Why the edge can feel unsafe

Humans did not evolve on memory foam in locked bedrooms. For most of our history, we slept on the ground, in caves, in huts with thin doors. Exposed limbs meant exposed entry points. Predators target extremities and the neck because access is easier. The nervous system solved that problem by favoring positions that protect the core: curl, cover, and tuck. That is not fear. It is pattern recognition preserved across generations. The amygdala still scans in the background during sleep, and it does not retire just because you purchased a better mattress.

Evolutionary memory that is still on duty

Even today, the brain runs a quiet night watch. On the first night in an unfamiliar place, sleep becomes asymmetric; one hemisphere remains more alert while the other rests. Laboratory work has demonstrated this first-night effect with imaging that shows a built-in vigilance system holding partial guard. That is biology, not superstition, and it helps explain why the edge of a bed in a new setting can feel like a cliff rather than a cushion.

Trauma history changes the map

Trauma shifts sleep from rest to strategy. People with childhood abuse, severe neglect, or control-based punishment often adopt positions that prioritize mobility, concealment, or both. Some sleep near the edge with one leg ready to move because escape has been coded as necessary. Others cannot tolerate uncovered limbs at all and cocoon under blankets even in warm rooms, not for comfort but for defense of the areas perpetrators once accessed. These choices are rarely conscious. They are solutions installed by experience and maintained by a threat-biased nervous system.

Posture, perception, and what the research suggests

Sleep posture correlates with emotional states in population studies and clinical reviews. Fetal-style sleepers more often report higher stress and adverse life events. Supine sleepers show a higher association with sleep paralysis in several samples. Side and edge positions vary; for some, the choice is airflow and spinal ease, for others, it is a safety cue learned a long time ago. None of this proves a single rule. It does support what clinicians observe: position is not random for many survivors.

Temperature, physiology, and learned associations

Feet are fast radiators. Specialized vessels in the hands and feet move heat quickly, so a foot outside the covers can lower body temperature and help with sleep onset. Biology does not operate in a vacuum, though. If cold feet were paired with fear, isolation, or punishment, the same sensation can function as a warning rather than a comfort. The body votes based on memory more than on textbook physiology.

Practical steps that respect biology

Start with observation rather than force. Notice how your body positions itself in the first moments of waking and the last moments before sleep. Those are honest windows. Make small experiments without pressure. If you want to test more exposure, begin with a toe or ankle rather than a full limb and see what the body permits. Do not copy someone else’s version of calm. One person sprawls because their system is quiet; another curls because their system is careful. Adjust the room before you try to adjust your biology. Lower the bed, soften the lighting, and set a temperature that signals safety. Some people settle with breathable sheets and a light-weight throw; others require no weight at all. There is no universal fix. The point is to give the nervous system current evidence that the environment is safe in the present day.

Final thoughts

Edge anxiety is not drama, and it is not immaturity. It is a living record of what kept people safe. If your legs lock tight or you pull the blanket over your head every night, that is not a flaw. It is survival programming that has not yet been given a stable reason to retire. Whether you sleep centered like a sandbag or hold the perimeter like a lookout, the pattern makes sense once the history is named. Your brain did not forget what life taught it, especially at night.

References

Tamaki M, Bang JW, Watanabe T, Sasaki Y. Night watch in one brain hemisphere during sleep associated with the first-night effect in humans. Current Biology. 2016;26(9):1190-1194.
Jalal B, Romanelli A, Hinton DE. Sleep paralysis in Italy: frequency, symptoms, and the role of cultural interpretation. Consciousness and Cognition. 2017;51:298-305.
Suni E, Chen W, Jungquist C, et al. Sleep position and mental health: a scoping review. Sleep Health. 2017;3(6):460-467.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 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.

Dr. Mozelle Martin

Dr. Mozelle Martin is a retired trauma therapist and former Clinical Director of a trauma center, with extensive experience in forensic psychology, criminology, and applied ethics. A survivor of childhood and young adulthood trauma, Dr. Martin has dedicated decades to understanding the psychological and ethical complexities of trauma, crime, and accountability. Her career began as a volunteer in a women’s domestic violence shelter, then as a SA hospital advocate, later becoming a Crisis Therapist working alongside law enforcement on the streets of Phoenix. She went on to earn an AS in Psychology, a BS in Forensic Psychology, an MA in Criminology, and a PhD in Applied Ethics, ultimately working extensively in forensic mental health—providing psychological assessments, intervention, and rehabilitative support with inmates and in the community. A published author and lifelong student of life, she continues to explore the relationship and crossovers of forensic science, mental health, and ethical accountability in both historical and modern contexts.

www.InkProfiler.com

A technique that seems to be lesser known is TRE (Tension and Trauma Releasing Exercises). Developed by David Berceli, PhD, an international expert in trauma intervention and conflict resolution, the TRE process, per session, but, more importantly, over time, gently helps to release the deep-seated tension created in the body during traumatic experiences or from chronic stress, culminating in feelings of groundedness or relaxation and supporting resilience.

