*Why? What did I do to deserve any of this?*

As the days went by and I dragged myself up each morning to work two jobs and do my best impression of a normal person, something began to shift. Slowly. Reluctantly.

Maybe this wasn’t a punishment. Maybe it was a lesson.

I had run so far from everyone and everything that had ever hurt me that I had ended up running from myself, too.

I had stopped cooking — the one thing that had always been mine. I stopped answering phone calls. I stopped going places. I had completely isolated from the world. And when I finally sat still long enough to ask myself why, the honest answer was uncomfortable.

I wasn’t afraid of other people hurting me. What more could anyone take that hadn’t already been taken?

What I was really afraid of was facing myself. Facing how deeply disappointed I was in *me.*

I had done so much healing. I had worked through so many broken places. But there was one part I had been circling around for years without ever walking straight into it — the part of you that feels things on your behalf. The part that needed my forgiveness before anyone else’s.

God had placed me in that tent, in front of myself, with nowhere left to run. It was time to apologize to her. To say *I’m sorry for believing everyone else instead of believing in you. I’m sorry for talking to you the way I would never let anyone else talk to you. I’m sorry for abandoning you when you needed me most.*

Living in that tent was, in a strange way, the only thing that was going to hold me accountable for how I had treated myself.

Here is something I had to reckon with that I don’t hear people talk about enough: I was as much to blame for my pain as anyone who had abused me — not because what they did was acceptable, but because I had allowed their voices to become my own. I had bought into the abuse. I had repeated it to myself long after they were gone. I had every opportunity, eventually, to stand up for myself and chose not to — because I didn’t know how, because no one had ever taught me, because I had missed somewhere along the way the lesson about protecting yourself.

But here is what I also learned: blame is a dead end. Looking for someone to hold responsible for your pain — including yourself — keeps you standing in the wreckage instead of walking away from it. At some point you have to put it down. All of it. And just begin.

So I began to forgive. Myself first. Everyone else after.

—

And as I did, my life got better. Therapy became less like combat and more like conversation. Eventually, I found a real roof and a real bed, and I thanked God every morning for clean sheets in a way I never had before and never will stop.

I still carry things from those days. I read a room the moment I walk into it. I catch the microexpressions people don’t know they’re making. Small talk drains me in ways I can’t always explain. Some of those things I may never lose — and I’ve made my peace with that. They are the scars of someone who survived, and survival leaves marks.

But I also learned something the tent gave me that I wouldn’t trade: I learned to rely on myself. And slowly, carefully, I learned to trust again. Not everyone is out to hurt you. The ones who are will show you quickly. And you are more capable of recognizing them now than you have ever been.

The tent didn’t break me.

It introduced me to myself.

And that person — the one I met on the ground with a dog and a backpack and nowhere left to hide — turned out to be someone worth knowing.

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

During all those years before I finally got the right diagnosis of PTSD and AuDHD, chronic failure was a painful part of my life, both privately and at work. I often lost my jobs and I struggled in relationships, all of this without knowing why.

Living in a society where everybody is always so fast and harsh judging you based on your professional career and performance, chronic failure without knowing why can break you. I spent years feeling ashamed of myself, until finally a doctor took the time to do the right tests. Hearing the words, ‘None of it was ever your fault,’ was more than a big relief for me.

This is my personal reflection and what I learned about ADHD, Trauma, and the Path to Recovery:

For those living with both ADHD and PTSD, understanding the connection between the two can be a powerful step toward healing. Here is a brief overview of how these experiences often overlap. While a majority of individuals with ADHD may eventually adapt to adversity, they remain at a higher risk for more severe outcomes following traumatic events.

Some of the Key Reasons for Increased Vulnerability:

• Higher Risk of PTSD: People with ADHD who experience a traumatic event are roughly four times more likely to develop Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) than their peers without ADHD.
• Intensified Symptoms: ADHD and trauma affect similar regions of the brain, such as the prefrontal cortex, which governs emotional regulation and impulse control. When both are present, they can multiply, rather than just add together, worsening symptoms like inattention, emotional dysregulation, and hypervigilance.
• Sensitive Nervous Systems: Emerging research indicates that the nervous systems of those with ADHD may be more sensitive, making them more likely to experience a stressful event as traumatic compared to non-ADHD individuals.
• Executive Functioning Gaps: Core ADHD traits, such as difficulty with self-regulation and problem-solving, can make it harder for individuals to use constructive coping skills after a crisis. 

🌿 There is often a symptom overlap:
Because trauma symptoms like restlessness and distraction often mimic ADHD, it can be difficult for clinicians to distinguish between the two. Traditional ADHD therapy is “top-down,” using the brain to control the body. Trauma therapy often works “bottom-up,” using the body to calm the brain. 

This is why meeting with doctors who specialize in both of these fields can truly support the path of recovery. From my own experience, I know that finding the right doctors demands perseverance. In our country, the waiting lists for appointments are very long these days. However, please remember that it is worth the wait; and if possible, ask your local medical center to guide you toward the right specialists.

