What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)

The stories that follow represent experiences many survivors face when navigating relationships affected by trauma. Lucille and Dominique’s journeys aren’t outliers or extremes – they illustrate common patterns that emerge when love becomes entangled with harm. Through their experiences, we can explore the confusion, pain, and ultimately the clarity that comes from understanding love’s true nature amid the fog of trauma.

As you read through these stories and concepts, you may find yourself confronting painful questions: “How did I not see this sooner?” “Am I stupid for loving someone who treats me this way?” “Why do I keep making the same relationship mistakes?” Please know that these thoughts are not only common but an expected part of processing relationship trauma. Later in this article, we’ll explore why intelligent, perceptive people find themselves caught in these patterns and why self-blame isn’t just undeserved—it’s actually part of the trauma itself. If these thoughts arise as you read, try to notice them with gentleness, knowing we’ll address them directly when we explore the grief that comes with recognizing what’s been missing in our relationships.

Lucille’s Choice

Lucille sat on the floor of her new apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes that contained the modest remains of her former life. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across bare walls – walls that held no family photographs, no inherited heirlooms, no visual reminders of where she had come from.

Three months ago, she had made the hardest decision of her life: to move across the country and change her phone number, cutting contact with her family of origin. It wasn’t done in anger or as punishment. It was done because she finally understood that her survival depended on it.

For years, Lucille had battled thoughts of ending her life. Each interaction with her family – the subtle criticisms, the dismissal of her feelings, the explosive arguments followed by pretending nothing had happened – left her feeling hollowed out, worthless, and increasingly convinced that her presence in the world was unnecessary. Therapy had helped her recognize that these weren’t her original dark thoughts but internalized messages planted through years of emotional abuse.

“You just need to be stronger,” her mother would say whenever Lucille tried to discuss her depression. “Everyone has problems. I love you, but you’ve always been too sensitive.”

Before he died, her father’s approach had also been damaging. Though he too regularly told Lucille he loved her, his actions communicated something else entirely. He would walk away whenever emotions entered the conversation, dismiss her accomplishments, and make all her life choices about himself, criticizing anything she did that he felt made him look bad. The stark contrast between his words of love and his acts of rejection created a confusing double-bind that Lucille had spent decades trying to reconcile.

When her father had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, Lucille dropped everything to care for him. She spent months shuttling between hospitals and his home, managing his medications, coordinating with doctors, and sitting beside his bed during long, silent nights. Her siblings visited occasionally, but the daily burden fell to Lucille.

What confused Lucille most was her own reaction to his diagnosis. Despite years of emotional neglect and having essentially given up on ever having a real relationship with him, when she learned about his cancer, she was overcome with panic and terror. She sobbed uncontrollably at the thought of losing him. This panicked devotion felt entirely disconnected from her understanding of their relationship.

Despite his lifelong emotional unavailability, she couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering. Throughout those months, she kept spending her own limited money on things to make his room nicer. She wanted the whole family to come closer and lend emotional support during this hard time. She waited for a shift in what “I love you” felt like. It never came. Her father died as he had lived – emotionally closed. And her family never hugged and cried together, she felt utterly out of place.

Oddly, once he passed, Lucille didn’t really miss her dad. The grief she expected never materialized. This confused her deeply – how could she have felt such desperate attachment at the thought of losing him, yet such numbness once he was gone?

Sometimes, when Lucille questioned whether her parents had ever truly loved her, a particular memory surfaced—one that made it harder to walk away. She was nine, home sick with the flu, curled up on the couch in a ball of fever and chills. Her mother, who usually brushed off illness as weakness, had unexpectedly brought her a bowl of homemade soup and stroked her hair while Lucille drifted in and out of sleep. For that one afternoon, there was no criticism, no tension—just warmth. Lucille had clung to that sliver of tenderness for decades, using it as proof that love had existed, even if it had rarely returned.

After her father’s death, Lucille hoped that perhaps her mother would finally become more emotionally available. She had always believed that her father’s narcissism somehow prevented her mother from showing the warmth and empathy Lucille craved. With him gone, Lucille waited for the mother-daughter relationship she had always wanted.

Instead, her mother’s emotional neglect continued unchanged. When Lucille finally gathered the courage to express her needs directly, her mother responded with dismissal. This final rejection of what seemed like such a reasonable request – to be treated with basic empathy – felt like a betrayal. The subconscious fantasy that had sustained Lucille for years – that her mother was capable of loving her but simply prevented from doing so – collapsed entirely.

Lucille had tried casual distancing with her remaining family. She had tried limited contact. She had tried explaining how their behaviors affected her. They would respond by insisting they loved her, but nothing changed, except that her resolve to stay alive grew more tenuous with each attempt at connection.

So she left. Not with a dramatic announcement, but quietly, as if stepping backward out of a room where no one had noticed her presence anyway.

Now, as she unpacked her sparse belongings in this new space, Lucille realized something unexpected. The crushing weight she had carried for so long had begun to lift. She slept through the night. The constant knot in her stomach had eased. Most surprising of all, she didn’t miss them. She had anticipated grief, guilt, longing – but what she felt instead was relief. Freedom. Space to breathe.

And this confused her deeply. If she loved her family – and surely she must love them, they were her family after all – shouldn’t she miss them? Shouldn’t their absence feel like a wound rather than a healing? If she could feel this peaceful away from them, had she ever truly loved them at all? Or was the fierce protectiveness she had always felt toward them, the desperate hope that they would change, the willingness to endure their mistreatment just to remain connected – was that something else entirely?

As she reflected, Lucille realized she had already been grieving her family for decades – grieving the relationships she had always wanted but never had, grieving the support and love that never materialized. The grief had started long before she physically left.

Even now, in her moments of peace, bitter memories would occasionally ambush her – her brother mocking her teenage poetry, her father saying “I love you, princess” while turning away when she tried to hug him, her mother ignoring her tears. Each memory triggered physical symptoms – racing heart, tight chest, the urge to hide. Her therapist had explained these as symptoms of complex trauma, remnants of a nervous system still responding to dangers no longer present.

Her mother had reached out through mutual connections, expressing profound hurt at Lucille’s decision to cut contact. “Why did you leave me? I miss you. I’ve always loved you more than anything,” she had said, words that triggered waves of guilt and confusion in Lucille. Was she wrong to protect herself? Was her mother’s pain more important than her own survival?

It had been three weeks since any fleeting thoughts of not wanting to be alive had drifted through her mind, a vast improvement. As Lucille placed a small plant on her windowsill – the first living thing she had ever felt confident she could nurture – she wondered: What exactly is love, anyway? And can we love someone we cannot safely remain connected to?

Dominique’s Boundary

Dominique stood in the center of what was now her room, a small utility room she had transformed into a sanctuary. The walls were freshly painted in soft blue, a color her husband disliked. Books she loved filled the bookshelf. A comfortable single bed replaced the air mattress she’d been sleeping on for the past two weeks.

Ten years into her marriage, Dominique had discovered her husband’s secret porn habit. While devastated, she had committed to working through it together. He had promised to stop, and as far as she could tell, he had kept that promise. But three years later, she discovered something worse – while there had been no physical affair, her husband had maintained inappropriate emotional relationships with several women, flirting, sharing private marital struggles, and seeking validation outside their marriage. When confronted, he dismissed her concerns, insisting she was trying to control him and “overreacting.”

