Toxic Positivity- Ew!

Snark Warning: This post has a satisfying amount of snark. It is intended to feel cathartic for frustrated recipients of shallow platitudes. For those who are well meaning and have said these things in ignorance, there is no true malice in this post. Just some light hearted sass and enlightenment. Carry on.

You’re sitting across from someone—maybe a friend, a family member, or even a therapist who should know better—and you’ve just shared a fragment of your trauma story. The room fills with that uncomfortable silence that survivors know all too well. Then it comes: “Well, you know what they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And just like that, your complex, painful, ongoing reality has been reduced to a bumper sticker slogan.

If you’ve survived narcissistic abuse, complex trauma, or any form of prolonged trauma, you’ve likely heard a collection of these dismissive platitudes. They often come from well-meaning people who genuinely think they’re helping, which somehow makes it even worse. Not only are you dealing with your trauma, but now you’re also burdened with managing someone else’s discomfort with your pain—smiling politely while screaming internally.

How It Feels to Be on the Receiving End

When someone responds to your vulnerability with a platitude, the effect is immediate and visceral. Your chest tightens. Your throat constricts. That brief moment of connection you thought you were having vanishes.

In that instant, you’re faced with an impossible choice: Do you nod and smile to preserve the relationship, knowing you’ve just been fundamentally misunderstood? Do you summon the energy to educate them, when you’re already depleted from carrying your trauma? Or do you express genuine frustration, risking being labeled as “too sensitive” or “negative”?

Many survivors describe feeling instantly isolated when these comments come—like they’ve been pushed back into a box of acceptable suffering. There’s a special kind of loneliness in being told, essentially, that your pain should be more manageable, more meaningful, or more temporary than it actually is.

Physically, your body might respond as if to a threat (because invalidation is threatening to someone healing from trauma). Your heart rate increases. Your thoughts race. The very nervous system you’ve been working so hard to regulate is now dysregulated again—all because someone couldn’t sit with discomfort long enough to offer genuine support.

Let’s rip the band-aid off these toxic positivity statements and examine why they’re not just unhelpful, but actively harmful to trauma survivors.

1. “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger”

Let’s start with the heavyweight champion of terrible advice. This saying suggests that trauma is somehow a character-building exercise, a cosmic gym membership you never signed up for.

Here’s the truth: Trauma doesn’t make you stronger; it depletes you. It taxes your nervous system, rewires your brain for constant danger, and drains the emotional resources you need for everyday functioning. Survivors aren’t “stronger” for having endured abuse—they’re working with damaged neural pathways, hypervigilance, and often a profound sense of disconnection from themselves and others.

Survivors aren’t “strong”—they’re exhausted from carrying weights others never had to lift. They’re functioning despite the burden of invisible triggers, flashbacks, and somatic responses that the average person never has to manage.

What survivors develop isn’t “strength” but survival adaptations—many of which actually make life more difficult once the danger has passed. That hyper-awareness of others’ moods that kept you safe around an unpredictable abuser? It now exhausts you in normal social situations. That ability to dissociate when things get overwhelming? It now makes it hard to stay present during important moments.

Trauma survivors aren’t stronger. They’re working overtime just to achieve what might come naturally to others, like feeling safe in a relationship or not panicking at unexpected sounds.

2. “Everything Happens for a Reason”

This platitude suggests that your trauma was somehow part of a grand cosmic plan—that the abuse you endured was somehow necessary or purposeful.

Let’s be crystal clear: There is no “reason” good enough to justify abuse. None. Zero. Full stop.

This statement is a classic example of spiritual bypassing—using spiritual explanations to avoid confronting the uncomfortable reality of suffering. It’s easier to believe in a universe where everything has meaning than to acknowledge that sometimes terrible things happen randomly to good people. But packaging abuse as “part of the plan” or a “lesson you needed to learn” is not only false—it’s cruel.

When someone suggests your trauma “happened for a reason,” they’re unwittingly asking you to find meaning in your suffering to make them more comfortable with the random cruelty of the world. It places the burden on you to extract some profound lesson from your pain, rather than acknowledging the simple truth: what happened to you was wrong, and you deserved better.

It also subtly suggests that if you can’t find this mythical “reason,” you’re somehow failing at processing your trauma correctly. As if recovery means reframing abuse as a blessing in disguise rather than recognizing it as the injustice it was.

3. “God Doesn’t Give You More Than You Can Handle”

This faith-based variation of “everything happens for a reason” adds a particularly painful layer for many survivors. It suggests not only that your trauma was intentional, but that it was calibrated specifically for your capacity—that some divine entity looked at you and decided you were strong enough to endure abuse.

What’s particularly frustrating about this platitude is that it’s based on a misinterpretation of scripture. The verse commonly referenced is 1 Corinthians 10:13, which actually states: “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

This passage is specifically about temptation—not trauma, suffering, or abuse. It’s about God providing a way to resist moral or spiritual challenges, not about God deliberately giving people suffering to test their strength. The misapplication of this scripture to trauma situations completely distorts its original meaning.

While this phrase originates from a Christian context, similar ideas exist across many faith traditions—and when misapplied, they share the same harm: recasting abuse as divine will. Whether it’s karma, fate, or providence, the suggestion that suffering was somehow divinely ordained can compound trauma with spiritual distress.

What this platitude fails to acknowledge is that many people don’t “handle” trauma—they are broken by it. They develop debilitating mental health conditions, turn to substance abuse to cope, or even take their own lives. Were these people simply given “more than they could handle”? The logic quickly falls apart.

For survivors with spiritual or religious beliefs, this statement can create a spiritual crisis on top of trauma. It portrays God as someone who deliberately inflicts or allows suffering as a test, instead of portraying God as a source of comfort and healing.

Even for those who find comfort in faith, healing often comes from understanding that trauma wasn’t part of a divine plan, but rather the result of human choices, random chance, or systemic failures—and that divine support can also come in the form of healing resources, supportive people, and inner strength to begin recovery.

4. “God Helps Those Who Help Themselves”

Ah yes, the favorite platitude of people who’ve never actually read the Bible but love to weaponize religion against those who are suffering. Let’s get this straight: this phrase appears exactly zero times in scripture. Not once. It’s as biblical as “cleanliness is next to godliness” or “money is the root of all evil” (it’s actually “the LOVE of money is a root of all kinds of evil”) —which is to say, not biblical at all.

