It started the same way every time. She had a bad day. But I don’t mean normal disappointments. I mean BAD. Like, a fight with my dad or grandparents, someone insulted her bad, sometimes she herself flashed back to bad memories from occupation, war, and her own past suffering of domestic abuse. She endured a horrific amount of suffering in her life.

Bullies went after her when she was a kid. She was a quiet and kind child. When she felt like herself, she was a quiet and kind person. She was like this even as a young adult. But in her twenties the abuse she suffered got so bad that she hurt herself as a way to escape. She never told me that as a child. But I tried the same thing, to hurt myself to escape. She lived. And she saved me, so I lived. Eventually through her experiences she changed. 

But before she changed, I became her safe space of abuse. I became the child where she could safely get angry, lash out, heap cruelties on me. Every hurt and cruelty she experienced on her bad days got transferred to me.

Never physically. Always emotionally. She’d say I deserved it, for being stupid, for being as dumb as a mule, for being as stubborn as a donkey, for being ugly. She’d say the same kinds of things to me that really mean kids and adults said to me at that time in my life. I believed everyone. I accepted my role as the scapegoat.

Years later, she broke down sobbing because she felt so bad for those things, and so many others she regretted. And inside, the abuse and horrific things she suffered, it was like some part of her thought she deserved that abuse herself. I just held her and told her there was nothing to forgive. I said I forgave her anyway for her peace. She and I both shared being scapegoats. We both let that go.

People make mistakes. I have regrets about times I was abusive, and even violent. Times I insulted people. Was mean. I regret distancing myself from my mom for a while when I was early in my PTSD/CPTSD therapy. It turned out I made that choice as she was nearing the end of her life. I thought she’d live to be one hundred, but dementia had other ideas. She deserved her rest. But there’s a regret I live with, now.

Sometimes people vent. We use figures in media sometimes to vent at, to abuse, to see abused, for the same reasons my Mom abused me. There’s something about US culture, a caste system, with abuse entwined in it. Someone is lower than you so they’re a safe target for ridicule. Talk show hosts and comedians sometimes punch up in our caste system, when they make fun of Presidents with their jokes, and something about that punching up feel cathartic. 

But sometimes those comedians do segments about a President’s supporters, focusing on their voters and how foolish and stupid they are, with cameras in the street pointing at ordinary people and asking them questions about geography or something. These ordinary folks without much power, lower in the illusory caste system than comedian, becomes the target of ridicule. Safe targets for the higher-status audience to laugh at. Scapegoats.

If you’re lower-status than those folks, the jokes are punching up. But if you’re higher status, they’re punching down.

By the nature of the jokes, the host giving them is punching down. For the audience, a wide swath of people can just laugh at the target of their ridicule. Everyone is united by the scapegoat.

That’s abuse culture. Find the scapegoat. Abuse the scapegoat.

That’s racist and transphobic humor. Completely artless. A lot of wonderful comedians are so thoughtful about their jokes and aim to punch down. But there are also people showing up on shows who just do racist impressions. Who have acts that are just pointing at the Black person, Asian person, Indigenous person, the Woman, the Queer Kid, the Other. The pointing becomes the joke. You identify the scapegoat. You laugh at the scapegoat. You might be the scapegoat. 

It’s artless, and it still sells tickets to shows. Even a genius comedian who’s descended into artless caricatures of Trans people and Asian people and worse can become so desperate for recognition they resort to scapegoating people. The worst is when the rich folks get upset when you notice what they’re doing and say, “No.” Bullying people that we refuse to acknowledge are lower status.

And some audiences eat it up because they want that safe person to bully, to get their own feelings out.

We make scapegoats out of anyone and everyone on a whim. Celebrities. Coworkers. Kids when someone’s had a bad day. I think my mom learned this when she came to the U.S. We’re not the only culture that does this. What’s unique is how much of our racial and sexual caste system is intertwined in this.

Imagine four animals in a room. One is a hungry lion. Another is a deer. Another is a stag trying to defend the deer. The last one is a bystander, a bear cub. 

The lion bites the deer. The stag fails to stop it. The bear cub is frightened. The bear cub bites the stag. 

The cub is too frightened to stand up to the lion. Or to help defend the deer. And they may not even consciously realize it. They attack the most powerful of the vulnerable. And now the lion is ready to bite any of them again. And the stag is weaker than they were before.

The fear of the bystander is becoming the target of abuse. And that mindset is how someone like my mom, who was a beautiful and kind woman, was also someone who abused me when she was at her lowest sometimes, and in turn abused herself with guilt.

This is happening all around us in real time. It affects politics, our culture, and so much. For me, I hope I’m aware enough to have stopped the cycles. I try to pay CLOSE attention to the jokes I make and the things I say now, not out of a fear of being cancelled or something, but because I don’t want to perpetuate these cycles or contribute to the problem. Buddhism gave me the language for it. Samma vaca, correct speech, part of the noble eightfold path. 