🌿 Being diagnosed later in life: 
When a person carries ‘hidden’ trauma for decades while living with ADHD, they often spend those years in a state of chronic exhaustion. This is because their brain has been working overtime to manage two different ‘storms’ at once: the executive dysfunction of ADHD and the survival instincts of trauma.

Individuals navigating this hidden toll often wear a high-functioning mask that lets them appear successful and capable in the workplace, meeting every expectation with quiet strength. Yet the moment they step into the safety of home, that energy simply vanishes, leaving them to collapse in exhaustion.

Because the deeper trauma remained unseen and unspoken for so long, they turned the blame inward, whispering to themselves that they were lazy, stupid, or simply not trying hard enough; in truth, their tender hearts were carrying an immense, invisible weight no one else could see.

That self-blame slowly deepened into a profound shame, quietly inviting chronic anxiety, depression, and the aching embrace of burnout. If this pattern echoes in your own life, please hold this truth close: you were never lazy, never broken, and never failing. You were surviving something extraordinarily heavy with every ounce of courage you had, and your heart has always deserved gentle, loving compassion, especially from yourself.

Understanding these connections is the first step toward reclaiming your well-being. Working alongside a certified medical doctor specializing in trauma therapy is an important part of the healing journey.

I see you. You have carried so much for so long; it’s okay to let the storms settle and finally step into the peace you deserve. Healing begins the moment you realize your survival was a quiet strength, and peace is finally within your reach. May you now allow yourself to breathe in the stillness of this new beginning, where your only task is to be kind to your own heart.

You don’t have to have all the answers right now; just focus on being a little more gentle with yourself today, and trust that you have the resilience to take this next part of your journey one step at a time.

Fill your days with the small things that bring your heart genuine joy, whether that is finding a creative hobby, spending time in the quiet of nature, or meeting with like-minded souls who truly understand you. New and more loving habits can open unexpected doors, helping you create the meaningful life you have always deserved.

It is in these simple, everyday moments of kindness to yourself that your world begins to feel whole again. By choosing what nourishes your heart, you are filling your daily life with more love right now.

And if you ever need someone to talk to, I am here for you.

With Love and Light,
Jeanne

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 post looks back at the recent US Holiday, “Mothers Day”, and the challenges it creates for survivors of trauma with a mother wound.

How are you feeling today?

Do you have a complex relationship with today being Mother’s Day?

I know I do, and I thought I’d write this piece for those of you who feel the same. Those of you who didn’t have loving mothers.

Not all mother’s deserve to be celebrated on this day.

I wish I could say that I had a good mother, but the truth is I didn’t.

My mother told me repeatedly that I was unwanted and she wished I had died when I was born.

There was a mother in the hospital bed next to hers, who gave birth to twins too early. Both boys didn’t make it. My mother wished I had died with them since I was born early too.

But I survived.

She offered to take me to their gravestone several times. To show me what should have happened to me too.

To be profoundly unwanted leaves a mark like no other. It’s imprinted in my soul.

I cannot celebrate a mother who wished me dead.

I’ve spent all my life getting away from my parents because they both hurt me in the most profound way through physical and emotional abuse and neglect.

Not only did my mother not want me, but she openly encouraged my so-called father to do the things he did to me. My mother knew, and yet she handed me to him. Gave her permission for him to hurt me.

A mother who hands her only daughter to a sex-offender doesn’t deserve to be celebrated.

When I told her what my so-called father did to me with his pedophile friends — she laughed in my face. She called me a liar with a vivid imagination. That it was my fault.

That is unforgivable.

I cannot celebrate a mother like that today.

My so-called father and his pedophile friends raped and killed a ten-year old girl next to me. I was only eight when it happened.

A week later, I witnessed a twenty-seven year old woman be raped and drowned.

I told my mother, but she wouldn’t listen.

I cannot celebrate a mother who covers up murderers.

I cannot celebrate a mother like that today.

I was bullied throughout school because we moved away from the south but my accent wouldn’t change. I didn’t belong, and the kids showed me how much they hated me every day.

I was punched, kicked and my clothes were scorched while I was still wearing them. My burns got infected, but mother would not take me to the doctor. We had no insurance, so I was left to suffer.

A mother who allows her daughter to be bullied and physically hurt doesn’t deserve to be called a mother.

I cannot celebrate a mother like that today.

When I miscarried my father’s secrets, my mother refused to get me help. I’m lucky to be alive today, after suffering the pain of three miscarriages without medical help.

My mother let me suffer the pain and the shame without any help. She turned away when I needed her the most.

I cannot celebrate a mother like that today.

She wanted me gone from her house, to have her new husband and baby son to herself. I was too young to work and I had no other choice but to stay.

A mother who rejects her child is not a mother.

I cannot celebrate a mother like that today.

When I was eighteen the law stated that I was no longer a minor. My childhood prison was lifted and I left them and everything I’d ever known.