The saying actually traces back to Aesop’s fable about a wagoner whose cart gets stuck in mud. When the driver prays to Hercules for help without trying to push his cart first, Hercules essentially tells him to put his own shoulder to the wheel before asking for divine intervention. So unless you’re worshipping the Greek demigod Hercules instead of the God of the Bible, you might want to reconsider this theological hot take. Benjamin Franklin later popularized the phrase, and somehow this advice about muddy cart wheels became the go-to spiritual weapon against trauma survivors who can’t just “bootstrap” their way through PTSD.

When directed at trauma survivors, this platitude becomes particularly toxic. It suggests that if you’re still struggling, you simply haven’t “earned” divine help yet. Still having flashbacks? Clearly you’re not praying hard enough or doing enough spiritual pushups to deserve God’s assistance. Having trouble functioning after abuse? Well, God’s waiting in the wings with healing, but first you need to prove you’re worthy by magically fixing yourself.

The cruel irony is that this saying completely inverts the central message of grace found throughout actual scripture. The Bible repeatedly shows God helping precisely those who cannot help themselves—the vulnerable, the broken, the traumatized. Psalms 34:18 explicitly states, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Not “The Lord is close to those who have their act together enough to deserve his attention.”

When someone drops this spiritual grenade in your lap, they’re essentially saying: “Your continued suffering is evidence of your spiritual failure.” It’s victim-blaming dressed up in religious language, suggesting that healing is a simple matter of effort rather than a complex neurobiological process that requires appropriate support and resources.

When faced with this particular gem of invalidation, you might respond:

“Fascinating how that phrase isn’t actually in the Bible.”

“I prefer to focus on the parts of scripture that talk about compassion for the suffering.”

“My trauma therapist and my understanding of faith don’t quite align with that view.”

Or my personal favorite: “Actually, the Bible repeatedly shows God helping those who precisely cannot help themselves. But thanks for your theological input.”

The truth is that trauma recovery often begins at exactly the point where self-help fails—when we acknowledge that we cannot heal alone and need support, whether divine or human. There’s no spiritual merit badge for suffering in silence, despite what these platitude-pushers might have you believe.

5. “Just Let It Go and Move On”

If trauma survivors could simply “let go” of their experiences, don’t you think they would have done so already? Nobody earnestly trying to heal “chooses suffering,” as some uninformed outsiders might claim. This statement fundamentally misunderstands how trauma operates in the brain and body.

Trauma isn’t stored as a normal memory that you can choose to forget. It’s encoded differently—often as fragmented sensory experiences that can be triggered without warning. Your body remembers trauma even when your conscious mind is trying to forget. That’s why unexpected triggers can cause such overwhelming physical and emotional responses.

Trauma isn’t a thought you can simply “drop”—it’s a physiological imprint that requires specific tools to reprocess. This is why body-based therapies like somatic experiencing, EMDR, and sensorimotor psychotherapy are often essential components of trauma recovery. These approaches acknowledge that trauma lives in the body and nervous system, not just in conscious thoughts that can be willfully dismissed.

“Moving on” isn’t a decision; it’s a complex neurobiological process that takes time, support, and often professional help. When people tell you to “just let it go,” they’re essentially asking why you don’t simply press the delete button on your trauma—as if such a button exists.

6. “Time Heals All Wounds”

Time alone doesn’t heal trauma. Unaddressed trauma doesn’t fade—it festers, manifests in physical symptoms, relationship patterns, and mental health challenges. In fact, trauma that isn’t actively processed often develops into complex PTSD over time, with symptoms becoming more entrenched rather than magically disappearing.

What actually helps heal trauma is targeted work: therapy with trauma-informed professionals, building a support network, learning to regulate your nervous system, and gradually processing traumatic memories in a safe environment. Time is only helpful insofar as it gives you space to do this difficult work.

The idea that you can passively wait for healing perpetuates the harmful notion that recovery is something that happens to you rather than something you actively participate in. It also invalidates the very real ongoing struggle many survivors face years or even decades after the traumatic events.

7. “You Should Forgive Them for Your Own Peace”

Forgiveness has somehow become the expected final chapter in every trauma story. But mandatory forgiveness places an additional burden on survivors who are already carrying so much.

Here’s what’s rarely acknowledged: You can heal completely without ever forgiving your abuser. Forgiveness may be helpful for some survivors, but it’s not a prerequisite for healing, and suggesting otherwise creates unnecessary pressure and potential shame.

What’s more important than forgiveness is understanding that what happened wasn’t your fault, setting boundaries to protect yourself, and reconnecting with your own needs and values. If forgiveness naturally emerges from that process, fine. If it doesn’t, that’s equally valid.

8. “You’re So Resilient!”

At first glance, this might not seem like a harmful statement. After all, isn’t resilience a positive quality? But for many trauma survivors, being called “resilient” can feel like pressure to perform strength when they’re barely holding it together.

When “you’re so resilient” is used to gloss over suffering, it becomes another way to deny survivors the space to be vulnerable or struggling. It can feel like being told, “I prefer to see you as strong rather than wounded, so please keep performing that strength for my comfort.”

This comment often comes with an unspoken expectation that you should continue to endure without complaint. Worse, it can make you feel guilty for the times when you don’t feel resilient at all—when you’re breaking down, struggling with basic functions, or unable to keep up the appearance of having it all together.

Resilience isn’t the absence of struggle—it’s the presence of struggle and persistence. Real support acknowledges both your capacity for resilience and your need to sometimes fall apart. Being resilient doesn’t mean you’re never affected by trauma—it means you continue despite being affected by it, and that continuing takes an enormous toll.

9. “I’m Sure They Did Their Best” or “They Didn’t Mean It That Way”

This may be the most insidious platitude because it sounds compassionate while actually invalidating your experience. It prioritizes the abuser’s intentions over the impact of their actions, effectively asking you to empathize with someone who harmed you.

The hard truth is that some people are genuinely malicious, and others are so self-absorbed that they never consider how their actions affect others. Narcissistic abusers, in particular, often know exactly what they’re doing—the harm isn’t accidental but strategic.

Even if someone “didn’t mean it that way,” the damage is still real. Your pain isn’t less valid because someone didn’t intend to cause it. You don’t owe understanding to those who hurt you, especially when they’ve made no effort to understand the damaging impact of their actions.

