I surely can’t be the only one to pin myself up against the wall and peek through the curtains, waiting for the knocking to stop. Have you ever begged the universe to please let the person on the other side of the door be the UPS guy, so you know he’ll be on his merry way? Once, I hid for an hour because someone wouldn’t stop knocking. I didn’t care what they had to sell; I didn’t want it. I didn’t care what they had to say; I didn’t want to hear it. As it turned out, no one was at the door. I’d been hiding from a persistent woodpecker that had decided to tap manically on the side of my house.

Unfortunately, its Morse code failed to reach the logical parts of my brain; I only felt a wave of “baseless” fear. 

After a lot of therapy and work to regulate my nervous system, I have fewer of the moments I described above. I’m getting better at answering the door. These days, I often voluntarily leave my hidey hole to “connect” with others and even socialize.

I’ve come a long way in recognizing moments of emotional hijack, but I still have work to do.

For example, I’m writing this article because I’ve fled my house like a refugee. I’m not in danger, but I feel like I am. Why? Because an event in my neighborhood has suddenly swelled the population of my small community. It’s amplified my general fear of unexpected visits from people. Why would I feel fear in this context?

It’s simple. The anxiety around the unknown catapults me into a state of panic, locking me in terror about what could come next. When my safety feels compromised, naturally, my fear responses kick in. Having a sense of “control” of my surroundings makes me feel safe.

Usually, I’m able to ground myself and connect with the logical parts of my brain that know I’m safe. I’m getting better at working through these mental and physical nightmares. Other times, my fear responses do all the talking. All humans have fear responses, which are automatic, survival-driven physiological and psychological reactions designed to keep us safe.

These responses came in especially handy in prehistoric times when the threat of being mauled by a predator in the wild wasn’t out of the question. In modern times, this bodily and mental alarm system is less necessary most of the time. For those of us who have lived in persistently dangerous situations like chaotic childhood homes or in abusive relationships as adults, however, these fear responses have gotten a regular workout.

Our nervous systems, already hardwired by nature to fight, flee, freeze, or fawn in the face of danger, often become dysregulated. Our mind and body learn to “warn us” in situations that don’t warrant fear in most people because something about the moment sets off the alarm bells in our overstimulated nervous systems. Suddenly, we’re off to the races, held hostage by our go-to fear responses.

Depending on the situation, I freeze and play a solo game of possum, or, if possible, I flee. Although the logical part of my brain steps in sooner than it once did, it can be tricky when I’m going through a depressive slump. My whole system is just enough off kilter that it doesn’t take much to shift into the fear responses that feel as natural as breathing. Add a hefty dose of depression to the mix, and I find myself on the floor looking at dust bunnies long after the knocking has stopped. 

In fairness, my tendency to avoid people is partly a natural extension of my introverted nature. I need my space to recharge. But it’s more than that.

I think, like so many things, it’s related to trauma. For years, I made myself invisible in a way that extended beyond garden-variety introversion. Some of my reactions cannot be attributed solely to wanting to avoid attention or to being mentally drained from too much “on” time. Wanting to avoid people is one thing, but when fear suddenly pulsates through your body like an angry heavy metal song, it’s a clue that there’s more at play.

These strong physical reactions can be debilitating. Avoiding them can become a way of life.

Over time, I learned to avoid connections altogether. No matter the setting—my child’s baseball game, the office, or even the bread aisle at the grocery store—I shielded myself from others’ eyes and interest. These habits started in childhood; I learned early on to blend into the background and hide my presence. When I was quiet and withdrawn, I was out of sight, out of mind. I mastered a kind of isolated invisibility, and for good reason. I did this because I learned early on that people are unpredictable and can be dangerous. Danger can, in fact, be on the other side of your door. 

Accustomed to recoiling or running away in fear since I was in diapers, I’m working to retrain my body. I’m trying to convince myself that not everyone and everything is dangerous. I’m working hard to pull myself out of the shadows. The protective bubble around me is expanding while my perpetual anxiety around the possibility of getting hurt shrinks incrementally. The weight of my self-doubt and fear of falling short or being too much is finally receding. Many days, I succeed in this effort to free myself from the shadows.