I’ve never looked back.

I started my life again in a new place.

A new home.

I went to the cops and told my story. The sex-factories. The pedophile ring — everything I saw and suffered. The cops listened. They made lengthy records and tapes. They got my hospital records. My childhood years pried wide open. In the end it’s my word against them.

The police advised against going to court. Who will believe my voice?

I told my mother what I had done. She refused to believe me despite everything.

I cannot celebrate a mother who doesn’t believe the truth.

I cannot celebrate a mother like that today.

I studied at college and became a teacher. My writing was still something I kept to myself. I met somebody special.

I married him and we had children.

I never thought my body could produce one child, let alone two healthy babies. I see them as the most precious gift that I was given.

I am a mother who give my children everything I can.

I love them both deeply and I remind them of that every single day.

I talk to them about their lives, about school and their struggles. I help them with homework and problems. We figure it out together as a family.

Today is mother’s day.

I can celebrate myself as a mother with my family.

I can celebrate me.

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

Photo by Dmitry Shulga on 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

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

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

More from Elizabeth Woods:

• The Sex-Offender’s Daughter
• Trauma and its Effect on the Brain
• Continued: Trauma and its Effect on the Brain
• This is How IT Feels

It is not because you are incapable.
It is not because you are hypersensitive or hypo sensitive.

More often than not, the greatest obstacle to feeling freely is this: a nervous system that has been living in prolonged stress, and a brain that has adapted to conserve energy in response to that stress.

When the body perceives an ongoing threat—whether from life events, emotional pain, or chronic pressure—it shifts into survival mode. The nervous system prioritizes protection over connection, and the brain begins to operate from an energy-conservation model. This means it becomes less interested in exploration, openness, and emotional processing, and more focused on efficiency, prediction, and staying safe.

Brain scientist Delia McCabe speaks to this beautifully: when we understand how the brain functions, we can begin to create the internal conditions that allow us to feel safe enough to feel. Without that sense of safety, the brain will always default to protection.

And protection, while essential in moments of real danger, can become limiting when it turns into a long-term state.

In trauma-related stress, the body produces elevated levels of stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. These are powerful chemicals designed to help us respond quickly to a threat. But over time, they come at a cost. The production and recycling of these stress hormones require significant nutritional resources—vitamins, minerals, and amino acids that the body also needs for other essential functions.

One of those functions is the production of serotonin, a neurotransmitter deeply involved in mood regulation, emotional stability, and a general sense of well-being. Another is acetylcholine, which plays a key role in learning, memory, focus, and the processing and integration of new information.

When the body is under prolonged stress, resources are diverted toward survival. This can gradually lead to nutrient depletion, leaving fewer building blocks to support balanced mood, clear thinking, and emotional regulation. The result is not just psychological—it is physiological.

You may feel more reactive, more anxious, more depleted.
You may find it harder to focus, remember, and process.
You may feel emotionally flooded one moment and numb the next.

This is not a personal failure.
It is a system under strain.

At the center of this system is the limbic system—the emotional brain. This includes structures such as the amygdala, which scans for threats, and the hippocampus, which helps process memory and context. When stress is chronic, the amygdala becomes more sensitive, more reactive, more likely to interpret neutral situations as threatening. At the same time, the systems that help regulate and contextualize emotion can become less effective.

This is why emotions can feel so intense, so sudden, and sometimes so disorganizing.

They are not just emotions.
They are survival signals amplified by a system that has been on high alert for too long.

And yet, within this understanding lies something deeply hopeful.

Because when we begin to support the nervous system and the brain in the ways they actually need, the experience of emotion begins to change.

We can start by creating conditions of safety.

Not by forcing ourselves to feel everything at once, but by gently teaching the system that feeling does not equal danger.

This can be as simple—and as profound—as:

• Slowing the breath to signal calm to the nervous system
• Grounding through the body by feeling the feet or the support beneath you
• Softening the muscles, especially around the face, jaw, and chest
• Orienting to your environment to remind the brain you are here, now, and safe

These small acts, that can be so quickly overlooked, can and do begin to regulate the limbic system when practiced with nervous system awareness in mind. They reduce the body based intensity of the stress response and allow the brain to shift out of pure survival mode.

As this happens, something begins to open.

Emotions, which once felt overwhelming or fragmenting, start to feel more fluid.

There is a beautiful truth about emotions that many people never get to experience fully:

When emotions are felt fully, without judgment, the often-frozen, stored stress associated with them begins to mobilize. Knowing how to orient this release of energy is equally important.

With the practice of titration and pendulation, we learn to fear emotions less and less. They arrive, their expression is felt, and they pass—like birds free to fly and land again.

It is when they are resisted, suppressed, or feared that they tend to linger, intensify, or fragment our inner world, often times causing inflammation due to the stress of storing them.

Feeling safe enough to witness your own emotional landscape—without immediately trying to fix, judge, or escape it—is one of the most precious and empowering skills you can develop.