This pattern of dismissal was nothing new. Throughout their marriage, Dominique had consistently found herself at the bottom of her husband’s priority list. He never missed his weekly basketball game with friends, but frequently forgot commitments he’d made to her. He remembered his mother’s favorite flowers but couldn’t recall Dominique’s birthday without a reminder. He would stay late at work to help a coworker but rarely offered the same support to her. In the early years, before the erosion began, he used to write her notes and make her laugh until she cried. That version of him felt like a dream she had once believed with all her heart.

What made all of this especially painful was that Dominique had chosen to save herself for marriage. Her decision to wait for physical intimacy had been deeply important to her. Yet within the first week after their wedding, her husband began turning down her advances. This profound rejection, followed by his years of sexual disinterest while maintaining a secret porn habit, left her questioning her identity as a woman and feeling fundamentally undesirable.

For years, Dominique had silenced the alarm bells in her body – the tightness in her chest when he was nicer to the female server than he ever was to her, the nausea when he dismissed her feelings, the exhaustion from constantly wondering when the next wrecking ball would hit. She had convinced herself that marriage required sacrifice, that her discomfort was the price of keeping her family intact. Somewhere along the way, she had mistaken endurance for virtue.

Periodically, only after Dominique took action to distance herself, her husband would seem to recognize the damage his behavior caused. He would apologize, promise to change, and show genuine improvement for weeks or even months. During these periods, he would be attentive, communicative, and seemingly committed to rebuilding their connection. Each time, Dominique would cautiously hope that this change would last. And each time, once she had emotionally reinvested in the relationship, he would gradually return to his old patterns, as if maintaining healthy connection required too much effort to sustain.

With two young children and no independent income, leaving seemed impossible. After a particularly painful argument – where her husband had once again shown complete disregard for her emotional safety – something in Dominique shifted. She didn’t have the resources to leave the house, but she could leave the bedroom. She could create a boundary, a space where she didn’t have to pretend.

On her first night in the new bedroom, Dominique had expected to feel sad, to mourn the loss of the marriage she had wanted. Instead, she felt an unexpected lightness, almost giddiness. The relief of not having to sleep next to someone unsafe, of not having to wake up with a feeling of dread seeing him there – it was overwhelming. For the first time in years, she felt free.

In the weeks that followed, Dominique and her husband established a careful choreography of co-parenting. They shared meals with the children, coordinated schedules, maintained the appearance of family unity. But beyond these necessary interactions, they rarely spoke. Her husband, who was taking her warnings seriously for the first time, occasionally attempted to discuss “fixing” their marriage, insisting he loved her and wanted to make things work. Dominique would simply respond, “What you did wasn’t love. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me for our entire relationship.”

Since their in-home separation, her husband had begun therapy, stopped his emotionally unfaithful behaviors, and was working on healthier communication styles. He seemed genuinely committed to change, though still very limited in his understanding. Yet despite these improvements, Dominique felt no return of warmth toward him. Her nervous system remained on high alert in his presence; her body remembered the years of emotional abandonment even as her mind acknowledged his efforts.

The strangest part for Dominique was that even with these changes, even wondering if she could eventually have financial independence if she returned to work once the children were older, she couldn’t imagine actually divorcing him. The thought of being the only two people left in the house after the children eventually moved out felt like a crisis, yet she couldn’t picture taking the final step to legal separation. This confused and frustrated her – why couldn’t she leave, even in her imagination? What invisible force held her in this relationship when all warmth and connection had died?

Sometimes Dominique worried that she had lost the capacity for romantic love entirely. The thought of physical intimacy – with her husband or anyone else – left her cold. Was this a temporary protective shutdown, or a permanent change? Had the years of emotional neglect and betrayal fundamentally altered her ability to connect?

Like Lucille, Dominique realized she had already been grieving her marriage long before learning about her husband’s secrets – grieving the partner she had thought she married, grieving the future she had imagined, grieving how she’d been mistreated, grieving the person she had been before repeated betrayals had taught her to expect pain from closeness and made her put up walls.

And like Lucille, she experienced unexpected moments of bitterness – rage at the years she had wasted trying to earn love from someone refusing to give it, sorrow for the younger self who had accepted so little while giving so much. These emotions would arrive without warning, bringing with them physical symptoms – headaches, digestive issues, overwhelming fatigue, panic attacks – that her therapist identified as manifestations of trauma stored in her body.

As she arranged her new space, placing framed photos of her children and herself (but none of her husband) on the dresser, Dominique wondered: Was what she and her husband had over the years ever love? And if not, what was it? And what would happen to this family once the children were grown?

What Is Love?

Love is perhaps the most discussed yet least understood human experience. We speak of it as an emotion, a choice, an action, a bond, and a commitment – sometimes all at once. To build a meaningful understanding of love, particularly when examining it through the lens of trauma and healing, we need to consider both its behavioral expressions and its felt experience.

At its core, love is a combination of genuine care for another’s wellbeing coupled with consistent actions that demonstrate that care. However, how this care is expressed may vary significantly based on neurological differences.

True love manifests through:

• Consistent kindness and compassion toward the other person
• Deep respect for their autonomy, thoughts, and feelings
• Active support during both their triumphs and struggles
• Understanding that accepts imperfection without enabling harm
• Reliability that builds trust and safety

Bell Hooks in her book All About Love eloquently defined love as “a willingness to extend ourselves for the spiritual growth of others.” While profound, this definition may seem abstract to those seeking practical understanding. We might expand this to say that love is the ongoing commitment to support another’s fullest, healthiest self-expression and development, while respecting their autonomy and honoring our own boundaries and wellbeing.

Neurodivergent Expressions of Love: Different, Not Deficient

When discussing authentic love, it’s crucial to recognize that neurodivergent individuals (those with autism, ADHD, sensory processing differences, etc.) may express love in ways that don’t align with neurotypical expectations. These differences don’t indicate an absence of love or attachment, but rather reflect fundamental neurological variations in how connection is experienced and expressed.

How Neurodivergent Love May Look Different

Communication Styles: An autistic partner might express love through detailed information-sharing about special interests rather than conventional romantic gestures. They may demonstrate deep care by solving practical problems or creating systems that support your wellbeing, rather than through words of affirmation or physical touch.

Emotional Processing: Neurodivergent individuals may process emotions differently—sometimes experiencing them more intensely, less intensely, or with delayed recognition. A partner with alexithymia (difficulty identifying emotions) might deeply love you while struggling to articulate those feelings in ways you immediately recognize.

Sensory Considerations: For those with sensory sensitivities, traditional expressions of love like sustained eye contact, certain types of physical touch, or crowded social gatherings might be genuinely distressing—even when desire for connection is strong. Their avoidance isn’t rejection but self-regulation.

Executive Function Impact: Someone with ADHD might forget anniversaries or struggle with consistent check-ins not from lack of care, but from differences in time perception and executive functioning. Their love might appear in bursts of hyperfocus and enthusiastic connection rather than steady, predictable patterns.

