• A woman sits across from Oprah and says she hasn’t spoken to her entire family for a year and a half. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Oprah repeats it back to her as though translating a confession.
• Another guest says it’s been four years since he’s spoken to his parents or siblings.
• A third says she cut off her thirty-year-old son two years ago, by choice.

No shock in the room. No moral outrage. Just an unsteady acknowledgment that this is becoming normal.

People online are calling it a trend. Some are calling it a pandemic. But anyone who has spent time in trauma work has seen this rising for decades, long before cameras caught it. The only thing “new” is that someone finally said it into a studio microphone.

I was on Oprah’s show twice in the 1990s. I saw the machinery behind the curtain and instantly had ethical concerns–but that isn’t the point. What matters is that people today are acting as though estrangement is an emerging fad–instead of the long, painful arc that trauma survivors have been walking in, silently, for years.

When a family system refuses to stop harming you, distance is not drama: it is self-preservation.

The internet keeps searching for villains, as though every estrangement has a clear offender. Real life rarely fits such simplicity. DNA does not obligate anyone to stay in proximity to danger. Shared blood lines does not guarantee respect, sincerity, accountability, or safety on either side. People cling to the idea that “family is family” because it protects the fantasy that closeness is wholesome or healthy. Trauma science does not support that fantasy. Survival often requires distance.

Five years ago, my adult daughter and I stepped into no contact. It was my decision, but not born from hate, pettiness, or cruelty. She lives a lifestyle that I cannot be around without risking my career and everything I’ve spent decades building. Thus, I created a boundary to protect myself, not to use as a weapon to wound her. She agreed to the distance. We left the door open for possible reconnection if one of us becomes ready. That part is important. This boundary leaves no room for theatrics, gossip, or triangulation. It is a clinical boundary–not a punishment.

But there is something very important that almost no one online understands: there is “clean” no contact, and there is “dirty” no contact. The difference between them determines whether healing even has a chance.

• “Clean” no contact says, “I step out of this cycle, and I will not harm you from a distance.” It halts further damage. It calms nervous systems. It refuses to continue the war.
• “Dirty” no contact operates in shadow. It says, “I cut you off, then stalk, gossip, weaponize silence, and send flying monkeys while claiming innocence.” That version is not boundary-setting. It is aggression wearing a wounded mask.

Survivors who choose distance need to hear this without distortion:

• You are not evil for stepping away from what keeps injuring you.
• You do not owe your nervous system to anyone.
• You can love someone from a distance and still accept that contact with them is not safe for you right now. Those two realities can exist together without contradiction.

Trauma survivors have spent enough of their lives confusing loyalty and abuse. Estrangement is not failure. Sometimes it is the first honest thing a family system will ever experience.

In my own work as a trauma therapist, I watched adults wrestle with estrangement years before hashtags and reaction videos made it “content.” These were not impulsive choices. They were decisions carved out after years of trying to repair a system that refused accountability. People chose distance because nothing else stopped the injury. Survivors live with enough grief as it is. They do not need added shame from other people’s judgment and opinions.

I am a firm believer that unresolved dynamics reappear in the next lifetime. That doesn’t mean that we force premature reconciliation, or pretend that proximity magically fixes structural harm. It means that we keep the boundary clean. No stalking. No sabotage. No behind-the-scenes warfare. The distance itself is the intervention. Dirty the distance and we repeat the cycle, instead of breaking it.

I have said this hundreds of times in clinical settings: “Just because someone shares DNA with you does not mean they are good for you–or you, for them.” Relationships do not collapse from the weight of a single person. There is always shared responsibility, even if no one wants to admit it.

What Oprah’s segment exposed isn’t new. It’s simply the first time the public is being forced to see what tens of millions already know. Estrangement is not a trend–it is a last resort. It is what people choose when the cost of staying connected is too high, and the injuries become too painful to ignore.

References:

Karl Pillemer, PhD
Judith Herman, MD
Bessel van der Kolk, MD
Stephen Porges, PhD
Murray Bowen, MD
Gabor Maté, MD

Photo by Vitaly Gariev 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.