When we can create and share that space, something shifts. You are no longer at the mercy of your emotions.
You are in a relationship with them. And from that relationship, regulation, integration, and healing become possible.

Over time, as the nervous system learns that it can feel without being overwhelmed, and the brain receives signals of safety while it approaches what is stressful to feel, the entire system begins to reorganize and create new predictions.

Energy becomes more available.
Mood stabilizes.
Clarity returns.
The body feels less like a battleground and more like a place you can inhabit.

And perhaps most importantly, you begin to rediscover something that may have felt lost for a long time:

The freedom to feel.

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

In seventh grade, the children at my middle school traded their Nintendos and Polly Pocket dolls for iPhones and Barbie dolls–in the form of minions for their social cliques. Soon after the school year began, CHABELCK was established, and the name might as well have been trademarked.

So, what was CHABELCK? It was the official name of the “friend group” composed of all the popular girls in our class. I look back and chuckle at the name. They could have worked harder to come up with something catchier; to me, it sounds like the remnants of something a dog threw up! They simply took the initials of their first names and combined them into one word. Almost immediately after the group was created, the term CHABELCK and the girls who held that title loomed over the school, feared by all who encountered them. I took an observer’s perspective, watching in bewilderment as many of my innocent friends neglected our friendship to join CHABELCK–and consequently morphed into power-hungry monsters. 

CHABELCK’s presence at school was boisterous. The group’s name was plastered on binders, folders, and whiteboards. They took over online forums, cyberbullying other students whom they deemed unworthy of a spot in their cool kids’ club. A few members of CHABELCK were ultimately expelled from school, while others were disciplined. 

Groupthink, peer pressure, and tribalism throughout human history

I’ll never forget CHABELCK. It was my first exposure to the aggressive presence of tribalism and groupthink in our society. 

Why does the cacophony of the groups I’ve encountered throughout my life ring louder than the whisper of my own conscience? Humans are social creatures, and tribalism originated as a survival mechanism. We hunted and gathered to protect our own. He who strayed from the tribe vanished into the jaws of the enemy. To be excluded was to die. 

The battle between my internal desires and external expectations

Although tribalism is ingrained in my human DNA, I’m very much a free spirit. From a young age, conformity felt like an internal death sentence. I fought a daily battle between my disdain for Western civilization’s obsession with fortune and fame and my desire to escape into solitude. In environments filled with materialism and superficiality, I felt pressured to be someone I was not in order to be liked and accepted. The seduction of the herd was enticing. 

With every group I tried to join, I was eventually ostracized or, in some cases, viciously bullied out of them. Starting at a new school when I was thirteen, I quickly became the target of a situation of large-group interpersonal cruelty–the first of several such instances. This was the first time I came home from school expressing to my parents that I had thoughts of suicide. I switched schools, but the bullying continued as I navigated new peer environments. I tried hard to fit in, so that I wouldn’t be seen as an antisocial loser. Some mental health providers even pathologized the fact that I didn’t have friends. 

But even if I disregarded others’ opinions, I didn’t need a tyrant to criminalize me as a friendless outcast. Whenever I changed myself to fit in, I became my own jailer. Even when I was initially accepted into social groups, I felt like I had betrayed myself. I hated being like everyone else. The tug-of-war between my authentic self and my desire for acceptance was more painful than the rejection from those whose approval I craved. 

The anatomy of groupthink

I have developed intellectual friendships with social psychologists and philosophers like Arthur Schopenhauer and Solomon Asch, whose research and observations suggest that societal expectations of conformity can strip individuals of their freedom. As I reflected on my personal experiences with groupthink, I noticed some recurring patterns.

While these groups seemed powerful at the time (there is power in numbers, as they say!), they were actually quite weak. Much like the structure of a cult, these groups typically had a leader (or multiple leaders), with followers obediently trailing behind and idolizing them. When I interacted with these group members on an individual level, I noticed they were often insecure and relied on the group for validation. They frequently spoke poorly of other group members and revealed their secrets to me, indicating that their friendships were not genuine and that the group was performative. I recognized that if they spoke about their “friends” in this way to me, they were likely doing the same thing to me behind my back. 

My final straw before rejecting it all

I’ve learned the hard way that the petty high school behavior doesn’t stop after high school. When I moved to the countryside to begin my healing journey, I found myself isolated in a retirement town in the middle of nowhere, with a population of 1,942. I got to know a group of friends there, and was initially invited to their breakfasts and bonfires. I thought I had finally found my people. 

From the get-go, I had an internal inkling that, like with past groups, I would eventually be kicked to the curb. I found myself trying very hard to gain their approval. I changed my personality and overextended my generosity, spending money I didn’t even have in order to remain relevant to them. 

Unfortunately, my gut instincts turned out to be right. After the initial “love-bombing” phase, I was soon deemed unworthy of being in their presence. Around town, they went out of their way to make me feel inferior–snubbing me, humiliating me in front of others, and playing mind games with hot-and-cold behavior. It was bizarre! For months, I ruminated, trying to figure out what I could do to be good enough for this group and to coexist with them in the tiny town without tension. But nothing I did was good enough. 