Distinguishing Difference from Harm

The key distinction: neurodivergent expressions of love may look different, but they should never be consistently harmful. Mutual respect, basic consideration, and willingness to understand each other remain essential regardless of neurotype.

When a neurodivergent person loves you, they may:

• Need explicit communication about your needs rather than picking up subtle cues
• Show care through unconventional but meaningful gestures
• Require accommodations for sensory or executive functioning differences
• Express love more directly or literally than you expect

However, neurodivergence never excuses:

• Consistent emotional neglect or dismissal of your feelings
• Refusal to acknowledge impact regardless of intent
• Unwillingness to work together on mutually satisfying compromises
• Using diagnosis as a shield against accountability

Building Bridges of Understanding

For neurotypical-neurodivergent relationships to thrive, both partners need:

• Explicit communication about needs and expressions of care
• Willingness to translate across neurological differences
• Recognition that different doesn’t mean deficient
• Respect for neurodivergent boundaries and accommodations

For readers questioning whether differences in love expression reflect neurodivergence or genuine emotional unavailability, consider: Does this person demonstrate consistent care in their own way, even if it’s not your preferred style? Are they willing to discuss these differences with openness rather than defensiveness? Do they acknowledge impact even when intent was different? The answers help distinguish between neurological differences and truly harmful patterns.

Love, in its healthiest form, is never one of submission, self-erasure, or suffering. True love cannot coexist with patterns of abuse, control, or disrespect. This fundamental truth forms the foundation for the questions we’ll explore throughout this article.

Understanding the Person Who Cannot Love: It’s Not About You

The Gap Between Knowing and Feeling

While intellectually understanding “it’s not about me” can provide relief, your body may still react as if you’re the problem—flooded with shame, self-doubt, or the urge to become “enough” to earn love. This disconnect between mind and body is normal when healing from relational trauma.

As you read, notice if your body tenses, if thoughts like “but in my case, it really was my fault” arise, or if you feel compelled to defend the person who hurt you. These responses don’t mean the information is wrong—they signal your nervous system is processing truths that challenge deep survival beliefs. Healing begins when we hold both the intellectual truth and the body’s protective reactions with compassion.

Why Some People Cannot Love Authentically

Most people are born with the capacity for love, seeking connection instinctively. Under healthy conditions, secure attachment forms through consistent, attuned caregiving, creating a blueprint for future relationships.

Yet this innate capacity can be profoundly disrupted by:

1. Childhood Attachment Wounds
   When early needs for safety, attunement, or validation go unmet, the ability to form secure bonds fractures. A person who never received consistent love struggles to give what they’ve never known. Their relational template organizes around survival rather than mutual care.
2. Survival Adaptations
   Harmful behaviors often begin as creative childhood strategies. Emotional withdrawal, control, or manipulation may have once shielded them from overwhelm or danger. These adaptations become automatic, operating far below consciousness.
3. Intergenerational Trauma
   Patterns of neglect, abuse, or dysfunction often pass through generations like an invisible inheritance. Epigenetic research and attachment studies show how relational behaviors and stress responses are unconsciously replicated, even when they cause harm.
4. Developmental Trauma
   Trauma during critical developmental stages can alter brain structures governing empathy, emotional regulation, and connection. This may impair their ability to read emotions, regulate stress, or maintain consistent presence.
5. Personality Structure
   Some develop psychological frameworks (e.g., narcissistic or borderline patterns) organized around protecting a fragile sense of self. Their entire system avoids vulnerability—the cornerstone of authentic love. While these patterns are deeply entrenched, some individuals, particularly those who commit to long-term therapy, can develop a limited capacity for reciprocity over time. Their limitations don’t reflect a conscious choice but a psychological system that makes genuine connection feel threatening.

In rare cases, genetic predispositions combined with severe early trauma may result in an almost absent capacity for empathy or attachment, as seen in some antisocial traits. These extremes highlight that love’s absence isn’t always about you—or even something the other person can fully control.

The Nuance of “Self-Love First”

The adage “you can’t love others until you love yourself” contains partial truth but oversimplifies. While self-worth fosters healthier relationships, love isn’t just a choice or self-improvement project. It emerges from biology, early experiences, culture, and relational history.

The person who cannot love you authentically isn’t merely “choosing not to love themselves.” They may be trapped in attachment wounds, nervous system dysregulation, or personality structures that render vulnerability intolerable. That said, rebuilding your own self-worth remains essential—not to change the other person, but to break cycles of tolerating inadequate love.

What This Understanding Offers You

1. Freedom from the Impossible Task
   Recognizing their limitations stem from factors beyond their (or your) control liberates you from the fantasy that “if I just try harder, they’ll change.” You’re released from a mission that was never yours.
2. Compassion Without Compromise
   Understanding their wounds allows compassion—without confusing it with permission. You can think, “This person acts from unhealed trauma,” while affirming, “I deserve relationships that don’t demand my self-abandonment.” Healthy boundaries aren’t punishment; they prevent further harm to both parties.
3. Breaking Trauma Bonds
   Intermittent reinforcement—cycles of idealization and devaluation—can create addictive emotional hooks. Understanding the other person’s limitations can help you recognize that the “good times” aren’t evidence of potential for consistent love, but rather part of a pattern driven by the person’s own attachment needs. Seeing these patterns helps you disrupt their pull and choose relationships grounded in consistency, not familiarity with pain.

The Line Between Understanding and Enabling

A trauma history explains behavior but never excuses it. Compassion for someone’s wounds doesn’t require tolerating harm. In fact, boundaries with those incapable of authentic love may be the most compassionate act—for yourself and them.

Their inability to love reflects their limitations, not your worth. You can grieve the wounded child they were while refusing to be harmed by the adult they’ve become.

Remember: Their deficits were never about you. Your worthiness of love is immutable, regardless of another’s capacity to recognize it.

When Attachment Isn’t Love: Understanding Trauma Bonds

The Biology of Trauma Bonds and Fantasy Attachments

One of the most confusing aspects of recovering from relationship trauma is reconciling the intense feelings we have for those who have harmed us. Many survivors describe feeling desperately attached to those who hurt them – experiencing anxiety when separated, relief when reunited, and persistent hope that things will improve despite evidence to the contrary.

Trauma bonding occurs when a powerful emotional attachment forms through repeated cycles of abuse, tension, and reward. This happens on a biological level – when an abuser unpredictably alternates between cruelty and kindness, it triggers the brain’s survival mechanisms and addiction pathways. The resulting biochemical response creates feelings that can be more intense than typical romantic or familial love.

This biological reaction involves several key processes:

• Stress hormones and pleasure chemicals create powerful emotional highs and lows
• The body’s natural pain/pleasure system becomes dysregulated, creating addiction-like patterns
• The primitive attachment system, designed to keep us connected to essential caregivers for survival, overrides our logical assessment of danger

For someone like Dominique, her husband’s occasional moments of attentiveness after long periods of neglect created exactly this kind of emotional rollercoaster. Each improvement triggered hope, flooding her system with relief and reinforcing her attachment despite the overall pattern of emotional abandonment.