Dr. Mozelle Martin

Dr. Mozelle Martin is a retired trauma therapist and former Clinical Director of a trauma center, with extensive experience in forensic psychology, criminology, and applied ethics. A survivor of childhood and young adulthood trauma, Dr. Martin has dedicated decades to understanding the psychological and ethical complexities of trauma, crime, and accountability. Her career began as a volunteer in a women’s domestic violence shelter, then as a SA hospital advocate, later becoming a Crisis Therapist working alongside law enforcement on the streets of Phoenix. She went on to earn an AS in Psychology, a BS in Forensic Psychology, an MA in Criminology, and a PhD in Applied Ethics, ultimately working extensively in forensic mental health—providing psychological assessments, intervention, and rehabilitative support with inmates and in the community. A published author and lifelong student of life, she continues to explore the relationship and crossovers of forensic science, mental health, and ethical accountability in both historical and modern contexts.

www.InkProfiler.com

Do I tell my parents?
Do they deserve to know what happened to me?
Would they believe me?
Would they hold it with care, or would it break me all over again?

If you’re here, standing in that in-between place, you’re not alone. This is one of the hardest crossroads survivors face. For some, the decision feels clear. For others, like me, it’s layered and ongoing.

Sometimes the abuse happened under your parents’ roof.
Sometimes it was hidden in plain sight.
And sometimes, you don’t even know if they know.

You might find yourself circling questions like:

• Do I owe them this truth?
• Will it bring healing or harm?
• What if they can’t hold it? What if they say the wrong thing, or nothing at all?
• What if I speak it and everything changes—or worse, nothing does?

The truth is, sharing your story with a parent is not required for healing. It is a choice. And like all sacred choices, it deserves time, care, and safety.

Ask Yourself These Questions First

Before deciding to disclose, here are a few grounding questions to sit with:

1. Why do I want to share this?
Is it for connection? Clarity? Validation? To reclaim power? To draw a boundary?
There is no wrong reason, but knowing your why can anchor you.

2. What do I hope will happen? What do I fear might happen?
Give yourself permission to answer both. Hope and fear can live side by side.

3. Have I processed this enough to hold steady if their response is hurtful, shocked, or dismissive?
If not, that’s okay. It may not be time yet.

4. Do I have support ready, a friend, therapist, or coach to debrief with afterward?
You are not meant to carry this alone, no matter how strong you are.

If You Do Choose to Share, Prepare Yourself First

Here are a few things that can help:

• Write down what you want to say.
  It can be a letter, a few bullet points, or a full narrative. Organizing your thoughts helps you stay grounded.
• Practice.
  Talk it through with someone you trust. Let your nervous system rehearse what it feels like to be witnessed.
• Set boundaries before the conversation.
  Say things like, “I just need you to listen right now,” or “I’m not looking for advice or debate.”
• Prepare for all outcomes.
  They may meet you with compassion, or they may not. Your truth is still valid.
• Have a plan for how to step away if needed.
  If things get overwhelming, you get to pause, end, or redirect the conversation.

And If You Decide Not to Tell Them? That’s Valid Too.

You do not owe anyone your story. Not even your family.

You can be deeply healing and wildly brave without ever telling your parents what happened.

Not telling doesn’t mean you’re hiding. It means you are choosing what is safest, kindest, and most aligned for you right now.

And if your answer changes later? That’s okay. This journey is not linear.

Final Thoughts

This part of your story, the telling, the not telling, the wondering, still belongs to you.

You don’t have to rush. You don’t need anyone’s permission. You get to honor your truth in whatever way feels right. You are not broken. You are becoming. And that is powerful.

As for me, I still haven’t shared my story with my parents.
They can’t even hold my warm memories without minimizing them, so I’ve chosen not to interrupt my peace just to be met with silence or dismissal. I may never get the response I would hope for, and that’s a grief I’ve learned to hold gently. For now, protecting my healing matters more than being understood by people who never truly saw me.

And maybe that’s the bravest choice of all.

Photo by Ioann-Mark Kuznietsov 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.