After a few months of continuous rejection and their attempts to stifle success in my healing, the stress finally took its toll on me. One night, I woke up with itchy legs. My entire body had broken out in hives! Over the next two weeks, I visited the emergency room four times. Each time the ER managed to control the hives, they returned again within 48 hours. I wondered if I had an allergy, and ended up driving to the big city to consult with an allergist. 

Facing the pain of rejection and uncovering subconscious memories

There was no allergy: the hives were stress-related. Yes, the rejection stung (and itched!) that deeply. The rejection didn’t hurt because these people were particularly special; in truth, they barely took the time to get to know me before they discarded me. If it had been strangers behaving this way, I would have brushed it off immediately, reminding myself that their actions stemmed from their own misery and insecurity. However, because I had met these people at the beginning of my cabin journey, they became my final hope of solidifying a friend group I could rely on for the rest of my life. When I was rejected, they became the symbol of all the interpersonal cruelty I had faced during my formative years.

It was painful to be ostracized by the people who promised me they would be on the other side of my success. Still, there was a silver lining: with each instance of being belittled by this group, I brought my feelings to my therapist. Together, we worked through the physical sensations I felt in response to these moments using a technique called brainspotting. During each session, subconscious memories connected to these emotions resurfaced–memories of the hurt I had experienced from groups in my peer environments and religious communities. Through brainspotting work, those buried memories were processed and healed. 

I will no longer participate in it

After years of chasing a dangling carrot held by various groups, I grew tired of hearing, “If you just do this… then you can finally sit with us.” I decided to stop trying to prove that I am “good enough” for these groups and instead realized that I am too good to participate in their infantile behavior. 

My entire life, I had questioned whether these kinds of people wanted to be friends with me. But things changed when I learned to ask myself, “Do I even want to be friends with them?” 

I refuse to march around in aggressive cults and pretend to have disdain for people and groups whose stories I know nothing about. I do not feel superior by making others feel inferior. I find no satisfaction in mocking or intimidating innocent people. I don’t enjoy latching onto narratives or rumors based on hearsay. I cannot bow in submission while my heart screams in protest. I refuse to trade my authenticity for acceptance. 

My path to true freedom

In a world where the crowd roars with confidence, my solitude felt like madness. But when I quieted my mind in the countryside, I discovered that my greatest fear as a radical nonconformist was not the herd itself: it was becoming like the herd. 

Today, I’m not a part of any friend groups, and I don’t want to be. I do almost everything alone, and I actually prefer it that way. Despite how medical providers pathologized my introversion in the past, I now know there is nothing wrong with wanting to be alone. Once I found freedom in my individuality, I no longer needed the approval of those I had previously put on a false pedestal. I’ve built authentic and easygoing friendships with people who have no agenda and do not require me to participate in activities that conflict with my values. 

I will not pretend to be someone I’m not just to feel like I belong. To me, true belonging means being at home within my own soul. I will continue to stand strong on my own two feet and keep my head held high, never surrendering to the crowd.  

Photo by Dibya Jyoti Ghosh on Unsplash

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

Guest Post Disclaimer: 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

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.

What’s the tightrope I walk of being a woman in the society I live in? 

When a woman knows her worth, some men feel threatened by her.

When a woman knows her worth, some women feel threatened by her. 

If a woman is confident, knows what she wants, is assertive, and keeps her head held high, she’s arrogant, she’s a braggart, she’s another word that also starts with the letter “B,” and she needs to shut up.

If a woman is soft-spoken in her mannerisms and voice, she’s weak, she’s a pushover, and she’s not a team player.

If she falls in the middle, she’s lost in the background and has nothing to offer.

If her dresses are too short, she’s promiscuous and was asking for it.

If her dresses are long, she’s a prude and has no sex appeal.

If her dresses fall somewhere in the middle, she’ll get catcalled regardless, and it’s still her fault for being a temptress.

If a woman gets married and has children in her early 20s, she’s “rushing her life,” and she’ll be divorced in 10 years anyway.

If a woman doesn’t get married until her late 30s, she’s “an old maid,” and it’s such a shame that no one wanted her while she was in her prime.

If a woman never marries or has children, she’s not carrying out what she’s “supposed” to according to societal expectations. 

As a woman, I’ve gotten criticism from every angle throughout my life.

I began my undergraduate studies in computer science and learned on the first day of class that wearing a bright yellow sundress to class probably wasn’t the best idea; the stares that the guys in the class gave me showed what they were really thinking: “She’s lost.”

I would stand in line at the career fair for internships at technology companies and get comments from my male peers in the line like, “This booth is for Software Engineering roles only” and “Well… you don’t look like a computer scientist.” I thought to myself: Then, what’s a computer scientist supposed to look like? 