Many survivors describe their trauma bonds as the most powerful “love” they’ve ever felt. These feelings are real and overwhelming, but there’s a critical distinction: trauma bonds are rooted in survival responses, not authentic love. They revolve around relieving anxiety and pain rather than mutual growth and joy. They create dependency rather than healthy connection. And they feature dramatic highs and devastating lows rather than consistent safety and respect.

Often what keeps someone in a harmful relationship isn’t love for the person as they actually are, but attachment to who they could potentially become. This “fantasy bond” involves loving a fictional future version of the person rather than accepting the reality before us.

Dominique wasn’t in love with her husband as he was – chronically dishonest and emotionally withholding. She was in love with who he had pretended to be (who she believed was the “real” him) in the beginning, and who he could be again if he overcame these tendencies and went back to his “real” self. Each small improvement reinforced this fantasy, keeping her invested in a future that never fully arrived.

Lucille experienced a similar pattern with her mother. After her father’s death, she clung to the fantasy that her mother would finally become emotionally available. When this didn’t happen, Lucille felt not just disappointed but betrayed – as if a promise had been broken, though no such promise had ever been made except in her own mind.

When survivors finally accept that this potential version of their loved one may never exist, they experience grief – not just for the relationship, but for the death of a dream they’ve held onto, sometimes for decades.

Love vs. Trauma Bond: How to Tell the Difference

The Existential Search for Love’s Logic

Beyond the biological mechanisms of trauma bonding lies an even deeper existential drive. When someone who should love us fails to do so consistently, we often find ourselves returning to check if love has finally appeared—not just from emotional need, but from a profound desire to make the world make sense.

This impulse operates below conscious thought, arising from our instinctive understanding that being properly loved is the natural order of things. The mind struggles to accept a reality where this fundamental need remains unmet by those designed to fulfill it.

It’s like desperately craving a hug from the person who just punched you—a paradoxical yearning that defies logic but speaks to our soul’s deep need for coherence. This creates a reflexive pattern where, even after painful interactions that logically should push us away, survivors experience an overwhelming urge to reconnect—as if drawn by gravity to repair the tear in the fabric of how relationships should work.

This isn’t merely attachment seeking security; it’s the human spirit seeking coherence in a situation that fundamentally violates our deepest understanding of how the world should function.

The Protective Shutdown: When Your Body Says “Enough”

Both Lucille and Dominique experienced moments of emotional detachment – periods when they felt numb or even disgusted toward people they had once deeply cared about. This numbing isn’t a character flaw or evidence of coldness; it’s a protective mechanism deployed by an overwhelmed nervous system.

Emotional numbness is your body’s way of protecting you from repeated emotional injury. When you’ve been hurt too many times in a relationship, your nervous system essentially “powers down” emotional receptivity to prevent further damage. This protective shutdown often involves the dorsal vagal response – a primitive survival strategy that conserves resources when fighting or fleeing isn’t possible.

Signs of this protective shutdown may include:

• Feeling emotionally “flat” or numb
• Physical distance (avoiding touch or proximity)
• Cognitive distance (difficulty remembering positive aspects of the relationship)
• Dissociation (feeling detached from your own emotions or body)
• Disgust or aversion toward the person who caused harm

For Dominique, her aversion to physical intimacy represented this kind of protective mechanism; her body wisely refused to remain vulnerable with someone who had repeatedly proven unsafe with her heart.

Rather than seeing this as “falling out of love,” we might understand it as the protective wisdom of a body and heart that value survival over harmful attachment. This emotional detachment represents the natural boundary that love requires to sustain itself. Just as our physical pain response prevents us from keeping our hand on a hot stove, emotional detachment prevents us from continuing to invest in connections that consistently cause harm.

For some survivors like Lucille, suicidal thoughts can emerge as the ultimate form of protective shutdown. In therapeutic approaches like Internal Family Systems (IFS), these thoughts are understood not as self-destructive impulses but as desperate attempts by protective parts of the self to end unbearable emotional pain when no other escape seems possible. These parts believe they’re helping—trying to protect the person from continued suffering when all other coping mechanisms have been overwhelmed. Recognizing these thoughts as misguided protection rather than character flaws can reduce shame and create space for healing. When Lucille’s suicidal ideation decreased after establishing physical distance from her family, it demonstrated how creating external safety can reduce the need for these extreme internal protective measures.

When Your Mind and Body Are on Different Timelines

For many survivors like Dominique, a confusing disconnect emerges between intellectual understanding and bodily response. Her mind had already cataloged her husband’s betrayals and recognized the relationship as harmful—yet something kept her physically unable to take decisive action toward divorce.

This mind-body gap creates profound confusion. “If I know this relationship is damaging me, why can’t I just leave?” survivors often wonder. “Am I weak? Do I secretly want to stay? Is something wrong with me?”

This mismatch isn’t weakness or contradiction—it’s your nervous system working exactly as designed. Your cognitive brain can process information and reach conclusions rapidly through conscious thought. Your body, however, changes more gradually, through lived experience rather than intellectual insight.

Dominique’s conscious mind understood her marriage was unhealthy, but her nervous system—shaped by years of intermittent reinforcement and trauma bonding—remained physiologically tethered to the relationship. Her body remembered both the pain and the occasional relief of connection, creating a complex web of neurological and hormonal responses that couldn’t be dismantled through reasoning alone.

This gap explains why many survivors experience the frustrating cycle of “knowing better” while feeling unable to act on that knowledge. You might intellectually recognize a relationship as harmful on Monday, yet find yourself deeply longing for that same person on Tuesday—not because your assessment was wrong, but because your body is processing change at its own necessary pace.

Healing this disconnect requires patience with your body’s timeline. Rather than forcing action before your nervous system is ready (which often leads to return cycles), focus on gradually building safety signals that allow your body to catch up with your mind. Small, consistent steps toward safety—like Dominique creating her separate bedroom—often prove more sustainable than dramatic gestures that overwhelm your system’s capacity to integrate change.

Harmful vs. Abusive: Understanding the Spectrum of Relational Harm

Relational harm exists on a spectrum – from consciously abusive to unintentionally harmful. While both can damage your wellbeing, understanding where someone falls can help determine whether reconciliation is possible or whether distance is safest. Many survivors struggle to categorize relationships that cause pain but don’t fit clear definitions of abuse. Is Lucille’s mother who failed to protect her from her father’s emotional neglect “abusive,” or simply “harmful”? Is Dominique’s husband who betrayed her trust repeatedly but shows a measure of remorse “abusive” or just deeply flawed? Does intention matter when the impact damages your wellbeing either way?