Danica Alison

Danica Alison is an optimist, deep thinker, and out-of-the-box adventurer who finds meaning in life’s chaos. She’s a writer, a healing advocate, and someone who believes healing is a journey best traveled with curiosity, humor, and a little bit of rebellious joy.
A lifelong lover of stories, both lived and told. She is passionate about exploring the messy, beautiful process of being human. Whether she’s writing, learning, or connecting with others, she brings a mix of warmth, honesty, and a refusal to fit into neat little boxes.

www.DanicaAlison.com

My father finally died a few months ago. Survivors will understand the word finally. I thought he would never die. Billy Joel’s song “Only the Good Die Young” was certainly true in this situation. I had gone no contact about seven years before, but the shadow of power this man wielded over my life continued, whether I was in contact with him or not. I even moved all the way across the country to put space between me and him. Space between the present and the past. The constructed reality he demanded everyone agree with, the dominating presence where no voice save his was heard, the judgmental pronouncements of doom and gloom over your life, the complete lack of understanding or empathy. These were just a few of the ways his brainwashing impacted me. 

These were just a few of the ways his brainwashing impacted me. 

And when he died, instead of the relief I felt at my mother’s passing, a terrible door that had been shut for over sixty years was opened. The parts of me from childhood that had split off and carried the load felt free to come forward, and it was hard. Hard to face them, hard to talk to them, and hard to become an ally to them instead of an enemy. 

There are no words to describe the damage and loss that occur when your parents choose the path of narcissism. To their very grave, my parents never had the slightest inkling of self-awareness or took any personal responsibility. In fact, my sibling and I were “disinherited.” The old threat to keep me within my father’s orbit finally came true. For me, I could understand it; I walked away years ago. But for my sibling who provided for my father financially and took care of his ex-wife, our mother, who otherwise would have been homeless, it was a low blow. Yet again, the narcissist showed his true colors. It did not matter what you did for the man; he did not know how to do anything other than hurt us. His final message? “You are worthless.” 

But I survived, and guess what? My father was wrong. It took everything I had to slog through the twisted spider web of lies he had spun. I spent decades trying to understand, reaching toward the truth that seemed to dissipate into mist at the slightest stress. To quiet the dissonance in my mind, heart, and soul. I used every technique and read every book I could get my hands on, but you know what? I made it. I have written a new chapter, established new relationships, and I walk in truth. What does the Bible say? The truth will set you free? Yep, that’s what it says. I can wonder at the joy in life, pursue dreams and goals I never thought reachable, and more than anything else, I can finish well, leaving a legacy of peace, encouragement, and kindness to my children. 

I pity my mother and father. They never knew how wonderful life could be. It is still hard sometimes, I suppose I will always bear the scars to a certain degree, but I made it. I made it out, and I am so thankful I did not give up. Defy trauma, embrace joy. It is worth it.

If you are interested in my newsletter or reading more content like this, please go to:

https://rebekahlaynebrown.com

Photo by Robert Anasch 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.

Rebekah Brown

Rebekah Brown, a native of the south, now resides in the Great American West. Surviving a complicated and abusive family system makes her unique writing style insightful as well as uplifting. Rebekah is the proud mother of two and grandmother of four.

I have faced many traumas in my life and experienced repeated betrayal, often from those we are told we can trust—family.

An Existential Identity Crisis

I consider myself a quirk of fate; by some macabre twist, I was launched into a profoundly dysfunctional family. I grew up fatherless in a middle-class Roman Catholic household in a small South Indian town. My older sister Melanie and I were raised by our young, widowed mother in our maternal grandparents’ home, where we lived with an extended joint family.

I discovered that my father passed away from a heart attack just months after my mother conceived me, so I never knew him. Growing up without a father left me feeling empty, which may have influenced my tendency to form fleeting connections with abusive relationships and toxic friendships. The absence of pictures of my dad was heartbreaking, as it felt like all memories of him had been erased. I understand my mother likely acted out of her own grief, but it was painful that she didn’t encourage us to talk about him, leaving many questions unanswered.

Becoming a Social Outcast

At first, my mother worked hard as a teacher at our school until my soon-to-be stepfather, a medical student seven years younger, came into the picture. In the conservative town we lived in, rumors about the teacher and the young man quickly spread, and all hell broke loose at my grandparents’ home. The entire family was upset with her new relationship, but my mother was so in love that she didn’t care.

The school was even worse; we became social outcasts overnight, facing snide comments from classmates and family friends who labeled us as “the daughters” of the “flighty widow.” The reputation stuck.