For decades, Nicole Strafaci explored approaches to alleviate her cumulative symptoms. When she was 16, Nicole developed chronic insomnia, which persisted for more than 30 years. “I tried everything from traditional talk therapy to Chinese medicine,“ she says. “Various hurdles over the years, including battles with depression, have instilled a deep curiosity about unraveling my sleep issues and all of the related consequences.”

Despite and perhaps because of Nicole’s struggles, she became an artist. Now based in Frenchtown, NJ, Nicole has also taught art and embodied practices at various locations, including Art Yard in Frenchtown and the Newark Museum. “I have participated in several life-changing workshops at Esalen Institute in Big Sur, CA, a leading center in the Human Potential Movement since the 1960s. I have also studied hypnosis and Reiki,” Nicole says. “My studio practice has evolved over the past 35 years from a BFA in photography to drawing, painting, collage, fiber arts, and performance. Studio work has deepened my appreciation and focus on detail and nuance, something that is invaluable to me as a TRE practitioner, provider, and facilitator.”

Nicole has sought a connection between art, embodiment techniques, and holistic healing for as long as she can remember. “When I first experienced TRE, I immediately knew I had found the missing link. I was quite moved and inspired by this profound and creative process, feeling certain that TRE would bring the peace I was seeking,” she says. “As a shy and quiet child, I turned to books, which became my best friends. I also grew up in a home filled with Victorian furniture and an eccentric collection of tchotchkes.” Nicole mentioned the house because she believes that “the layered histories and surfaces found in antiques had a huge impact on my development as an artist and as a sensitive being within myself and among other people.”

It’s no wonder that Dr. Berceli’s TRE technique appealed to Nicole, for it combines an understanding of the complexities of the human condition along with simple exercises that achieve a transformation to a new state of being. “Dr. Berceli designed the TRE exercises after he had experience working in a bomb shelter. He noticed that all the people in the shelter–including men, women, and children–had the same reaction to a bomb, which was to compress their bodies for protection,” Nicole says. “After the bomb went off, the children in the room shook. This instinctual reaction is the same for a dog that hears thunder or a loud noise and then runs under a bed. When the dog resurfaces, it immediately shakes off the stress,” she continues. “The adults in the bomb shelter were busy staying calm and collected for the sake of the children. They did not complete the stress cycle as the children did.” These observations inspired social worker-turned-field traumatologist Berceli to realize that if the body contracts in fear, “it makes sense that it would also need to discharge that energy. If we do not complete this stress cycle, tension gets trapped in the body, which can lead to PTSD, muscle pain, sleep and digestive issues, and disease,” Nicole adds.

During her own process and in sessions with clients, Nicole incorporates a series of seven exercises developed by Dr. Berceli that gently fatigue different muscle groups in the body and engender neurogenic or automatic tremors in a safe environment. Emphasis is placed on self-regulation and personal empowerment. “You can easily stop the tremors at any time or take a short break and resume,” Nicole says. “Although TRE was originally developed for PTSD, it can effectively be used in countless ways for daily stress management, sports injury recovery, and in yoga centers and meditation circles.”

For Nicole and her clients, TRE assists in releasing deep muscular patterns of stress, tension, and trauma. “TRE safely activates a natural reflex mechanism of shaking or vibrating that releases muscular tension, calming down the nervous system,” she says. “When this muscular, shaking, vibrating mechanism is activated in a safe and controlled environment, the body is encouraged to return to a state of balance and homeostasis.”

One of the many reasons Nicole has stuck with TRE is that it is a creative process that can be customized based on the unique needs of each client. “Every session includes the tremors, and most include the seven exercises that lead to them, but beyond that, sessions can be adjusted individually,” she says. “With more experienced clients, some or all of the exercises can be skipped. The exercises can also be modified if needed, depending on the client’s mobility level. But none of the exercises is mission-critical,” Nicole assures. “As an artist, I am inspired to include creative visualizations and guided meditations designed for individual clients. These meditations occur once the client is lying down, before the tremors, and after the exercises.”

Throughout the process, clients will realize that TRE stems from the human body’s innate power and ability to transform. “The body is literally shaking off what it doesn’t need in order to return to a state of equilibrium,” Nicole says. “I think if people understand how natural this process is, they might become more curious and less cautious or skeptical.”