While impact ultimately matters more than intent, understanding these distinctions can help you navigate complex relationships and determine appropriate boundaries. Consider these differences:

Signs a person may be engaging in abuse:

• Pattern of control and domination (limiting your autonomy, monitoring behavior)
• Consistent disregard for your boundaries after they’ve been clearly communicated
• Calculated manipulation, including intermittent reinforcement to keep you attached
• Emotional punishment when you assert independence or challenge their behavior
• Denies harmful behavior even when presented with clear evidence
• Shows dramatically different behavior in public versus private
• Creates isolation from potential support systems
• Blames you for their harmful actions (“you made me do this”)
• Shows minimal genuine remorse that translates into sustained behavior change
• Uses threats (explicit or implied) to maintain compliance

Signs someone may be harmful without being intentionally abusive:

• Causes harm through passivity or avoidance rather than active control
• Shows genuine remorse and temporary improvement when confronted
• Their harmful patterns often mirror their own unhealed trauma
• Lacks emotional skills rather than deliberately manipulating
• Behavior is more consistent across different relationships and contexts
• May show real confusion or distress when told they’ve caused harm
• Has moments of genuine empathy and connection, though inconsistent
• Harmful behavior often emerges from overwhelm, fear, or limited capacity rather than from desire for control
• May accept boundaries once they truly understand them, though they might struggle to maintain this acceptance under pressure

Questions to help you reflect on your specific situation:

1. Does this person show different sides to different people, or are they consistently flawed?
2. When they hurt you, do they seem satisfied or distressed by your pain?
3. Have they shown capacity for change in other areas of their life?
4. Do you generally feel controlled by them, or disappointed by their limitations?
5. If they had more awareness and skills, do you believe they would choose to treat you better?
6. When they do show improvement, does it seem strategic or genuine?
7. Do they seem invested in your growth and independence, even if they struggle to support it?
8. When they apologize, is it focused on your pain or their justification?
9. Do you find yourself constantly researching their behavior to understand it?

Remember that these distinctions aren’t about excusing harmful behavior, but about helping you understand what you’re dealing with. Even well-intentioned harm can necessitate strong boundaries. The key difference is that relationships with non-abusive but harmful people may have potential for change if the person commits to sustained work with appropriate professional help and sincere effort, while relationships with truly abusive individuals rarely improve sustainably without profound intervention and change.

Your nervous system will often signal the difference before your conscious mind recognizes it. Trust that wisdom—it’s trying to keep you safe. When harm persists despite awareness, even well-intentioned relationships can leave us emotionally numb – a protective response we’ll explore next.

Affirmation: Understanding someone’s harmful behavior doesn’t mean I must endure it. My boundaries protect, not punish.

The Heartbreak of Growing Numb: When You Still Want to Love Someone Who Hurts You

Perhaps one of the most painful experiences for survivors is the disconnect between their hopes and their nervous system’s protective responses. This is especially acute when dealing with people who may not consciously intend harm but repeatedly fail to provide safety—particularly aging parents or long-term partners who seem to understand in some moments yet continue patterns that cause pain.

Many survivors face relationships where the harm isn’t constant or obviously malicious, but occurs in patterns of:

Inconsistent protection – Like a parent who acknowledges your pain in private but won’t stand up for you when it matters, saying they “don’t want to get involved” in conflicts between their children, even when one child clearly harms the other

Moments of genuine connection followed by devastating betrayals – Such as when a parent sincerely validates your experience and promises change, only to revert to harmful patterns when pressured by others

Passive enabling – When someone doesn’t directly hurt you but consistently allows others to do so, perhaps due to their own fears, dependency needs, or conflict avoidance

Selective awareness – When someone seems to genuinely understand in some contexts but becomes conveniently “unable to see” the problem in situations where protecting you would come at personal cost

These unpredictable patterns – where hope and harm alternate – create a special kind of pain because they offer just enough hope to keep you invested while repeatedly demonstrating that the person cannot or will not provide consistent safety. Your nervous system registers this inconsistency not as “sometimes safe” but as “fundamentally unpredictable”—a state that often triggers stronger protective responses than consistent harm.

When someone is unpredictable—loving one moment, hurtful the next—our nervous system doesn’t know how to respond. If a situation is always dangerous, our brain can adapt with clear survival strategies. But when the danger comes and goes without warning, we’re forced to stay on high alert all the time, never sure what’s coming next.

This kind of inconsistency creates deep confusion in our bodies and minds. It’s what trauma experts call disorganized attachment—a painful inner tug-of-war where we’re wired to turn to someone for safety, while also sensing that person might be a source of harm. It’s a no-win situation that leaves us stuck in a constant state of stress.

Imagine living in a house where the floor could give way at any time. Even when things seem calm, you can’t truly relax. That’s what it feels like to be close to someone whose love isn’t safe. Over time, this nonstop vigilance can be even more damaging than being in a situation that’s always hurtful—because at least in predictable pain, your brain knows when to brace itself. With unpredictable harm, there’s no off switch.

Many survivors express this heartbreaking dilemma: “I know they sometimes try. I see them understand in certain moments. I want to feel warmth and compassion toward them, especially knowing they won’t be around forever—but my body won’t let me. Instead, I feel dread, obligation, and guilt about these reactions. Why can’t I override this? Am I broken?”

This gap—between the compassion you wish to feel and the protective numbness your body imposes—creates a special kind of grief. This is a double grief: mourning the love and safety you deserved but never received, and the love you long to give but cannot safely express. It’s okay to ache for both.

This emotional numbing isn’t a moral failing or character flaw. It’s your body’s wisdom asserting boundaries that your conscious mind—influenced by cultural expectations, guilt, or genuine compassion for the other person’s struggles—might not be ready to establish. Your nervous system has reached its limit for absorbing harm while maintaining connection, even when your mind understands the reasons behind the harmful behavior. This numbness isn’t indifference—it’s often the aftermath of prolonged emotional strain. Think of it as your heart’s ‘calluses’ after years of walking barefoot over gravel.

Many survivors find themselves in an impossible bind: maintaining contact damages their wellbeing, yet distance triggers guilt and grief, especially with aging family members. The thought, ‘They’ll be gone soon, and then I’ll regret not trying harder,’ often overlooks a harder truth: you’ve likely been trying for decades. Healing isn’t about giving up—it’s about redirecting your care in ways that don’t demand your own destruction.

If you’re experiencing this disconnect, consider:

• Your emotional numbing doesn’t negate your compassion; it exists alongside it
• You can hold awareness of someone’s limitations and good intentions while still honoring your body’s need for protection
• The guilt you feel often comes from cultural messages that prioritize others’ needs above your survival
• It’s possible to wish someone well from a distance that protects your nervous system
• Healing may eventually allow you to feel compassion without the overwhelming need for protection, but this healing requires safety first

Remember that your nervous system’s protective responses developed for good reason. Rather than fighting against this numbness or judging yourself for it, you might view it as valuable information about what you’ve endured and what you need now to heal. Sometimes the most compassionate choice—both for yourself and ultimately for the other person—is to honor these protective responses while finding ways to express your values that don’t require continued exposure to harm.

Your numbness isn’t a wall—it’s a bridge. It carries you toward a future where compassion won’t require self-abandonment, and where love won’t demand your silence.

Affirmation: My body’s protective responses are wise, not cold. This numbness is keeping me safe, not making me heartless.

Read the rest of this article in the first book of Ellen’s series “There’s A Word for That”: https://a.co/d/0fA4uGN6

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

Photo Credit: Author, Substack

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

Having grown up in Texas, Christianity was the only belief system I knew, so I found the dusty Bible in the back of my closet and opened it. I was soon filled with a deep love for my faith and started researching more and more about my God. I found a profound sense of hope in believing that there was more to life than the suffering I knew and that there was a better world awaiting me. 

