What if my nervous system is so damaged from childhood trauma that no amount of therapy and practice will reteach it a sense of safety in places and situations that trigger me?

Is it possible for a nervous system to be so severely damaged by trauma that no amount of therapeutic techniques help 100 percent? 

These are questions spinning around in my brain regularly, and I’m now speaking them because I can’t push them down anymore.

I was suppressing these thoughts because I wanted to keep up hope that I could “fix” my nervous system and repair damage done by trauma. I want to have faith in the power of neuroplasticity. None of this is to say that nothing has helped me. I have seen progress in building up some resilience.

However, there is so much more progress to be made, that I grow frustrated at the rate healing takes. Being in an intensive outpatient program (IOP) has shown me how much work I need to do on myself, and quite frankly, it’s overwhelming. The amount of work is dizzying, and I can’t always seem to get a grip on myself when I think about all the therapy and practice I need to do.

 There are so many techniques and modalities for trauma, and through the IOP I have received a taste of a couple that seem really helpful, such as Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) and somatic exercises.  DBT and somatic work are modalities that I have been wanting to do for a while, but it’s so hard to find therapists who take insurance for somatic therapy.

I’m cracking down on practicing my meditation, somatic movement, breath work, and emotional regulation skills. It becomes overwhelming, and I want to cave under it all at times. There are so many facets of my trauma and mental health in general that need to be addressed, it almost feels as though I need a specialized therapist for each one.  

For instance, I noticed the other day that while doing a body scan, I struggle with body scans, because I struggle to be in my body. I don’t love my body. In fact, I don’t even feel neutral about my body. I have so much dislike for my body that goes way back to my childhood and conditioning, that I don’t even know where to begin. When I talk to therapists about this, they don’t seem to have the best of answers or to be the most comfortable talking about the topic.

It’s very weird, and it makes me feel like I have to do the work all on my own. I have to do my own research into how to even feel neutral about my body and then how to feel positive about my body. The frustration grows.

 Dental and medical phobia are other mental health conditions I have that seem to need their own therapists. All therapists I’ve had have recommended exposure therapy, but they don’t seem to go into detail about practical ways that I can expose myself to the dentist and the doctor. One therapist once recommended that I practice just entering and leaving a doctor’s office without doing anything. I imagine myself entering the building to my primary care provider’s office, standing there for a minute and then leaving.

If I did this frequently enough, wouldn’t they notice and question what I was doing? It might just draw too much attention and would be really weird. No one seems to have good exposure techniques that I can try. Maybe there aren’t any. Maybe that’s just the pessimism speaking.

There’s also the entire childhood trauma I experienced. I had to live in a near-constant state of unbearable anxiety as I walked on eggshells around my mother and former stepdad. The abuse from teachers and incessant bullying created a deep wound within me that I am carrying with me as an adult. This trauma makes living and functioning in important ways very difficult for me. I struggle with severe anxiety at work due to my fear of authority figures and of punishment if I make mistakes. That’s because I was screamed at and hit on multiple occasions for making mistakes as a child. The list goes on. 

I’m not really sure how to end this. I guess I really want to have hope, but I need to acknowledge that realistically, I can’t always be hopeful in my treatment.

There will be bumps along the way.  I need to forgive myself, show myself compassion, and know that it’s okay for me not to heal “perfectly”. 

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

On November 19th 2023, I answered a call from an unknown female who, in 30 minutes, would blindside and obliterate the family my children and I knew.

On that call, she divulged an abundance of facts, including that the last 7 years of my marriage and family with the defendant had been a complete scam. He was leading a double life filled with multiple avenues and types of adultery, manipulation, betrayal, and additionally had another family. That female caller happened to be his stay-at-home fiancée & common law wife in Texas, where he was and is still living as a bigamist and apparently called “Dad” by 5 of her children. She knew all about me, our life, my immediate family, and our children, but I knew nothing of her. 

My life took an immediate left turn that November day.  I was stunned and emotionally frozen. I had no words.

But as you can imagine, the soon-to-be defendant and I spoke shortly after that call.  The conversation seemed to go on for hours. And at one point, I asked, “How has no one at your employer questioned you about her or me?   I am your wife, on the health insurance, company’s tobacco license, your emergency contact, W-2 deduction, and so forth, but you parade her around and have hidden your real family.”   He quickly snipped back, “Who is going to stop me?  I am the F’ing president of a Fortune 50 company!“  I was simply speechless.  Nowhere to go with that bold statement; however, that tone, arrogance, and defiance would set the stage for our divorce process.  

Over the next 22 months, this divorce case would be well documented. What I read, saw, heard, and learned described the most degenerate human behavior and revealed a husband whom I did not know. 

At the final hearing, you could hear a pin drop in the courtroom as I finished describing that November call.  I stopped. I needed a moment to reflect and fight the tears. The reality was hitting me.

This was about to be my moment, perhaps the bravest moment of my life.  I was facing this charlatan, my abuser, my children’s abuser, in an open courtroom, under oath and on official record.  I had worked for weeks on what I wanted to communicate.  So after all these months of my required divorce silence, the defendant would finally hear from me directly and what I truly thought.