If you are both curious and in need of relief from stress or trauma symptoms, Nicole would love to have a conversation with you. “I offer a complimentary 15-20 minute consultation to answer any questions, discuss TRE, and determine if we are a good match,” she says. “I am also a firm believer in listening carefully to each client, understanding their specific needs, and fostering individual self-empowerment. I am facilitating and guiding, but you are always in the driver’s seat.”

Just as candidly, Nicole encourages clients to incorporate other modalities into their healing process, particularly those involving moving meditation (e.g., yoga, tai chi) or complementary medical practices such as acupuncture, but also including traditional talk therapy, if doing so meets their emotional or physiological needs. Listening to the intelligence of the human body is key, but there’s more to just how much TRE clicks for Nicole. “I find that because TRE has the capacity to soften and soothe the nervous system, it can enhance the effectiveness of other modalities,” she says.

Contact Nicole Strafaci for a complimentary individual consultation to discover if TRE is the right technique for you.

Photo credits: TRE Global (group TRE session and Dr. David Berceli), Nicole Strafaci, Sleep Matters (infographic), Freepik

Disclaimers:

TRE is generally safe and effective for most people. However, individuals with specific physical or psychological conditions or a complex trauma history should consult a certified TRE provider or a medical doctor before engaging in the exercises. TRE is not a replacement for medical or psychological trauma recovery practices.

The content of this article is for informational purposes only and should not be considered professional medical advice.

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.

Jennifer DiOrio

👁 Jennifer DiOrio is a freelance health and medical writer advancing outcomes for women, the LGBTQ+ community, and people in various equity-seeking groups through empowered partnerships. She is also a trauma survivor. To learn more or to reach out about a writing project, visit Synergy Communications.

www.synergycommunications.org/

In my childhood, the possibility of being attacked was everywhere. I never knew what my parents were going to do. Even when I was away at school, I remained terrified I would make some small mistake that would get reported to them. Grades were a constant source of terror. I learned to read my parent’s moods, but no one, not even me, could get it right 100% of the time. Inevitably, something would happen, or perhaps nothing would happen, and I would be the brunt of my mother’s rage and my father’s frustration and anger. Beatings, denigration, and isolation — all these and more — would be my punishment. I learned some lessons of childhood well:

The world is not a safe place. People are not safe. Something bad will always happen.

My response? Control everything as much as possible. Always be on the alert. Don’t trust anybody. Those lessons saved my life as a child, but as an adult, they wreaked all kinds of havoc, not the least of which was insomnia. I didn’t know how to explain to my sleep therapist that these were not just negative thoughts. These were survival mechanisms that kept me alive and I could not turn them off just because I wanted to.

CPTSD and Insomnia

Survivors of childhood trauma do something called splitting or dissociating. Different parts of ourselves carry trauma from different times in our lives. In a way, I was living as a six-year-old still stuck in that house of horrors with all the sorrow, fear, loneliness, and powerlessness that accompanied it.

That’s what CPTSD looks like and that was what was behind my insomnia. Over the years, I had a hard time embracing the little child that was me. She was too vulnerable, too powerless, and too hurt. But as long as I refused to deal with her suffering, more CPTSD symptoms took charge, including insomnia. Healing this type of trauma is like peeling an onion, and I have now come to a very deep layer.

When insomnia kept me up at night, I often sifted through the past—grieving or just trying to make sense of it all. Problem-solving is what the brain is supposed to do. But this was problem-solving of a different kind. One that stayed in endless loops without resolution, causing hyper-arousal to override my sleep drive night after endless night. I would google my abuser’s names and sometimes look at their pictures posted on Facebook. I would ask myself questions that had no answers and wonder if doing something differently would have changed anything. If I wasn’t doing that, I would watch videos on the Holocaust or other images of suffering, all the while trying to figure out the meaning of life. No wonder I couldn’t fall asleep.

The Role of the Amygdala in Insomnia

The hyper-vigilance/hyper-arousal created by trauma was continuing to work without my knowledge or even consent. This process resides in a part of the brain called the amygdala.

Ah…yes…the amygdala. That area of the brain is mentioned so often in trauma work. The brain’s major processing center for emotions linking memories, learning, and senses. And listen to this, the part of the brain responsible for fight or flight! The part of the brain most damaged by the constant stress of early ongoing childhood trauma. I had never heard this about insomnia before, and frankly, having only arrived at the place where I felt I was well enough to work on my sleeplessness, I am shocked at how bad it is, how long it has gone on, and what an impact it has had on my life. I knew it was related to trauma, I just didn’t know how much.