I don’t think anyone needs judgment or scolding when they do it. I think we all just need more awareness. 

Before the lions eat us.

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

They are not always the loudest child in the room. They are not always the child getting into trouble, asking for attention, or making their needs impossible to ignore. Often, they are the child who figures things out. The child who watches the room before entering it. The child who notices the shift in a parent’s voice, the tension at the dinner table, the bill left unopened, the sibling who needs help, the adult who is close to unraveling. They become useful early. 

They learn which emotions are safe to show and which ones make things worse. They learn when to stay quiet, when to intervene, when to comfort, when to disappear, and when to perform being fine. They become fluent in the needs of others long before they are given language for their own. And because they are capable, people stop worrying. Nobody worries about the responsible one. 

I was the responsible one. There was never a question when it was time to deliver a report card.

Test days were stress-free for my family, though I was filled with anxiety. The anxiety wasn’t related to the material; it was related to reactions from my family if I were to somehow obtain anything less than a perfect score. On the field, the court, the diamond or in the pool I was the athlete that was the leader. Game day nerves were never an issue, going home nerves were. Sports were my escape from the physical and emotional tension in my home. A standout scholar and athlete, I was exactly what my biological family wanted in their eldest child. 

As I moved forward in life, this became, quite naturally, my reason for living, my role, and my job. Afterall, as early as the age of 5 I was the problem solver, the little adult. The hypervigilance and ability to see detail beyond what my peers could see always served me well as a child and continued into adulthood. There is something about a young life that has learned awareness and attention to detail before they can even speak that causes them to be counted among the best of recruits as adults.

There is a level of maturity, a leadership quality, that doesn’t exist with people of their own age and background. Rarely does anyone stop to ask what it costs a child to become that composed. It is these and other associated qualities that employers look for in candidates. Paper credentials were important to show educational achievement, but the unspoken, unwritten qualities of adaptability, awareness, and foresight have been valued as equally (at times even more) important. While my teachers called these qualities leadership, the adults in my life called them maturity and manners, and employers call it executive presence.  

This is where many high performers begin. While the details of our story may differ, the responsibility often arrived long before we were ready for it.  

For many of us, those early experiences became the foundation for qualities that would later be celebrated. In the world of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or CPTSD, these adaptations are often viewed through a clinical lens. Yet for many high performers, they are simply the way we have always moved through the world.

We become so accustomed to carrying responsibility that it feels less like a choice and more like a fundamental part of who we are. 

As this series unfolds, I want to explore that reality with curiosity rather than judgment. Not everyone who experienced adversity develops CPTSD, and no two stories are exactly alike. What I have found, both in my own life and in my work with high-performing professionals, is that many of us have spent years refining skills that helped us survive while rarely examining what those same skills cost us.

The ability to remain composed, productive, and dependable can open remarkable doors in our careers and relationships. It can also make it difficult to recognize when we are exhausted, disconnected, or carrying burdens that no longer belong to us. Understanding that tension is where this conversation begins, and it is where we will continue next. 

I’m curious. Were you the responsible one growing up? If so, what is one thing you’ve had to learn as an adult that responsibility never taught you? 

May your capacity never come at the expense of your peace. 

-Oak 

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

CPTSD differs from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in both its origins and presentation. Whereas PTSD is typically associated with exposure to a specific traumatic event, CPTSD arises from prolonged, repeated, and often interpersonal trauma occurring in circumstances where escape is limited or near impossible. Childhood physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, neglect, chronic invalidation, parental substance misuse, exposure to domestic violence, emotionally unavailable caregiving, abandonment, institutionalization, and persistent interpersonal insecurity are among the experiences most commonly associated with its development.

Trauma experienced during developmental periods profoundly influences the maturation of neurobiological systems responsible for emotional regulation, attachment, stress response, and identity formation.

hildren exposed to chronic adversity frequently develop adaptive survival strategies that enable them to function within unsafe environments. Hypervigilance, emotional suppression, people-pleasing behaviors, dissociation, perfectionism, and sensitivity to rejection often emerge as protective mechanisms. These adaptations may be highly effective during childhood, but they frequently become maladaptive in adulthood, contributing to persistent psychological distress and relational difficulties across the lifespan.

For older adults, the effects of early trauma remain hidden beneath a lifetime of productivity, caregiving, employment, family responsibilities and life itself. Elderly people often report spending much of their lives in a state of functional survival, meeting expectations while remaining disconnected from their own emotional needs. Retirement, bereavement, declining physical health, reduced social engagement, and increasing periods of withdrawal and solitude remove many of the distractions that once allowed traumatic experiences to remain compartmentalized. Ultimately, memories, emotions, and physiological responses associated with unresolved trauma often re-emerge much later in life.