10. Cultural Variations: “But They’re Family” and Other Pressure Points

Platitudes often take culturally specific forms that add layers of shame and obligation to trauma. “Blood is thicker than water” or “family is everything” can become weapons that pressure survivors to maintain relationships with abusive family members.

In some communities, sayings like “what happens in this house stays in this house” explicitly discourage seeking outside help. Other cultural messages might emphasize endurance as virtue (“grin and bear it”), minimize male accountability (“boys will be boys”), or prioritize appearance over well-being (“we don’t air our dirty laundry”).

These sayings aren’t just words—they’re social contracts that prioritize harmony over healing. They function as unwritten rules that maintain the status quo at the expense of individual wellbeing.

These cultural variations share a common thread: they place the burden on the survivor to protect the status quo rather than heal themselves. They leverage cultural identity and belonging against the fundamental need for safety and authenticity. And sadly, our wiring often leads us to choose attachment over authenticity.

Recognizing these cultural dimensions doesn’t mean rejecting your cultural heritage—rather, it means distinguishing between cultural values that support wholeness and those that were designed to maintain systems where abuse can flourish unchallenged.

11. The Infinite Variations of “At Least…”

A special category of invalidating statements deserves its own mention: the seemingly endless variations of “at least…” These comparative statements attempt to minimize your trauma by contrasting it with hypothetical worse scenarios:

“At least they didn’t hit you.” “At least you’re not still with them.” “At least you have a roof over your head.” “At least you learned something from the experience.” “At least you have other family members who care about you.” “At least you’re strong enough to handle it.”

These statements are particularly insidious because they masquerade as gratitude prompts or perspective checks. But what they actually do is invalidate the very real pain you’re experiencing by suggesting you should be grateful it wasn’t worse.

The “at least” approach creates a false hierarchy of suffering where only the absolute worst-case scenario deserves full acknowledgment. It suggests that because others might have it worse, your pain deserves less attention, less support, and less validation. This competitive approach to trauma is not only unhelpful but actively harmful—leaving survivors feeling guilty for their completely appropriate responses to abuse.

When You’ve Become Your Own Worst Critic: Self-Platitudes

Perhaps the most painful platitudes are the ones we tell ourselves. After hearing these messages enough times from others, survivors often internalize them:

“I should be over this by now.” “Other people have it worse—I need to stop complaining.” “If I were stronger, this wouldn’t still affect me.” “I must have done something to deserve this.”

These self-directed platitudes can be even more damaging than those from others because they come from within, attacking us in our most vulnerable moments. They create a cycle where normal trauma responses become evidence of personal failure, leading to shame, which further complicates recovery. Instead of supporting ourselves when we’re struggling, we come down harder ourselves, assuming the role of our own abuser.

Breaking this cycle requires profound self-compassion—the willingness to treat yourself with the same kindness and understanding you would offer a beloved friend in your situation. It means recognizing that healing isn’t linear, that having bad days doesn’t mean you’re failing at recovery, and that your pain doesn’t need to be “the worst” to deserve care and attention.

The next time you catch yourself thinking one of these self-platitudes, try to pause and ask: “Would I say this to another survivor? Is this actually true, or is it a message I’ve absorbed from others who didn’t understand trauma?” If you wouldn’t weaponize another survivor’s pain, why weaponize your own?

Why People Say These Things (And Why It’s Not Your Job to Educate Them)

Understanding why people offer these platitudes doesn’t make them less harmful, but it might help you feel less personally invalidated when you hear them.

Most people are deeply uncomfortable with the idea that terrible things happen randomly to good people. It threatens their sense of safety and justice in the world. Platitudes offer a quick way to restore that sense of order: if trauma makes you stronger, happens for a reason, or can be overcome through forgiveness, then the world still makes sense.

Some people resort to these statements because they genuinely don’t know what else to say. They haven’t been taught how to sit with someone else’s pain without trying to fix it. Our culture doesn’t model compassionate witness very well—instead, we’re taught to problem-solve, silver-line, or distract.

Others may be triggered by your trauma because it resonates with their own unprocessed experiences. Their platitudes might actually be self-soothing mechanisms, attempts to convince themselves that their own trauma wasn’t so bad or had some greater purpose.

And sometimes, people just repeat what they’ve heard without ever examining whether it’s actually helpful or true. Pop culture is saturated with these oversimplified narratives about trauma and recovery.

Here’s the important part: It is not your responsibility to educate these people. You’re not obligated to explain why their comment was hurtful, especially when you’re already managing your own trauma responses. You don’t owe anyone a polite smile or a patient explanation when they’ve just invalidated your experience.

What Trauma Survivors Actually Need to Hear

Instead of platitudes, trauma survivors need validation, compassion, and humble presence. Simple statements like:

“I believe you.” “That sounds incredibly difficult.” “I’m here with you.” “Your feelings make sense.” “This wasn’t your fault.”

These acknowledgments don’t try to solve, reframe, or minimize trauma. They simply recognize it as real and significant.

Ready-to-Use Responses (for When You’re Too Exhausted to Educate)

Sometimes you simply don’t have the bandwidth to explain why a platitude is harmful, especially when you’re already managing trauma symptoms. Here are some brief, low-conflict responses that neither accept the platitude as truth nor place you in the exhausting position of educator:

When someone says “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”:

• “I’ve found healing is more complicated than that.”
• “My therapist and I are working through a different perspective on trauma.”
• “That hasn’t been my experience, but I appreciate your concern.”

For “Everything happens for a reason”:

• “I’m still working on making sense of my experiences in my own way.”
• “I find it more helpful to focus on healing than reasons right now.”
• “I respect that that perspective works for some people.”

When faced with “Just let it go”:

• “Trauma recovery works differently than most people realize.”
• “I’m working through it at the pace that’s healthiest for me.”
• “My healing journey looks a bit different than that.”

For “Time heals all wounds”:

• “I’m finding that healing takes active work, not just time.”
• “That’s a comforting thought, but trauma is more complex.”
• “I’m focused on the present steps of my recovery rather than waiting.”

When confronted with forgiveness pressure:

• “I’m prioritizing other aspects of healing right now.”
• “My therapist suggests focusing on self-compassion first.”
• “Everyone’s healing journey looks different.”

For “They did their best/didn’t mean it”:

• “Impact matters regardless of intent.”
• “I need to honor my experience right now.”
• “I’m focusing on my healing more than their intentions.”