As a grown woman, I understand that my widowed mother had the right to move on and lead her life. However, at age five, I only felt the loss of friends. Back then, single mothers dating wasn’t common in rural India, and my mother was blissfully unaware, caught up in her new romance as she traipsed around town in love-infested bliss.

The Birth of the Fear of Abandonment

When I was in third grade, she finally married and a few years later moved to the Middle East with her new doctor husband, leaving behind two lonely kids and a controversial reputation.

At every family event, we were seen as the “orphan Annies” and “oddballs,” garnering pity or scorn from others. In that conservative town, we stood out, burdened by a reputation we longed to escape. This likely fueled my craving for love and contributed to  ADHD and borderline personality disorder, which I discovered many years later.

Meanwhile, my childhood became a series of moves between relatives, amplifying feelings of abandonment. We were treated as unnecessary baggage, and the meager food we received was often rationed. Name-calling and forced chores made us feel like maidservants, whether cleaning the house, doing laundry, cooking, or babysitting. I was not yet 13, and I often went to bed hungry.

With each move, my sister and I faced a new set of accusations. In hindsight, I believe this wasn’t because we lacked virtue, but rather because our relatives were tired of bearing the burden of my mother. This was their way of “passing the buck” to someone else. Meanwhile, our mother hardly contributed to our expenses or sent money to those who took care of us.

Though Mom would visit us occasionally, her relationship with us, her daughters, changed dramatically. She refused to believe what we had endured and the ongoing criticism from our “overburdened” relatives. Instead, she relied only on hearsay, choosing to accept the narrative that portrayed us as the problem.

Walking Away From Abuse

At a relative’s home, life became so chaotic that we went from being poor, abandoned orphans to harassed teens overnight. The saddest part was that no one, especially our mother, wanted to believe us. They preferred to sweep everything under the rug rather than face the discomfort of the truth. I realized they chose not to support us because it allowed them to avoid their responsibilities.

As a result, in an effort to protect ourselves, two vulnerable girls walked away from a highly volatile situation and sought help from strangers. We felt unsafe among our own family.

Believe it or not, since then, we have mostly been estranged from our mother and socially isolated from our relatives. Aside from the odd occasion, I haven’t spent time with my relatives or mom in decades. Mom systematically and deliberately cut us off from any contact with the family.

 There is bullying, and then there is bullying of the worst kind; it’s called “social isolation,” the kind that was perpetuated by my dysfunctional family and also by friends at school.

This is the kind of bullying where “the strong” band together and trample “the defenseless” because there is strength in numbers—often aided by money, peer pressure, or the seniority that comes with age.

Rising from the Ashes

As a teenager, I found myself alone and began working hard to support myself. Life took a difficult turn; I met many people from whom I learned valuable lessons. I made numerous mistakes due to poor judgment and misplaced trust, but I’ve always managed to rise from them. While I regret those lapses, I would live my life the same way again because my past has shaped who I am today.

My career choice allowed me to meet many people. Early on, I took various odd jobs, each helping me develop new skills and fueling my ambition for success. I was open to any challenge, adapting and learning as I went. Eventually, I spent several years in the hospitality industry.

Final Thoughts: Know Thyself and Thou Shall Know Thy God

Along the way, I made friends and learned that everyone is unique; no one is perfect; certainly not people with the “pointy fingers.” Nevertheless, I noticed that most people focus on four basic needs: food, money, power, and sex—but not necessarily in that order. Whereas for me it has always been like Freddy Mercury sang that “crazy little thing called LOVE.“ But when we go through abuse, neglect, and trauma and don’t find love, we settle for mediocrity or less. Trauma comes in many forms, but it’s our choice whether to continue the cycle of family karma or to break it. The buck stops with you.

Whichever way it goes, childhood trauma makes you do the thing you’ve been “conditioned” to do all your life. I understand how challenging it can be to navigate through trauma, and I want to share what has helped me along the way: love, friendships, books, music, and spirituality. Healing is not a straight path, and I certainly don’t consider myself an expert. I’ve experienced the many faces of depression, including a recent episode of panic and anxiety, which I know can feel overwhelming. If you’re struggling, please remember that you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to your loved ones and consider seeking therapy. It’s so important to take that step and not delay getting the support you need. If you are like me, you deserve to find peace and healing.

Photo by Annie Spratt 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.