This process also explains why I get so angry when listening to the usual so-called cures for insomnia. I’ve trained myself to be an insomniac. Really? Sleep restriction sounds like more abuse. On the surface, cutting out naps and only getting into bed when sleepy sounds legit. To a trauma survivor, it only adds to the suffering. Keep a sleep diary? All that did was light up my amygdala.

All of the above is why insomnia for trauma survivors is complicated. It involves much more than changing a few bad sleep habits. We must attack the core of insomnia—the trauma that caused it. I kept all the concrete suggestions my sleep therapist gave me, and then I went back to the drawing board. The threat response had kept me in flashbacks for most of my life, but I had been able to make significant improvements. I was able to feel joy, I could participate in friendships and relationships without feeling terror. If those things could heal, I knew insomnia could get better as well. Already my heart beliefs about insomnia were beginning to change.

I decided to stop trying to solve insomnia by working harder at it. If indeed sleep was a passive process, solving insomnia wasn’t going to come by doing the structural suggestions better than anyone else. It was going to come from a different direction.

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.

“Insomnia for trauma survivors is not a sleep problem, it is an anxiety problem.” 

My story

For decades, I stayed up nearly all night until exhaustion forced me to pass out the next day. My brain interpreted the setting of the sun as a cue to churn. Sometimes I could last as long as 4 AM. Other times I’d finally pass out around 2. Waking multiple times in the night, nightmares, and panic attacks were all part of the cycle. During the day, if I got quiet or sat down to read or watch TV, I would fall asleep. I felt as though I lived in a permanent fog or jet lag.

Looking back, the more trauma symptoms reared their ugly head, the worse insomnia symptoms grew. The two things required for sleep, relaxation and letting go of control, are two things trauma survivors do not do. As trauma pushes to the surface demanding to be processed, sleep becomes an adversary.

I began to dread going to bed. I knew what was waiting. Lying awake hour after hour, sifting through thoughts about the past, churning over regret, being afraid, grieving.  My body would hurt. I could not get comfortable. My head ached. Sometimes I would pace the floor or go outside and listen to the night. Nothing helped. When you are sleep deprived AND exhausted you can’t coherently cope with anything.

As a child, my brain was in overdrive. For my own survival, I was always on the alert for threats. This same pattern is responsible, at least in large part, for insomnia. As an adult, my brain continued to be devoted to ferreting out threats. And in response to the neural pathways laid down in childhood, I trained myself to be an insomniac. This is the repetitive catch-22 trap of trauma. Just like dissociation, just like flashbacks, just like a perceived threat, what my brain does to try to help (looking for a threat) keeps me awake night after a sleepless night.

Common beliefs insomniacs have about sleep

1. Worry over sleep loss

• My brain is broken. There is something wrong with me.
• What am I going to do if I can’t sleep?
• I’m going to die from lack of sleep.

2. Rumination over consequences

• I’m going to have to cancel everything tomorrow.
• I won’t be able to go on that trip. My insomnia makes it impossible.

3. Unrealistic expectations

• I have to have eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
• I’m going to stay in this bed until I go to sleep. I don’t care if I stay awake all night.
• I’m going to force myself to fall asleep.

In addition, trauma survivors hold these beliefs when approaching sleep.

1. Worry

• As soon as I lay down, my brain is going to bring up the past, over and over and over.
• Rumination and worry over something I said or did during the previous day.
• Worry over a to-do list.

2. Fear

• What if everything my abuser said is true? Or worse, what if they come after me?
• I’m going to get in trouble.

3. Anxiety

• Something terrible is going to happen.

4. Flight

• I’m trapped.

5. Fight

• I’ve got to do something about sleep, but it’s hopeless!

And so, the circular motion of insomnia continues, and, like a hamster, I keep running around my wire track going nowhere, accomplishing nothing. If I want to conquer insomnia, I’m going to have to step off this hateful little track and do something different.

Hyper-arousal overrides the sleep drive

Hyper-arousal & Insomnia

Hyper-arousal is a primary symptom of CPTSD or Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. One of a host of symptoms for long-term childhood trauma survivors, hyper-arousal is one of the main things driving insomnia. Hyper-arousal occurs when a person’s body suddenly kicks into high alert as a result of past trauma. Also known as the symptoms of fight, flight, or fawn, hyper-arousal is an automatic response. Even though there may be no present danger, pathways laid down in the early years of life continue to operate. (Please note that hypo-arousal includes the freeze response.) Let me begin with a story from my childhood.