And for any “At least…” statement:

• “Comparing traumas hasn’t been helpful for my healing.”
• “I’m working on acknowledging my experience without comparison.”
• “My therapist encourages me to validate my own experience fully.”

These responses create a gentle boundary without requiring you to take on the exhausting role of educator. They acknowledge the comment without endorsing it and redirect without confrontation. Most importantly, they protect your energy for what really matters: your healing.

True support for trauma survivors means being willing to sit in the discomfort without reaching for tidy explanations or forced silver linings. It means respecting that recovery isn’t linear, forgiveness isn’t mandatory, and meaning-making is personal.

For survivors reading this: Your trauma did not make you stronger—in fact, you might feel anything but strong. You might feel broken, exhausted, or barely functioning. That’s a valid and common experience after trauma. What’s remarkable isn’t some mythical “strength” you’ve gained, but rather your resilience—your ability to survive despite everything you’ve endured. That resilience isn’t a gift from your trauma; it’s evidence of your fundamental humanity continuing to exist despite attempts to break it.

The endless internal work you do every day—work that most people will never see or understand—isn’t about becoming stronger than before. It’s about reclaiming pieces of yourself, finding moments of safety, and sometimes just making it through another day. There’s profound dignity in that journey, whether you feel “strong” or not.

Healing starts when we trade bumper-sticker wisdom for uncomfortable truths: that trauma isn’t a lesson, strength isn’t owed, and survival—however it looks—is always enough.

Your healing journey belongs to you, not to the expectations or comfort levels of others. And you are absolutely entitled to roll your eyes (internally or externally) the next time someone offers you a platitude instead of genuine support.

The truth isn’t always comfortable, especially for those who haven’t experienced complex trauma. But comfort was never the point. Healing is—and healing starts with honesty, not with pretty lies wrapped in inspirational fonts.

A Note on Neurodivergent Trauma Survivors

Neurodivergent individuals—those with autism, ADHD, sensory processing differences, and other neurological variations—often face unique layers of invalidation when processing trauma. Their natural responses to both trauma and healing may be pathologized or dismissed with statements like:

“You’re just overreacting because of your autism.” “If you could focus better, you’d get over this.” “Your sensory issues are making you too sensitive to what happened.” “You’re just fixating on this because of your OCD.”

These statements compound trauma by using a person’s neurotype against them, suggesting their perception of harm isn’t valid but rather a symptom to be dismissed. For neurodivergent survivors, healing often involves the additional work of separating legitimate trauma responses from the stigma surrounding their neurological differences.

If you’re a neurodivergent trauma survivor, know that your experiences are valid, your perceptions are real, and your unique neurological makeup doesn’t make your trauma any less significant. In fact, the intersection of trauma and neurodivergence deserves specialized understanding and support, not dismissal.

Copyright Notice: This excerpt is from my forthcoming 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. 😊

Photo Credit: Author, Substack

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“I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.” – Virginia Woolf.

Virginia Woolf’s epic observation, often rephrased as “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman,” is a clinical analysis of a biased history that still continues to haunt many writers, especially in conservative cultures. Many adopted pen names or vague pseudonyms out of necessity.

History is full of these survival tactics. The Brontë Sisters published as Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell to avoid being “looked on with prejudice.” George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans) knew her work required a male name to be taken seriously. Jane Austen wrote simply as “By a Lady” to shield her family from scandal. Centuries later, E.L. James (Erika Mitchell) of “Fifty Shades of Grey” fame chose a pen name to write bold themes without judgment. And then there is J.K. Rowling.

For these writers, anonymity was a shield to navigate a world that punished their voices. Their narratives remind us how exclusion, gatekeeping, and the pressure to perform or disappear have long shaped who gets heard—and who gets erased.

Never  Hide Your Voice: Own it

‘If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.’ — George Orwell.

My experience has been a masterclass in life lessons. I speak only for myself here. I have anxiety, BPD, and mild ADHD, and I am no expert on human behaviour. Yet every time I think I’ve finally built a shield against toxic behaviour, life comes crashing with another powerful lesson.

Lack of Empathy, and Dehumanization

Truth be told, we are constantly surrounded by mirrors—people whose kindness, cruelty, manipulation, or love reveal who we are.

As humans, we cannot live as islands. We crave the security of community. Yet the dark irony is that we often judge others to feel we belong in a community.

We huddle into cliques, become self-appointed gatekeepers of groups, and decide who is in and who is out.

We use taunts and jabs by indirect implication. We hide behind herds, and God help the person who doesn’t fit the mold.

When “Your Circle” Weaponizes Power &Triggers CPTSD

For CPTSD survivors, the deepest wounds often come not from dramatic violence, the screaming arguments, the stinging blow of physical abuse, or getting sucker punched. It happens from slow, agonizing social isolation—whether chosen or weaponized by others. In my dysfunctional family, the people meant to be my safe haven hurt me in ways that still echo to this day.

Toxic families and friends can use exclusion and isolation to hurt you. This is a silent ban with a thousand cuts, delivered by people who claim to care about you.

The “Outcast/Blacksheep” Syndrome

I have anxiety, BPD, and mild ADHD; growing up in a dysfunctional family, my sister and I were the “unnecessary baggage” . We were outcasts because it was easier for the “strong adults” to trample the “weak children.”

“There is bullying, and then there is bullying of the worst kind; it’s called ‘social isolation… where you herd together ‘the strong’ and trample ‘the weak’ because there is strength in numbers.” — Jenney Clark, Don’t Be Afraid to Love

When you grow up with BPD, your nervous system learns that safety is conditional. You learn that if you don’t “perform” how the family wants, you will be cast out. This is the very definition of CPTSD. It is about the constant, looming threat of being abandoned, socially and emotionally.

Tales from the Trenches

Discrimination and bullying don’t end just because people become adults after they get their degree or a manager’s office. It just gets a more expensive haircut, a success or money-can-buy-anything uncivilized behaviour, and a “social” mask. I’ve seen it play out in my own life for years, through family, work, and inner circles. These are situations that shaped my life.

Consider the dynamic I encountered a few years back.

The Architect, a person with professional standing who never raised their voice. Instead, they used the “social snub”: inviting me to events only to exclude me from conversations, joking loudly with others just out of my reach. It was a clear power move signalling to the room: She is on the outside. It keeps you permanently on the outside looking in.

Not calling out such behaviour is tantamount to letting this form of bullying happen to someone else.

