Manipulation and Coercion,” 63.

[13] Ibid., 24

[14] Franke, Shari. The House of My Mother: A Daughter’s Quest for Freedom. (Gallery Books, 2025), 258.

[15] Fricker, Miranda. “Testimonial Injustice.” Epistemic Justice: Power and the Ethics of Knowing (2007), 20.

Photo by Taras Chernus 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.

Sophia Rehmus

Many years ago, while hiking out from Thousand Island Lake, I rounded a sharp bend in the trail and nearly walked straight into a bear sitting in the middle of it. We were no more than four feet apart. For a brief moment, we simply stared at each other.

Then something interesting happened.

Before fear could take over, there was a pause. The bear assessed me. I assessed the bear. Two nervous systems met, gathered information, and decided what level of response was necessary.

My first conscious thought was practical and immediate: ditch the backpack!

If the bear wanted my food, it could have it. And if I needed to run, carrying a fifty-pound pack would make that impossible. In the same moment, the bear stood up, stepped calmly off the trail, turned around, and sat down—watching me.

I adjusted my pack and kept walking. When I looked back, the bear was still there, seated, alert, and unmoving.

Nothing dramatic followed. And yet, that moment stayed with me.

What Nervous-System Literacy Really Means

Years later, I understand why.

Nervous-system literacy isn’t about eliminating fear. Fear is not the enemy. Fear is information. What matters is whether our nervous system has enough capacity to use that information rather than be overwhelmed by it.

For those of us living with PTSD, this distinction is crucial. Trauma conditions the nervous system to react quickly and intensely—often for good reason. Hypervigilance, rapid threat detection, and strong survival responses once kept us safe. But when those responses remain locked on high, even in the absence of present danger, they can pull us into patterns of overengagement, collapse, or reenactment.

Healing doesn’t mean never feeling fear again. It means creating enough internal space to pause.

That pause—sometimes only a second long—is where choice lives.

Regulation Is Often Quiet

In popular culture, recovery is often portrayed as dramatic or visibly triumphant. But real nervous-system regulation is usually subtle. No one watching my encounter with the bear would have known that anything significant had occurred. There was no display of courage or mastery.

I didn’t dominate the moment.

I didn’t flee it.

I stayed present.

That presence wasn’t accidental. It was the result of a nervous system that had lived through trauma and was slowly learning to distinguish between current danger and remembered threat.

This is what lived recovery often looks like. Quiet. Unremarkable. Effective.

Applying Nervous-System Literacy to Human Relationships

The same principles apply far beyond the wilderness.

Many PTSD survivors find themselves repeatedly drawn into intense emotional dynamics with people who are dysregulated, time-collapsed, or reliving unresolved trauma. When another person is operating from a past emotional reality, their urgency can feel contagious. Our nervous system may register it as danger, compelling us to explain, fix, defend, or contain.

But engagement is not always required.

Just as with the bear, not every perceived threat calls for confrontation or escape. Sometimes the most regulated response is continued forward motion—staying grounded in the present and refusing to carry more than is ours.

Nervous-system literacy allows us to ask different questions:

• Is this a present-moment threat, or an echo from the past?
• What response is proportionate to what’s actually happening now?
• Am I being pulled into someone else’s survival state?

These questions don’t arise from intellect alone. They come from embodied awareness.

Carrying Only What Is Yours

In the mountains, you learn quickly that carrying unnecessary weight is dangerous. The same is true emotionally.

For PTSD survivors, there is often a long history of carrying what did not belong to us—other people’s emotions, responsibilities, or crises. Recovery involves relearning where we end, and others begin.

Sometimes that means being willing to drop the pack if necessary.

Not because we don’t care, but because survival requires discernment.

Recovery as Integration

Looking back, the most striking part of that encounter wasn’t the bear. It was the pause. Two nervous systems met, assessed, and adjusted without escalation.

That pause is the fruit of healing.

Recovery from trauma is not about becoming fearless or unreactive. It is about restoring enough internal safety to remain present—to recognize danger accurately, respond proportionately, and move forward without reenacting the past.

Sometimes recovery looks dramatic.

Often, it looks like nothing at all.

And that is how you know it’s working.