Even churches weren’t immune. Although I had just turned twenty, I was always asked, “Where’s your husband?” When they found out I was still single, they’d say with great fervor, “Well, don’t you worry, we’ll find you your knight in shining armor!” Am I really some sort of damsel in distress who needs a knight in shining armor to come to save me? 

In high school, I was the only female on the robotics team with about 25 other boys, and many of them were so uncomfortable with my presence that they couldn’t even look me in the eyes or call me by name. I never felt uncomfortable around them, but the fact that they felt uncomfortable around me made me feel uncomfortable.

I tinkered with robots and Arduinos at school; then after school, I threw on my leotard and tights to go practice my pirouettes at the dance studio. This was my norm. I was never ashamed of embracing my femininity and holding my own while pursuing what I was genuinely passionate about, no matter what kind of environment I was in.

When I reflect on the conflicting standards of womanhood our society holds, they don’t make sense to me. I’ve come to realize that I’ll never please everyone, nor should I have to. The closed-minded opinions people hold about a woman’s role only result in confusion and judgment when they encounter someone who breaks their static view of what is “normal” in our society. And I’m finally okay with that.

What’s my personal definition of womanhood?

I lose track of time for six hours designing a website, and then I’ll go dance my heart out at dance class so I can get a break from the laptop. The clothes in my closet range from bright, flowery, frilly dresses to sweatpants and ginormous T-shirts, as well as my Jiu-Jitsu training gear. (It’s great for self-defense!)

Although I’ve struggled with acne and rosacea for many years, I don’t wear any makeup like I did when I was a teenager. I embrace the imperfections on my skin and no longer feel the need to cover up those blemishes. I love my natural hair color, so I don’t get it colored at the salon. In the mornings, I don’t flat iron or curl my hair either; I just let it hang loose the way it is or throw it into a messy bun and get about my day. It’s a rarity that I get my nails done anymore—in the past, I only kept up with that expensive hobby to fit in with the other women in the environments I was in. Over time, I decided that money could be spent on more productive things such as online courses and other opportunities for personal growth.

Although it seems that many women my age are already married and on their first baby, I am confident in my singleness and the time I’ve had to embrace my journey of healing and self-discovery. Establishing fierce independence at this age has given me the confidence to know that if I ever do get married, I will know who I am at my core and will not need to depend on another person to take care of me.

I’ve regained the ambition and creativity I had during childhood, and I’m putting in the time and effort to decide how I want to live the rest of my life and achieve my personal goals. I forgive easily, am not afraid to listen to someone who has a different opinion than my own, and have a “live and let live” philosophy. I own my actions and don’t shy away from hard conversations.

Regardless of my ability to be social when needed, I’m not one to hang out in large crowds, go to concerts or sports games, or revel in gossip circles or petty drama. My idea of weekend fun is cozying up at home alone with my fuzzy socks and blanket, lighting my favorite cranberry apple-scented candle, and losing myself in a good book.

This is my personal definition of womanhood. 

I love embracing what makes me unique in my womanhood and not letting anyone define my femininity. Although I second-guessed myself in the past, I no longer feel guilty when I don’t submit to any standards of who a woman “should” be according to the world I live in. I choose my own path the way that I want to walk it, without fear of admonishment or punishment from others. In a society that profits off of women’s insecurities and fears, this can be a lonely path, but I no longer feel threatened by other people’s closed-minded opinions.

I am proud that I have finally gotten to the point on my journey where I no longer feel the need to change who I am to make anyone — whether a man or a woman — approve of me.

I am Natalie Rose, and I am proud to be me.

Photo by Brian Mann 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.

I wouldn’t inflict the extreme torture of Complex PTSD on anyone. No one deserves to feel like this – perpetually hating, punishing, and castigating myself – all while pretending like nothing is wrong with the rest of society. Even in sleep, there is no solace – the insomnia, night terrors, and sleep paralysis are often worse than my pain during the daytime. 

What does Complex PTSD feel like to me? 

It is a daily solitary confinement sentence in a shrinking prison cell of my own mind and body. The tiny walls close in on me, and the claustrophobia sets in. 

It is daily reruns of excruciatingly painful traumatic flashbacks, unable to exorcise them from my psyche. 

It is my family and friends who love me and just want to see me happy. They know my worth, but I can’t see it.

It is seeing the goodness in everyone else but being blind to anything good in me. 

It is never forgiving myself and consistently punishing myself while being wracked with constant anger and rage at both everything and nothing at the same time. 

It is never having hatred for another human being but hating myself with a fiery, burning passion. 

It is not allowing myself to believe I have trauma because, on the outside, I live a blessed life and should have no reason to feel so miserable and afraid. 

It is seeing a neurologist because I’m confused as to why my body is experiencing such unusual symptoms, and I need to rule out disease. 

It is not knowing who I am anymore and wanting to return to the light I had before it was almost completely blown out. 

It is protecting myself in isolation but enduring further anxiety and depression from the isolation. 

It is throwing away the clothes that remind me of my trauma because I can’t bear to look at them. 