Jenney Clark

Jenney Clark is an Indian author and poet, best known for her book “Don’t Be Afraid to Love.” She has published eight books, including “Magic of the Ancients,” and hosts a podcast titled “Awakened Souls.” After leaving a successful job in the service industry, she pursued her passion for writing and became a life coach. Raised in a small town in India she discovered her psychic abilities at a young age and developed a strong interest in Tarot, astrology and numerology. She enjoys connecting with a diverse range of friends, including artists and writers and lives in a cozy “cubby hole” in Hyderabad with her dog, along with her beloved books and music

jenneyclark.com/

Family is defined as “the basic unit in society traditionally consisting of two parents rearing their children” in the Merriam Webster online dictionary. Families can of course take lots of different shapes and sizes, but in essence, the family is a group of people who love each other. When people talk about family, they usually refer to loved ones as those closest to us. Family lies at the core of our human existence. It is where we come from, where we build our identities from, and where we draw our strength. Our lives start with our families and most people depend on family for the duration of their lives. There are of course always exceptions. People fall out and argue, but eventually even the deepest arguments can be mended if there was love to begin with. This does not happen for someone who has been a victim of sexual child abuse, and the loss of family will follow an individual for their entire life. When that deep bond between family members is shattered by abuse, it is always the victim that loses – big time.

Every birthday, milestone celebration and holiday is a reminder of the fact that as an abused child, you have no family to share your success with. Can you imagine spending your college graduation or your wedding day without family by your side? This is normal for someone who has gone through abuse because life goes on and we have to start over again. We ask friends to act as our “stand-in mom or sister” to do our make-up for our wedding day, and we ask someone we know and trust to walk us down the aisle during our wedding ceremony. That void that the family leaves behind is filled in some way, but it is not the same, and the pain of that loss is so deep that we don’t talk about it. How can you talk about it and with whom? Most people have no idea what it really feels like to live without family.

Who do you turn to when you are deeply upset? Your family, right? Well, what if you don’t have that support network because you are a victim of child abuse and have been alone all your life. Or maybe you are a divorced single parent due to domestic violence without any family to fall back on for support. There are many reasons for why someone is struggling alone. Who is your person then? Who do you turn to?

The reason for asking these questions is that even now in 2025, there are people out there who are profoundly alone. We need to be vigilant and see these people and offer our support. There is always a reason for someone to choose loneliness over family, and it is usually due to abuse of some kind. Think about your neighbors. Do you know who they are and their situation? Is there something you could do to make their lives a little easier? If the answer is yes, then what stops you?

Our world is changing and there is not much compassion and respect. People are far too quick to judge others and emotions run high. When I read the news and go to the grocery store, I see people are less happy than they used to be. I wish we could change that, with one act of kindness a day. A simple smile or a thank you can make someone’s day. You never know what a person has gone through that day, especially if they are going through life alone. If you have a friend who has no family, then invite them over to spend an afternoon in your home. A simple gesture like that means more to a lonely person than you can imagine.

I know all of this because I am living this life. I was sexually abused as a child and my whole family was affected by the lies and the pain. I had to leave my family and start again. When I finally got my driver’s license, I celebrated my success alone. My college graduation was celebrated with friends and their families. On my wedding day I had no mom or dad or siblings by my side. These are moments that every family takes for granted and we all have framed proof in our houses of wedding photos and important milestones. Our family is at the core of our being. This is a loss that I have to bear and I know I am not alone, but sometimes, just sometimes I wish someone out there could understand what it means. A life after abuse in whatever form can be lonely.

My name is Lizzy and I am a survivor of child abuse. I started again at the age of 18 and it took me a long time to achieve milestones without a supporting family by my side. Remember there is always another sunrise, with endless opportunities.

Photo by Bernard 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/

Toxic systems are those practices, behaviors, and structures that prioritize control, dysfunction, or harm—often at the expense of individual freedom, authenticity, and well-being. In today’s complex and turbulent climate, that’s a lot to unpack.

The truth is that many of us are unaware of the toxic systems we are entrenched in, enabling, or impacted by. These systems often emerge subtly, embedded within ancestral patterns, education, workplaces, religion, cultural programming, healthcare, societal institutions, and more.