I took a deep breath, looked at the judge, and continued:

“For 7 years, he made the CHOICE to defraud our children and me with an innumerable quantity of lies – directly through personal interactions and texts, and additionally – through covert and subtle manipulation filled with fake promises and scenarios including a severe illness. 

For 7 years, he orchestrated the complete isolation and triangulation of our children and me from his parents to the point of no contact.  

And for 7 years,  he knowingly, willfully, and without my consent, jeopardized my health with his high-risk sexual activities.​

These actions were not a mistake. They were calculated choices, destabilizing our reality, and perpetrating emotional and psychological abuse on our children and me.  The state where he currently resides recognizes his behavior as domestic and child abuse.

He controlled the finances, and the basic facts were never in question, but he promised that he would make this a long and very expensive divorce.  He was successful in his delay tactics, obstruction, and costs. 

If you can cheat on your spouse, you WILL cheat in every other aspect of business, life, and relationships.  For our case, this statement is no longer speculation.  It is a verifiable fact on public record.” 

I then sat back in my chair, released my breath, and looked over at the defendant’s table.

The defendant’s attorney did not object to anything during my impact statement and then declined to cross-examine me when offered.  It was all official record now.  The judge released me from the stand.  My attorney smiled and nodded.  She knew what I had just accomplished. She was proud of me, but more importantly, I was so proud of myself. I stood up to my abuser.

His horrific betrayal altered my life’s reality, but reawakened confidence that could change my future.  He still had his narrative but no longer had control. The court documents spoke loudly.  However, I do believe that he felt like he won that day – hidden finances, no trial, and kept his executive job and false narratives intact. I left money on the mediation table as a deliberate statement, as it wasn’t about the finances for me; it was about accountability and formal documentation of the truth.  

A divorce changes your future, but prolonged betrayal trauma changes your past as well.  

I am not naive. I know there is no promise of complete healing or a quick fix. I have replayed every conversation, scenario, and interaction seeking the logic of it all. There is none. 

Coercive control and covert domestic abuse are so subtle that they fly under the radar to those people outside the home.  The half-truths or the “don’t say anything, but…” plant the seeds of triangulation and manipulation. These deceptive tools slowly and softly introduce the abuse to erode your character, self-worth, and how others view and perceive you.  

We saw this type of emotional and psychological abuse play out with the Johnny Depp case, Gabby Petito, and various others.  Just media hype, right?  Wrong.  You never think in a million years that would be you one day – Until it is.

It is an invisible epidemic, and way more common than one might think.  Personality disorder, lack of moral compass, or just malevolence, that is for someone else to decide.  That is not my focus.

So why share this story?

• I share to help others feel less alone.  I had no peers who could truly understand.
• I share to advocate for active laws surrounding emotional and psychological abuse.  Many states do not even recognize it, and if they do, they make it hard to prosecute. 
• I share to give a voice to covert abuse that occurs regardless of your job, social status, or education.  This abuse does not discriminate.

We live in a world today where we only project what we want others to see.  Image is everything. Emotional and psychological abuse are easy to hide.  It’s subtle triangulation and manipulation. It’s behind closed doors and hard for the outside world to recognize and decipher.  However, just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.  

But I  do know that we are stronger together.  Knowledge and understanding create empathy and compassion.   Empathy and compassion grow the voice of emotional and psychological abuse.   And when that voice grows, people pay attention, and change begins to happen –  Amplifying Hope.  

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

The Weight You Carry

You wake up each morning with a heaviness that makes even lifting your head from the pillow feel impossible. The weight isn’t physical—it’s the accumulation of emotional wounds, betrayals, and the exhausting effort of pretending to be okay when you’re anything but.

There’s a peculiar kind of loneliness in walking through the world carrying this invisible burden. People pass by with casual greetings—”How are you?”—a question that forces you into an impossible choice: lie and say “I’m fine” while wanting to die inside, or risk the vulnerability of honesty when so few truly understand the depth of your pain.

So you smile. You nod. You perform the dance of normalcy while inside, a voice whispers that continuing to exist shouldn’t be this unbearable.

The Fog of Invisibility

In this state, it becomes frighteningly easy to picture a world without you in it. Not because you’re actively planning to leave, but because you fundamentally believe you don’t matter—not really. Even when people insist you’re important to them, their words can’t penetrate the dense fog you’re lost in.

You don’t even remember when you started believing you don’t matter. It feels like a truth you’ve always known, buried deep in your bones. There seems to be no amount of love, affirmation, or validation that will make it register in your soul that you truly matter. The narcissist didn’t create this belief, but they identified it with unerring precision and exploited it until it grew to consume your entire reality. Palpably feeling loved seems like something “other people” get to have, but it seems impossible for you.

For many survivors, the only tether keeping them anchored to this world is their children. The thought of abandoning their kids is unthinkable—the one line they won’t cross. But this creates its own cruel trap: they don’t want to be in this harsh world, yet they can’t leave it. They’re caught in limbo, neither fully living nor able to escape.