It is looking in the mirror and not being able to recognize myself or believe that I am real. 

It is constantly reliving the past, unable to focus on the present or the future. 

It is losing the academic ambition and creativity I had growing up and not knowing how to get it back. 

It is having involuntary face and body tics while violently yelling things to shake off the flashbacks that are infiltrating my mind. 

It is trying every form of treatment without results, only to have even worse side effects. 

It is compulsively repenting to God and reciting Bible passages I memorized so I can be forgiven for how awful I am. 

It is desperately trying to hold onto the hope that there is a loving God out there, even after the years of spiritual abuse that shook my faith to the core. 

It is waiting to die so I can finally be at peace. 

It is vomiting randomly because my body can’t take the pain. 

It is developing random bruises on my body for no reason other than the extreme stress and hypervigilance I am under. 

It is receiving 25 different diagnoses over many years from professionals ignorant about trauma, being degraded, dehumanized, and feeling like a disgrace to society because I am “mentally ill.”

It is putting my trust in medical providers and them taking advantage of my vulnerability. 

It is seeking help to understand my symptoms, being laughed at and told, “That’s not normal.”

It is trying so many different medications, nothing working, and experiencing even deeper side effects, like increased suicidal ideation, weight gain, akathisia, and medication-induced psychosis. 

It is going out of my way to be kind and loving to everyone I meet, no matter how much torture I am in on the inside. 

It is not offering that same kindness to myself. 

It is walking down the street and seeing the faces of my past tormentors on strangers’ faces. 

It is not being able to say “no” even when I am uncomfortable because I want to please everyone and get their approval. 

It is being terrified of everyone and everything and feeling inferior, even to the water bottle sitting on my desk. 

It is experiencing constant panic attacks at random times, even in public. 

It is being drawn to abusive personalities because I think that’s the way I deserve to be treated. 

It is turning my camera off during Zoom meetings so my coworkers don’t notice that I’m dissociating or experiencing trauma responses. 

It is experiencing sleep paralysis that is so painful I’m terrified to go back to sleep. 

It is setting 15-minute alarms when I sleep to wake me up from the night terrors, taking a few minutes to catch my breath, and then setting another 15-minute alarm for the next set of night terrors. 

It is being raped by demons in my sleep, slammed against the walls of my apartment by evil entities, and being given CPR by four police officers, feeling all this physically but not being able to distinguish reality from fiction. 

It is experiencing narcolepsy, falling asleep involuntarily in the middle of my daily tasks. 

It is believing that those who relentlessly criticized, controlled, mocked, and hated me were right about me. It is seeking their approval and working to “fix” the things about me that anger them so much. 

It is internalizing others’ negative emotions about me and making them my own. 

It is hating hearing my own name being said out loud. 

It is walking into a room where people are laughing, and I think that they’re laughing at me. 

It is masking my pain so well that people are shocked to learn the depth of my suffering. 

It is regularly typing things into search engines like, “What is the percentage success rate of jumping in front of a train?”

It is wishing someone would just stab me in the side so the blood would be visible, and I could be taken away to heal the wounds that I have no idea how to heal. 

It is not allowing myself to pursue the hobbies I enjoy that allow me a moment of freedom and peace. 

It is being terrified of social situations. 

It is thinking that everything is my fault and blaming myself for everything, even when I am the victim. 

It is forcing myself to get out of bed when I just can’t. 

It stops me when I laugh or smile and prevents me from experiencing it because I don’t think I deserve it. 

It is throwing away my TVs and not allowing myself to listen to music because I feel guilty experiencing joy. 

It is believing that the top three most evil human beings to ever exist were Hitler, Stalin, and me. 

It is believing every compliment is given with an ulterior motive. 

It is being angry at myself because my brain and body are stuck at a younger age in their survival mechanisms from when I was first targeted. 

It is wishing that someone – anyone – would empathize with the level of pain I’m in. 

It is trying desperately to explain it to them, but not being able to put it into words. 

It is constantly dissociating in the middle of conversations or work, not understanding why I can’t focus. 

It is believing that people are out to get me, that I’m constantly being watched, analyzed, and criticized. 

It is wanting to live in hiding and isolation so that no one notices my flaws or even thinks about me. 

It is physically and emotionally punishing myself with self-harm. 

There’s so much more I could say, but there really is no other way to describe the pain of Complex PTSD besides absolute psychological torture. I really want to believe that the symptoms I am experiencing are not problems that are wrong with me but a result of what happened to me, but it has been difficult to find someone who can help me and understand me. I think it is time I take this into my own hands. 

I have fought so hard for so long, and I’m lucky to be still alive and fighting. It’s so difficult to heal from this, but I’m making the decision now to begin trusting in my innate ability to heal myself, no matter how long it takes or how painful it is. Healing is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I refuse to believe the lies that it isn’t possible to heal from complex trauma symptoms. I was told I would have to manage these symptoms for the rest of my life, but I will 100% heal from this. I will never land in the hospital again. I refuse to give up and let the pain overtake me. 