I went to college in a state that was far from my hometown and where I had no family. Finding that adjustment hard, I found a ministry on campus to meet new people. Everyone was welcoming, and we played all sorts of fun games each week and went on camping retreats every semester.

Without even realizing that what was happening wasn’t a healthy way of worship

With time, I desired a deeper understanding of the Bible, so I branched out of the ministry and started church-hopping around the city with my friends from the ministry. Seasons changed, and my friends started getting married and going their own ways out of state until I ended up on my own. Ultimately, my desire to find a strong faith led me to end up at a few different churches that were abusive and controlling, and I ended up enduring about six years of religious abuse at different churches without even realizing that what was happening wasn’t a healthy way of worship. At the time, I didn’t realize that even in religious communities, we must exercise caution with the people we put our hearts out to. When I was fed up with the bad experiences at one church, I didn’t give up on my search for meaning and continued to another church, putting my heart out there repeatedly. In retrospect, my vulnerability was too easy to spot, and people took advantage of that. I trusted that the leaders and other church members “knew more” than I did due to their credentials (many of them had doctorates in theology) and had the answers to life that I was so desperately seeking. So, I blindly followed them, never questioning their motives. (However, their doctrines and denominations all disagreed with each other and argued with each other, believing that their doctrines and congregation members were “superior” to the others, even though they were all Christians, which only heightened my confusion.) 

Developing Religious OCD and Living in Fear

Looking back, my experiences at those churches were very intense. What I endured was so extreme that I started to have religious OCD, where I compulsively began to recite Bible verses I memorized and prayers of repentance, continuously asking God to forgive me for how “awful” I was. My mind was constantly racing, believing that almost everything I did, said, and thought was sinful and that any ounce of joy I experienced from God was “grace” since I was such a horrible person. My apartment counter was filled with stacks of notebook paper with all the verses I repetitively wrote out to memorize so that I could recite them in my head whenever I felt the need to repent throughout my day. I had numerous chapters of the Bible memorized, mostly ones on forgiveness and sin, because I thought that to appease God and avoid eternal damnation, I had to be completely forgiven for how awful I was, and I thought the people in my life who thought negatively of me had to forgive me for the “sins” I committed against them (I use “sins” in quotes because, in all these situations that I thought I was the one in the wrong, I was actually the victim). Being involved in these places also made me adopt even more self-guilt and blame than was already present from all the trauma I had endured, and I started to believe that the things I experienced in these religious communities were some form of punishment for who I was and that I deserved to be punished by God. I started to believe that maybe God didn’t really love me and that I needed to spend my time “working off” my sins and changing all the things about me that were “wrong.” All these thoughts were swirling in my head at a hundred miles per hour each day as I dealt with full-time work and school, making life and focusing on my personal goals even more difficult. 

After years of believing that these religious people were there to help me heal, I realized that was the last thing they wanted to do. They didn’t actually love me or care about my well-being. They were trying to control and manipulate me. They were trying to strip away my true essence, tell me I was never good enough, and “save my soul.” They just wanted to believe that they “saved” (who they thought) was a horrible, wretched person from her sinful ways and force her into the person that their God truly desired her to be. They told me I had to memorize this, read that, pray this way, give away my hard-earned money, throw out my closet, and buy the clothes they wanted me to wear. They even told me that, because I was a woman, I had to shut up and couldn’t open my mouth to ask my pastor any questions I had about the Bible.

I cried for over a week after a 60-year-old married man told me I was “temptation” for him, believing that was my fault and that I still wasn’t “covered up” enough. In these environments, my duty was to sit in the back of the building, look pretty, shut my mouth, and donate my money. Otherwise, I wasn’t good enough for God, and I wouldn’t make it into heaven. These things I mention are just the tip of a traumatic iceberg that I still hold tightly within me, among other traumas that have not left my lips.  

They did a fantastic job at convincing me of how awful I was and that I needed to change literally everything about myself. I needed to find my voice again. I needed to find God’s voice, too. I’m not even sure if there is a God anymore. If there is a God, I can’t picture that God as a kind, loving God. I can only picture the vengeful God of the Old Testament, ready to smite down an entire people for the smallest sin. The God these people taught me about is not a God I can worship. 

Not All Religious People Are Safe People

It’s a common myth that only weak people fall victim to religious abuse. Many doctors, lawyers, and well-educated people in the world congregated next to me and did the same things we were all told to do to gain admission to heaven. The psychological tactics are designed to terrify and control people. It’s unfortunate that some people in religious power prey on people desperately seeking answers and purpose. Looking back, I was convinced that they had the answers and the true path to heaven. I can’t believe how many years I spent terrified that God would throw me into hell because I wasn’t meeting these people’s man-made standards. 

I doubt I would have ended up in these situations if I hadn’t been a severe trauma victim. It was difficult for me to see the red flags at the time because I was desperately seeking a deeper meaning to life and an understanding of God. I don’t understand the motivation they had to control their vulnerable victims, but we were probably the only things in their lives that they could control, and they took the opportunity to do so. While their followers groveled at their feet for God’s forgiveness, they lived in a bubble, reminding themselves that they were above everyone else, immune to the very things they criticized. Through all of this, all the old wounds from my past trauma were wrenched wide open again, and I was living in a dystopian world, thinking that the big man in the sky hated my guts.

My heart hurts for other survivors of religious abuse. My heart hurts for those who think that they’re completely awful because of what “religious” people have said or done to them. 

It Only Made Me Stronger

I am slowly returning to my core self, and I will be stronger once I fully discard those old belief patterns. I’ve completely dissociated from many of those years and have no recollection of so many memories due to that dissociation. I no longer feel the need to try and change myself to please people who will never be pleased, and if people are hateful or make me uncomfortable, then they don’t belong in my life. If they want to judge me as a sinner, think I’m going to hell, or believe that their God smiles more favorably on them, then so be it. Their arrogance no longer intimidates me, it just saddens me. As if anyone has the right to decide who is worthy of God’s love and who isn’t. That’s not the kind of religious life that I want to live. And I know that’s not how the Jesus they claim to love lived either. I believe the stories of Christ found in the Bible are very beautiful and powerful, but it’s unfortunate that so many that claim to represent the love of Christ are incredibly hateful and spend their time trying to indoctrinate other people into adopting their same arrogance while being financially compensated to do so. I do not believe all Christians are bad people; I surround myself with many Christians who are the most loving people I have ever met. But what I realized for myself was that the Christians I was around all those years only loved me when I was conforming to their standards, donating my money, and submitting to their ruthless control.

I still believe spirituality can heal many people, and it is up to them to believe in what they choose. I do not judge another person for what they choose as long as they are a good person and do not use their religious beliefs to hurt or control others. My faith looks very different from what it previously did and is much healthier. From now on, I will pursue a spiritual life that works for me and does not keep me terrified, anxious, and judgmental of others. I will pursue a personal spirituality that does not take away from my core self, which enriches those who love me. I enjoy having conversations with people of all faiths to learn more about the world and understand how their faith helps them. I admire people who have a strong spirituality for themselves and do not allow the opinions, actions, or beliefs of others to affect their own beliefs. I also don’t judge others who choose not to believe in any higher power and find other ways to manage life in this tough world. Everyone is on their own timetable, and it’s unfortunate that many people judge others through the prism of their unbending sense of belief. While everyone has biases, we need to remember that everyone has a story and reasons as to why they have certain beliefs, and there is no way for one human being to understand another human being’s full story.