As this volatile year comes to a close and a new chapter begins, let’s take a closer look at the defining characteristics of toxic systems and reflect on how they may be affecting us:

1. Imbalance of Power

Toxic systems often centralize control, disempowering individuals in favor of a privileged few. This imbalance exploits and represses the majority to maintain its structure.

2. Fear and Dependency

These systems foster dependency for survival or success, using fear, manipulation, and psychological tactics like gaslighting to undermine your confidence and autonomy.

3. Clouded Transparency

Information is distorted, withheld, or manipulated, ensuring decisions remain hidden while dominance is asserted. This leaves you disempowered and unable to advocate for yourself effectively.

4. Severed Authenticity

Conformity is rewarded, while individuality is punished. You may feel pressured to fit a mold or adopt predefined roles to gain acceptance or success.

5. Cycles of Exploitation and Abuse

Toxic systems exploit your time, energy, money, or emotions without adequate return or acknowledgment. These cycles leave you feeling depleted and devalued.

6. Resistance to Change

Change agents are often ridiculed, ostracized, or punished. Rigid traditions and unyielding practices block evolution, ensuring the toxic system’s survival at the expense of growth.

7. Psychological and Emotional Harm

Participation in these systems often leads to feelings of guilt, shame, and anxiety, leaving you drained, dehumanized, and disconnected from your own power.

8. Conditioning and Indoctrination

Rituals and repetitive messaging enforce compliance and discourage critical thinking, creating deeply ingrained patterns of acceptance.

9. Intergenerational Patterns

Toxicity can be inherited through family or ancestral lines, perpetuating harmful beliefs and behaviors that reinforce the system over time.

10. Punishment for Defiance, Rewards for Compliance

Nonconformity results in exclusion, retaliation, or loss of resources, while compliance is incentivized with privileges, safety, or acceptance.

11. Isolation and Disconnection

Toxic systems thrive on disconnection from nature, self, and community. Isolation prevents unity and shared resistance, keeping individuals trapped within the system.

Recognizing these dynamics is the first step toward dismantling harmful structures and reclaiming your power. Whether the toxic system exists at work, in school, within your relationships, governing bodies, or even in your own mind, awakening to its influence is vital to returning to your natural wisdom and authentic power.

As the global paradigm shifts toward higher consciousness, maintaining balance can be challenging. To support your journey, I’m offering a complimentary 30-minute grounded activation session to help you feel nurtured, centered, and connected. Together, we can work to cultivate clarity, reduce frustration, and align with your inner truth.

👉 [Click here to schedule your session]

Additionally, I invite you to visit my YouTube channel for weekly inspiration designed to gently awaken you from toxic systems and guide your transformation.

Here’s to a life-changing, empowering, and joy-filled 2025. Let’s step forward together.

Photo by Annie Spratt 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.

Susan Gold

Contributor Susan Gold is an author and transformationalist. After growing up in a toxic family system, she now helps others through similar trauma, leading with heart and love. Her YouTube video posts are at: https://www.youtube.com/@susangoldismagical

Grandma Clare, my stepmother, is a narcissist. Over the past decade, I have set boundaries and distanced my family from her emotionally abusive behavior.

“It would be weird for the average person to invite their twenty-two-year-old granddaughter, who still lives at home with her father, mother, and younger sister, over for a birthday celebration while not inviting the rest of the family,” I acknowledged. “But unfortunately, it’s classic Grandma Clare behavior. She doesn’t typically consider other peoples’ feelings.”

“So, should I go,” Harper asked. “I’d like to see Grandma and Grandpa; it just feels strange going by myself.”

I encouraged my daughter to go to dinner and spend time with her Grandparents since she wanted to see them. Even though my stepmother was self-centered and manipulative, Harper’s had a decent relationship with them over the years, and I always fostered that for her sake. Harper was the first-born grandchild, so Clare was fond of her. Sadly, the novelty wore off when my second daughter, Abby, was born, and Clare has mostly ignored her.

When Harper came home from dinner, she had half a birthday cake.

“Grandma insisted I take the rest of the cake home,” Harper told us. “I told her no thank you a few times, but she pretty much forced me to take it.”

Harper filled me in on some updates about her cousins and said it was mostly an enjoyable time, with a handful of awkward silences. I smiled and told her that I was glad she enjoyed the dinner.