This brings crushing waves of guilt. They grieve the time they’ve lost with their children while battling this internal darkness. They mourn not being the parents they desperately want to be—fully present, engaged, and joyful. Instead, they go through the motions, knowing their kids are growing up, that these fleeting years are passing, and that irreplaceable stretches of precious parent/child moments have been robbed by this struggle.

They’ll never get that time back. And just knowing this doesn’t magically end the struggle. So they face the heartbreaking knowledge that more days will be lost, more precious moments missed, before their children are grown and gone.

The Silent Struggle: Loss of Will to Live

Victims may feel deep apathy, hopelessness, or a loss of motivation to engage in life or pursue future goals. In narcissistic abuse and complex trauma, this often comes from prolonged emotional, psychological, or relational distress caused by the abusive dynamic.

This isn’t about wanting to die—it’s about no longer feeling capable of living. It’s waking up each morning, believing you don’t have what it takes to survive in this world. And you can’t imagine having to endure more days, months, decades feeling this way. Thinking about the future feels overwhelming and triggering because you’re bracing yourself for the next wrecking ball.

For survivors of narcissistic abuse, this silent struggle often goes unrecognized. Friends and family might see someone functioning—going to work, maintaining appearances—while inside, that person feels panic and dread about their own existence.

The Inner Struggle: Beyond the Surface

When Words Fail

For many people actively struggling with the loss of will to live, simply forming words to describe their experience becomes impossible. They may receive a text from a concerned friend asking, “How are you?” and find themselves staring at the screen, utterly paralyzed.

This isn’t merely an emotional block—it’s rooted in brain biology. When trauma overwhelms us, our nervous system can shift into a protective shutdown mode (what scientists call a “dorsal vagal state”). In this survival state, the thinking and language parts of our brain temporarily go offline. The brain literally deprioritizes our ability to form words and sentences while it focuses on basic survival functions. This is why trauma researchers sometimes refer to this as “speechless terror”—the experience is so overwhelming that the brain’s language centers cannot process or express it.

To someone who hasn’t experienced this state, it seems inconceivable that a person couldn’t muster a simple response. But in these moments, language itself becomes inaccessible. How do you translate the vast, formless void inside you into words? How do you explain that you’re simultaneously numb and in excruciating pain? That you feel nothing and everything at once? And you’re literally incapable of expressing it.

So the message sits unanswered. Adding another layer of shame, another reason to withdraw further, believing you don’t have what it takes to live in this world.

“But My Abuse Wasn’t That Bad”

A common obstacle to seeking help is the belief that their experiences “weren’t bad enough” to justify their deep suffering. Survivors often downplay their trauma, thinking:

“Other people have it so much worse.” “I wasn’t physically harmed, so why am I falling apart?” “They didn’t mean to hurt me, so this isn’t really abuse.” “I’m just too sensitive.”

Many struggle to accept the word “abuse,” finding it hard to connect it to their experience. This minimization isn’t accidental—it’s often shaped by the abuser, who downplays the harm they cause and makes the victim feel like their reactions are overblown.

This cycle of self-doubt deepens the pain, layering shame about the struggle itself on top of the original trauma.

The Protective Part That Wants to Give Up

In the internal family systems (IFS) therapy model, the part of us that wants to stop living isn’t trying to harm us—it’s trying to protect us in the only way it knows how. It’s not a destructive impulse but a misguided protector that sees ending the struggle as the only solution.

This part formed when other coping strategies failed—when fighting didn’t work, fleeing wasn’t an option, and freezing no longer brought relief. It whispers, “I can make the pain stop,” believing it’s offering mercy, not destruction.

Recognizing this as a protective response, however paradoxical, can help survivors replace fear and shame with self-compassion.

Living Minute by Minute

For someone in acute crisis, even “taking things one day at a time” can feel overwhelming. Their world narrows to surviving moment by moment, unable to imagine a future beyond the next few minutes.

They genuinely don’t know how they’ll exist from one hour to the next. Basic tasks become monumental achievements—eating a meal, taking a shower, responding to a text. On particularly difficult days, the only goal might be to eat three small meals or simply not resort to hospitalization.

These individuals often develop elaborate ways to avoid potential triggers. They may:

• Avoid all public places or social media for fear that one negative interaction with a stranger could push them over the edge
• Stop watching any shows with suspenseful or emotional content
• Experience panic at notification sounds, dreading the task of responding
• Rehearse casual conversations to prepare for inevitable social interactions

It cannot be overstated how fragile someone can be during these periods—existing in a constant state of pain and torment, where the slightest additional stress threatens to break them completely.

The Invisible Wounds

Beneath the surface of daily life, survivors of narcissistic abuse carry unseen wounds that impact every part of their being—their thoughts, emotions, physical health, and spiritual well-being. The harm runs deep because it attacks their very sense of identity and self-worth, leaving them questioning their right to exist.

Causes:

Existential Shame and Humiliation: Beyond ordinary shame about actions or behaviors, narcissistic abuse often creates a profound existential shame—the feeling that your very existence is somehow wrong or flawed.

This isn’t simply feeling bad about something you did; it’s feeling that who you fundamentally are is defective. The narcissist’s constant criticism, devaluation, and manipulation create a state of existential humiliation where you feel inherently unworthy of taking up space in the world. This deep shame becomes a core identity, making the thought of continuing to exist feel pointless or even wrong. You’re embarrassed at your own existence.