I challenge myself to “put myself out there” or, at the very least, not run away. It usually turns out okay. Some days, I take significant strides beyond the dark weight of the shadows. On those days, it feels good to be “seen” after all these years of feeling invisible.

Other days, like today, I silently beg the universe to grant me an invisibility cloak. In these moments, I feel frozen in a place I no longer want to live. At the same time, I realize it’s okay to sit in these dark places and hide occasionally…as long as I don’t linger. Sometimes “hiding” is an act of self-care, but there’s a point when self-imposed social isolation transitions into unhealthy territory. I’m learning where that line is and how I can best support myself in those moments of unsolicited terror.

For a long time, I thought I was the only one who experienced this ongoing battle between a desire for invisibility and a desperate plea to be “seen.” I’m finally realizing I’m not alone in this struggle.

I’ve met more and more people like me over time. I’m one of many hiding in the safe cove of the shadows. Others take back stairways to avoid contact with colleagues or walk across the street to avoid saying “hi” to an acquaintance on days when even a two-word exchange feels like too much. Some days, the internal overwhelm makes it impossible for me to stretch myself. I occasionally worry that if I share these inner thoughts and fears, I will be deemed “insane.”

If you are reading this, you may be shaking your head in camaraderie on some level. Fortunately, our fear responses have little to do with sanity and everything to do with searching for safety. Many of us feel like we will never be safe, but it’s human nature to seek safety. Because we may find safety in hiding, we may subsequently feel resigned to never being truly “seen.” Wanting to be seen and understood, I think, is also human nature. So, here we find ourselves…at these strange crossroads of wanting two things that feel incompatible. They may feel that way, but that doesn’t mean they are.

I’ll never meet most of the people who read my words, but I can tell you this: I see you. I understand. We may be hiding, but we are not hiding alone. Nor are we invisible.

I recently asked myself, “Where the hell were you kindred spirits when I was in my teens and twenties”? I felt “weird” for hiding from people like a vampire fleeing the first rays of the morning sun. I assumed there was something wrong with me and that I was completely alone in my fear of people.

As it turns out, there was nothing wrong with me; my actions were self-protective. And…I’m not alone in this fear of people. Decades later, I finally realized why I couldn’t find “my people” for so long. I laughed out loud when it hit me: you were hiding too! It’s one of those “funny, not funny” kinds of things. Many of us play an ongoing game of hide-and-seek with the world. We all have our reasons. Sometimes, retreating into hiding is exactly what we need. We’ve earned that right. We also deserve to be seen.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned on my healing pilgrimage is that two opposing things can be true at the same time. We can hide while we also seek, and even in those moments of hiding, we can still be seen. I want to remind all my fellow hiders that we’re never actually alone…sometimes we only feel that way because we’re in hiding. That’s okay, though…we’ll come out when we’re ready. Until then, we can keep each other company. And…when we heal, peek-a-boo world, here we come!

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

Heather Jurvelin

Finally feeling truly alive for the first time in my life, I am writing from a place of gradual healing with an eye to the future and a hope of connecting with others on similar paths. Forced to withhold a tsunami of emotions deemed irrelevant under the roof of my childhood “home,” the blank white pages of my notebooks invited my raw reflections without judgment. Writing allowed me to free the burdens of my soul, but at some point, I muzzled myself. My pen lay dormant for years until, at 41 years old, I experienced a traumatic flashback during an everyday activity that shook me to the core. Five days later, I started writing about the things I had long withheld. I couldn’t stop. Written words have once again become my refuge. I now recognize that these words, resurrected from the ashes of my pain, may have the power to help others. Above all, I want to magnify and share the messages that I have most treasured on my journey: we are not alone and we don’t ever have to go back. This is where we live now and the future is ours.