After Harper left the kitchen I looked at the half-cake sitting on the counter with a lump in my throat. Clare makes that cake for everyone, for every birthday. It was the cake I had for each of my birthdays throughout middle school and high school. And even though I am the one who opted to go low contact with that side of my family, looking at that cake brought me to tears.

It triggered a mix of emotions in me. I felt hurt and anger from being reminded of my tumultuous teenage years growing up without my own mother, who had passed away, and being raised by a stepmother who didn’t care much for me, to put it mildly. I also experienced resentment because I’d done a lot of work to heal and grow, putting boundaries in place to protect myself and my family, and it could all be shaken by something as absurd as a cake. I was surprised by grief, a sense of mourning the loss of my relationship with the family I grew up in.

My husband walked into the kitchen as I was about to leave, “Are you okay?”

I told him what was going on and said, “I don’t want Harper to see me upset, I’m glad she has a relationship with them. It just hurts to see that cake, the cake that was a part of the family that I used to be a part of, but I’m not anymore.”

Harper was coming back towards the kitchen and overheard us talking, and a few days later, she approached me. We talked about the cake and Grandma Clare.

“At first, I thought Grandma was just trying to be nice by having me take the cake home,” Harper said. “But after hearing you and Dad talk, I had a conversation with my friend Emma about it. You know Emma’s a psych major, right? She said it sounded like triangulation.” Harper went on to tell me she looked it up and read about how triangulation is used to play favorites and pit one person against another so that the manipulator feels a sense of control and supremacy.

“I think Grandma may have had me take the cake home on purpose to get to you,” she disclosed. “I know that sounds like a bit much, but I tried to tell her I didn’t want the cake, and she literally made me take it home.” Harper continued, “And then hearing how it did upset you made me think that may have been her intention. I know you don’t really talk to her anymore, so the only way she can bother you now is through other people. I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Harper, you have nothing to apologize for,” I reassured. “Her psychologically abusive behavior is the reason I opted for low contact all of those years ago. She tends to pull in her favored kids and grandkids close while snubbing the ones she doesn’t like as much. Sending you home with cake certainly could have been her way of showing me what I’m missing. Her using you to bring something home that would get a reaction out of me does sound like a triangulation tactic,” I admitted. “But it’s also a good reminder that we can engage with her if and when we want to, yet we do not have to succumb to her ploys of manipulation. Doing what we’re doing right now, communicating openly with each other, will hopefully shut down future attempts to influence us. Instead, we can dismiss them as her pitiful attempts to feel superior to others.”

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

Sadie Montgomery

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

www.sadiemontgomery.com/

I am slowly coming to realize that what I cherished never was

I am slowly coming to realize that what I cherished never was. Upon coming to realize this, I experienced another round of pain and aches. Once again, quite by accident, I fell into another triangulation, and this time, I felt more sadness than longing. This is progress for me. So often, I land in a place of longing and angst before I can allow myself to feel sadness. Today, I process faster; I hide from my own feelings a lot less. I dissociate less often, and I am able to stand in the sadness and pain silently and hold myself.

Progress, I tell myself. I am learning.

One could say I was triggered, and while that is true, I prefer to think of my triggers as lessons and messages from my heart.

What are you saying, dear heart? What have you taught me about who I am and who I want to be?

Sometimes, leaving behind those who hurt us happens instantly, such as in the case of a violent abuser. Other times, letting go is slower, over time, through various efforts and attempts to distance.

It helps to know that we cannot lose what we never had. Knowing this liberates us to feel pain, mourn, and then create what can be.

We are free to create the family we always wanted through friendships built on authenticity and love, but this can only happen if we are open enough to let others in. So, this holiday season, try something new. Open yourself to the possibilities of a new way to embrace the holidays.

Photo by Gaelle Marcel 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.

Kechi Mourer

In addition to serving as a college administrator in higher education, I am also a Psychology and Sociology Professor. Perhaps, most importantly, like many of you, I am a survivor of abuse and relational trauma. I write to raise awareness about how we can align with the best parts of ourselves. My writing focuses on the social and psychological factors that guide our decision making.

medium.com/@kechimourer

One primary reason is men’s tendency to view themselves as “fixers.” Men often cling to the hope that they can repair the relationship, even when it becomes evident that their efforts are futile. This belief can trap them in an endless loop of wasted time and increased trauma as they hope for improvement that never comes.