“Live and let live” is a philosophy that makes life much easier. It took me so long to adopt that philosophy and stop being so hard on myself, to stop believing all the dogmatic lies planted in my head, and start examining the abusive things that were done to me in the name of religion. It was hard, but I can finally say I’ve escaped those dystopian worlds I was in all those years and am no longer threatened by the people I once thought were so powerful.

And those people who stripped away my true essence during that time? They pose to the public as the representatives, leaders, and mouthpieces of a “loving God” and invite people into their houses of worship to do these things. However, all I hear are the words of Jesus when he admonished the Pharisees that they are like whitewashed tombs – beautiful on the outside, yet on the inside are “full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean.” 

Photo by Susan Wilkinson 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.

Rape Crisis: England and Wales give the following statistics: Between October 2022 and September 2023: 1 in 4 women (6.54 million in total) have been raped or sexually assaulted;
1 in 6 children have been sexually abused;
1 in 18 men (1.34 million in total) have been raped or sexually abused – as adults.

On the 15th of March 2024, Rape Crisis published the following article: Alarming scale of sexual violence and abuse on mental health wards. It reads: “These investigations have uncovered deeply concerning incidents and safeguarding failures within mental health inpatient settings – almost 4,000 sexual safety ‘incidents’ were reported between January and August 2023, perpetrated by a combination of professionals and fellow patients. We commend the enormous courage and tenacity of the survivors who came forward to speak about their experiences of sexual harassment, rape and sexual abuse, raising awareness of this issue.”

Charlotte Lynch, for LBC, wrote, on January 2024: 139 Met officers reinvestigated for rape and sexual abuse after being allowed to keep their jobs. “They  (The Operation Onyx  Team) checked 1,418 officers and 218 staff for missed investigative opportunities, which resulted in 139 live rape and sexual abuse investigations now being dealt with by the Domestic Abuse and Sexual Offences team.” 

Vikram Dodd, Police and crime correspondent for The Guardian, on Fri 9 Feb 2024: Met officers dissuaded children from making sexual abuse claims, report finds “Other failures listed in the damning official report include blaming children for ‘making poor choices’ Metropolitan police officers tried to put off children from making complaints about alleged sexual abuse and privately blamed young people for crimes suffered, a damning official report has revealed. Most investigations into child exploitation were rated as inadequate by His Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC). Of the 244 cases it examined, 43 were graded as good, more than half (121) as inadequate and 80 as needing improvement.”

On the 3rd if September 2023, Ed Thomas – Special Correspondent – published on BBC News: Family courts: Children forced into contact with fathers accused of abuse. It reads: “Dozens of children have been forced into contact with fathers accused of abuse, a study has found. In some cases in the research, revealed for the first time by the BBC, the fathers were convicted paedophiles. In all cases, fathers had used a disputed concept in court known as “parental alienation”. The heartbreaking stories in the article demonstrate the little support found by protective mothers/parents, who are further abused by ex-partners and by the judicial system, separating them from their children and destroying lives instead of protecting them.
On the 17th of April 2024, Sanchia Berg, for BBC News, wrote:  Paedophiles could be stripped of parental rights under a new law

Speaking to BBC News, “Ms Harman said paedophiles who were guilty of that crime in the future would be “automatically deprived” of their parental rights.”  This is long overdue and needs to be implemented as soon as possible.

All these statistics and figures are just the tip of the iceberg. They certainly don’t reflect the profound damages (in mind, body and spirit) rape and sexual abuse/assault have on victims. For the last few years. There have been a few scandals relating to “celebrities” and individuals regarded as “powerful” and “hiding in plain sight.” Harvey Weinstein, Donald Trump, Epstein, Dan Schneider, Jimmy Saville. The list is endless. The same pattern occurs when those public figures are pulled out of the shadows, victims are treated as liars and publicly shamed: “Why did the victims speak sooner?” or “Instead of talking to journalists, why not go to the police?” Victims go to the police, and victims speak out (loud and clear), but they are the ones being relentlessly bullied: “Did you say NO?” – “Did you make it clear you didn’t want to?” “S/he/they are too powerful. Nobody will believe you.” – “It is just the s/he/they are! Let it go.”

Let’s not let the “high profile cases” make us forget all the children and adult victims and survivors in danger of sexual assault on a daily basis, at home, by a parent, a sibling, a family member, the church Priest, or the Scout coach. Perpetrators are everywhere. They are skilled liars and groom everyone around them to hide their dirty secrets, but it is clear that there is always some “rumour” or at least one person notices something but brushes it under the carpet. It isn’t that they are hiding in plain sight, it is that too many people know, but turn a blind eye.

The focus on prevention is missing the mark. Whilst educating children about personal and physical space and boundaries, “No, you can’t touch me there.” – “No, I don’t want to. Stop this” is important; it places the responsibility on the victims to stop the abuse when they, often, are too young to understand what is done to them and too young to defend themselves against an adult. The same goes for adults, especially women; “Don’t go home late and alone. Don’t listen to music when walking. Don’t wear this or that” and, again, the famous: “Make sure you make it clear: No is No” A rapist doesn’t care what a victim does or says.

A reminder: the only person entirely at fault is the abuser.

So, what needs to be done – beyond lovely slogans, #s, and prevention?

Education is needed to break all victims’ shaming and blaming myths.

Victims (big and small, and all genders) need safe places to go to and loving, supportive people around them. They need someone who holds space for all their emotions and experiences. They need to be heard.
They need professionals who do their job properly, defending them and holding the perpetrators to account.
Allies – non-abusive parents and carers – must be included in children’s care and safety plan and supported alongside their children.
Regardless of status, position of “authority”, bank accounts sizes, ALL PEPETRATORS should be arrested and face the consequences of their actions.
Law and legislation need to be changed so that supportive and protective parents can keep their children with them.

There is much to do and to be changed. Oftentimes, it feels hopeless.

Take gentle care of yourselves.

Sylvie

Helpful websites:

WE STAND: “Child sexual abuse affects the whole family. It can fracture family relationships and creates lasting trauma. We Stand takes a unique whole family approach to supporting victims of child sexual abuse and their non-abusing parents, carers, and siblings. We aim to ensure that all families impacted by child sexual abuse are supported to move on positively with their lives.”
Helping Survivors: “Our goal is to help people who have been impacted by sexual assault and abuse get the resources and assistance they need and deserve.”

The Survivors Trust – to find support in your local area

“Shame is the feeling of humiliating disgrace of having been violated. Shame tells you that you are bad.” (from Shelter from the Storm)

It becomes challenging to correct for shame because it is rooted in a negative belief. For example, “I am unlovable, because [fill in the blank – we all have different experiences that can lead us to this false belief].” Dysfunctional shame is, essentially, the belief that you are bad. It becomes a deep-rooted way of being that very much impacts our view of ourselves.

