I’m Embarrassed That I Exist

Carter’s Story

Carter had been looking forward to his trip home. After being financially independent since he was 18 and nearly depleting his savings during his first years of graduate school, he needed the film equipment his family had promised to help purchase for his final thesis project. “Make sure to leave room in your suitcase,” his parents had reminded him repeatedly before his visit. “You’ll need space to bring back your birthday gifts.”

The day before his birthday party—the first his family had thrown for him in almost 20 years—Carter and his brother Samuel went to lunch. “After tomorrow, you’ll have everything you need for your film thesis,” Samuel assured him with a smile. Carter felt a mixture of gratitude and unease; his family had never shown much interest in his filmmaking aspirations before.

Samuel ran a non-profit food bank and was father to five children. Within the family and their community, he was universally admired for his selflessness and service. Carter, by contrast, had always struggled to be taken seriously. No one ever asked what kinds of films he wanted to make; they simply assumed his work was shallow entertainment. The family had developed a habit of calling him “Hollywood” and “Mr. Big Shot”—nicknames that carried more dismissal than affection.

On the day of the party, extended family members crowded the local park. When gift-opening time arrived, Samuel saved his present for last. The box was the perfect size for the vital camera equipment Carter needed. As everyone watched, Carter opened it to find a bright orange 1970s-style tuxedo with comically wide lapels. There was nothing else in the box.

“This is your outfit for when you go to the Oscars!” Samuel announced, prompting laughter from the gathered relatives.

In that moment, Carter felt his stomach drop—hurt by the deception, confused by why they would deliberately set up false expectations, and desperately worried about how he would now buy what he needed for his thesis. But years of conditioning kicked in. He smiled broadly, stood up, and modeled the ridiculous outfit for everyone’s amusement. The laughter that followed masked his internal collapse. No one acknowledged his disappointment, not even privately.

When Carter finally gathered the courage to express his hurt to his family the next day, Samuel’s eyes welled with tears. “I wanted to get you the equipment, but I just couldn’t afford it with the kids and everything. I thought the tuxedo would show that I believe in you—that I know you’ll make it to the Oscars someday.”

Carter found himself comforting his brother instead of addressing his own feelings. He left feeling guilty for even thinking Samuel would ever be able to afford giving him that gift. But something nagged at Carter: just one day before the party, Samuel had explicitly told him he would have everything he needed for his thesis after the birthday celebration, fully aware of the prank.

It took Carter decades to recognize the pattern of covert narcissism in his brother’s behavior. Even longer to reflect on that birthday party as an act of intentional humiliation. Only after going no contact with Samuel could Carter see how odd it was that his brother had orchestrated a birthday party when no one had thrown him one in nearly two decades—and how the public gift-opening had been crafted as a spectacle with Carter as the unwitting entertainment.

Understanding Existential Humiliation: The Tripping Metaphor

While existential shame involves internal beliefs about one’s inherent wrongness that develop over time, existential humiliation represents something different—and in many ways, more insidious.

Imagine walking confidently through a crowded room when someone deliberately trips you. As you fall, there’s that unmistakable moment of physical disequilibrium followed by the searing heat of embarrassment as all eyes turn to you. Your cheeks burn, your heart races, and you feel a desperate urge to disappear. Though you may have sustained real injuries—scrapes, bruises, even broken bones—others may only see your awkward tumble and assume you’re naturally clumsy or weren’t paying attention.

What makes this experience particularly devastating is that no one saw the person who tripped you. They maintain complete deniability while you’re left picking yourself up from the floor. If you try to explain what really happened, you risk appearing paranoid or like you’re making excuses. Over time, these experiences fundamentally change how you move through the world—you become hypervigilant, constantly scanning for potential hazards, never fully relaxed in public spaces. You may never walk with the same confidence again.

