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.

Danica Alison

Danica Alison is an optimist, deep thinker, and out-of-the-box adventurer who finds meaning in life’s chaos. She’s a writer, a healing advocate, and someone who believes healing is a journey best traveled with curiosity, humor, and a little bit of rebellious joy.
A lifelong lover of stories, both lived and told. She is passionate about exploring the messy, beautiful process of being human. Whether she’s writing, learning, or connecting with others, she brings a mix of warmth, honesty, and a refusal to fit into neat little boxes.

www.DanicaAlison.com

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.

Rebekah Brown

Rebekah Brown, a native of the south, now resides in the Great American West. Surviving a complicated and abusive family system makes her unique writing style insightful as well as uplifting. Rebekah is the proud mother of two and grandmother of four.

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.

Polly Hansen

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.

Natalie Rose

My name is Natalie, and I am a survivor of about 13 years of absolute psychological torture from Complex PTSD symptoms. For the longest time, I thought I was inherently sick and broken beyond repair. I spent over a decade running around in circles in the medical system trying to figure out what was “wrong” with me and how to “fix” it.

♡ What is Complex PTSD? ♡

Complex PTSD symptoms come from severe, prolonged, and numerous incidents of trauma, typically of a relational nature. Symptoms can come from any type of trauma, though, and the trauma doesn’t necessarily have to stem from childhood — adults can develop CPTSD as well. Trauma can damage the brain and shrink the hippocampus, causing many of the symptoms of CPTSD. I decided to go public with my story to be a voice for the voiceless. There are too many survivors being told CPTSD is a lifelong sentence, and they are not being given the tools they need to overcome their symptoms.

♡ My Story ♡

I endured multiple types of traumas starting at around age thirteen, including numerous situations of both individual and large-group interpersonal cruelty. Some of these situations forced me to switch environments. My body couldn’t fathom what was happening, and my nervous system shut down. I saw danger everywhere, operated in a panicked survival mode, and lived in fear, anxiety, and isolation. I did my best to appear “normal” on the outside, keep a smile on my face, and control what was happening on the inside, distracting myself with extreme workaholism and doing nice things for others. I took active steps to keep branching out in confidence again, but these traumas kept piling onto each other and overlapping. I wasn’t ready to give up yet, though, because I knew my family and friends would be distraught if I did. The most difficult and heartbreaking part of my story is that the two communities I set out to seek healing in—religion and the medical system itself—caused further trauma when some religious leaders, congregation members, and medical professionals chose to take advantage of my vulnerability for their own motives. In most of these situations, I didn’t even realize I was a victim until outsiders pointed it out for me and that my vulnerability made me a target of malicious people. Each future situation of being targeted was just salt on the wound of the original incident.

♡ My Struggles to Find Answers ♡

What I went through all those years was so severe, and my symptoms and physical body reactions as a result were so excruciating that I went as far as to see a neurologist, concerned that my symptoms were the result of some sort of nervous system disorder. However, he returned with no paperwork in his hands to inform me that there was nothing wrong with me but that I was simply completely traumatized, and my body reacted accordingly. I finally realized that my symptoms were not the result of an inherent mental or physical illness and began to take a trauma-based approach to my healing after many years of believing that I was “sick” for the rest of my life. My true progress began when I finally rejected the lies that were told to me that I would have to manage my symptoms for the rest of my life and made the decision to believe that I was fully capable of healing from my excruciating pain.

♡ Finding My Own Healing ♡

I am excited to share tips for natural, somatic, and holistic healing that have helped me overcome things like dissociation, flashbacks, sleep challenges, anxiety, hypervigilance, and more. I began to pursue unique methods of healing after many years of not seeing much progress through westernized care, and this was the catalyst for fast-tracking my healing. I aim to help survivors overcome their feelings of self-guilt, blame, and humiliation and help them realize that their bodies had normal reactions to abnormal situations.