Then, there are the Bystanders. The ones who watched this happen. This person was the “silent enabler.” They will look at you, shrug, and justify the Architect’s behavior. “Oh, they didn’t mean it like that.” But their eyes will say, I’m just happy it’s you and not me. In a clique, silence isn’t neutral. By saying nothing, the Bystander becomes the enabler. If you dont speak out against a wrong, you are an accomplice.

Discrimination and Baiting Crowd: Why This Triggers CPTSD

Is bullying even more contemptible when it is done by adults?

For those of us with childhood trauma, these adult “toxic communities” are  retraumatizing. They mirror the “outcast” feeling of being unprotected and unseen. When your experience is invalidated as “everyone goes through difficulties,” it triggers a primal survival fear. Imagine opening your heart to trusted people and getting trolled for baring your soul to them.

It’s a psychological hijack. You feel like you are five years old, abandoned, and alone again

And the worst part? The gaslighting that follows—“You’re too sensitive,” “It’s all in your head”—is classic emotional abuse.

Choosing “Real Love” Over “Fake Safety”

The hardest lesson I’ve learned—and one I’m calling from the rooftops to my fellow trauma warriors is that you cannot find “healing” in toxic relationships.

If you’re feeling alone, consider this:

Call out the bully: Bullies are often cowards, and they no longer exist only on the playground. They exist on your social media as trolls behind the safety of a screen; they are in your teams and in your communities. Calling out their behaviour sets boundaries, stops the cycle of abuse, and asserts that their behaviour is unacceptable.

• Recognize people for who they are: Some people thrive  on security in numbers, rather than authenticity or inner resilience. Their need for control says everything about them and nothing about your worth.
• Forgive, but set boundaries: As for me, I forgave those who hurt me, yet I no longer allow them space in my life.
• Seek your genuine exceptions: Look for the rare souls who offer kindness when it costs them something—the “loyalists” who provide support and unconditional love.
• Refuse to settle: You are as worthy. Real love—authentic connection—exists outside the trolling and herd mentality.

Don’t shrink yourself to fit rooms that want to keep you out. Healing means refusing to let others define your story.

Practical Steps for Healing from Trauma

• Understand your triggers and patterns: Journal the ways childhood dysfunctions, bullying, and toxic behaviours have shaped your nervous system responses.
• Practice somatic safety: Gentle body-based practices such as grounding, mindfulness, and breathwork help “the fight or flight” mode that exclusion triggers.
• Build micro-connections: Start with one safe person or a small, values-aligned group rather than seeking large groups.
• Seek trauma-informed support: Therapies like EMDR, somatic experiencing, or CPTSD-focused groups can help with relational wounds.

While everyone’s journey is unique, in my experience, reaching out for support helps.  If you are experiencing any form of toxic relationships, bullying, adult bullying, or isolation, reach out to the CPTSD Foundation community or a trauma-informed therapist. You are not alone. The only person who can truly grant us freedom is ourselves. So, take your power back!!!

Resources & References

• Relational Trauma: CPTSD Foundation – Treating Complex Relational Trauma
  https://cptsdfoundation.org/2022/11/14/treating-complex-relational-trauma/
  https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/19/the-hidden-legacy-of-relational-trauma-breaking-free-from-codependency-and-complex-ptsd/)
• Scapegoating Dynamics: Psychology Today
  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/family-dynamics
  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/tech-support/202104/how-toxic-families-choose-a-child-to-scapegoat)
• My Journey: Awakened Souls Podcast | www.jenneyclark.com
  

International Support for Adult Bullying, Trauma & Isolation:

• Befrienders Worldwide – Emotional support and listening services in over 90 countries (find local helplines): https://befrienders.org/
• International Bullying Prevention Association (IBPA) – Global resources for bullying prevention and intervention: https://ibpaworld.org/
• International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation (ISSTD) – Resources, fact sheets, and therapist locator for complex trauma: https://www.isst-d.org/
• Blue Knot Foundation (Australia-focused but useful internationally for complex trauma survivors): https://blueknot.org.au/ (Helpline: 1300 657 380)
• Support: If you are experiencing adult bullying, reach out to the Workplace Bullying Institute (a leading resource for adult and workplace bullying support) https://workplacebullying.org/
• Additional general support: StopBullying.gov resources for adults – https://www.stopbullying.gov/

If you’re in immediate distress or crisis anywhere in the world, reach out to a local helpline via Befrienders Worldwide or your country’s emergency services.

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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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

[2] Ibid., 1.

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

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

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

[7] Ibid., 229

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

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

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

[11] Ibid., 26.

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

[13] Ibid., 24

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

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

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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.

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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.

• Gaslighting of the child(ren)
• Covert (sometimes overt) narcissistic abuse
• Denigration
• False claims
• Limiting and/or cutting communication

• The child may choose to break away from their abuser, and;
• Have the daunting task of reestablishing their relationship with a parent who has become a stranger to them

Mushrooms are notorious for only being distinguishable as poisonous by the elite. It’s how they collectively protect themselves. If our individual and collective personalities continue to proliferate in such a disordered way, we would be wise to proactively develop a counter strategy. We must develop a new approach when compassion and flexible thinking are exploited. In no uncertain terms, when it is safe to do so, some of us need to hold the line in small ways—in this case, calling a horse a horse.

The lifeblood of language is only possible through relinquishing power: when a word leaves one’s mouth and reaches another’s ear. “Grey-rocking” and “no-contact” advice have their time and place; for me, they echoed the agency-stripping accommodations I’ve been forced to swallow too often. I couldn’t do it; I was filled to the brim. My body is metabolizing intense bouts of word salad: when someone says words in sequences that follow syntactic rules but rapid-fired so you can’t stop to notice they have no meaning. Word salad is strategic, a mechanism of misdirection. Direct language is an antidote to narcissism, a non-black-and-white intersubjectivity that never guarantees dominance or falsely proselytizes “truth” but is 100% honest. Exacting direct language is, at least, a surefire way to get a read on the person you are dealing with in flesh and blood at any given moment: Can they tolerate an external consensus that places restrictions on them? Can they accommodate others even if there’s nothing in it for them? Or do they balk at the request for adjustments? Is “no” enough?

I have read enough articles about triggers as superpowers for a lifetime, about sensitivity being like a carbon monoxide detector, and about how our bodies are trying to tell us something. I keep waiting for this steady collective strength to appear in all its terrifying glory, like the unveiling of a game-changing map. They say pain and fear are messengers; we are wise to listen, but I am no longer interested in protecting myself alone.