This is existential humiliation—a deliberate attack on your dignity and belonging that others either don’t recognize or actively deny. And like being tripped, we can never fully prevent others from attempting to humiliate us. What we can develop are strategies for catching ourselves more quickly when we start to fall, building networks of people who will help us up, and recognizing that these falls say nothing about our inherent worth or right to walk freely through the world.

With this metaphor in mind, let’s explore the specific characteristics that make humiliation so damaging, especially when it becomes existential in nature.

The Anatomy of Existential Humiliation

Existential humiliation has several distinguishing characteristics:

1. Intentional targeting of core identity

Unlike shame, which may develop without anyone’s deliberate action, humiliation involves someone intentionally targeting aspects of who you are. In Carter’s case, his identity as a serious filmmaker worthy of support was undermined, reinforcing a family narrative that positioned his educational pursuits as frivolous indulgences.

2. The social witness component

Humiliation almost always involves a social component—the real or perceived presence of witnesses. Carter’s humiliation was magnified by the extended family members watching as he opened the purposely misleading gift. The public nature of humiliation adds layers of damage, as it threatens one’s standing in the community.

3. Plausible deniability by the perpetrator

Perhaps most damaging is the common element of plausible deniability that often accompanies acts of existential humiliation. Samuel maintained an image of selflessness that made it impossible for Carter to call out the manipulation without seeming ungrateful or petty. The claim that the orange tuxedo was meant as encouragement for Carter’s future success provided perfect cover for what was actually a humiliating gesture.

4. The fawn response and forced performance of emotional labor

Victims of existential humiliation often find themselves engaging in a “fawn” response—a trauma response (alongside fight, flight, and freeze) where a person accommodates, appeases, and focuses on others’ needs while suppressing their own emotions. This manifests as performing emotional labor to manage the situation—comforting their abusers, putting on brave faces, or acting as though everything is fine.

Carter’s impromptu “fashion show” and later comforting of his brother exemplify this fawn response. This wasn’t merely people-pleasing but a survival strategy developed in environments where expressing authentic negative emotions was punished or dismissed. The fawn response serves multiple purposes: managing others’ emotions, staying personally safe, and preserving one’s social standing when more authentic responses might lead to further rejection or humiliation.

5. Long-term identity destabilization

What transforms a humiliating incident into existential humiliation is its power to destabilize one’s fundamental sense of self and place in the world. For Carter, this incident reinforced a lifetime of subtle messages that his pursuits were less valuable than his brother’s, his needs less important, and his feelings less valid.

The Neurobiological Impact

Neurobiological research has shown that experiences of humiliation activate the same brain regions as physical pain. When someone experiences existential humiliation, their brain processes it as a threat not just to their social standing but to their very survival. The fight-flight-freeze-fawn response activates, but in situations like Carter’s, social constraints eliminated the fight option (confronting Samuel would only reinforce the “ungrateful” narrative), the flight option (walking away would appear rude and dramatic), and even the freeze option (sitting silently would be interpreted as sulking). This left only the fawn response as viable—performing emotional labor to appease others while suppressing his authentic reaction.

This biological response helps explain why memories of humiliation can remain painfully vivid decades later. The brain flags these experiences as significant survival threats, encoding them with heightened emotional intensity. For survivors, the body may still carry the physiological signature of these experiences long after the events themselves.

What makes existential humiliation particularly insidious is that it often occurs right under the noses of witnesses who remain oblivious to what’s happening. The covert nature of these interactions—small, subtle acts with plausible deniability—means the target often stands alone in recognizing the deliberate nature of the humiliation. Examples of these subtle humiliations include:

• A family member “accidentally” revealing an embarrassing story at a gathering, then saying “Oh, I thought everyone knew that already”
• A colleague praising your work but attributing the best parts to someone else
• Someone repeatedly mispronouncing your name despite corrections, then laughing it off as “just so difficult”
• Being interrupted repeatedly in meetings, then told you’re “not assertive enough” when you mention it
• Having your dietary restrictions or health needs dismissed as “picky” or “high-maintenance”

When these experiences form a pattern, the damage compounds in ways that exceed simple addition. Each new incident reactivates and deepens previous wounds, creating a snowball effect where neural pathways become increasingly sensitive with repeated activation. The harm isn’t linear but exponential; ten small humiliations don’t create ten units of harm but rather multiply in impact, with each incident magnifying the effect of all previous ones. This explains why targets of repeated humiliation often appear to ‘overreact’ to what others perceive as minor incidents—they’re experiencing the cumulative weight of the entire pattern.