Societal programming also plays a significant role. Men are often conditioned to deny their vulnerability to avoid shame and stigma. While women may openly discuss their emotional struggles with friends and family, men typically keep conversations light and avoid revealing their true feelings. During difficult times, men might overindulge in self-destructive behaviors or work excessively to mask their pain. Losing a primary confidante in a relationship can lead to devastating long-term effects due to this reluctance to open up.

Fear of conflict is another factor

Ending a committed relationship is inherently conflict-laden; the longer the relationship, the more complicated the process. Many men stay in unhappy relationships far too long because they fear the pain involved in breaking up and moving on. Some might even be attracted to toxic relationships because they are unaware of healthier alternatives.

Complacency and inertia also play significant roles. Men may become too comfortable with the status quo, even if it involves abuse. Sir Isaac Newton’s first law of motion, which describes inertia, can be applied metaphorically: an object (or person) remains in its current state unless acted upon by an external force. In the context of toxic relationships, this external force must come from within, involving a decision to set boundaries, break unhealthy habits, and move away from complacency.

Fear of change and uncertainty can also keep men in toxic relationships. The status quo might feel safer, even if it is damaging. However, embracing change is essential for personal growth and avoiding harmful situations.

Without access to appropriate mental health services, some men might believe they do not deserve better. This lack of awareness and fear can lead them to repeatedly seek out toxic relationships. This cycle can be broken with proper support and care.

Some men may also stay in toxic relationships due to a misguided belief that their role as caretakers or martyrs has emotional or psychological benefits. They might feel undeserving of a healthier relationship.

The consequences of remaining in a TAR are severe and far-reaching. Victims may experience anxiety, depression, severe trauma, and suicidal thoughts. They might develop a distrust of people, emotional distance, and complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD). Isolation from friends and family and an inability to set healthy boundaries are also common effects.

Survivors of toxic relationships need to understand these behaviors to cope with their pain. Seeking help from therapists and support groups like the CPTSD Foundation can be crucial in learning to manage their trauma in healthy ways.

Recognizing that you are in a toxic, abusive relationship is the first critical step. Here are practical steps and resources for men to seek support and start the healing process:

Acknowledge the Situation

Understand and admit that you are in a toxic situation. Denial can prolong suffering and make it harder to seek help. Take time to reflect on your feelings and the reality of your relationship. Journaling can help articulate thoughts and emotions.

Reach Out for Support!

Share your experiences with trusted individuals who can provide emotional support and perspective.

Join TAR Anon, a free support group every Monday and Wednesday at 6 PM EDT via www.taranon.org.  These groups offer a sense of community and shared experiences.

Watch for free a webinar, with a groundbreaking session titled “Men! Have You Stepped in TAR?” For all men, and women who know of a man who has stepped in TAR.

Watch for free here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROhvhJMEdWA&feature=youtu.be

Men in toxic, abusive relationships face unique challenges, but recognizing the problem and taking proactive steps to seek help is crucial. By reaching out for support, creating a safety plan, setting boundaries, and focusing on self-care, men can start the journey toward healing and a healthier future. Remember, seeking help is a sign of strength, and there are resources and communities ready to support you through this process.

Ultimately, every experience, no matter how painful, shapes us. While the journey out of a toxic relationship is challenging, it is a step towards a better future. Understanding that you deserve better and moving on from the past is essential. Your life story is yours to write, and it is never too late to start a new chapter.

STAR Network

STAR Network, is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization committed to Support, Treatment, and Prevention of Narcissistic Abuse and Attachment Disorders. Narcissistic abuse is one of the most devastating triggers for CPTSD, robbing survivors of their authenticity. STAR Network empowers STARs (Survivors of Toxic Abusive Relationships) with its transformational program, TAR Anon™. STAR Network is the leading global trauma support network, offering free resources to heal individuals and families impacted by trauma, PTSD and CPTSD. Their mission is to transform lives, reduce relapse rates, and create a lasting, inclusive community of support.

https://starnetwork.org/

https://drjamie.com/

https://taranon.org/

https://tartales.org/