I’m not asking for compassionate or PC alternatives to official NPD naming, but ones that are precise and on the record. (After NPD abuse, my knee-jerk defense is to rename it “black-hole broken-cup disorder” or “soul-raping joker-faced syndrome.”) I am asking for suggestions on language that will distinguish the everyday usage of narcissism from when you realize too late that you’re deeply entangled with someone who doesn’t have the capacity to hold back harm. For when you require intervention more urgently than the time it takes to rewire every one of your childhood trauma responses.

Here is my call to this community of resilient deep thinkers: what do you wish was said instead? What language did you develop that you wish you had from the beginning to describe this bizarre exploitation style? Or are words offered by elders along the way that someone in the white-hot thick of it might not remember available? How do you explain this behavior to your children or prepare them for this dynamic in the world? During your recovery, did you feel a pit in your stomach as the word narcissist was casually thrown around? At the same time, maybe you calculated the personal-danger/societal-progress ratio of hearing the word aloud in public spaces. Hopefully, it wasn’t just in pop culture but in poli-sci theory, legislature, medical settings, schoolrooms, and good company with people learning to reflect on the first person and the collective impact.

Any suggestions on what else we might name it for those who find themselves in chat rooms at 3 AM, pouring over “dark triad”/cluster-B literature, drained, on the brink, watching their brains attempt to make sense of bizarre nonsense… clinging to lifelines of writings that use phrases like psychological murder and mental rape, praying that the accurate usage of this extreme language won’t be judged as “dramatic” by people from which they are asking for help and harbor? Suggestions for what to call it when this energy follows you (maybe because you’re now able to see what was always there) … but don’t know what to call it and can’t call it by its name… but can’t tolerate it anymore, either? We get to decide. Language is arbitrary, and form follows function.

Suggestions for alternative names to NPD are welcome in the comments below from experiences as affirmed by the victim of a fun house “love” that engaged in recon to target your weakest spots. “Love” that left you wondering how to compost your murdered self without accurate language. Relationships that whipped you in the same place twice when you attempted to describe them accurately.

Nuances in NPD diagnoses would benefit from reference manuals recognizing variants like covert, grandiose, or malignant, but a new paradigm could also be modeled off a five-alarm or def-com system. Could a renaming honor that little zombified ant? Or, maybe, in the tradition of Greek mythology, instead of Narcissus, Orpheus—master instrumentalist and enchanter? Orpheus lived out a tragic story: he loved, or at least he tried. He went to the depths of hell to rescue his beloved Euripides and succeeded because he was intelligent, charming, and determined. But it didn’t occur to him to ensure that Euripides was also in the light before looking back to unravel it all. From then on, he was a broken man. He was later cannibalized alive by the women to whom he could no longer connect while attempting to rest and grieve his losses.

I look forward to doing what the intersection of my life’s greatest griefs has brazened me with the capacity to do: metabolize how it is both about me and not about me with an understanding of consequences, object permanence, and shreds of compassion even after my most outlandish moments. (I am returning to myself.) I am curious about what language was harmful, helpful, or an absurd replication during your recovery from NPD abuse or what language you prioritize for the next generations. The more survivors I speak to, the more I realize that it irrevocably alters the way one sees. I aim to use my strange afterlife to call upon institutions (like mental health diagnostic manuals) to call horses by the name we gave them: to call pop stars and assholes “narcissists”; and call NPD something more nuanced amidst this evolution.

We were perfect for each other. Or so I thought. His love for children, our incredible chemistry, he seemed to know how I was thinking, what I liked, he made me feel like I had “come home.”

I had no idea that this was his usual MO, like a game, for him to figure out what he could get from me and how he could get it. How he had to act to win my trust. By the time I had fallen in love with who I thought he was and after a year of knowing him, I agreed to move in together, completely trusting him with my child.

The first time he yelled at me viciously, I was stunned, I had planned a surprise birthday party for him and avoided telling him who I was talking to on the phone, trying to keep it secret. He blew up like a volcano, spewing profanities at me. Then he left, slamming the door. No one had ever treated me like that before. In my Swedish family, we’d talk things over calmly. I only heard my dad yell once in my whole life.

A short while later he returned, ashamed, flowers in his hand, tears in his eyes, begging me for forgiveness

A short while later, he returned, ashamed, with flowers in his hand and tears in his eyes, begging me for forgiveness. He was profoundly sorry and blamed stress at work. I forgave him.

It happened again and again more and more often; I wanted to believe in our relationship so badly that after a while, I was the one making excuses for him. Looking back at those times, I realize he actually got a kick out of it. Playing a game with me while I was desperate to hold on to those glorious, loving first few months.

Around the time I got pregnant, the abuse became physical. I was ashamed of how I was treated and didn’t tell my family or friends. I started to avoid them and their questions. How could I have picked someone to love who treated me this way? I blamed myself.

I never knew which husband would walk through the door: the charming, sweet, fun man I fell in love with, who I barely ever saw anymore, or the angry, abusive attacker, who I needed to stay away from.

Those days he would spew a swap-meet of emotions over me, whatever he’d built up inside during the day cascaded out in nasty words and false accusations. I had to make him see the truth, explain myself, and that’s how he drew me into his duel of anger. A joust he had perfected, but I hated and didn’t want to do. He would say and do anything to make me angry, so I’d yell at him, then he would have an excuse to demolish me.

The first few times, I was drawn in, but it destroyed me. With all his practice, his sharp tongue and angry gleam in his eyes I didn’t stand a chance. He’d sharpened the edge of his sword to draw blood while I only tried to defend myself.

I felt like he needed to slash me to pieces to make himself feel better. So different from the man I had fallen in love with. I realized I had to protect myself. I changed tactics, and no matter what he tried to do to provoke me, I’d tell him I was removing myself from the situation, and we could talk when he calmed down. This always made him angrier. I’d walk away while he would yell the nastiest, most derogatory comments and names after me. It was exhausting, but at least we didn’t have devastating fights because I refused to.

After a few years of feeling isolated, taking care of kids and home while constantly walking on eggshells. I needed a break. I told my husband I was thinking about going back to work. He angrily snapped at me: “If you get a new job, you’ll have to look for a new husband!”

I felt so stuck, like my life was over even though I had two amazing kids, I was scared, lonely and blamed myself for everything that had happened and did happen.