In our achievement-oriented professional culture, rest is often viewed as a luxury or a sign of reduced commitment to career growth. For trauma survivors, particularly, the drive to prove our worth through constant productivity can override our body’s natural needs for rest and regulation. Yet paradoxically, intentional rest and downregulation are essential ingredients for sustainable career development and professional resilience.

Table of Contents

• Understanding Professional Rest
• Impact of Rest Deficit
• Defining Downregulation
• Essential Role of Regulation
• Implementation Strategies
• Next Steps
• Reflection Guide

Understanding Professional Rest: Beyond the Basic Break

Redefining rest in the context of career development

Professional rest encompasses far more than taking occasional breaks or getting enough sleep (though these are important foundations). True career-supporting rest involves creating intentional pauses that allow our nervous system to process experiences, integrate learning, and reset our professional engagement capacity.

This type of rest manifests in multiple dimensions. Physical rest might look like taking regular movement breaks or maintaining good sleep hygiene. Mental rest involves creating space between tasks and allowing our minds to wander creatively. Emotional rest includes processing workplace experiences and maintaining healthy boundaries. Social rest means being selective about our professional interactions and honoring our need for solitude.

For trauma survivors, professional rest also includes regulatory pauses — moments when we intentionally check in with our nervous system and adjust our engagement level to maintain optimal functioning. These pauses aren’t signs of weakness but rather strategic investments in our long-term career sustainability.

The Impact of Rest Deficit on Career Development

Understanding the professional cost of chronic activation

When we consistently override our need for rest, the impacts ripple throughout our professional lives in subtle but significant ways. Our decision-making abilities become compromised as our nervous system remains in a state of high alert. Creative thinking, essential for problem-solving and innovation, diminishes when our system lacks the spaciousness that rest provides.

Chronic rest deficit affects our professional relationships as well. We might find ourselves more reactive in team interactions, less patient with learning processes, or unable to maintain the emotional bandwidth necessary for leadership roles. Our ability to recognize and act on career opportunities can become impaired when we’re operating from a depleted state.

The professional cost extends to our career trajectory itself. Without adequate rest, we’re more likely to make decisions from a place of overwhelm rather than aligned intention. We might take on roles that aren’t truly fitting, miss opportunities for meaningful growth, or burn out in positions that could have been sustainable with better rest practices.

Understanding Downregulation: A Professional Superpower

Defining the science of the nervous system settling

Downregulation refers to the intentional process of helping our nervous system shift from a state of high activation to one of greater calm and presence. In a professional context, this means developing the ability to recognize when we’re moving into overwhelm and taking active steps to return to a more regulated state.

This skill becomes particularly crucial in workplace settings where we’re constantly processing information, navigating relationships, and making decisions. Downregulation allows us to maintain professional effectiveness without exhausting our internal resources. It’s the difference between pushing through with diminishing returns and maintaining sustainable high performance.

The beauty of downregulation lies in its accessibility. While it requires practice and intention, it’s a skill that can be developed and strengthened over time. Each time we successfully help our system settle, we build greater capacity for future regulation.

Why Downregulation is Essential for Career Growth

The connection between regulation and professional development

Professional growth requires us to stretch beyond our comfort zone, take on new challenges, and develop new capabilities. However, this growth can only be sustainable when balanced with adequate downregulation. Think of it like interval training — periods of challenge followed by periods of recovery allow for optimal development.

When we maintain good regulation practices, we’re better equipped to:

• Process feedback constructively rather than taking it personally
• Navigate workplace challenges with greater resilience and creativity
• Build meaningful professional relationships that support our growth
• Make career decisions from a place of groundedness rather than reactivity
• Recognize and act on opportunities that align with our authentic goals

Moreover, consistent downregulation practices help us develop greater self-awareness — a crucial skill for career development. We become better attuned to our natural rhythms, professional preferences, and authentic aspirations. This self-knowledge becomes invaluable in making career choices that truly serve our long-term growth.