Emotional Exhaustion: Victims of narcissistic abuse often endure relentless invalidation, neglect, and emotional turmoil, leading to extreme fatigue and loss of motivation.

The constant vigilance required to navigate a relationship with a narcissist—walking on eggshells, managing their unpredictable moods, defending against accusations, and trying to make sense of reality when someone keeps distorting it—taxes every emotional resource you have. Eventually, your emotional reserves are completely depleted. You have nothing left to give—not even to yourself.

Hopelessness and Worthlessness: Narcissistic abuse can erode a person’s self-esteem and sense of worth, fostering feelings of being trapped and powerless.

After years of being told you’re not enough, that your feelings don’t matter, or that you’re the problem, you begin to see yourself through the narcissist’s distorted lens. Your achievements become meaningless, your dreams seem ridiculous, and your future appears pointless. Why bother living when you’ve been convinced your life has no value?

Cognitive Dissonance: The conflict between reality and the narcissist’s false narratives can contribute to confusion, self-doubt, and despair, making life seem meaningless.

Living in two worlds—the real one and the narcissist’s version—fractures your sense of truth. You doubt your own perceptions and memories. This constant state of uncertainty exhausts the mind and spirit, making simple decisions feel overwhelming. Life becomes a maze with no exit, where nothing makes sense anymore.

Identity Erosion: When someone systematically strips away your sense of self, you may eventually forget who you are outside of the abuse.

The narcissist slowly replaces your authentic self with the version of who you must become to survive. Your preferences, boundaries, dreams, and even your personality become shaped by their demands and criticisms. When you finally emerge from the relationship, you may feel like a stranger to yourself, unsure of what you like, what you want, or who you are meant to be.

The Layered Nature of Trauma: Many survivors of narcissistic abuse carry previous wounds from childhood that made them vulnerable to narcissistic manipulation in the first place.

Childhood emotional neglect, attachment trauma, or growing up with narcissistic parents can create the perfect foundation for later narcissistic abuse. The narcissist didn’t create your wounds—they simply found them with unerring precision and exploited them. This layering of trauma upon trauma creates a compounding effect, making recovery particularly challenging. You’re not just healing from the current relationship but from a lifetime of having your sense of self and worth undermined.

Grieving What Was Lost

Survivors of narcissistic abuse often carry an unspoken, invisible grief—a mourning that few recognize or validate. Unlike grief caused by death, this loss is ambiguous, complex, and deeply personal. What has been stolen isn’t just a relationship or a period of time—it’s a sense of safety, trust, identity, and sometimes, even the belief that joy is possible.

You may grieve the person you were before the abuse—someone who once moved through life with more ease, trust, or optimism. Or perhaps you grieve the time you lost—years spent trying to make things work, trying to be enough, trying to survive in an environment that was slowly eroding you. Some mourn the family they never truly had, realizing that the people who were supposed to love them were incapable of doing so in a way that was safe or nurturing.

Grief may also appear in unexpected ways: feeling waves of sorrow over memories that now seem tainted, feeling anger over what you tolerated before you understood it was abuse, or feeling deep sadness when you witness healthy relationships and realize what you never had.

Many survivors struggle with self-blame in their grief. They wonder, Why didn’t I see it sooner? Why didn’t I leave earlier? Why did I let it affect me this much? But this is not a failure on your part—it is a testament to how deeply you loved, how hard you tried, and how much you deserved better.

Grieving is painful, but it is also proof that you are healing. It means you are recognizing what you lost, what was taken from you, and what you still deserve. True healing doesn’t mean erasing the grief—it means making space for it while also making space for what comes next: reclaiming your life, your identity, and your future.

Living in the Shadow

When the will to live has been eroded by narcissistic abuse, survivors don’t just think differently—they experience the world differently. What was once colorful becomes gray; what once brought joy becomes empty; what once felt meaningful becomes pointless. This isn’t simply a shift in perspective but a fundamental alteration in how reality is experienced moment by moment. The outer persona may continue to function while the inner self has gone dormant, creating a shadow existence where one merely goes through the motions of living.

Manifestation:

Emotional Numbness: Victims may experience detachment from their emotions, as the constant invalidation and gaslighting make it difficult to trust their own perceptions.

Survivors often describe feeling like they’re “dead inside” or “just going through the motions.” This numbness isn’t a choice—it’s the mind’s way of protecting itself from overwhelming pain. When feelings have been weaponized against you, shutting them down becomes a survival strategy.

Reduced Capacity for Joy: Simple pleasures and future aspirations become difficult to connect with, as the narcissistic relationship strips away a sense of purpose and hope.

Activities you once loved bring no satisfaction. Future dreams seem pointless or unattainable. The present moment feels empty. This isn’t depression as most people understand it—it’s a profound disconnection from the very things that make life worth living.

Self-Isolation: Withdrawal from social connections and neglect of personal care are common as the person feels disconnected from the world.

The energy required for social interaction becomes too much to bear. Basic self-care feels pointless. Why shower, eat well, or rest when nothing matters anyway? This withdrawal often reinforces the feeling of disconnection, creating a cycle that’s difficult to break.