A friend of mine was a masseuse, she used to give us both massages. One day as she left, she gave me a book and told me I HAD to read it. The book was “Trapped in the Mirror: Adult Children of Narcissists in their struggle for self,” by Elan Golomb.

I was surprised, I’d never really talked about my marriage with her and my parents weren’t narcissists, in fact I didn’t even know what the word meant. But my friend was observant.

After reading the first few chapters, a wave of relief washed over me.

I had been gaslit

I am not crazy! I finally realized it wasn’t me… he was sick… a wound inside himself so deep and painful that he couldn’t love me, his children, not even himself. It’s not my fault. I had been manipulated to believe I was responsible for everything going wrong, not only in our marriage but his success in life, his anger, disappointments… sleeplessness… I had been gaslit.

Thinking he was sick, I set about trying to help because I was still under the spell. When I suggested we’d go to couples’ therapy, he yelled at me: “I don’t need no fucking therapist.”  And kicked a chair so hard it flew across the room and smashed into the wall, making a huge hole.

He forbade me to go by myself because he didn’t want me to talk about him, about us. I went to therapy anyway. After seeing Michael, my therapist, for six months, he told me: “I’m a family therapist, my job is to help keep families together; however, I don’t think your marriage will last. Your husband will never change, and you are getting too strong to put up with him. I think it’s a matter of time, and I’m here to help you.”

I knew it as well. I felt it inside, but it still took me a couple of years to leave. I was too scared of my husband and what he would do, not only to me, but to the kids. What would happen if I wasn’t in the house to protect them to take the brunt of his anger?

I’m not sure what would have happened if I hadn’t read that book, which spurred me to seek help, even if I had to do so in secret. Working with my therapist to help find the power that I had given away so easily… was the beginning of a new, happier life.

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 want to preface the following with a distinction between “a narc” and abusively narcissistic patterned behavior because this is so much bigger than any one individual. People who suffer from NPD (as opposed to narcissistic jerks) are so deeply traumatized and will take it as a reflection on them… but it isn’t. I’m not wishing to incite violence, but the idealism of “becoming the change I hope to see” doesn’t hold water when what I hope to see has been reverse-victim-ordered.

NPD has a high correlation with misogyny, racism, xenophobic discrimination, and all the other ailments of the world we are regularly told can’t be fixed. When the man to whom I was trauma-bonded (but didn’t yet comprehend had NPD) projected by screaming at me until he was sweating and his eyes were black that I had a personality disorder, I was naively trying to care for him and his sprained ego, ahem, I mean, ankle… and reacting to being snapped at that I “could stand to get him a cold drink”. He later made me apologize for suggesting this happened. At that point, I was hooked by a web of stealthy lies that reflected everything I had ever hoped for and belittled through the grooming of incremental boundary-testing, so my broken spirit acquiesced. My pupils were probably large and black, too, from fear.

A year and a half into our relationship, after much talk about his “very observant, quick-learning, self-aware and progressive path,” he grinned while he tested me with “suddenly realizing” who my closest friend was (he was attempting to suggest a threesome) and the sudden information about his possession of U.S. Confederate memorabilia. My gaslit bleeding heart tried to respect this complicated ambush of cultural heritage and sexual pseudo-liberation and told him, “Just don’t be hateful to people” and “yeah, I don’t need you two to be close”. In retrospect, it was the same grin that he had while I frantically searched for items I’m fairly certain he intentionally hid from me and, to this day, still has in his possession.

I would have said anything at that point so he would stop trapping me. Looking back, this fueled the entrapment. Then again, once the funhouse music and coercive rage started, there was nothing I could do. There was no appeal to logic or facts, no appeal to empathy. Even abrupt no-contact would have had severe consequences for my life, but I was also naively trying to get back to the great love that was first sold to me. Once the funhouse music started, I would apologize for things he did so he wouldn’t scream at me then he would scream at me for apologizing too much, mocking my lack of self-respect. He kept coming back because I had something he wanted, something to which he felt entitled, but it was pure sabotage.

Based on what I now know about my ex’s reputation (that was strategically hidden from me) and how furiously he screamed that I had “ruined everything” the first time I confronted him, I believe I was recruited to prove to everyone that he could keep an LTR. This was why he was on such deceitfully good behavior in the beginning. Today, the recovery advice relating to brainwashing and cult leaders has been most relevant. And since I proclaim honesty, there is a part of me that realized halfway through our relationship that I was deep undercover. Every day still, talking myself through the ambiguous grief of being in love with a man who never existed takes up most of my calories.

During my attempts to get anyone in a position of authority to hold my ex accountable for his psychological violence, half the officials told me, “I’m so sorry that happened to you, that’s incredibly abusive, but unfortunately that’s not how the law works.” The other half said, “I’m so sorry that happened to you, and that’s not how the law usually works… but I see what you’re saying. Where are you in the process? I’ll tell you what I know.” I followed their advice as far as I could.

I was then repeatedly told not to say the word narcissist in a courtroom because it’s style of abuse is notoriously difficult to prosecute, and the precedent varies from state to state for its connection to the intentional infliction of extreme emotional distress. In my highly triggered state, this struck me as a chicken-and-egg dilemma, so I took a page out of his playbook. I proceeded to fight my way into courtrooms and get the word on any record as often as possible, even if it had to be mine. Today I still can’t, in good conscience, say that I disagree with myself. But I admit it was a messy process amidst an insufficient status quo.

Nowadays, I reassure myself about my worst reactions by noticing that this is not a pattern in any other of my relationships. I understand that it’s my responsibility to work through the shakes that making even simple decisions gives me after having my sense of self gutted by being regularly screamed at for being a “stupid, useless little girl that shouldn’t trust my body or judgment”. I wake up every day with a restraining order on my name because the reactive abuse was effective and remind myself in the mirror that I didn’t ‘lose it’; it was taken. Keep your chin up, kid. I tried to take the shame and secrecy out of what was already happening since there was no higher road.

But I still stand in front of judges who’ve heard decimated versions of the saga (but ask zero contextualizing questions) and simply accept the consequences. I go to therapy twice a week, plus domestic violence support groups plus EMDR for the laundry list of intrusive thoughts from the distorted intimacy. I’m resilient and adaptive, and I see leaps and bounds of the hallmarks of health since denying the continuation of this treatment. Every morning, I remember the most bad-ass advice I’ve been given so far: that my best revenge is to prosper.