I’m so glad I didn’t give up when my pain felt unbearable. I know what I’ve survived. I know the work I’ve put in to overcome it. I am finally living a life of consistent peace and contentment, and I am sharing my story from the other side. I hope to encourage other survivors that there was never anything wrong with them to begin with and that they are capable of living healthy, happy, and fulfilled lives. I aim to live my life in love of both others and myself, understanding that everyone has a story of their own. I am grateful to the CPTSD Foundation for giving me an opportunity to share my story.

♡ Personal Blog ♡

To learn more about my healing journey, please visit my personal blog, “Little Cabin Life,” at:
littlecabinlife.com

Curious visitors come by the thousands to witness with their own eyes what a 5.5-ton golden miracle looks like, pondering the weight of what it means in their own lives

The story of the Golden Buddha is thought to have begun around the 13th century CE, during the Sukhothai period of Thai history, an era during which experts believe the statue was first built. They also theorize that under the Ayutthaya empire, when faced with a Burmese invasion in 1767, monks covered the statue with stucco and colored glass, thus disguising it as an ordinary statue made of cheap materials to save it from destruction. The Burmese-Siamese War led to the fall of the Ayutthaya empire and the statue was removed from its original location. Fast forward centuries later when in 1955, during one of its relocations, the statue was accidentally dropped, causing some plaster to chip off, revealing a glimmering sliver of its golden core. Upon closer inspection, it was discovered that the statue was made out of solid gold! 

The true story of the Golden Buddha reminds us of the hidden treasures that lie beneath the protective boundaries we’ve had to create to ensure our survival. Complex trauma survivors naturally self-protect in many ways, and as we grow and walk along our healing path, at our own pace, our self-protective tools evolve along with us, highlighting our resourcefulness, our grit, and our bravery. Our resilience turns to growth, our growth into more healing. Eventually, our survival gives way to thrive, and as we pass it on and pass on our legacy.

As survivors of complex trauma, we have the potential to transform our pain into sources of wisdom, compassion, and growth, and in doing so, to emerge stronger and more resilient than ever before. We can choose to learn what true peace and freedom feel like within our bodies and hearts, often for the first time. No one wishes trauma upon themselves, any more than we would a cancer or an addiction, which some of us also have. What happened to us and what we did as a result cannot ever be undone, yet healing work can bring us to a place within ourselves where we finally become able to recover and thrive, from the inside out, and that is worth its weight in gold many times over. 

As a Certified Childhood & Sexual Trauma Recovery Coach™ and Clinical EFT Practitioner, I often use the power of metaphors as a healing tool, like my previous post about domino effect science. Along with symbols, images, and somatic responses, metaphors are – unlike words – our subconscious’s native language, a missing link to trauma recovery, post-traumatic growth, and sustainable healing. At its core, the story of the Golden Buddha is a tale of survival, resilience, justice, and overcoming all odds. It is also a tale of patience, nurture, and longevity. A metaphor about never giving up, no matter what, in the face of extreme adversity.

What does the story of the Golden Buddha mean to you?

Hidden Treasure

Just as the Golden Buddha was covered in layers of plaster and mud for 200 years – almost 2,500 years after the death of Siddhartha Gautama – complex trauma survivors have had to develop defense and coping mechanisms to bury unbearable pain and protect themselves from further harm and reinjury, sometimes for most of their lives. These layers can manifest as dissociation or chronic avoidance of emotions or memories associated with our traumas.

Overcoming

Despite its disguise, the Golden Buddha remained intact and authentic at its core for centuries, until it was safe for it to become exposed to the light and shine again. Complex trauma survivors possess incredible resilience, inner strength, and resources, which we can learn to tap into and draw upon on our healing journey to overcome adversity and reclaim our lives.

Self-Discovery

Similarly to how the chipping away of the plaster revealed the glorious gold underneath, the journey to recovery from complex trauma involves gradually uncovering and rediscovering one’s authentic Self. This process may involve trauma recovery coaching or therapy, self-reflection, self-expression, connection, and the courage to feel painful emotions that have been buried for years, even decades.