Persistent Feeling of Defeat: A pervasive sense that no matter what you do, things will never improve or change.

This isn’t pessimism—it’s the result of having your efforts consistently undermined, your successes diminished, and your hopes repeatedly crushed. When every attempt to improve your situation has been sabotaged, giving up seems like the only logical response.

Small Triggers, Massive Waves

For survivors with Complex PTSD from narcissistic abuse, what appears to be a minor incident can trigger a catastrophic collapse of your will to live. The depth of this reaction often seems incomprehensible to those who haven’t experienced complex trauma.

When Trust Is Shattered Again

Consider this true story: A trauma survivor hired a dog sitter through a reputable company while away on vacation. Midway through the trip, they discovered through security cameras that the sitter was neglecting their beloved pet—not staying at the house as promised, leaving the dog alone for 17 hours, failing to provide food, and sending false updates about the dog’s care.

From several states away, they scrambled to find emergency care for their pet while documenting the neglect with timestamped video evidence. The vacation was ruined, but worse was coming. Despite irrefutable evidence and promises from the company, the sitter remained on the platform after being suspended for only one day, even posting public lies denying any wrongdoing and openly calling the survivor a liar.

For someone without trauma, this would be infuriating. For a complex trauma survivor, it was catastrophic. The combination of betrayed trust, gaslighting, injustice, powerlessness, and institutional failure to protect the vulnerable hit every trigger point from their abuse history. Being publicly called a liar—and watching that lie be allowed to stand without consequence—recreated the exact dynamic of their previous trauma. And doing everything in their power to pursue justice, only to have no influence, was soul shattering. For weeks afterward, they found themselves thinking, “I don’t want to be alive anymore.” The depth of despair was so severe they had to ask family not to leave them unattended.

To an outsider, this reaction might seem disproportionate. But trauma doesn’t operate on logic. When your psyche has been previously shattered, even the smallest betrayals can reopen those wounds completely.

The Invisibility of Triggers

Triggers can be unexpectedly small—a flash of painful memory, an unanswered message, a minor mistake at work. To others, these moments seem trivial, but to a trauma survivor, they can spiral into despair in an instant, reigniting feelings of shame, abandonment, or fear. The body reacts as if the past is happening all over again, no matter how much time has passed. For someone with CPTSD, these moments can instantly trigger:

• Emotional Flashbacks: Suddenly feeling the same helplessness, shame, or terror you experienced during the abuse
• Overwhelming Fatigue: A wave of soul level exhaustion that makes continuing to stay alive seem impossible
• Dissociation: Mentally “checking out” because reality becomes too painful
• Return to Hopelessness: All progress seems erased in an instant
• Sleep Seeking: The desperate wish to “go to sleep and never wake up”—not actively wanting to die, but wanting desperately for the pain to stop

What makes these triggers so devastating is that they often appear inconsequential to others. A friend’s constructive feedback becomes a crushing blow. A minor setback feels like definitive proof of your worthlessness. A happy memory brings guilt and confusion rather than joy.

The thoughts that follow aren’t dramatic plans for self-harm but quiet surrenders: “Being alive is too hard.” “I can’t do this anymore.” “I just want this to be over.”

This is why recovery isn’t linear. A survivor might be doing well for weeks or months, only to encounter a trigger that temporarily erases all sense of progress and returns them to that place of not wanting to continue living. And they often suffer in complete silence, because how do you explain to someone that a seemingly minor disappointment has made you lose your will to live?

Read the rest of this article in the first book of Ellen’s series “There’s A Word for That”: https://a.co/d/01GdqiwJ

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 – Additional Terms and disclaimers for images used in my posts on CPTSD Foundation.

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

Do I tell my parents?
Do they deserve to know what happened to me?
Would they believe me?
Would they hold it with care, or would it break me all over again?

If you’re here, standing in that in-between place, you’re not alone. This is one of the hardest crossroads survivors face. For some, the decision feels clear. For others, like me, it’s layered and ongoing.

Sometimes the abuse happened under your parents’ roof.
Sometimes it was hidden in plain sight.
And sometimes, you don’t even know if they know.

You might find yourself circling questions like:

• Do I owe them this truth?
• Will it bring healing or harm?
• What if they can’t hold it? What if they say the wrong thing, or nothing at all?
• What if I speak it and everything changes—or worse, nothing does?

The truth is, sharing your story with a parent is not required for healing. It is a choice. And like all sacred choices, it deserves time, care, and safety.

Ask Yourself These Questions First

Before deciding to disclose, here are a few grounding questions to sit with:

1. Why do I want to share this?
Is it for connection? Clarity? Validation? To reclaim power? To draw a boundary?
There is no wrong reason, but knowing your why can anchor you.

2. What do I hope will happen? What do I fear might happen?
Give yourself permission to answer both. Hope and fear can live side by side.

3. Have I processed this enough to hold steady if their response is hurtful, shocked, or dismissive?
If not, that’s okay. It may not be time yet.

4. Do I have support ready, a friend, therapist, or coach to debrief with afterward?
You are not meant to carry this alone, no matter how strong you are.