More importantly, in these therapies, I accept my part, realizing that fawning is manipulative even when rooted in fear, and yes (go figure) I didn’t get enough unconditional love as a child. I was tenuously glued back together when my abuser met me, and he smelled it on me. Since he scapegoated my past for everything, it kept me reluctant to admit that all of these are true. I think it is a good sign that I am even considering my part and how to prevent it in the future. I’m proud to take what’s mine, but I am not strong enough to take it all, nor do I deserve to. I’m not willing to “get on with my life.” I’m actively discontinuing this tradition of complicity.

Suppose our best guess about the root of NPD is stunting around the developmental stage of object permanence (peek-a-boo age). In that case, I defer to all the mothers who contain their toddlers’ outbursts on playgrounds: letting kids live out Godzilla fantasies without repercussion isn’t healthy. It isn’t healthy (or loving) to let a toddler feel entitled to that behavior. It gets murky when the toddler is in an adult body with a credit card and voting rights. By the time they’ve grown into an adult body, it’s far too late.

We need to teach kids this discretion as early as possible before sending them back out onto playgrounds (and workplaces, and sacred contracts of intimacy) where sadistic Godzillas will repeatedly bludgeon them. It is a slippery slope to collectively tell others that it’s now their responsibility to metabolize violence far beyond interpretive doubts. I can live with my sandcastles being swallowed by the tide or stomped on by bullies; I can’t tolerate being assaulted behind the swings and then denied the language to accurately describe what happened.

The perks of constant interconnected global conveniences and entertainment come with a responsibility to exercise this hard-earned discretion, part logic and part intuition. If violence is cyclical, we need to find a way to support the wrenches in the wheel who have first-hand knowledge of how enough has become enough and connect them to developing little minds. We need to intervene because narcissistic traits are running rampant like bullies on playgrounds, except now they exact policy through the offices they hold or through their 200 million Instagram followers that enact their word like Gospel. And with so many networks, most behavior has gone covert.

It will be one of the wildest rides you will ever go on to call out narcissistic behavior, be it individual or institutional. Do so judiciously and take care of yourself during the backlash. Men in uniform will choke on their best attempts at trauma-informed language, gate-keeping your recourse. They may tell you the threats you made against coveted models of cars are more valid than what you endured with your body and psyche. Strangers (who know half the cherry-picked version of what happened) will scream at you in the street. People you’ve known since birth will tell you that “good girls don’t talk about that kind of thing.” Connecting your story to the bigger story will get you shamed (and forget to mention how it can be both). You’ll somehow be simultaneously selfish and at fault for giving too much. You’ll be “over-reactive” when it’s convenient and told your trauma is nothing special if you start making sense. They are shades of the same playbook.

However, it will be a rock-hard reclamation of self and reality. People will vet themselves, and flying monkeys will drop like flies when they know they can’t play you like a violin anymore. Some may say that fighting fire with fire makes the world burn, but we are already burning, and self-defense has long been distinguished from preemptive strike. Sauter it with precision.

Participation in this style of resistance calls for deep discretion. In recovery groups, I spoke with mothers who couldn’t fight back because they had kids they were protecting from their exes. I also interviewed someone who told me they wished they had fought back seventeen years earlier in their marriage to get their abuser to back off. (This account single-handedly helped me start sleeping better amidst the consequences of my body’s reasonable reactions to my ex’s gaslighting and reactive abuse.) If you need to get to safety before you use this hard-earned knowledge to fight a dark societal trend, let that get you up in the morning. Let that guide you to a centered safety one day at a time. We need you. We all need what your body now knows.

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Those days have come to an end.

It is unnatural for a child to reject a loving parent in the absence of abuse, trauma, or neglect.

This simple yet practical behavior was steadfastly rooted in the guilt, grief, and shame that clouds an alienated parent’s mind. Opening oneself to those conversations epitomized a fight or flight trigger – neither of which was a healthy choice. The guilt of tragically losing a child who is still alive but is abused to believe the targeted parent has no value in their life. The grief of the loss – where a loving relationship once stood became emptiness. The shame that somehow the mistakes I had made as a parent had some negative effect on my child’s life led to the death of the parent/child relationship. Then there is the unspoken trauma that burns like midnight oil when I’m trying to sleep – how are others judging me? It is unnatural for a child to reject a loving parent in the absence of abuse, trauma, or neglect.

I suffered for months with the agony that no parent ever expects. Something so foreign and strange. Something irreversible. 

I had known in the past, through a series of actions and behaviors from the alienating parent, that maintaining a solid relationship with my daughter was the most important thing I could foster. I did believe that the bond was unbreakable despite clearly seeing patterns of abuse, parental alienation, and covert narcissism oozing from the alienating parent. This was not slow and progressive like sap from a tree. This narcissistic abuse flowed like a levee breach – inundating all aspects of the narcissist’s life – and everyone in it.

Make no mistake. I am an alienated parent, and I have suffered significant loss. However, I have chosen to use that loss to take action and help as many people in the alienated community as possible—one conversation at a time.

Over the years, I have learned two essential truths:

1. There is absolutely nothing I could have said or done to stop my child from being alienated from me;
2. The only way to live my best life is to discuss the taboo subject it is openly

We must open up and talk about this treacherous family disease. We must remember it is generational and passed down through family systems. Discussing it is the only way it becomes un-taboo and brings it out of the shadows. Our collective voices may not be all healing; however, they serve as a roadmap to find solace within the walls of alienation. We can better ourselves with support, empathy, and camaraderie. A reminder to all alienated parents: YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

On Tuesday, October 1st, 2024, the CPTSD Foundation will launch the PASS Program: Parental Alienation Support Systems. This group will be held on Zoom every Tuesday evening at 6 p.m. EST and is open to any alienated parent (and other family). These meetings will be a forum for all alienated parents to talk a little about their situations, feel less alone and more connected, and focus on strategies for understanding and self-care. We will not provide individual advice – the group is meant to be self-sustaining, fueled by your shares.

Personally, the loss of my daughter doesn’t quite sting as much as the child abuse she has endured for years from narcissistic and child abuse. It’s nothing short of tragic, and sets up another generation of alienation.  

• Tracing the Family Dynamic
• The Necessity of Self-Care
• Exploring Narcissistic Abuse
• Gaslighting
• Trauma-Bonding
• The Loss of a Living Child