Practical Approaches to Professional Rest and Regulation

Building sustainable career development practices

Integrating rest and regulation into your professional life doesn’t require dramatic changes. Start by creating small pockets of regulatory practice throughout your workday. This might mean taking three deep breaths before entering a meeting, spending five minutes in nature during your lunch break, or practicing a brief body scan between tasks.

Develop clear boundaries around work hours and communication, recognizing that these boundaries support your well-being and professional effectiveness. Create end-of-day rituals that help you transition from work to rest mode, allowing your system to fully download and process the day’s experiences.

Pay attention to your professional environment as well. Set up your workspace to support regulation, including plants, calming images, or comfort objects. Build in regular movement opportunities, even if that means taking walking meetings or stretching between tasks.

Most importantly, begin tracking how rest and regulation affect your professional performance. Notice how your decision-making clarity, creative capacity, and interpersonal effectiveness shift when you’re well-rested and regulated versus when you’re pushing through fatigue.

Moving Forward: Your Next Steps

Building a sustainable career development practice

Creating a rest-conscious career development approach is an ongoing journey, not a destination. Start by choosing one small regulation practice to implement this week. Notice how it affects your professional presence and effectiveness. Building these practices takes time and patience — approach yourself with compassion as you develop these essential skills.

Reflection Questions for Your Journal

Deepening your understanding of rest and regulation

1. Think of a time when you felt truly rested and regulated at work. What conditions supported this state? How did it affect your professional presence and performance?
2. What does your body tell you about your current balance of activation and rest in your professional life? What wisdom might these signals hold?
3. How has your relationship with rest and regulation evolved throughout your career journey? What lessons from this evolution might serve your future growth?
4. What would become possible in your career if you were consistently well-rested and regulated? What small step could move you toward this vision?
5. What professional strengths have you developed through learning to honor your need for rest and regulation? How might these strengths support your continued growth?

An Invitation

If you’d like to join an online community of other resilient overcomers focusing on their careers, I invite you to join The Resilient Career Academy™ Community. (RCA Community)

The RCA Community is a group dedicated to helping/supporting those working to overcome adversity and achieve their full potential in their careers.

The benefits to you are:

• Community. The community provides support, encouragement, the ability to share frustrations and get feedback from people who understand the struggle.
• Workplace/Career Resources. The group provides tools, resources, and templates to help you with your career journey.
• Available Coaching Support. The community is supported by trained and certified coaches who are available for individual sessions.
• Learning. You will have access to various trauma/workplace-related online courses developed by our coaches to help you in your journey.
• Workshops/Webinars . You will have access to practical workshops/webinars targeted to help you in the workplace grow your career.

If you are interested in joining us, click here: https://resilientcareeracademy.myflodesk.com/community

As always, you do not have to walk this journey alone. Contact me to schedule your free discovery call.

Trigger Tracker Template — This is a FREE resource to help you become aware of your triggers in the workplace and plan the coping strategies you will use to get through the experience.

If you want to stay informed on the programs, tools, and training I offer, sign up for my mailing list.

You can also visit my website for more information on courses and other freebies I offer at: https://www.cyndibennettconsulting.com.

Photo by Sincerely Media on Unsplash

Cyndi Bennett

Believer. Leader. Learner. Advocate. Writer. Speaker. Coach. Mentor. Triathlete. Encourager. Survivor.
 
Most of all, I am a fellow traveler on the rocky road called, Trauma Recovery. My mission is to minimize the effects of trauma for survivors in the workplace.

It’s a powerhouse of possibility,  and it’s also a paradox. It keeps us alive. Helps us create. Love. Imagine. It’s where the best parts of us live–the cleverness, the humor, the wild creativity, the gut instincts, and the empathy.

But it’s also where the trauma lives.
Where the fear lives.
Where the ghosts of what we survived are still pacing the halls.

A Hypervigilant Command Center

If you live with CPTSD, then you know that it’s not just a brain. It’s a hypervigilant command center. Always alert. Always scanning. Always assuming the next bad thing is just around the corner–even when life is calm.