Families and the Normalization of Humiliation

One particularly damaging context for existential humiliation is within families, where harmful dynamics can be dismissed as normal or expected. When humiliating interactions are labeled as “just sibling rivalry” or “that’s how brothers are,” the target’s pain becomes invalidated before it can even be fully acknowledged.

Carter’s experience illustrates this pattern perfectly. His family had normalized the dynamic where his pursuits were treated as less valuable than his brother’s. The nicknames “Hollywood” and “Mr. Big Shot” weren’t seen as problematic but as harmless teasing. This normalization made it nearly impossible for Carter to recognize his experience as humiliation rather than just “how families are.”

The “can’t take a joke” defense is particularly common in family settings. When someone expresses hurt at humiliating treatment, they’re often told they’re “too sensitive” or “can’t take a joke,” effectively gaslighting them about their right to feel hurt. This invalidation becomes a second layer of humiliation—not only was the original experience painful, but their pain itself is framed as evidence of personal deficiency.

For children growing up in such environments, these normalized patterns of humiliation can become foundational to their sense of self and place in the world. A child who is regularly the butt of family jokes may develop a deep belief that they are somehow less worthy of dignity than others, even without being able to articulate this belief. The fact that these dynamics often occur within loving families where other needs are well met makes them particularly confusing to identify and heal.

Read the rest of this article with steps toward healing is in Ellen’s first book of her “There’s A Word for That” series: https://a.co/d/07i5yn1Q

Copyright Notice: This excerpt is from my book. All content is © 2025 Worldwide Groove Corporation. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or use of this material without permission is prohibited. Thank you for respecting my work. 😊

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

Countless African households teach their children, from a very young age, to refrain from speaking. Phrases like “Just keep quiet,” or “Don’t cause trouble” echo through our lives, passed down as wisdom from those who came before us. On the surface, this advice seems mature and prudent.

Your quietness might damage your spirit instead of preserving love.

What if the very behaviors you learned to preserve calm (remaining silent, burying your emotions, and steering clear of conflict) are causing you to lose yourself?

People often misunderstand this route as a path to true tranquility. Over time, this lack of noise does not bring harmony; it breeds fear, resentment, rejection, and a deep, simmering anger.

Sometimes you observe yourself shrinking, evolving into a smaller version of who you were meant to be.

Your voice grows weaker until one day you wonder if you even have one.

This creeping feeling of inadequacy could cause you to distance from your true self, leading you to conclude that you’re not deserving of your own kindness and attention.

In many toxic homes, children grow into experts at appeasing their parents, sacrificing their own dreams, and even their happiness, just to feel accepted.

Guardians, especially mothers and wives, can become so consumed with caring for their families that their own ambitions and well-being slip away.

No matter where this people-pleasing or codependency begins, one truth remains: you cannot pour from an empty cup. One cannot share what one does not possess.

If you learned to swallow your feelings, and equate love with silence or relentless effort to win affection as a child, you set yourself on a path far from self-love.

We, as adults seeking love, often fall into cycles of codependency and people-pleasing, wherein we give, adapt, and sacrifice until our own identities become obscured.

This series will explore why so many of us become lost in our relationships, uncover the damaging habits forged in childhood, and examine how relying on others for validation traps us in harmful, normal cycles.

Suppositions and myths that lead to codependency.

