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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

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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

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The room may go quiet, they may nervously laugh, deflect, look uncomfortable, make a joke, or reach for traits that sound useful instead of personal.

Reliable. Hardworking. Good in a crisis. Loyal. Helpful.

The answers often sound less like self-recognition and more like a job reference written under stress.

Ask for five (5) negative things, and the list can arrive with almost no delay.

Too sensitive. Too intense. Too much. Too emotional. Too needy. Too guarded. Too weird. Too damaged. Too angry. Too quiet. Too loud. Too hard to love. Too hard to understand. Too late to become anything else.

Sit with that a minute. That imbalance tells a story many survivors already know in their bones. Criticism became fluent long before self-respect had a chance to form its own language.

Some people call this low self-esteem, which is accurate enough for a screening form but far too thin for lived experience. Low self-esteem sounds like a personal confidence problem. For many trauma survivors, the injury runs deeper than confidence – it sits in the way a person learned to describe themselves, assess themselves, explain themselves, and stand trial inside their own mind before anyone else even enters the room.

Negative self-talk rarely begins as self-talk – it begins as somebody else’s voice.

The First Narrator Was Usually External

Children borrow language before they own it. They borrow words for their bodies, moods, talents, failures, behavior, worth, and their place in the family. A child called dramatic enough times may begin to doubt every strong feeling. A child called lazy may stop noticing exhaustion, depression, boredom, sensory overload, or lack of support. A child called selfish may become afraid of preference. A child called difficult may begin translating every need into an accusation against themselves.

Children can be corrected without being injured because they need correction. They also need adults who can say no, set limits, demand accountability, teach repair, and tell them when their conduct harms someone else. The problems occur when correction becomes the child’s identity.

• You made a mistake becomes you are careless.
• You are upset becomes you are unstable.
• You need attention becomes you are manipulative.
• You disagree becomes you are disrespectful.
• You are sensitive becomes you are weak.
• You are different becomes you are embarrassing.

A child may resist at first – they may argue, cry, explain, or try to prove the adult wrong. Over time, resistance can cost too much so the child learns the family’s preferred vocabulary as the outside critic moves indoors. That is how a survivor can become an adult who no longer needs anyone in the room to feel accused of something.

Negativity Can Feel Like Accuracy

One reason negative self-talk survives so long is that it can feel honest. A survivor may distrust compliments because praise feels vague, sentimental, unsafe, or manipulative. Criticism feels sharper – more familiar, more serious – almost professional in its certainty. If the mind has spent years rehearsing self-attack, kindness can feel like bad data.

Tell a survivor, “You are resilient,” and the reply may come back fast: “I just had no choice.”

Tell them, “You are talented,” and they may begin listing everything they failed to finish.

Tell them, “You are lovable,” and they may remember the people who left, those who harmed them, or the people who stayed but treated closeness like a chore.

The mind trained by trauma often searches for the exception to any good statement. It cross-examines hope, and demands a file full of evidence before allowing one decent sentence about the self to stand.

Negative claims face far less review, which is one of the quiet distortions of complex trauma. The survivor may believe they are being fair because they are being harsh, and they may confuse self-attack with realism because excessive kindness once came with a hook. Criticism came with history.

For some survivors, saying something good about themselves feels like lying yet saying something cruel about themselves feels like remembering.

Praise Can Trigger Suspicion, Debt, or Shame

Positive self-description can be uncomfortable for reasons that have little to do with vanity. In some homes, children learned that being proud invited punishment. Confidence was called arrogance, joy was called showing off or attention-seeking, talent became a family inconvenience, beauty brought resentment, intelligence brought ridicule, sensitivity brought contempt, and ambition made adults nervous because ambition threatens every room built on resignation.

In other homes, praise was conditional. A child was valued when they performed, obeyed, pleased, achieved, stayed quiet, made the family look good, or took care of an adult’s emotions. Praise became less about the child’s self and more about usefulness.

Both leave a mark.

An adult survivor may struggle to name positive traits because positive traits never felt safely theirs. Being good at something may mean being used for it, being attractive may mean being targeted for it, being smart may mean being expected to carry more, being calm may mean being denied help, and being strong may mean no one comes.