When you walk into a room, you don’t just enter. You calculate. You assess. You map out the exits, read every face, and listen for tone shifts. You don’t even realize you’re doing it; it’s automatic.
Learned from years of needing to be ready, just in case.

Emotional Hijacking: When the Past Invades the Present

Then someone says something. Maybe it’s nothing–a joke, a pause, or a look that lingers a second too long. Boom, your body’s gone tight, your stomach drops, and your thoughts scatter.

Suddenly, you’re back in a memory you never meant to revisit.
Not fully reliving it, but emotionally hijacked by it.
The fear, the shame, the worthlessness.
All of it, flooding in as if it never left.

Ruminating in the Ruins

Your brain starts looping.
Was it me?
Did I mess up again?
Are they mad?
Am I too much? Not enough?
What did I do?

You start ruminating.
You replay the conversation.
You pick apart every word, every silence.
You fill in blanks with worst-case scenarios.

And you don’t even want to be doing it; it just happens.

You know it’s happening. You see it happening.
But knowing doesn’t stop it.

It’s as though your own inner monologue is unraveling you in real time.
And you’re powerless to stop the unraveling.

This Is What CPTSD Can Look Like

Not always flashbacks.
Sometimes, it’s a slow, invisible spiral that pulls you under with nothing dramatic on the surface.
Just a brain quietly trying to protect you… in all the wrong ways.

The Whispered Lies in the Dark

And sometimes, yeah, the thoughts get dark. Not always suicidal. But heavy. Bone-deep exhausted. The kind of dark where you lie in bed and feel like a failure for simply existing.
The kind where your brain whispers:

“You’ll never get better.”
“This is just who you are.”
“People only tolerate you.”
“You’re too much.”
“You’re alone in this.”

And if you’re tired or overwhelmed–or just raw that day–you believe it.

Even though you know it’s the trauma talking.
Even though you’ve done the therapy.
Even though you’ve read the books, taken the meds, and journaled your guts out.
You still believe the lie your brain is screaming at you.

The Hardest Fight: Your Own Mind

That’s what makes healing so hard.
You don’t just fight symptoms.
You fight your own mind.

And it’s not because you’re weak.
It’s because your brain adapted perfectly to survive what happened to you.
It just doesn’t know you’re safe now.
It doesn’t know the war ended years ago.

What I’m Holding Onto

But here’s the part I’m learning, what I try to hold onto when it all feels too much: This brain, this chaotic, overworked, trauma-stamped brain of mine… It’s still trying and still showing up and still learning.

It laughs.
It makes art.
It remembers weird 90s trivia.
It falls in love.
It gets back up, even when it swears it’s done.

It is, somehow, still mine, and still beautiful.
Not because it’s perfect.
But because it keeps going.

Tender. Tired. Trying.

Beautifully magnificent. And also:

Tender.
Tired.
Trying.

Maybe that’s the point. Healing doesn’t erase the trauma. It means we learn how to live with a brain that’s been through hell, and that we choose, every day, to love it anyway.

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco 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.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

One of the banes of our culture’s psychiatric ideology is its tendency to pathologize mental health difficulties as “disorders” and “diseases”, both of which imply that there’s something wrong with a person that needs to be fixed. This often leads someone diagnosed with a disorder to self-shame, self-blame, and try to fight against their symptoms. In this article, I’ll investigate the notion of disorders and argue that they are actually processes that, as trauma expert Gabor Maté eloquently states, are “normal responses to abnormal circumstances”.

The Dreaded Disorder

Complex PTSD (CPTSD) derives its name, of course, from PTSD, which was begrudgingly added to the DSM-III in 1980. PTSD was the first diagnosis in the DSM for which the cause – severe trauma – was accepted as being external to the person. Despite this, it was still named a disorder, consistent with the vast majority of the other diagnoses in the DSM which were (and still are) largely considered biological in origin.

Particularly with CPTSD, it’s interesting to consider the use of the term disorder and ponder what it reflects about how we view mental health conditions in general.