If You Do Choose to Share, Prepare Yourself First

Here are a few things that can help:

• Write down what you want to say.
  It can be a letter, a few bullet points, or a full narrative. Organizing your thoughts helps you stay grounded.
• Practice.
  Talk it through with someone you trust. Let your nervous system rehearse what it feels like to be witnessed.
• Set boundaries before the conversation.
  Say things like, “I just need you to listen right now,” or “I’m not looking for advice or debate.”
• Prepare for all outcomes.
  They may meet you with compassion, or they may not. Your truth is still valid.
• Have a plan for how to step away if needed.
  If things get overwhelming, you get to pause, end, or redirect the conversation.

And If You Decide Not to Tell Them? That’s Valid Too.

You do not owe anyone your story. Not even your family.

You can be deeply healing and wildly brave without ever telling your parents what happened.

Not telling doesn’t mean you’re hiding. It means you are choosing what is safest, kindest, and most aligned for you right now.

And if your answer changes later? That’s okay. This journey is not linear.

Final Thoughts

This part of your story, the telling, the not telling, the wondering, still belongs to you.

You don’t have to rush. You don’t need anyone’s permission. You get to honor your truth in whatever way feels right. You are not broken. You are becoming. And that is powerful.

As for me, I still haven’t shared my story with my parents.
They can’t even hold my warm memories without minimizing them, so I’ve chosen not to interrupt my peace just to be met with silence or dismissal. I may never get the response I would hope for, and that’s a grief I’ve learned to hold gently. For now, protecting my healing matters more than being understood by people who never truly saw me.

And maybe that’s the bravest choice of all.

Photo by Ioann-Mark Kuznietsov 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.

Driving her home, I listened to her diatribe. The accident was not her fault. Despite our many warnings about her erratic behavior and dangerous driving habits, we were wrong, and she was right. It wasn’t her fault nobody cared about her and how she hated every single one of us. Her words were filled with one accusation after another. 

Stopping at a light, I glanced over at my mother. She was a stranger to me. Though every line on her face was written across the memory of my heart, I could not reach her. I couldn’t reach her as a child, and as an adult, she was further away than ever. My mind flitted to the carnage my mother had left in her wake. The light changed, and we headed toward home. For the first time, it began to dawn on me that my mother’s life was not my fault. When I stepped away from the whirlwind, I began to see that the facts led to one place—the choices she had made. And those choices were completely out of my control.

Self-blame is a pattern cultivated by abusers that grows into a trauma survivor’s natural default setting. Later in life, it becomes an unconscious, automatic response to any threat or stress. The desire to create safety is the engine that drives self-blame because it gives us the illusion of control.

The problem comes when we are hit with the reality that we are not in control and can never be in control of other people or circumstances. Though we may not be able to control the behavior of our abusers, we do get to decide what our response to their betrayal and abuse will be. 

Will it be to do further damage to our inner child? Or will it be to heal?

Will it be to become exactly like our abusers and continue to do to ourselves the same things they did? Or will it be to make a powerful choice to change?

Steps to Healing Self-Blame

1. Paradigm shift. There must be a paradigm shift. A paradigm is a standard, perspective, or set of ideas. Self-blame comes from a warped perspective of the past, and that perspective must change.

A)Self Empowerment: You must believe you have the power to choose a different path. As long as you believe and/or agree with the gaslighting and subjugation, you will continue to blame yourself. 

B) Control: Self-blame gives the false impression that you are in control. It becomes not only a habit but a comfort. Obtaining inner peace requires that you go against decades of indoctrination and surrender the illusion of control over other people and circumstances.

C) Realize That Self-Blame Does Not Release You: Self-blame comes from a need to be loved, and this need keeps us in bondage to abusive family systems. We think that if we figure out what we’re doing wrong, we will finally find the love we so crave. “If I pay enough, I will be released.” But the release never comes because the cost never ends. 

Place the Blame Where It Belongs

Many articles I’ve read encourage survivors of childhood trauma to forgive themselves. While I understand this is an attempt to get survivors to let go of self-blame, to suggest we forgive ourselves seems to me to be wrong-headed. It implies there is something we have done that needs to be forgiven when the exact opposite is true. 

Activity to Heal Self-Blame

Slowly read through the following list of the ways self-blame cements itself in childhood trauma. Pay special attention to the statements that refute each reason.

Why Self-Blame Cements Itself in Childhood Trauma

1. Children believe their abuser (Our abusers were liars)
2. The abuser is seen as “normal” or a pillar of the community by others (Our abusers pretended to be something they were not)
3. When children try to tell, the abuse is either downplayed or not believed at all. Sometimes, there is no one children can tell. (I did not have power as a child, but now I do. I was isolated as a child, but now, I do not have to be
4. Abuse is all the child knows. (Now that I am grown up, I know that abuse is not right)
5. When a child tries to stand up for themselves, the abuser uses it as justification for more abuse (My abusers were more powerful than me, then. They are not now.)
6. Self-blame is often the only way a child can control an unbearable and uncontrollable situation. (I am not living in that situation anymore. I have the ability to choose a different life for my self.)
7. Self-blame is a survival technique (I do not need to use self-blame to survive anymore)
8. The loss of the relationship is so threatening blaming yourself feels safer than admitting the truth (I am strong enough to let toxic people go)
9. The abuser has trained you (brainwashed you) to blame yourself (I am not under my abuser’s control anymore)
10. Chronic feelings of guilt, anxiety, and shame are temporarily relieved by blaming yourself.  (I will find other, more positive ways to manage unmanageable feelings)

Healing from self-blame is a process that requires thought and action. What steps can you take today that will release you from the traumatic cycle of self-blame and set you on the pathway to healing? Defy trauma, embrace joy.