So when someone asks, “What do you like about yourself?” the survivor may freeze because the answer has never been simple. Every strength came with a bill, every gift had a family interpretation, and every visible quality attracted some form of control. Negative self-talk may then become a hiding place. If the survivor gets there first, no one else can use the good thing against them.

The Body Learns the Critic Too

Negative self-talk is often discussed as if it lives only in thought – but it rarely stays that contained in the mind because the body learns it.

A survivor may flinch when praised, feel heat in the face when seen, tighten the jaw when asked to talk about accomplishments, shrink posture when entering a room with confident people, feel nausea before asking for fair treatment, and lose words when challenged by someone who sounds like an old authority figure.

The nervous system may treat self-approval as exposure and this is why affirmations can fail so quickly for trauma survivors. Repeating “I am worthy” may sound harmless from the outside, but to a body trained on shame, the sentence can feel false, unsafe, or ridiculous. The survivor may reject it before the words have any chance to settle.

The problem is not the survivor’s unwillingness to heal, it’s that the body was trained in a different language. A person taught for years to expect criticism cannot always absorb kindness on command because they often need smaller, more credible sentences at first.

I handled that better than I used to.
I told the truth there.
I was tired, not lazy.
I was scared, not weak.
I made one choice that protected me.
I can dislike something without explaining my whole existence.

Those sentences may lack inspirational shine but that’s likely why they work better. They do not ask the survivor to leap from contempt to self-love in one theatrical jump. They ask for accuracy, and accuracy is a safer starting place than forced positivity.

Relearning Self-Description Takes More Than Compliments

People often try to help by arguing with the survivor’s negative self-talk.

“You are not too much.”
“You are beautiful.”
“You are smart.”
“You are strong.”
“You are a good person.”

Those statements may be sincere, but they may also bounce off a nervous system that never learned how to receive them. The survivor often needs something sturdier than reassurance. They may need to rebuild self-description from observable fact.

What did I do?
What did it cost me?
What did I protect?
What did I survive?
Where did I show restraint?
Where did I tell the truth?
Where did I keep going without turning cruel?
Where did I make a choice that my younger self could not make?

The aim is not inflated confidence – it’s a self-description that can survive contact with reality.

A trauma survivor may begin with modest but accurate language.

I am learning to pause before blaming myself.
I am allowed to name effort even when the outcome was messy.
I can be flawed without being defective.
I can be responsible without being sentenced to self-hatred.
I can own harm without becoming only harm.

This work may feel dreadfully slow but that’s because the old soundbites in the mind are faster… predictable. Despite it’s intent at the time or dysfunction driving it, those soundbites have family approval behind it, cultural reinforcement behind it, and sometimes years of therapeutic misunderstanding behind it if a helper mistook self-attack for insight. So the new language has to be built through use.

Five Positive Things May Begin as Evidence, Not Feeling

A survivor may not feel the truth of positive self-description at first, and that is totally okay. Feeling can come later because evidence has to begin anyway.

Instead of asking, “Do I feel worthy?” the survivor may ask, “What facts have I ignored because shame edited the report?”

Did I survive conditions that required adaptation?
Did I protect someone, including myself, when protection was costly?
Did I learn something I was never taught?
Did I keep a conscience in a room where conscience was inconvenient?
Did I return to life after years of being trained to disappear?

The first list may be uncomfortable – awkward. It may feel like wearing clothes that do not yet fit, but that doesn’t make the statements untrue. Many survivors have practiced negative self-description for decades. Positive self-recognition will not always feel natural just because it is overdue.

Start with what can be verified.

I came back.
I learned the skill.
I told the truth.
I left the room.
I stayed kind without staying silent.
I protected the part of me that was almost trained out.

Those are not slogans – they are corrected entries in a historical file.

Sources 

Beck, A. T. (1976). Cognitive therapy and the emotional disorders. International Universities Press.

Courtois, C. A., & Ford, J. D. (2016). Treatment of complex trauma: A sequenced, relationship-based approach. Guilford Press.

Gilbert, P. (2010). The compassionate mind: A new approach to life’s challenges. New Harbinger Publications.