Transformation

As survivors of complex trauma, we have the potential to transform our pain into sources of wisdom, compassion, and growth, and in doing so, to emerge stronger and more resilient than ever before. We can choose to learn what true peace and freedom feel like within our bodies and hearts, often for the first time. No one wishes trauma upon themselves, any more than we would a cancer or an addiction, which some of us also have. What happened to us and what we did as a result cannot ever be undone, yet healing work can bring us to a place within ourselves where we finally become able to recover and thrive, from the inside out, and that is worth its weight in gold many times over. 

Beneath the layers of pain and suffering lies our essence, our authentic Self: Resilient, precious, untouched, worthy of unconditional love.

It is likely that I will never get to Wat Traimit in my lifetime. In fact, many of us never will either. Still, the Golden Buddha story offers us real hope and inspiration as we heal from complex trauma, reminding us all that beneath the layers of pain and suffering lies our essence, our authentic Self: resilient, precious, untouched, worthy of unconditional love.

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.

Sophie Gourdon, M.Ed, MA, CTRC, CHt

As the Founder of Little Wave Coaching, LLC, Sophie walks alongside complex trauma survivors, helping them recover and thrive beyond trauma to live more connected, meaningful, authentic lives. She is a Somatic IFS-Informed Certified Trauma Recovery Coach, Certified Clinical Emotional Freedom Techniques practitioner, and Certified Consulting Hypnotist. She is also a complex, childhood, and sexual trauma overcomer. She offers evidence-based coaching to survivors seeking to overcome their anxiety, overwhelm, cravings, chronic pain, complex, childhood, or sexual trauma. Littlewavecoaching.com is a comprehensive self-healing resource welcoming and supporting all complex trauma survivors seeking recovery. It is packed with psychoeducation about somatic tools like Emotional Freedom Techniques, Tapping, IFS/Parts Work, Solution-Driven Hypnosis, and Brain Rewiring, as well as hundreds of resources (e.g. 130+ videos, 50+ books, 80+ calm kit tools & more).

www.littlewavecoaching.com

Why do I need service dogs? Because I, like many, am on the road to recovery from complex trauma. I have been high-functioning most of my life. I’ve found ways to manage or cope with stress or trauma, but I’ve never actually dealt with the root causes. And I’m far from alone.

High-functioning mental illness 

We’re workaholics; the rocks others build on. We’re responsible, empathetic, and understanding. We’re on personal journeys and have personal missions. We do well in school, at work, or in social situations. We’re critical thinkers that find structural solutions; we’re bridge-builders. Leaders in times of crisis or change. The founders of good initiatives. The shoulders to cry on, the confidants, the advisors.

That’s our strength, as well as our weakness. We’re high-functioning alcoholics. Our amazing work ethic is actually an unhealthy way to avoid dealing with our untreated traumas. We excel in hobbies or physical activities because we’re desperately trying to feel better. Our empathy, understanding, and responsible natures are partially due to coping with stress and trauma.

We fight the good fight because no one fought for us. We are depressed. We are anxious. We are hyper-vigilant. The simplest things take us monstrous effort. We are burned out.

Not getting the help we really need, when we need it

The flip side of being high functioning is that when we reach our breaking point, we often don’t get the help, understanding, or support that we need. Most people can’t accept that we come across as well-adjusted, but we’re just managing our disease or even surviving day-to-day. That we desperately need AND deserve help and support.

Not getting help can lead to self-harm and self-destructive behavior

Self-harm is not uncommon for people who suffer from complex trauma disorders. Self-destructive behavior is definitely not unheard of. Especially in small communities with limited resources.

“Have you heard…?”
“Can you believe…!” 
“Well, I never!” 