I’m not weak. I can do this. I’ve spent years bending over backwards to offer forgiveness, love, and kindness to others regardless of the extreme torture I was in on the inside. I have so much love to give to everyone except for myself. There’s no reason why I can’t give that to myself. There is no reason I can’t overcome this. Everyone else is walking free and living their lives. Why shouldn’t I be able to do the same? I will never again allow another human being or institution to have control over my life, my thoughts, my belief systems, or who I am. No one but me knows and understands my full story. 

I am going to figure this out. There will be a day when life will be easier. I will live with peace, joy, and freedom without even trying. It will be effortless. I will find my confidence again. I will rekindle the light I had. It’s what every human being deserves, and that includes me. I have to first believe this myself – that I am worthy, that I am capable, that I deserve to exist. Then, I will share how I did it with others. I will encourage them to believe the same things about themselves. 

You were always good enough, Natalie. It was all lies. Keep fighting. 

The Advent Season

The build-up to the Christmas season is what Christians call the Advent Season. It is usually four weeks and a few days before Christmas Day to prepare and get ready for the holidays. As each week goes by, a candle is lit, and the Sunday before Christmas is the day when we have four lit candles on our dinner table and in our living room. The final fifth candle is to mark Christmas Day. The day that 2,000 or so years ago, Christ was born in Bethlehem. Those weeks of advent can be extraordinarily busy for some people. If you have a family with young children, there is always the build-up of anticipation and excitement for Santa Claus to come. Kids may have an advent calendar to mark off the day by opening one window with a chocolate or small toy treat inside. We decorate our houses with Christmas trees, decorations and tinsel and maybe even put a Christmas wreath on the front door. We light up our houses inside and out to make our homes bright and cheerful. My own kids have been vibrating with excitement and energy for about a month now, and everyone is tired but happy. Keeping the kids busy before the holidays is always a challenge because if you live in the northern hemisphere, it is also getting dark early. I usually bake and do craft activities with my kids, and the board games come out in the evenings. We make gingerbread men and Christmas toffees and also build toy models out of wood or Legos. I get my guitar and flute out and play Christmas carols with my kids and their friends. It is a time for us to gather as a family after a busy day at work and school and be together. We light the advent candles before dinner each night and cozy up as the day folds into darkness. Traditionally, where we live, our kids do a Christmas pageant, a Christmas talent show, or a nativity play in our elementary and middle schools. Every state and county has different traditions. At work, there are usually Christmas parties, dinners, and drinks to celebrate another year gone by and to wish everyone a happy Christmas.

Families are usually spread out and no longer living in the same cities and towns as we used to do 100 years ago. There are always people in the family who have to travel. Some of us usually travel far and wide to visit with family over the Christmas holidays. Airports, freeways, buses, and trains are fully booked just before the holiday starts. Retail businesses are also unbelievably busy before the holiday begins, with grocery stores, food markets, and other retail businesses bursting at the seams with food, Christmas presents, and all you can think of to buy. You can buy pretty much anything before Christmas. If you are in marketing, you will have been campaigning for weeks to get customers to buy the products you are selling. Delivery vans are speeding up and down the streets to deliver parcels and gifts to people everywhere. The Christmas holiday season is big business.

Celebrating Christmas

Christmas Eve arrives, and time slows down. People have all their loved ones in one place, and all the decorations and gifts have been bought and wrapped. Most countries in Europe and Asia celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. All Christians have their own traditions of food, drinks, treats, and the time they exchange their gifts. It is as individual as our faces, and all families are slightly different in the way they celebrate. What we all have in common is that we have come to spend time together. It is a precious time of year. In the US, UK, and Australia, we celebrate Christmas on Christmas Day. That is the day we have our Christmas dinner and exchange gifts. It is a day when our Christmas table is filled with happy faces and joy as we share Christmas food and laughter around the table. We always have our “emergency chairs” come out from the cupboard as we don’t normally have 12 people around the table. If you are religious, you may go to church on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day or maybe one of them, depending on when you can fit everything into the day. When it is time to exchange gifts, we gather together in one room and often spend hours laughing and enjoying each precious gift. The kids get so excited about their presents as there is a flurry of wrapping paper and tape that gets catapulted around the room with whoops of joy and happiness. It is all part of Christmas – sharing joy and happiness.

Not everyone has got family at Christmas. I used to be one of them because I chose to move away from my own family due to abuse. It was my choice and the right one for me. Christmas can be a very lonely time, and if you are one of those survivors who do not have family, I think of you. I hope that wherever you are in your healing journey, you keep well and take some time for yourself. Spend some time with a friend and in a happy place. Try not to be alone for the whole day. Look after yourself and know that you do matter and you are not alone. There is a new year just a few days away with an endless amount of opportunities and possibilities. The future is always bright.

I wish you all a happy and joyful Christmas!

With Love,

Elizabeth

Photo by Yevhen Buzuk 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.