My journey of recovering from childhood trauma led me to uncover a seldom-voiced truth:

So many of us stay in toxic relationships, sacrificing our true selves, because one persistent fear haunts us:

• What will people say?
• How will they see me?
• What will they think of me?

On the surface, you may appear cheerful and put together, but this silent fear eats away at us from the inside out.

Losing yourself in a relationship is never a sudden event. It’s a slow unraveling, thread by thread, until one day you barely recognize who you’ve become.

It seeps in through your self-perception, what you learned about love, and the patterns you witnessed as a child.

The way your caregivers expressed love during your childhood matters. The language you experienced as a child plays an important role.

The examples set by those around you– the words they spoke–these moments leave lasting imprints.

Many of us grew up with beliefs like:

“You have to endure in a relationship.”

“All men cheat” or “Women are not trustworthy.”

“One person must lead, the other must submit.”

“Two captains cannot be on one ship.”

These repeated messages, so common they feel like truth, become beliefs that shape our entire approach to love and connection.

Instead of teaching us that love is rooted in self-respect and boundaries, they condition us to see love as endless sacrifice.

My Personal Realization: When Love Meant Losing Myself

There was a chapter in my life when I truly believed that silence equaled love.
I thought that putting everyone else’s needs before my own was the highest form of love. My happiness, I thought, should be a reflection of everyone else’s contentment.

I felt responsible for everyone–except myself.

I became the fixer, the peacekeeper, always trying to make things work. It was the only way I knew to feel needed, valued, and loved.

But as I walked the long road to healing, I discovered something that changed everything:

Those were not acts of love at all.
They were trauma responses, survival patterns etched deep by years of emotional wounds.

That realization hurt, but it was also a turning point. It was the first time I began to see what true self-love could look like.

Many believe self-love is about occasional pampering, buying nice things, taking selfies, or treating yourself.

But real self-love runs much deeper; it’s about how we show up for ourselves every single day.

So What Is Codependency? (Simple Explanation)

Let’s break this down in a real, honest way, because so many are living it, even if they don’t yet have the word.

Codependency is when your sense of identity, worth, and emotional stability becomes tethered to someone else. You feel responsible for healing or fixing them, even when it breaks you in the process.

It means:

• You depend on others to feel okay about yourself.
• Your happiness is based on how they feel about you.
• You feel responsible for their emotions.
• You prioritize their needs above your own

You say words like:

“If they are happy, then I am okay.”

“If they are upset, I feel like I have done something wrong.”

“I need to fix things so everything can be okay again.”

“If I don’t do anything, things will fall apart.”

“I have to be there for them; I cannot fail them.”

“I am not enough; I need to get them to love me.”

Your life begins to revolve around someone else’s emotions, fulfilling their needs, fixing their problems, helping them, and seeking their approval to feel fulfilled.

You go the extra mile to make them happy, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness, your dreams, or even your identity.

You may dim your light so theirs can shine.

At that point, you no longer feel good enough on your own; you need their approval to feel secure.

It’s like walking through life uncovered, giving your last coat to everyone else, satisfied because they are warm, even as you shiver in the cold.

In simple terms:
Codependency is this: losing yourself, piece by piece, in your desperate attempt to hold on to someone else.

What Is People-Pleasing?

People-pleasing is the behavior that keeps codependency going.

It is when you constantly try to make others happy, even at your own expense.

It looks like:

• Saying “yes” when you want to say “no.”
• Keeping quiet to avoid conflict
• Ignoring your own needs so others can feel comfortable.
• Feeling guilty for putting yourself first
• Trying to be “good” so people will accept or love you.

In simple terms:
People-pleasing is what happens when you abandon your own needs, just to feel accepted by others.

What Is True Self-Love?

Self-love is not just pampering, taking pictures, or buying things.

Self-love is how you treat yourself on a daily basis.

It means:

• You respect your own feelings and needs.
• You don’t ignore yourself to please others.
• You speak up for yourself, even when it’s uncomfortable.
• You protect your peace without guilt.
• You choose what is healthy for you, not just what makes others happy.