My brother and I were excited because it was Saturday, our favorite day of the week. Saturday morning cartoons, pancakes for breakfast, and time to play with our best friends, Julie and Sally Smith. The same age as we were, they lived across the road and were kind and fun to be with. Julie and Sally were the oldest of five siblings, and their parents were always welcoming. Their family was an oasis of peace, unlike my family which was a sea of constant threat.

Surrounded by broad fields of tobacco curing in the hot Virginia sun, Julie and Sally’s house was not far from our own. Their parents were sharecroppers and, as children, Julie and Sally worked in the fields alongside their parents harvesting tobacco that gave their family the right to live in an old shack and enough money for food until the next planting season but not much else.

The neighbors often whispered about the Smith family’s poverty behind their backs. “At least they keep the kids clean,” I heard one of my mother’s acquaintances say. Poverty did not keep the Smith family from being kind to my brother and me. We loved them and we loved their pitiful broken-down old house and their equally broken-down yard dog that always wagged its tail in greeting.

We played all afternoon at Julie and Sally’s house that long-ago Saturday. Our toes were as brown as the dust of their yard by the time the sun began to set. Knowing we would get in trouble if we stayed away too long, my brother and I hopped on our bikes and followed the dirt road next to the railroad tracks heading toward home.

“What is that?” I shouted as I slowed down. My brother’s eyes followed the point of my finger. There in the center of the tracks lay a lump of unmoving black fur.

“It’s an animal,” my brother yelled.

A terrible sinking feeling hit my stomach. Too distraught to work the pedals, I got off my bike and pushed as tears began streaming down my face. My brother followed suit. I knew without getting any closer that the animal lying on that track was our beloved English Shepherd, Smut, and I knew instinctively that she was dead.

A blood-curdling scream left my brother’s throat. “Smut!” he cried in despair—gulping tremulous breaths of air between shouts. “It’s Smut.”

I joined in with his howls. We stood there screaming the screams of childhood panic and sorrow for several minutes neither of us daring to approach our precious friend. Poor old Smut. Such an awful name for such a wonderful dog, but that was how my mother did things.

“That dog is as black as the smut left by the ashes in the fireplace,” she said when Smut arrived as a puppy. We children were not allowed to name her. My mother alone had that honor.

Faithful and true, Smut would lean against you as you sat on the front steps, her brown eyes filled with empathy as you related your troubles. Good old Smut who never did my brother or me a bad turn. In a family filled with threat and turmoil, she had been our only ally. Lying dead less than a mile away from home, it never entered our minds to call out to our parents. They were the last place we would have gone to for help.

Pushing our bikes, we finally made it to the house, the loveliness of summertime wildflowers obscured by our tears. Emotionless, my mother sent my father to get Smut’s body. He took a shovel and loaded her into his truck and brought her home. She told him to bury her underneath the willow tree in the front yard. It was the only empathy I ever saw my mother express, and it was reserved for the dog, not for us.

Filled with theories of what had happened, my mother offered her opinion. “She probably had a heart attack.”

My father was annoyed. “It’s just a dog. You kids stop crying or you’ll get a whipping.”

Always made to be the problem, I looked at my brother and bit my lip. We both hid our tears, but neither of us ever got over the death of our beloved pet. Our childhood was filled with being ignored or being punished. You never knew which was coming next. When we told Julie and Sally about Smut, they stood beside us under the willow tree and wept. Our parents never noticed.

Childhood trauma is not about one incident. It’s not even about overt abuse. It’s not about normal parental mistakes or ordinary human frailty. It’s about feeling terrorized and confused every waking moment of every single day.

“For childhood trauma survivors, the root of insomnia is found in the arousal system.”

For childhood trauma survivors, the root of insomnia is found in the arousal system. We are all wired to have an arousal response. This system is part of your ‘threat scanner’ that alerts the brain and body there’s a need for a fight, flight (or freeze) response to help you in situations of danger or threat. If the arousal system ‘stays on’ it can impede sleep and can take the form of physiological arousal (difficulty relaxing), cognitive arousal (racing thoughts), or conditioned response (learned response).

To find concrete ways to conquer insomnia read my blog entitled “How Trauma Survivors Can Conquer Insomnia.” To receive a free downloadable and printable ebook about insomnia, go to my website: defytraumaembracejoy.com. Sign up for my newsletter while you’re there! You can also email me to request the insomnia packet using my website.

In Part 2 of this series, which publishes on March 15th, I will examine three key issues:
1) What Childhood Trauma Teaches Us
2) CPTSD & Insomnia
3) The role of the Amygdala in insomnia

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.