With respect to mental health, the term disorder – while it has a softer feel than older descriptors such as insane, deviant, or mentally ill – nonetheless carries with it the negative connotations mentioned in the introduction. In addition, when a person has a disorder, the typical next step is that we must figure out how to get rid of it. (Or, most often, its symptoms.)

The implication is that the disorder is a thing to be eliminated – an entity somehow separate from the person who “has” it.

Viewing it as a process, on the other hand, can be much more useful. It eliminates the notion of a condition being a thing – a noun – and instead recognizes it as a verb – dynamic and unfixed. For example, we typically say that someone has depression as if it’s a static entity inside of them. But consider if, instead, we say someone is experiencing depression. While at first, this may appear to simply be a subtle shift in wording, it’s actually a dramatically different way of viewing mental health.

Persistent Processes

So what exactly are these dynamic processes? To shed some light, we must trace them back to their causes. With CPTSD (along with virtually any other mental health condition), the symptoms that manifest are, in my view, actually a collection of coping strategies that kicked in during childhood due to trauma. These adaptations are highly intelligent when they first come online – they prevent our traumatic experiences from becoming even worse, and in many cases actually save our lives. Once the trauma is over, however, they often become maladaptive and outlive their usefulness.

As a fairly straightforward example, consider someone who is chronically hypervigilant – always on alert for threats, always stressed, and always anxious. Rather than seeing this as something genetic or random, labeling it CPTSD recognizes that it’s the result of childhood trauma – the child adapted to a prolonged lack of safety in its environment by becoming hypervigilant.

This coping strategy is extremely beneficial while the trauma is occurring, but then becomes harmful once the trauma is over.

This type of thing can also be more subtle. Consider someone who is a people-pleaser – chronically putting the needs of others ahead of themselves, and focusing on the happiness of others at the expense of their own. This is a well-known manifestation of CPTSD. In virtually all cases it can be traced back to chronic childhood trauma. For example, a child learns that she has to please her parents in order to be loved, and adapts accordingly. Her #1 priority becomes constantly adjusting and suppressing her behavior, emotions, reactions, and impulses in order to be as pleasing as possible to her parents. Even the slightest prospect of disappointing them becomes a matter of survival and therefore generates extreme amounts of stress. As an adult, this coping strategy continues, now directed towards everyone in the person’s life – her spouse, co-workers, and other family members. The adult becomes obsessed with keeping others happy, and terrified of letting them down.

The only difference between these two examples is that, from Western medicine’s perspective, the first one is diagnosable (i.e. it’s in the DSM) and the second one isn’t. But when we step away from this superficial distinction, we can see the same fundamentals at work: Both of these dynamics are the result of childhood adaptations that become very harmful to a person in adulthood, causing high levels of stress and anxiety which eventually take a toll on their physical bodies as well. Both are the result of trauma, and both are processes that were, at first, highly effective coping strategies.

Implications for Treatment

The notion of a disorder tends to create an attitude that symptoms are something to be gotten rid of – to battle against using any means necessary. Far from being compassionate, this approach essentially puts the internal system at war with itself. The process perspective, on the other hand, opens the door to treatment modalities such as Internal Family Systems (IFS), which work with our coping strategies rather than against them, using self-compassion and understanding. IFS respects that coping strategies came about for good reasons, and therefore doesn’t attempt to change behaviors directly. Instead, a bottom-up approach is used to heal and release a person’s trauma, at which point behavioral change comes about as a natural outcome.

Conclusion

Developmental trauma doesn’t create disorders – it creates coping strategies, which are processes rather than discrete things. Complex post-traumatic stress is what trauma victims suffer from – adding disorder to the name is unhelpful. This shift in perspective is, in my experience, highly effective at enabling clients to look at themselves in a more compassionate and respectful way. Treatment approaches such as IFS – which go beyond the level of the cognitive – can then be used to work with a person’s processes in a balanced and holistic fashion.