Photo by Becca on Unsplash

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

Wendy Hoke

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

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

wendyhoke.com/

Therapy can be life-changing — especially when it’s set up with intention, structure, and the right support. For trauma survivors in particular, creating the right conditions for healing is essential.

Recently, we shared how therapy works. Now let’s explore how to make therapy work for you — by setting it up for success from the start.

Trauma recovery isn’t linear. Progress and success depend on creating a foundation that supports safety, trust, and consistency.  For trauma survivors, the therapeutic relationship, environment, and approach are just as important as the content of each appointment.

Here are five key ways to set yourself up for success in therapy:

1. Choose a Trauma-Informed Therapist Who Is Licensed in Your State

Not all therapists are trained in or work with trauma-specific care. Even if you’re not sure whether trauma plays a role in your story, working with a trauma-informed therapist ensures your care is grounded in safety, compassion, and a deep understanding of the mind-body connection.

A trauma-informed therapist brings more than just empathy and support. They provide:

• Emotional safety and trustworthiness
• Transparency and empowerment
• Curiosity and collaboration
• Cultural, historical, and gender awareness
• Knowledge of trauma’s impact on both body and mind

As Janina Fisher, PhD, beautifully puts it:

“We now understand that trauma’s imprint is both psychological and somatic: long after the events are over, the body and mind continue to respond as if danger were ever present. We hold what happened as a ‘living legacy’ of emotional and body memories that keep the trauma alive for decades. My professional mission has been to bring this understanding of trauma to both clients and their therapists as a psychotherapist, consultant, and trainer of clinicians looking for answers to helping their traumatized clients. I believe the key to healing is not knowing what happened but transforming how our younger selves still remember it. When we accept the child we once were and welcome them into our minds and hearts, we can finally heal.”

A therapist’s education, training, and experience matter. Here’s more on how to find the right therapist for you.

2. Make Sure Your Therapist Is Willing to Coordinate Care

You deserve collaborative, whole-person care from your therapist. That means working with a therapist who understands the interconnectedness of body, mind, and relationships — and is open to collaborating with your other healthcare providers to ensure you are getting comprehensive care.

At our practice, this systems-based approach is central to how we work. As a therapist trained in Marriage and Family Therapy (MFT), I view every individual as part of multiple systems — social, familial, and internal — all of which affect well-being.

When all your providers are on the same page, you benefit from more integrated, consistent, and effective care.

3. Choose In-Person Therapy If You Can

Virtual therapy can be convenient and necessary in some cases, and for many trauma survivors, in-person therapy offers important advantages:

• Non-verbal cues are more easily seen and addressed
• Nervous system regulation is often more effective in person
• Distractions are reduced
• Dissociation may be less necessary
• The physical therapy space provides a contained and grounded environment where you can build safety with the provider, and develop healthy boundaries as self-care and the boundaries in relationships that are so important to healing and growth. Having a scheduled time and a dedicated physical space — the therapist’s office — makes this easier.

Here’s more about why we prefer and value in-person therapy.

4. Start with weekly sessions.

While frequency can vary, it must be dependent upon need. Starting with weekly therapy creates the consistency — a predictable rhythm for building the safety, trust, and rapport that are the foundation for healing trauma. Especially for trauma survivors, structure and repetition help build safety and stabilize the nervous system, while establishing the therapeutic bond.

At Brickel & Associates, we encourage weekly care to start to:

• Build the relationship, developing rapport and structure
• Evaluate therapeutic fit
• Develop a sense of relational safety
• Coordinate care
• Co-create a treatment plan

We aren’t the only ones who prefer weekly therapy. This outcome-based study shows that weekly therapy leads to faster progress and a greater likelihood of achieving recovery and healing.

More frequent therapy is needed sometimes.

Some clients benefit from more frequent sessions, such as twice-weekly—especially if they are:

• In acute emotional pain or distress
• Living with a complex trauma or PTSD history
• Needing more intensity around relationship building for safety and stability
• Struggling to make progress – feel stuck
• Feeling overwhelmed
• Facing a particularly difficult life transition
• Entering a deeper processing phase of therapy – requiring more help holding emotions and regulating the nervous system

This higher frequency can support deeper work, faster stabilization, and reduce overwhelm during emotionally intense periods. It’s most important for you to feel safe!