Herman, J. L. (1992). Trauma and recovery: The aftermath of violence from domestic abuse to political terror. Basic Books.

Janoff-Bulman, R. (1992). Shattered assumptions: Towards a new psychology of trauma. Free Press.

Tangney, J. P., & Dearing, R. L. (2002). Shame and guilt. Guilford Press.

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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

I’m Embarrassed That I Exist

Carter’s Story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding Existential Humiliation: The Tripping Metaphor

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

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

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

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

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

The Anatomy of Existential Humiliation

Existential humiliation has several distinguishing characteristics:

1. Intentional targeting of core identity

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

2. The social witness component

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

3. Plausible deniability by the perpetrator

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

4. The fawn response and forced performance of emotional labor

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

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

5. Long-term identity destabilization

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

The Neurobiological Impact

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

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

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

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

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

Families and the Normalization of Humiliation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some of the Key Reasons for Increased Vulnerability:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With Love and Light,
Jeanne

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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

I’m surprised I wasn’t born wearing a tiny pair of boxing gloves. That would have been appropriate, given the kind of life I would be leading as a kid.

For people like me who grew up with complex trauma, our nervous systems helped us survive through trauma responses. Way back in the early 20th century, an old guy named Walter Bradford Cannon coined the ‘fight or flight’ responses in his 1915 book titled Bodily Changes in Pain, Hunger, Fear, and Rage. This work is grounded in physiology, though, the way the body responds–not psychology or trauma theory.

“Freeze” was added later by trauma researchers, and Complex PTSD expert Pete Walker added “fawn” in his 2013 book Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving. Fight, flight, and freeze are biologically ancient reactions in animals and humans, while fawning is innately human, rooted in relational trauma. When people “fawn” as a trauma response, their nervous system is helping them survive in a socially unequal power struggle. Generally, those who fawn in a situation will attempt to appease or please their abuser as a response to abuse.

I was not made to fawn. That doesn’t make me any better than someone who fawns, or freezes, or flees; this is just how I am made, deep within the biology of my cells. Because of this, I have a hard time understanding that response because I have witnessed chronically abused children, first-hand, and I just wanted to scream, “STAND UP FOR YOURSELF FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” Or, “why are you letting her manipulate you like that? You see this is about control, right?”

Perhaps I had to be a fighter in order to thrive after the traumas I experienced as a child and young adult, I don’t know for certain. I am working on being more understanding and accepting that not everyone is made the way I am, and that for some people, standing up for themselves could feel like a death sentence.

I hated watching these children being raised by an emotionally abusive mother, and then their brother was added as an abuser, as well. It was heart-wrenching to see how their response was to fawn. The times they did try to fight, before puberty, their mother put them in their place very quickly; she threatened to kill herself, and they were terrified of her. Even though they’re young adults now, they are still drinking the Kool-Aid, and I mourn the kind of lives they could have had if they didn’t grow up that way.

My life might have been easier if I just fawned over my mother’s demands, her insults, her constant criticisms, and her blatant and excessive coddling of my brother–who was only 15 months younger than I was.

If I fawned instead of fought, I probably wouldn’t have been institutionalized in a mental hospital on my 13th birthday because she just couldn’t handle me. I probably wouldn’t have been constantly grounded for nonsense, including taking away my ability to get to work.

The truth is, I fought her constantly with logic, with reason, with common sense. But emotional abusers are anything but logical and reasonable, especially emotional abusers with personality disorders like borderline, narcissistic personality disorder, and bipolar disorder. I was fighting a battle that I would never win as a minor–but I fought anyway.

By the time I left for college (which I did 100% on my own, without support), I was battle-scarred and seeping from so many wounds–but no one could see them. I was exhausted from the fight, which had gone on for eight years straight. Distance helped immensely and because I was not connected to my abuser in any way, especially emotionally, removing myself nearly completely helped me feel just a little bit closer to normal.

We fighters are very misunderstood because our survival strategy violates social expectations about how pain, fear, vulnerability, and self-advocacy are “supposed” to look. The other trauma responses retreat, appease, or disappear, but we fighters move toward the threat, and that makes people uncomfortable–especially the abusers. However, some abusers, like mine, used it to their advantage.