The amount of gossip and surprised reactions when high-functioning people start falling apart is a normal day in the park for us. We’re not surprised. We can most definitely believe it. Most of us are painfully aware that we could be next. Or have already been there? It’s also the reason why a lot of high-functioning people don’t come out openly as having poor mental health or mental illness.

There’s already a taboo when it comes to talking about trauma. There’s a taboo on being adversely affected by trauma. There’s a stigma on seeking professional help for poor mental health or mental illness. But the social consequences when you haven’t dealt with trauma and you ultimately turn to self-harm or self-destructive behavior? Being the object of ridicule and social ostracism because you didn’t get the help you needed when you needed it. There’s nothing quite like it.

The ultimate “remedy”

That’s what I write about in a nutshell: my road to recovery. 

I write:

• Informative articles
• Op-ed pieces
• Personal blog entries
• Articles about advocacy and activism

But mostly I write about human nature and human rights. Because at the end of the day, my complex trauma is just a tiny part of who I am. 

I am a Renaissance Woman and Modern Entrepreneur. An avid reader, amateur writer, patient advocate, and complex trauma experience expert. A lifelong student of human nature and human rights.

My background may be complex. My disease may be complex. My life may be complex.

But at the end of the day, I’m Just Julie. A human being just like you.

Suicide is the last stop for people like me. I, and many like me, have lost a lot of people to suicide. While the rest of my environment is shocked, grieving, and taken by surprise, I am shocked, suppressing my grief, and not surprised at all. These people are my people. These people are my tribe.

I tried to hang myself when I was 12. It was pure chance that I failed.

No one knew at the time. And no one suspected or noticed how badly I was doing. My suicide attempt wasn’t a cry for help. It wasn’t a way to get attention. It was the only escape for me from an impossibly bleak situation and immediate future.

Sometimes failure is a good thing

I didn’t tell anyone about my suicide attempt until the following year. 

I connected with a cousin who was a lot like me in a lot of ways. He was also well-adjusted, but silently suffering from depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. Like me, his attempts at seeking support or understanding had worked counter-productively.

To me this connection was profound. It had taken me 14 years, but here was one person who got me. If there was one, there might be more. If there were more, there might be others who knew why I was the way I was. And maybe someone, somewhere had figured out how to live with being like me.

It’s a journey, not a destination

And that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. What I’ve been working towards. Not always consciously. Sometimes with detrimental results. Riddled with periods of complete and utter dejection; times when I cannot function.

But I also learned a lot. Met people who know a lot. Learned a lot of life lessons. Tried a lot of different things. I’m nowhere near my destination, but I’m on my way.

Self-Actualization

At various times in my life, I have been trying to self-actualize. And that helps me manage my disease better than anything else I tried in the past 42 years.

Part of my quest has been to learn about trauma and trauma disorders. That’s what led me to re-frame a key question.

What everyone has always asked, and what I’ve always wondered is:

What is wrong with me?

-Me, the first 42 years of my life

Current research suggests that when dealing with complex trauma it helps to re-frame the question into:

What happened to me that makes me the way I am?

-Me, the past 3 years

Since childhood, I have been wondering what is wrong with me. I have been told over and over that there’s something wrong with me. Have been punished for saying the wrong things or doing the wrong things. 

It turns out that what is ‘wrong’ with me is that I have perfectly normal reactions to abnormal, traumatic situations. What’s ‘wrong’ with me is that I have never dealt with my traumatic past, just been trying to fix symptoms. Not finding or treating the root causes.

Road to recovery

That’s what I write about in a nutshell: my road to recovery. 

I write:

• Informative articles
• Op-ed pieces
• Personal blog entries
• Articles about advocacy and activism

But mostly I write about human nature and human rights. Because at the end of the day, my complex trauma is just a tiny part of who I am. 

I am a Renaissance Woman and Modern Entrepreneur. An avid reader, amateur writer, patient advocate, and complex trauma experience expert. A lifelong student of human nature and human rights.