The therapeutic relationship isn’t just about regular attendance; it’s also about building trust, understanding, and collaboration. Over time, as the therapeutic connection solidifies, the frequency of care may naturally shift. This transition is something you and your therapist can decide on together, based on your needs and goals. This typically occurs when you’ve made significant progress and are ready for a less frequent schedule. Consistent open dialogue with a therapist during each session is paramount.

5. Understand that the therapeutic relationship takes time to build.

Therapy is not just about talking. It’s about safety, healing, and connection — especially for trauma survivors who may have experienced harmful or boundaryless important relationships in the past.

A healthy therapeutic relationship provides a new experience of being seen, heard, and valued in a safe, consistent space. It helps you:

• Build awareness and curiosity of your internal world
• Understand and uphold your boundaries
• Explore emotions without judgment
• Develop a sense of trust in yourself and others

The therapist-client relationship is built intentionally, through consistency, mutual respect, and collaboration, knowing that a gradual deepening of trust will occur over time.

Therapy is not a quick fix. It’s a powerful, personal process — and one that can lead to deep, lasting change when built on a foundation of safety, relationship, and shared intention.

If you’re a trauma survivor, your healing journey will be nonlinear — and that’s okay. With the right support, structure, and care, therapy can help you create meaningful change.

Set therapy up for success by choosing the right provider, showing up consistently, and honoring the pace and process of your own healing. You deserve a safe space to grow, and a therapist who walks alongside you with compassion, knowledge, and respect.

If you’re seeking a trauma therapist in the Alexandria, VA area, consider reaching out to us.   Brickel and Associates has over 25 years of experience and a commitment to trauma-informed care. We are dedicated to supporting clients in their healing journey.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Robyn Brickel

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

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

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

To contact Robyn directly:

Robyn@RobynBrickel.com

www.BrickelandAssociates.com

brickelandassociates.com/

As I listen to Elton John’s “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” on a loop, I mentally counter the lyrics with the fantasy that the sun will just fall from the sky. Can’t it do me the courtesy of burning out and shrouding me in complete darkness at long last? All it does is illuminate the scorch of my pain. The cruelly ironic side effect of CPTSD is that it often leaves us longing for invisibility even as we are desperate to be seen. It seems to “force” us into actions that are counterproductive to our well-being. Take, for example, my self-imposed exile to a darkened room, where I  repeatedly listen to a song that only makes me sadder. I’m not doing myself any favors, but here I sit.

In a deep depression, compounded by the uncomfortable weight of a generalized sense of claustrophobia, I want to hide from the light. As an added bonus, my seasonal depression, which swings in the opposite direction of what many people experience, buries me deeper in despair. Most people afflicted with Seasonal Depression Disorder experience it at a time of year when the world is overcast, gray, and cold. Meanwhile, in the middle of the hottest and brightest month of the year, I find myself barricaded in a completely darkened room, longing for the forlorn and lazy days of winter to wrap me in a blanket of security. I lay shrouded in the comfortable embrace of darkness and the familiar numbness of profound loneliness. I don’t see any reason to get out of bed or find the light in anything. Right now, I only have room in my heart for darkness.

Part II:

Fortunately, before I sank too deeply into the cave of my pain, my therapist coaxed me from my hole. In the previous day’s therapy session, I voiced profound despair; today, I reached out to her via the patient portal to let her know that the spiral continued downward. She asked if a quick call would be beneficial; that’s usually the part where I say “I’m okay” before covering my head with my pillow. Fortunately, a part of me knows that I don’t want to live that way anymore. I’m tired of burying myself in my head and hiding in the darkness. On the opposite end of the spectrum, my other go-to “coping strategy” of working myself so hard I don’t have time for contemplation also holds no allure. I’m exhausted with being a prisoner of the extreme coping mechanisms that long “saved” me while also suffocating me. Things have needed to shift for a long time, and I’ve allowed myself to shift in increments; I thus accepted my therapist’s offer for a call. Accepting help is a sharp deviation from my usual script. I grabbed hold of the metaphorical hand she offered, partially out of curiosity. What would happen if I didn’t fall into my usual patterns?