You can contact Rebekah at her website, defy trauma embrace joy.com or email her at hello@defytraumaembracejoy.com

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Even while homeless, whether crawling on all fours lost in a bramble bush on a mountainside for hours or on the streets of San Francisco searching for a place to sleep, I always hoped for safety, for a way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into.

Then, living on my own in an apartment at age seventeen, eating powdered milk and oatmeal three times a day because I couldn’t afford groceries, I never considered suicide an option.

Music was my refuge

Flute playing saved me. The vestibule in my apartment building had terrific reverberation. I’d play there for hours, improvising, letting out pain, sorrow, and anguish. Music was my refuge.

Once I returned to high school as a junior, I made flute performance my career goal. I couldn’t read sheet music and learned how. I didn’t know what a scale was and learned all of them in the Circle of Fifths. Music gave me guidance, direction, something to strive for, to be good at. I worked hard and achieved accolades. But inside I was still suffering.

Only by facing gut-wrenching pain, by freefalling into that bottomless pit of despair did I move from surviving to thriving. I didn’t do it alone. I had a guide, a good therapist. And then I found another good therapist. I worked hard on my recovery for decades.

I vowed in the future to interview therapists

Finding effective practitioners took trial and error. After one horrible experience where the corrupt psychologist added insult to injury, and who ultimately had his license revoked, I vowed in the future to interview therapists. At this point, I was in my late twenties. One counselor made me feel like I was under a microscope and kept saying “fascinating, fascinating.” Though flattered, I knew that wasn’t what I needed. The other kept moving around so much in her seat I couldn’t concentrate and wanted her to just settle down.

Finally, I remembered the Adlerian dream psychologist who was a speaker at an evening workshop I attended. She asked for examples of recurring dreams. I shared a nightmare from my childhood that continued to baffle me. She gave me an analysis on the spot that made total sense, saying the balance of power in my life was all out of whack. Small things had power they shouldn’t have; big things had no power at all; the small thing was me wielding excessive authority, the big things were my parents showing no authority at all. As a child, my psyche visualized the terror of being in Toxic Abusive Relationships (TAR).

I stay current, present, and alive in the moment

It took years to clean out the basement of my emotional baggage, but finally every corner was whitewashed and empty. I was well on my way towards wholeness. Since then, I’ve had to go down into that basement and clean out the cobwebs, making sure nothing is accumulating down there. I stay current, present, and alive in the moment. I practice gratefulness and experience joy. I no longer obsess about whether people like me or think I’m weird. No. I love me now. I have found self-forgiveness and intimacy with my soul and my Higher Power.

Much of my sustained recovery is due to joining the S-Anon Twelve Step program for those affected by another person’s sex addiction. As a former trafficking and abuse victim, S-Anon has provided a safe place to feel difficult emotions in community with other victims of behavior caused by sexaholism. I’m not isolated anymore, don’t feel crazy like I used to. I have serenity and peace in my life daily. I love my world, my existence and know I’m not alone and that I have friends who understand me and accept me without judgement.

When I was in my twenties, I’d catch glimmers of hope. I might be staring at the toaster waiting for my breakfast to pop up when a feeling of joy would slide across my heart for a second then disappear, fleeting, but real. When I reported this to my therapist, she was delighted. “That’s progress.” I didn’t believe her. It was so brief, so momentary in a sea of depression. She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. In the future, those moments will last longer until one day, they’ll be your existence.”

She gave me hope

She gave me hope. That’s what I want to give you. This world, this universe is filled with love and compassion that resides in your heart and in the hearts of good people everywhere. In therapy, I cracked open my heart and let out all the black gunk. It was terrifying. Sometimes I hyperventilated, once I sat a long time in the waiting room after my session to get a grip before walking out to my car. It was all worth it, because only by accessing the darkness can you access the light, and believe me, there is so much light within you, so much love.

I wanted me—all of me—the light and the dark. Today, the darkness is a memory, like childbirth; a memory of agony, not the agony itself.

I am the victor, not the victim. I have conquered those deep, dark, scary feelings and memories. It wasn’t easy, and, like I say, I had help from good people with the patience and skill necessary to see me through. I have forgiven myself, and even forgiven those who hurt me.

I know that may sound crazy. You may be thinking never would I ever forgive that so-and-so. Believe me, it took time. But whether you forgive someone who hurt you is not as important as forgiving yourself. That’s where real healing begins–forgiving ourselves, discovering who we are, and recovering joy. The way you do that is slowly, one day, one breath at a time.