In simple terms:
Self-love is choosing yourself, wholly and unapologetically, without shame or guilt.

How Codependency Makes You Lose Yourself in Relationships

No one wakes up and decides to lose themselves. It’s a slow process, rooted in what we were taught about love and worthiness.

1. Perhaps you were taught that love means enduring; no matter the cost.

You learned to tolerate instead of express.
To stay silent instead of speaking.

• You Start Living for Approval.

Your focus shifts from “Who am I?” to “How can I be accepted?” due to past painful experiences.

Maybe someone left you in the past, you grew up in a home where love was inconsistent, or someone hurt you deeply, and you still carry that wound or memory in your heart.

These old wounds shape how you see yourself, making you live for approval instead of embracing who you truly are.

• You feel responsible for everyone but yourself.

You carry everyone’s emotions, but neglect your own. You feel responsible for making everyone happy and for everything running smoothly, and that without you, they cannot be happy or okay.

Children who grew up taking adult responsibilities at a younger age are prone to this. So, in a relationship, they believe it is their responsibility to change every weakness and negative thing they see in their partner.

They become the parent in the relationship rather than a partner. They scold, complain, cry, and nag.

They stay in a toxic relationship, enduring, praying when they ought to walk away, and loving themselves.

Many will say, “Maybe if I behaved better, he or she would change.”

• You Confuse Being Needed with Being Loved.

You start to believe your value lies only in how much you can help, fix, or sacrifice for others.

Many struggle to break free from this cycle because the approval feels like a drug, without it, they don’t feel whole or enough. At the root of it all are unhealed trauma wounds, waiting to be faced.

• You Stop Listening to Yourself.

You stop asking what you feel, need, or want, and focus only on others.

What Is True Self-Love?

People pleasing is what you do.

Codependency is the pattern you are stuck in

Lack of self-love is the root of it all.

When you lack self-love, you:

• Seek validation from others.
• Struggle with boundaries
• Feel responsible for people’s emotions.

And so, the cycle repeats until you decide to break it.

You Don’t Have to Lose Yourself to Be Loved: A New Way Forward

Losing yourself in a relationship is not love, it’s a pattern called codependency. And you are not alone in it.

It is something many people learned from their upbringing, environment, and experiences.

But here’s the good news: you can unlearn these patterns.

• You can learn to love without losing yourself.
  You can learn to speak without fear.
  You can learn to exist fully in your relationships.

Start small today:

Speak up in one situation.

Say “no” without guilt.

Choose yourself in one decision.

Because the moment you choose to stop abandoning yourself…
That’s when you reclaim your power, and your healing truly begins.
This is Part 1 of the Codependency Series.

Let this be your first step toward becoming your most authentic, empowered self. Your best days are ahead!

In the next article, we’ll go deeper into codependency, childhood trauma, and narcissistic relationships, how they are all connected, and why many people find themselves repeating the same painful patterns.

Stay with me on this journey; understanding is the very first step toward healing.

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

He too knew the darkness, intimately; instinctively, we spoke one another’s language, like siblings do. Yet there was also a darkness in his disparagement of the objectively good place that, against the odds of the ACE score, had become my reality, a darkness that would expand and soon permeate every aspect of our togetherness. 

In the aftermath of this relationship, I learned more about BPD and its overlaps with CPTSD. I concluded that while I had traits of the former, my symptoms overall added up to the latter.

Since cutting off contact with my family of origin a decade ago, my life had grown and healed in ways I never dared hope for, which is indicative of the context-dependent activation of triggers that is characteristic of CPTSD but not BPD (Martin 2026). Nonetheless, the point raised by my ex-partner – who would you be had it not been for your horrendous childhood – touched a nerve and remains difficult to explore. Partly, this is due to the fact that since day one of my professional life, I had aimed to perform and succeed ‘as if’ – as if everything was, and had always been, hunky-dory. The achievements that ensued from that mindset, and from working as if my life depended on it (which, on reflection, it did, as I was unable to maintain a relationship, and relying on my family of origin was not an option), meant that over the years, I would increasingly find myself in rarefied settings, rubbing shoulders with the super-rich. 