A fight trauma response looks like a raised voice, firm boundaries, anger, confrontation, or refusal to back down. On the outside looking in, these appear deliberate, like the person fighting is choosing conflict. In reality, this fight response is automatic nervous system mobilization. Our body detects danger, so it prepares to push back in order to survive. In my personal situation, my abuser used it as evidence that I was “difficult,” “impossible,” and “defiant”.

People assume, “that person could control it if they wanted to”, or “they just seem to enjoy conflict” because responses look active rather than passive. We humans are much more comfortable recognizing trauma when it looks like collapse compared to when it looks like resistance.

Anger is one of the least tolerated emotions, especially when it’s expressed by women, children, and marginalized people. When trauma shows up as anger, it gets moralized instead of medicalized. Rather than asking, “What threat taught you to respond in this manner?” people ask:

Why are you so aggressive?

Why can’t you calm down?

What’s wrong with you?

This fight response is misread as a character flaw instead of a complex learned survival skill.

Fighters disrupt people’s comfort and their need for control–especially emotional abusers. Freeze and fawn responses make the other person feel needed, calm, unchallenged, and in charge, whereas fight responses do the exact opposite. Fighters will question authority and push back against unfairness; they refuse to emotionally disappear when mistreated, and will make tension visible and uncomfortable for those in the room.

Systems like families, workplaces, and relationships that rely on silence and compliance are threatened by those who have a fight response. It’s easier to label the fighter as the problem than to examine the environment that required the fight response to begin with.

As much as it pains me to admit this, fight is related to fear and is rarely recognized as such. As humans, we are taught that fear looks like crying, avoidance, withdrawal, and panic, but for fighters, fear looks like increased energy, argument, defensiveness, and readiness, along with a “bring-it-on” attitude. Because fear is hidden inside these other, more aggressive emotions, it’s missed and replaced with incorrect assumptions about hostility and ego. In truth, fight is fear with momentum.

Many fighters grew up where fight was the only protection they had in emotionally abusive, chaotic, or unsafe environments because freeze wasn’t safe–it meant they would be the target. Fawn didn’t work–their needs weren’t respected, nor were their efforts to be nice/good/useful recognized. Flight wasn’t possible because they couldn’t leave and had nowhere to go. So, fight was the only way to maintain dignity, boundaries, or a sense of self.

I want to share a brief story.

When I was 11 years old, my father was out of the house because his heroin habit took over his life. One bitterly cold night, there was a knock at the door. Usually, my mother was working, but she was home that night. My father came to the door asking for food and a blanket. He pawned his leather jacket and was homeless.

I heard his plea and got up from watching my TV program to make him some Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup, spread some butter on white bread, and take my blanket off my bed, which was gifted to me by my neighbor, Mary. I carefully took these through the living room and was blocked by my mother, who threatened me, belittled me, and cursed me, but I fought back with everything I had to get to the door and give my father food and warmth.

Writing this still fills me with difficult emotions. The trauma of that night is woven into the fibers of who I am. She would not keep me from helping my father without a fight, and, in the end, he had the soup, and I let him keep the blanket.

Culturally, we seem to prefer trauma survivors who are quiet, forgiving, insightful without being threatening, and resilient–but in soft, palatable ways. Fighters complicate the story because we’re not always gentle; we may hold on to anger longer; we may not rush to forgive (or may not forgive at all); we may insist things were wrong and, at least at first, demand retribution if not at least some form of acknowledgment of the wrongdoing done to us. All of this makes us fighters hard to celebrate and easier to dismiss.

If you’re a fighter, I stand in solidarity with you. Fighters are misunderstood because our trauma response looks like aggression instead of fear, choice instead of instinctual reflex, and defiance instead of personal protection. This makes it so much easier to blame us than to recognize the threats we had to deal with every day, and how we learned to survive them.