Our conversation, short but impactful, represents a slight but mighty shift from my “norm.” The fact that I allowed myself to even participate in an introspective discussion while locked deep in the jowls of depression constitutes a bit of a “miracle.” I am not someone who reaches outward when in despair; instead, I deflate, falling inward. So why wouldn’t I use my coveted vacation time to hide in my room and drown myself in a self-defeating soundtrack of sadness? Knowing my appreciation for Bob Dylan, my therapist encouraged me to change the tune to “Forever Young” and venture out into the sunshine. I said I would try, thinking I would do no such thing. After some contemplation, I admitted to myself that she’s usually right about these things. I begrudgingly dragged my emotionally exhausted carcass outside. 

Part III:

Although I have not teleported into the land of rainbows and lollipops, I am surprised to discover beauty in the day. When I close my eyes, the sun glimmers across my eyelids like glitter. Even as the darkness beckons me inward, I feel the current of hope tugging patiently at my heart. I am gently reminded by the breeze that lands upon my cheek that I will be okay. I’ve changed the soundtrack, and tears of gratitude trickle down my face. I reflect on the irony that the words and sentiment of this song, “Forever Young,” make me think of my Grandma (whose upcoming death anniversary has contributed to my spiral). I reflect on how her “youth” rubbed off on my old soul in many of our moments together. I smile in silent remembrance. I am grateful for the love she planted deep in my heart, even as others stripped me bare. It’s a reminder that things don’t have to be “all or nothing.” It doesn’t have to be pitch dark or glowingly bright. I can sit in the sunlight while feeling the darkness within. I’m in pain, and I’m healing; one does not negate the other. 

Healing is a nonlinear process filled with fluctuating moments of despair and hope, sometimes existing simultaneously. Some days I move forward, and others I fall backward. I often stand motionless. Every once in a while, I take a gigantic leap forward. I am taking it all in stride and am confident that I will eventually arrive at a place where I feel at home in my body and mind. For now, I’ll just sit here, patiently waiting for what comes next.

Lesson Learned:

Sometimes, small shifts can flip the script, which matters because we are the story we tell ourselves.

Sometimes, small shifts can flip the script, which matters because we are the story we tell ourselves. Although power may have been out of reach in the small and big moments that eroded our confidence in the world, in other people, and ourselves, we do have the power of choice in the small things as we move forward. Shifting just a little bit can be enough movement to redirect our trajectory in a healthier direction, ground ourselves in the place we are meant to be, and/or return us to our path of healing after we have temporarily lost our footing. Although we can’t change what happened to us, we can adjust trauma’s impact within us. We can learn to dance with, rather than battle with, the ghosts of the past. As a child, I could not liberate myself from the isolation created by the secrets that I carried around like an invisible suitcase. Decades later, I finally have the power to unpack the pain. I can’t change where I was then, but I can change where I am now. I can’t change who I was (or was not allowed to be) then, but I can be who I want to be now. 

Much of the pain I feel today lies rooted in the turbulent landscape of the past; it feels simultaneously ancient and new. The truth is that sometimes I need to wallow in it because when I lived it the first time in real time, I did so in survival mode. I couldn’t sit in anything too long. So, now, as an adult sometimes I do surrender to the pain. I’ve earned that right. And…I don’t want to stay in a place of deep pain. I don’t want the there and then of my life to dominate now. I can still honor what I survived, but I now hold the power to remove myself from the darkness. I can change the song and shift the scenery. Doing this enough times allows me to rewrite my script. 

I think that most of us who live with CPTSD have developed coping mechanisms that, over time, have crystallized into patterns. Although these coping strategies are born in efforts motivated by self-protection, they can hurt us and keep us stuck in places we don’t want to be anymore. None of us is ever going to wake up miraculously healed. Some days, it truly is a matter of just getting through the day. That piece by piece, day by day reality of healing can be excruciating and…it can be empowering. Each day is an opportunity to make small shifts that allow us to change the song and scenery. We can rewrite our script one action and one day at a time. We are the writers and directors of our lives now. 

Photo by Hannah Olinger on Unsplash

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Heather Jurvelin

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