Additionally, I see dysfunctional shame as being born out of taking responsibility for something you have “no cause” in. In other words, dysfunctional shame is feeling bad because someone falls down; you feel responsible even though you didn’t trip them.

I think of it like a little equation: No Cause + Taking Responsibility = False Guilt/Shame

This is a defense mechanism. By blaming ourselves, we can deal with the fact that someone we trusted and adored is also capable of harming us. We long to protect the image and idea of the other person, and so blaming ourselves for something we did not cause is easier. However, if we continue to shame and judge ourselves we are guaranteeing that our lives will be mired in self-abuse, lack of joy, distrust, and lack of freedom.

Now, if your way of being is “the shameful one,” then you tend towards reinforcing the false beliefs that lead you to feel shame. As with any false belief, we will find the evidence to support our way of being. We will adopt the shameful message that we are worthless and, no surprise, we will interpret situations or, worse, find abusive people to help reinforce this attitude.

If you’d like to learn a bit about how to break out of these patterns of thought, be sure to join us for next month’s Thrive Tribe on Shame.

“Guilt is the feeling that you did something wrong.” (from Shelter from the Storm)

Guilt is related to you being “at cause” for what happened. Guilt is tripping someone and then feeling bad about it. You can correct an action or behavior that leads to guilt. For example, you can apologize for tripping the person.

The equation goes like this: At Cause + Responsibility = Guilt

Guilt is a tricky beast. In its best form, it spurs us on to transform and change our behavior. In its worst, it can be used as a way to avoid facing reality. One of the payoffs of feeling guilty – of taking responsibility for abuse or unpleasant things that happen – is that we don’t have to face the fact that we were powerless and then face the grief that follows.

If your way of being is “the guilty one,” then you are constantly looking to reinforce the false beliefs that lead you to feel guilt or blame yourself. In any situation, you make yourself responsible for all that has occurred and fail to see the behaviors and choices of others that play a role in causing discord, upset, or breakdowns. More importantly, those around you very quickly learn that this is the role you will play, and so there is little incentive for them to evaluate their own behavior or make any corrections. By being the guilty one, you are essentially letting those around you off the hook and bearing the burden of responsibility on your shoulders alone. While there may be times when you truly are the only one at fault, if you have a deeply engrained belief that you are at fault all the time, you won’t be able to recognize when this isn’t the case. 

Now, let me be clear, I’m not saying we should never feel guilt or shame! Each of them has its proper place and exists, in part, to spur us on to better ourselves and to hold others around us accountable. I do want there to be a distinction though between feeling guilt or shame when the situation calls for it and defining oneself as the guilty or shameful one. The former brings about transformation, the latter only causes us to stay stuck in patterns of thought and behavior that keep us from living fulfilling, authentic lives.


To healing,

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

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.

Living with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD) can feel like navigating a stormy sea, with waves of past traumas crashing against the shores of the present. Among the many emotional tempests, guilt and misplaced guilt stand out as a formidable anchor, weighing down the heart and obstructing the path to healing. In this exploration, we delve into the intricate web connecting guilt, the nervous system, and the journey toward recovery from CPTSD. With a trauma-sensitive lens and healing tones, we’ll uncover the profound benefits of releasing this heavy burden.

Understanding Guilt in the Context of CPTSD:

Guilt, often a lingering companion for those with CPTSD, arises from the aftermath of traumatic experiences. Survivors may grapple with feelings of responsibility for events beyond their control, self-blame, or the sense of having failed to prevent harm. These emotions intertwine with the complex tapestry of CPTSD, intensifying the challenges of recovery.

The Impact on the Nervous System:

The nervous system, a delicate orchestrator of our physiological responses, bears the brunt of the weight of guilt. In CPTSD, where the nervous system is already dysregulated, guilt further disrupts the delicate balance. Chronic guilt including misplaced guilt can trigger the sympathetic nervous system’s “fight or flight” response, leading to heightened anxiety, hypervigilance, and a perpetual sense of danger.

The parasympathetic nervous system, responsible for rest and relaxation, is often under-active in CPTSD. Guilt acts as a saboteur, impeding the natural flow toward a state of calm and safety. This dysregulation contributes to the overall challenges survivors face in finding stability and a sense of control over their emotional landscapes.

Obstructing Healing:

Guilt erects barriers on the path to healing from CPTSD. It fosters a negative self-image, convincing survivors that they are unworthy of love and incapable of recovery. This internalized guilt can sabotage therapeutic efforts, hindering the development of self-compassion and acceptance.

Moreover, guilt and misplaced guilt often lead to avoidance strategies, where survivors shy away from confronting their traumas or seeking support. This avoidance perpetuates the cycle of suffering, preventing the acknowledgment and processing necessary for healing.

Benefits of Releasing Guilt:

Releasing the weight of guilt is a crucial step toward reclaiming agency and fostering a sense of safety. By doing so, survivors can experience several transformative benefits:

• Restoration of Nervous System Balance: Releasing guilt allows the nervous system to recalibrate. As guilt diminishes, the sympathetic activation associated with these highly charged emotions is integrated the parasympathetic nervous system can regain control, promoting a state of balance and relaxation.
• Empowerment and Self-Compassion: Letting go of guilt empowers survivors to rewrite their narrative. They can replace self-blame with self-compassion increasing vagal tone. Recognizing that they did the best they could under challenging circumstances dominated by an overwhelmed stress response.
• Increased Resilience: Releasing guilt strengthens emotional resilience. Survivors can approach their traumas with a clearer mind, cultivating the capacity to cope with distressing memories without succumbing to overwhelming the nervous system with emotions.

How to Release Guilt:

The journey to release guilt is a nuanced process, and a trauma-sensitive approach is paramount. Therapeutic modalities such as somatic experiencing, mindfulness, and self-compassion practices can play a pivotal role. Engaging in trauma-informed therapy that promotes ‘safety within the system’, provides an effective container for exploring and processing guilt without re-traumatization.

Incorporating tones of healing and gentle language, one can reflectively journal or explore the following with their therapist:

• Acknowledge and Validate Feelings: Encouraging recognition and validation of feelings of guilt without judgment. Validate the legitimacy of the emotions within the context of trauma.
• Cultivate Self-Compassion: Develop and cultivate self-compassion by reframing the internal dialogue. Speak to oneself with the same kindness they would offer a dear friend.
• Embodied Practices: Incorporate embodied practices such as breath work, progressive muscle relaxation, and gentle movement to help reconnect with the healing intelligence within the body in a safe and grounding manner.
• Narrative Restructuring: Understanding the impact of the stress responses and trauma on their choices and behaviors, fostering a sense of self-understanding and self-forgiveness.

Conclusion:

This is not to replace therapy it is to help you understand the intricate dance of CPTSD recovery. Releasing the weight of guilt emerges as a transformative act of self-liberation. As we navigate the stormy seas of trauma, the gentle winds of healing tones and trauma-sensitive language guide survivors toward the shores of safety, resilience, and self-compassion. Unburdening the heart from the weight of guilt and misplaced guilt is not just a therapeutic endeavor; it’s a reclaiming of one’s narrative, a journey toward wholeness, and an affirmation of the inherent worthiness of every survivor.

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.