My background may be complex. My disease may be complex. My life may be complex.

But at the end of the day, I’m Just Julie. A human being just like you.

Julie Faruba

Julie is a renaissance woman. Mental health patient advocate. Certified compliance professional. Avid reader. Amateur writer. Passionate dancer. Animal friend. Life-long student. Free speech proponent. Human rights champion. Devil’s advocate debater. Complex Trauma Experience Expert.

jsfaruba.com

I am not rejecting all of you amazing people, I am rejecting the honey that has brought all of us bees together. Honestly, how many of you truly want to be in this club? Like ALL of you, one of my favourite phrases (usually followed by some very inventive swear words) is, “I’m sick of this shit”.

Opening Pandaora’s Box

The best and the worst of the CPTSD journey is near the beginning when the land of CPTSD Oz has been revealed and you’re both fascinated, relieved, and revolted. The dream of a better life just became real, but you can’t unsee flying monkeys and you can’t unsee CPTSD. I have heard so many of us on this site talk about “opening Pandora’s box” and wanting to slam it shut, but it was too late. That is certainly how I felt.

Suddenly, CPTSD was coming at me from all directions. I couldn’t turn a corner or have a conversation with someone without a flashback, brain fart, or emotional aha moment. CPTSD stalked me all my life in the shadows. I always knew something was there and it terrified me, but I could never fully see it or put a name to it.  However, once I fully saw it and named it, it no longer stalked me—instead it moved in, took over my closet, put its feet on the coffee table, and asked what I was making for supper. Every. Damn. Day.

I had transformed into “Super-CPTSD” who could leap tall flashbacks in a single meltdown and could disassociate faster than any memory could catch me.

I could not get away from it, even for a moment. So, I decided that I was going to be the best CPTSD buster that ever lived. I was going to “get over it” and jumped into the books, podcasts, therapy, and support groups. I had transformed into “Super-CPTSD” who could leap tall flashbacks in a single meltdown and could disassociate faster than any memory could catch me.

This phase lasted for about two weeks from my initial “OMG” moment. Then, a particularly nasty flashback that put me on my butt and into my bed for a couple of days brought me back to reality. This was not another achievement or notch on my life belt. None of my previous tactics or tools were going to defeat this sucker.  While all my previous emotional work and healing had prepared me for the battle, I needed more.

This is the point in most self-help articles where I should be giving you the magic recipe to defeat that emotional monster in three easy steps and start a new and improved life. But, if you’re like me and someone tries to tell me I can do something in three easy steps, I want to slap them with the book they’re recommending.

There is no easy fix. We have all tried that whether it be denial, addiction, or the other myriad of quick fixes we attempt to get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible. But, there is a fix and it is actually quite simple. We need to feel the pain and as Brene Brown says, lean into it. I know you’re thinking, “What? Are you insane? I’m trying to NOT feel the pain anymore!” Well, that’s the conundrum of healing from trauma: to no longer feel pain, you need to feel the pain. But this time, you will be able to access your adult self and a solid system of support to reach in and truly heal that pain, so it is the last time you feel it to this degree.

Yes, the pain will end. Soon enough, you will find yourself in a new club, and this one you will definitely want to join—the CPTSD Healed Club. In this club, meetings aren’t so regular because you don’t really need them. They are fun though and filled with lots of smiles and knowing nods as we reminisce about how deep our pain used to be. Membership is open and we are always actively recruiting because we want everyone to join our club. If you are reading this, it shows that you are already on the right path to joining this club. Welcome!

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Belinda Pyle

Belinda lives on beautiful Vancouver Island where she fills her need for nature with hiking, horses, ocean, and any furry critters she can find. She is completing her post-grad certificate in Addictions and Mental Health Counselling and looks forward to helping others as she has been helped. As a third-generation survivor of trauma, she comes from a long line of crazy but strong women who have somehow succeeded in making lives that don’t completely suck.