Photo Credit: Unsplash

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

Resources

Cole, P. M., Martin, S. E., & Dennis, T. A. (2004). Emotion regulation as a scientific construct. Child Development, 75(2), 317–333. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-8624.2004.00675.x (article)

Marshburn, C. K., Cochran, K. J., Flynn, E., & Levine, L. J. (2020). Workplace anger costs women irrespective of race. Frontiers in Psychology, 11, 579884. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2020.579884 (article)

Perry, Bruce. (2021). What Happened to You? (book)

Riggs, S. A. (2010). Childhood emotional abuse and the attachment system across the life cycle: What theory and research tell us. Journal of Aggression, Maltreatment & Trauma, 19(1), 5–51. https://doi.org/10.1080/10926770903475968 (article)

Walker, Pete. (2013). Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving (book)

Xu, M. (2025). Reconsider the anger of marginalized communities. Journal of Marital and Family Therapy, 51(2), e70018. https://doi.org/10.1111/jmft.70018 (article)

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

Who cares what you think about yourself?

Well, you do–yes, really. The reason is that you matter, and your presence in this world matters.

Think about the last meaningful conversation that you had with someone. What happened, and how did you leave it? Did you feel happy about it, or not?

Why did you feel that way?

Everything you do in life matters, and believe it or not, people do pay attention.

Think about the last time you made a stupid mistake. How quickly did people notice and comment? Did someone make a joke at your expense?

How about the last time you did something amazing–like getting your first year sober, or passing an exam? People notice these things and want to celebrate your successes.

I used to think no one noticed me, but when I looked for evidence, I found clear examples of people hearing, seeing, and noticing me.

My point is, we don’t often pause and think about ourselves because we are too busy. But by ignoring our feelings, we miss more than we can ever consider.

Think about someone who makes you happy. It could be a family member or a good friend.

What’s special about them? What do you value in them?

Do they have a great sense of humor? Maybe they’re a good listener, or someone with positive energy? Perhaps you value their kindness the most? Maybe they have some other qualities that sets them apart from others.

Someone told me recently that they like being with me because “I made them feel seen,” because I listen.

Now turn those same questions to yourself.

What’s special about you? What qualities do people value in you? What type of friend and colleague are you? What sets you apart from others?

What comments do you get from people?

How do you feel about yourself? Is your answer positive, balanced, or negative?

How do you think your perceptions affect your life?

Self-worth vs. self-esteem

These two words sound similar, but they do have different meanings.

Self-worth is the way you value yourself. It is the way you believe in yourself–that you are good enough to receive love, respect, and kindness from other people.

People with low self-esteem generally have a negative view of themselves. They are usually quick to judge or evaluate themselves by criticizing their own actions, brushing off compliments, and focusing on mistakes.

Living without self-worth makes is very difficult to put yourself first. For example, you may not go for that opportunity because you feel other people are better than you. You might stay in an abusive relationship because you don’t feel that you deserve better from life.

You are the one who initiates what happens in your life. It all starts with you. Your overall health is important because it affects the ways in which you feel, think, and behave.

Having low self-worth puts you at risk for many health conditions, like anxiety and depression. Over time, these can lead to problems such as phobias and substance abuse.

Self-esteem relies on external factors like successes and achievements. It can change how you value yourself with life’s ups and downs.

A breakup can make you feel low for weeks–even months afterward. A failed college exam can have a similar effect on your mood and how you see yourself.

An abusive relationship can put a major dent in your self-esteem and make you feel bad about yourself.

Don’t let life bring you down.

It’s time you look up and put yourself first. Who else is going to look out for you?

People who are happy generally have high self-esteem and self-worth. They take greater care of themselves by making better life choices and live fuller lives. They know their own strengths and limitations, and face life’s challenges with resilience.

It’s not selfish to take care of yourself.

Many people struggle with self-worth and self-esteem. The great thing is that you can learn to see yourself in a more positive light with some practice.

Turning it around

Self-compassion is great way to start feeling better about yourself. Start each day by being kind to yourself. Instead of seeing mistakes and flaws, think about yourself the same way as you see your loved ones, and those you value most.

Treat yourself with respect instead of criticizing everything you say and do. Remind yourself every now and again that it’s okay to make mistakes. You’ll soon notice the difference in your attitude.

Take notice of how you are feeling, and own those feelings. You’ll start to feel much more in tune with yourself–and with those around you.

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

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

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

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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