At home with the homeless

I had arrived, it would seem, I had made it, at least professionally. But there is a paradox to flourishing as a survivor of childhood abuse. Mingling with highly accomplished and confident people can seem like a betrayal to an inner child who is certain that this is not where we belong. On a social continuum that extends from homeless junkies via those crippled by personality disorders and suffering from CPTSD to those whose emotional and financial affairs are in marvelous shape, is our tribe not that of Gabor Maté’s hungry ghosts?

Pitiful, revolting, filthy, broken addicts whose stench and existential hopelessness are but a stomach-churning testament to the severity of the crimes committed against their younger selves, a deafening silent scream the world cannot ignore, however hard it tries. No, their wordless reproach goes, I am not okay, and neither were the things that happened when I was a child, nor is the fact that nobody cared to ask questions, let alone intervene. Now look away already, you know you want to.

According to my inner child, it is with these people, like with my BPD ex, with whom I will always share an instinctive, kin-like belonging. In contrast, interacting with emotionally healthy, high-functioning, and immaculately groomed folks while nibbling unpronounceable foods at swanky dos involves painstakingly learning a whole new language.

This, foreign to me, idiom is the shibboleth to social and emotional mobility of dizzying proportions, a leap into the world of generations of professional triumph and familial stability. My blending into these circles is the ultimate ‘as if’, an overcoming of childhood adversity so enormous that my inner child feels invisible, more so as the language barrier works both ways: these graceful sophisticates are protected from many of life’s trials through not just their wealth but by many-layered, strong personal bonds and professional networks, and the permanent severing of family ties is not just a delicate and ugly taboo subject but indeed, beyond comprehension and unfathomable.

Connectedness is everything, and so is family. This is a healthy sphere, seemingly with no concept, let alone first-hand knowledge, of the darkness. Of course, my fitting in here is only skin-deep, and my healing only partial. My private life remains non-existent, a vacuum so obvious that it too is a silent scream, telling the untellable story, making sure the inner child does not go ignored. 

The best revenge

And then I kept investing in my recovery. I am incredibly grateful to be alive at a time when I could stumble across the transformative works of Bessel van der Kolk and Richard Schwartz, among others. Eventually, my private life too began to heal, but only after I made a deal with my inner child, telling her that while my life will more and more look ‘as if’, the past will never be denied or forgotten. And that the best revenge is a life well lived.

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

References:

Martin, Mozelle (2026), ‘When Dysregulation is not what First Appears: Differentiating BPD, CPTSD with Attachment Dysregulation, Trauma-Bonded Anxious Attachment, Chronic Pain Identity, and Long-Term Instability’, https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/03/24/when-dysregulation-is-not-what-first-appears-differentiating-bpd-cptsd-with-attachment-dysregulation-trauma-bonded-anxious-attachment-chronic-pain-identity-and-long-term-instability/.

Maté, Gabor (2009), In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts, Close Encounters with Addiction, Random House Canada.

Schwartz, Richard C. (2023), Introduction to Internal Family Systems: A Revolutionary Therapy for Wholeness & Healing, Vermilion.

van der Kolk, Bessel (2014), The Body Keeps the Score, Brain, Mind and Body in the Healing of Trauma, Penguin.

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

But my favorite attraction was the house of mirrors.

Once inside, I was immersed in distorted angles and false illusions. Some reflections multiplied me into infinity, while others reflected back a fractured face. We all laughed inside the maze because the distortion -the mirage- provided entertainment.

The temporary illusions ended once I stepped out through the exit door and into daylight. Proportions returned to normalcy. 

When Distortion Becomes Structure

Families shaped by abuse often function differently, much like the house of mirrors. Non-abusive families frequently have difficulty understanding this dysfunction.