Polly Hansen’s unpublished memoir “A Minor, Unaccompanied: Memoir of a Teen Musician’s Odyssey,” won Memoir Magazine’s 2022 coming-of-age Memoir Prize for Books. Her work is published in Newsweek, The Sun and numerous other journals. She was a finalist in the 2023 Doris Betts Fiction Prize and lives in Asheville, NC with her husband and two black dogs often mistaken for small black bears on leashes. You can find her at pollyhansen.com and @9ofPentacles.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

My Grandmother is one of my best friends and biggest role models. 

Even when separated by distance, she’s always been by my side. She has shared my joy and shed tears with me and knows my secrets.  She’s always given me a space to talk, and she listens with open ears. 

She reminds me how brave I was for going to a new school during my freshman year of high school to study performing arts, which was something so different from what I was used to and what anyone else in our family did.  In college, I struggled with extreme emotional stress and health issues, oftentimes wondering if I could graduate. She was my biggest cheerleader, pushing me to keep going and believing that I could do it.  To this day, she reminds me of the accomplishment of graduating. 

She reminds me of my beauty when I don’t think that I’m beautiful. 

Each year, she made an effort to attend my school’s “Grandparents and Grandfriends Day,” always flashing a smile and making friends with all who met her. 

When we would go on walks around her neighborhood, she’d charge ahead at twice my pace, even though she used a walking stick to support herself, bounding ahead of me as I panted, “Hold your horses, Grandmother!” 

While I know she’s in some pain, she’s the healthiest 90-year-old I know. Never once have I heard her complain about her health, and from her bright smile, you’d never guess she had anything wrong. 

When I was growing up, she’d bring her boombox to my family’s house when she visited. She listened to audiobooks while my sisters and I ran around like little maniacs, screaming and playing. All the while, she wouldn’t even bat an eye but just listened intently to her book.

For hours, she would drive me through Oklahoma to my cousins’ house, playing intense classical music while she twirled her fingers to the sounds of the flutes and clarinets. At the time, I couldn’t stand classical music because I was a teenager and wanted to fit in with the music everyone else was listening to, but through my grandmother, I grew to love classical music. 

She gave me the confidence to study engineering and not fear the stereotype of not fitting in. She earned her doctorate in math when it was a completely male-dominated field. I knew that I could do it, too, because she did it. 

At family reunions, she tells the same funny stories from her life and her kids’ lives that I’ve already heard ten times, but I laugh along genuinely because I love hearing them again and again. 

I spent many of my spring breaks in Oklahoma with her. I couldn’t have cared less about soaking up the sun on the beach and partying with the other college students; I just wanted to soak up every ounce of wisdom from this incredible woman. 

Oklahoma was never my favorite place in the world because I thought it was boring, but there is never a dull moment with her. When I did complain about being bored, she came back with a sarcastic, “If you’re bored, then you’re boring.” Her biting wit rings true to this day. 

If I took a nap on her couch, she would wake me up like a boot camp drill sergeant after 30 minutes and tell me I needed to get on with my day, that there was so much I needed to accomplish. No moss ever grows under her feet.

When I struggled emotionally, I would often call her five or six times a day, and she would pick up the phone every single time, even though it always took a bit for her to adjust her hearing aids. She would break a complex problem down into smaller steps, helping me set goals, and say, “Go accomplish this task first. Go unpack one box. Then, call me again, and we’ll set the next goal.” 

She is busier than I am — constantly on the go, meeting with friends, playing bridge, and attending church. Regardless, she always picked up the phone to be sure I was okay and told me she’d call me after the game. She’s never not picked up the phone or returned my call almost immediately. Her only caveat was, “Don’t disrupt my sleep because that would be rude.”

She has taught me much about love. She says if we dare to love, we will be hurt, and vice versa. The human experience is full of love and hurt, but she has always chosen to love.  

Whenever I had a calculus question, she would answer it for me, even if she had to dust off old textbooks and spend hours refreshing her memory on the intricacies of derivatives and integrals.

She has a heart for helping others, tutoring students for free, and offering her home to those in need.  

She knew that I stopped dancing after growing up with it as my favorite passion.  She took me aside and said, ”Natalie, dance around your apartment without a care in the world; no one’s watching you.”

She gave me the courage to stop caring so much about how others perceive me and said, “If someone doesn’t like me, that’s their problem.” 

She helped me stop worrying about being criticized: “The only way to not get any criticism is to do nothing at all.”

She suggested I keep a notebook of the names of all the people I meet at work, along with some positive identifying qualities about them. She told me to wear a big smile and call people by their names; it makes them feel seen and loved. 

So many times, I’ve found myself at home crying, terrified of my grandmother’s impending death. It’s so scary imagining her being gone. I wonder how I will handle it. I know it will be like a piece of my heart has been ripped from me. I’ve saved all her voicemails, knowing that at least hearing her voice will be a connection when she’s gone. Sometimes, I’ll even intentionally let her calls go to voicemail just so I can have one more little memento of her. 

I know we will make many more memories together while she’s here. She is my best friend. I love you, Grandmother. Happy 90th birthday! 

Photo by CadoMaestro on Pexels

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.