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.

Terry Baranski

www.healingtheself.net

Trauma-Centric Mental Health Practitioner and Parenting Coach

Internal Family Systems (IFS), Compassionate Inquiry, Therapeutic Coaching

 

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

A few years ago, I was invited to attend a new support group for people diagnosed with complex trauma. I was (unsurprisingly) anxious about going, but hopeful it could help me. When I got there, I expected that nervousness to calm down, but instead, it got much worse. It took every bit of strength in me not to run out of the room. When it was over, I went home and hid under my blankets for three hours.

Eventually, I decided to give the group one more try. I experienced the same terror, and to top it off, I spent the majority of the hour crying uncontrollably. It was such a dysregulating experience that in the days that followed, I deteriorated into a new depressive episode. It was devastating and left me feeling broken and like a walking open wound. Needless to say, I did not return.

A few months later, when I was able to think more clearly, I tried to figure out what had happened. I eventually realized, in my opinion, that nothing had been done to ensure I (or anyone else) felt safe at the outset of the group. From what I recall, we were not given information on what to expect in advance. I remember I was unsure if the leader intended to disclose my story without my permission, and likewise I don’t remember there being a conversation on if it was appropriate for folks to share details that could be triggering. It was akin to being thrown into the deep end with the expectation you’d just learn to swim.

No wonder group had felt so awful, and now I know why. It’s my perspective this group did not utilize a bottom-up approach, and so my nervous system was on such high alert that being there was nearly unbearable. I don’t think the leader was bad at their job, I just think they didn’t consider or weren’t trained in the style I needed.

So, what is the difference between “top-down” and “bottom-up” therapy, and why does it matter?  The first thing you need to know is the words “top” and “bottom” are references to particular sections of the brain and what they are responsible for. It’s also important to know that until recently, most therapy has followed a top-down approach, and as you may have guessed from my story above, this doesn’t always have the desired results.

It’s believed the top section of the brain is concerned with thinking, speaking, and present-day emotional awareness. Top-down therapy typically means working through things cognitively. This involves stuff like thought patterns, communication, decision-making, and problem-solving.

The bottom section of the brain is thought to include the areas responsible for memories, impulses, and survival responses. Therefore, bottom-up therapy works on understanding sensations, education on the nervous system, grounding, mindfulness, and body awareness.

The new school of thought theorizes bottom-up approaches are especially helpful for folks who have experienced trauma, particularly long-standing, developmental or complex trauma. The suggestion is top-down methods often don’t work well for folks with this type of history because it presupposes what needs adjusting is the person’s way of thinking. This does not take into consideration the automatic nature of the nervous system, or in other words, a body that is hardwired to perceive danger where there is none.

In regards to trauma, bottom-up takes into account that the first thing that typically occurs is the body reacting, and then, later on, the mind thinking. To paraphrase Peter Levine: You cannot properly process thoughts if your insides are telling you that you are standing in front of a tiger.

In my case, I could not effectively join the above group until my nervous system felt safe there. Unfortunately, since this did not happen, I could not tolerate it.

So, if therapy or popular “self-help” methods have caused you to feel like your hair is on fire and you need to run screaming from the building, there is a good chance your nervous system has kicked in. If this (or something like it) is a regular occurrence, it’s possible you may benefit from bottom-up methods. I certainly have!

I’ve been with my current therapist for a long time, and she uses a bottom-up approach. This doesn’t mean I don’t ever have discomfort or anxiety in therapy, but what it does mean is it isn’t ignored and we attempt to regulate it.

Recently when COVID-19 restrictions were starting to lift, we went back to in-person sessions after a year of virtual. When I was finally sitting in front of her, I right away felt activated. I trust this therapist a lot, and so I quickly told her how I was feeling. She was understanding and reassured me it made sense because my nervous system hadn’t been in the same space with her for almost a year and it was probably being a bit cautious. This was helpful in taking any of the blame off me. We then did some grounding exercises until I felt more settled, after which we were able to move on. This clearly sounds much better than what took place in the previous story.