Abusive families build their reality around survival, denial, and secrecy. We could surmise that the distorted reflections do not remain inside the house of mirrors. Yet many times, those clinging to the lies refuse to leave the fun house and step through the exit door into the sunlight.

The fun house becomes the architecture of daily life. Roles form around that structure. The narcissist, the scapegoat, the golden child, the enabler, the invisible child, the flying monkeys, the hero, the grey zone, or the truth-teller. Over time, some family members recognize the distortion and leave. Others never gain any insight into the maze of lies.

The system depends on the mirrors remaining intact.

That is why naming abuse inside a family system rarely breaks only one relationship. The revelation acts more like a structural demolition. The entire building trembles prior to collapse. People who seemed grounded suddenly cling to distortions that once comforted them. Some retreat deeper into the maze. Some desperately try to reposition the mirrors so the old reflections still work. Others stand frozen, unable to reconcile the person they loved with the reality now standing in front of them. Those who remain stand amidst the shards of shattered glass.

Some will walk out into daylight, even though it costs them nearly everything.

Disrupting the Family Illusion

When I spoke publicly about my maternal grandfather being a child molester and that I had been a victim, I did not fully understand that I was doing more than telling the truth. I disrupted an entire system of orientation, or I would argue, disorientation. Family members who had spent decades accepting distorted images suddenly had to make choices-the comfort of the familiar maze or the disorienting clarity of sunlight.

Some relatives supported me immediately and without hesitation. Others hovered in painful gray areas: We believe you, but we also want to support the family. At first, I struggled to understand how both statements could coexist. Now I think trauma often teaches people to confuse harmony with safety. The preservation of the structure can begin to feel more urgent than the protection of the people inside it.

Some people viciously attacked me. And they still do. Mostly, these are family members who married into the family after the first accusations had long been smothered.

My mother could never fully leave the house of mirrors..

She and I had many conversations over many decades surrounding her father. While she went to her grave denying he committed child sexual abuse, those conversations gave me enough information to decide that she had also been a victim. However, she had learned that survival depended on silence, minimization, and denial. Survival depended on viciously attacking any truth teller, which is what she did to her sister and me. 

Those distortions became so woven into her understanding of reality that removing them may have felt like psychological annihilation. To acknowledge the truth would have required her to confront not only what had been done to her, but also her failure to protect her daughter despite knowing what her father was capable of doing.

That is the unbearable weight hidden inside many family systems shaped by abuse: pain welds itself to grief, which welds itself to guilt and identity. The resulting amalgamation presents as a unified whole. 

By the end of her life, my mother had surrounded herself primarily with the few people who could still remain inside her version of reality. In her final instructions, she requested that I not be informed of her death or invited to her funeral. The same exclusion extended to relatives who had supported me when I spoke publicly about the abuse. Even in death, the family remained divided along the fault lines opened by truth.

Stepping into the Light

For a long time, I experienced that division as proof of destruction. Now I understand it differently.

The truth did not shatter a healthy structure. The structure was already fractured beneath the surface. The mirrors merely concealed it.

And perhaps that is the cruelest part about systems built around secrecy: when the mirrors finally break, people often blame the person who spoke truth rather than the violence that made the distortions necessary in the first place.

Still, I no longer believe healing happens inside the maze.

Healing begins the moment we stop using distorted reflections to tell us who we are.

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

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.

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

• 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

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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.

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/01/15/the-silent-epidemic-oprah-televised/feed/ 0 987502151 https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/06/30/do-i-tell-them-sitting-with-the-weight-of-sharing-your-story-with-your-parents/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/06/30/do-i-tell-them-sitting-with-the-weight-of-sharing-your-story-with-your-parents/#respond Mon, 30 Jun 2025 12:48:38 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500491 There comes a point on the healing journey when the question doesn’t whisper. It roars.

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.

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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.

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

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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.

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.

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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.