If you want to seek out a therapist that does things bottom-up, look for the following training: Somatic experiencing, emotion-focused therapy, eye movement desensitization and reprocessing therapy (EMDR), sensorimotor therapy, art therapy, polyvagal theory, compassionate inquiry, and trauma-informed yoga. There are probably many others, and it’s always a good idea to have a conversation with a provider about how they practice and what theories they follow. You can also look into self-help that uses these methods.

It’s prudent to remember both top-down and bottom-up are valid methods, and in reality, most therapists likely use some type of a blend of the two. Additionally, while folks who have experienced trauma may need to start at the “bottom,” the goal would likely be to work one’s way to the “top” eventually. There are also therapists who attempt to work with one foot in each realm, and this may be helpful, too.

If you have tried therapy in the past and it seemed to do more harm than good, you may feel discouraged or like you are somehow “broken.” I can certainly relate to those feelings. I’ve had the good fortune to have the support that fits my needs and this has been incredibly healing. I’m here to encourage you, that in a similar way, it very well may be a bottom-up approach is what works for you. You are worth it!

 If you’d like to follow along with my journey, you can find me on Instagram as @mentalhealthyxe.

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Heidi Fischer

Heidi Fischer is a mental health advocate who lives in Saskatoon, Canada. Heidi enjoys writing about her personal experience with C-PTSD, Depression, and Anxiety. Heidi is the creator of a popular mental health Instagram called @mentalhealthyxe and can also be found on her website mentalhealthyxe.com. 

www.mentalhealthyxe.com/

This awareness could be a trauma response.

It could be that you haven’t always exactly known what you were experiencing, but you recognize that you can regularly detect when someone or something feels “off” – usually better than those around you. Sometimes this has worked in your favour, but other times it can come with problems. If this is you, you aren’t alone – and if you’ve experienced complex trauma there’s likely a very good reason you have this awareness.

The first thing to know is that this “skill” can be a nervous system adaptation. At the core of this hyper-awareness, is often a desire to stay safe. It is common for folks who have experienced intimate partner violence, family-related abuse, or similar ongoing trauma – to express that a strategy they developed was being aware of the abusive person(s) moods. When a change occurs that indicates something negative is likely to happen, this is when it would make sense to avoid or placate those who are harmful.

In truth, this makes a lot of sense. This awareness likely served as a very useful safeguard and deserves compassion.

As is often the case, even after there is safety,  this adaptation is likely to persist in the future,  in ways that are no longer helpful. This could mean having anxiety when the energy in the room shifts, feeling obligated to keep things chipper, assuming someone is mad when they are more quiet than usual, or being unable to express yourself when someone’s mood is not as expected.

And while this indeed can be troublesome, there can also be situations where this awareness can be a gift. You may be the person that notices when someone is not okay when others don’t. This can be the friend that magically shows up with donuts at the exact needed moment. It can be the nurse who asks twice because they don’t believe the first answer.

This awareness can also be a gift in that it may help you with staying safe if some future danger occurs. it makes give you the needed nudge to walk away from a bad date or causes you to hesitate to leave your car when something feels off.

In truth, it can be difficult to sort out what is reasonable or even useful awareness vs troublesome hyper-awareness. The important thing to know is that you are not alone in this, that there are very valid reasons that your nervous system developed this ability, and that you can offer yourself kind curiosity when exploring this. This is often a great topic to discuss therapy, likewise support groups and self-help can be of assistance.

Above all remember to show yourself compassion.

If you’d like to follow along with my journey, you can find me on Instagram as @mentalhealthyxe.

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Heidi Fischer

Heidi Fischer is a mental health advocate who lives in Saskatoon, Canada. Heidi enjoys writing about her personal experience with C-PTSD, Depression, and Anxiety. Heidi is the creator of a popular mental health Instagram called @mentalhealthyxe and can also be found on her website mentalhealthyxe.com. 

www.mentalhealthyxe.com/