In clinical practice, it’s not uncommon for people in their seventies and eighties to tell me, “I’ve never spoken about this before.” Many have spent decades managing symptoms of anxiety, depression, emotional numbing, interpersonal difficulties, sleep disturbance, hypervigilance, and persistent feelings of worthlessness. These symptoms are often understood as manifestations of unresolved developmental trauma rather than isolated mental health conditions. 

The relationship between trauma and physical health has become increasingly recognized within contemporary research. Chronic activation of the stress response system places massive demands upon our physiological functioning over time. Repeated exposure to stress hormones such as cortisol and adrenaline contributes to what researchers describe as allostatic load, referring to the cumulative biological burden associated with chronic stress. Elevated allostatic load has been linked to a range of adverse health outcomes, including but not limited to cardiovascular disease, diabetes, chronic pain syndromes, gastrointestinal disorders, autoimmune issues, inflammatory conditions, sleep disorders, and cognitive decline.

From a psychophysiological perspective, trauma is not only remembered, it is also embodied. Individuals living with CPTSD frequently demonstrate nervous system dysregulation characterized by persistent states of hyperarousal, threat monitoring, and physiological activation. Over decades, these patterns of dysregulation may contribute to accelerated biological aging and increased vulnerability to age-related illness.

The impact of trauma is rarely confined to childhood.

Many go on to experience repeated exposure to interpersonal violence throughout their lives. Individuals who were raised in abusive or neglectful environments may also be at increased risk of entering adult relationships characterized by coercion, emotional abuse, manipulation, or domestic violence. In some cases, patterns of victimization and relational instability become normalized, creating lifelong cycles of trauma that further compound psychological distress and the development of CPTSD.

Domestic violence remains a significant yet frequently overlooked issue among older populations. Many individuals endure decades of controlling or abusive relationships without ever disclosing their experiences. Others go on to experience coercive control, financial abuse, emotional manipulation, or psychological intimidation into later life. The cumulative impact of such experiences can profoundly affect self-worth, autonomy, emotional regulation, and social connectedness.

Despite the burden associated with CPTSD, many older adults encounter significant barriers to accessing appropriate mental health support. Generational and cultural attitudes toward psychological distress often discourage help-seeking behavior. Many individuals were raised within environments where emotional vulnerability was perceived as weakness, resilience equated with silence, and mental health issues were commonly stigmatized or dismissed. Consequently, beliefs such as “others have it worse,” “it’s all in the past,” or “there’s no point talking about it now” remain common barriers to engagement with therapeutic services.

Financial accessibility is also a major challenge. Although some mental health services attract government subsidies or rebates, many individuals face considerable out-of-pocket expenses when seeking ongoing counseling or trauma-focused interventions. Older adults living on fixed incomes, pensions, or limited retirement savings struggle to prioritize psychological support amidst competing financial demands, including housing, healthcare, and daily living costs. Long waiting lists, limited availability, transportation difficulties, and physical health limitations further restrict access to care.

These barriers contribute to a concerning reality whereby many older adults continue to carry profound emotional burdens in isolation. The psychological injuries sustained through childhood abuse, neglect, abandonment, and interpersonal violence often remain unspoken for decades, influencing identity, relationships, physical health, and overall quality of life.

Healing from trauma does not require the eradication of painful experiences; rather, it involves developing a different relationship and acquiring a different perception of those experiences.

Through counseling, psychoeducation, and the development of self-compassion, older adults can begin to understand how trauma has shaped their lives and how to reduce its influence on their lives going forward.

For many, the therapeutic process provides something they may never have experienced before: the opportunity to have their story witnessed without judgment. Counseling offers validation, understanding, and the possibility of acquiring meaning after years of silent suffering. Importantly, it challenges the misconception that emotional healing belongs exclusively to the young.

Aging should not necessitate that we carry a lifetime of unresolved psychological pain. Trauma may shape an individual’s life trajectory, but it should not define their final chapter. Increasing awareness of CPTSD in older adults is essential not only for improving mental health, but also for promoting dignity, well-being, and quality of life across the aging process. Healing is possible at every stage of life.

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

What Does It Mean to Be an Ally?

Being an ally means more than expressing support—it means actively standing with and advocating for LGBTQ+ individuals in a way that uplifts, protects, and respects their identities. In the context of therapy and mental health, allyship also means creating affirming spaces where people of all gender identities and sexual orientations feel welcomed and understood.

Mental Health Disparities in the LGBTQ+ Community

LGBTQ+ individuals face significantly higher rates of mental health challenges, including depression, anxiety, PTSD, and suicidality. According to The Trevor Project, 41% of LGBTQ+ youth seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year. These aren’t just statistics—they’re reflections of the real-world pain that stems from marginalization, bullying, family rejection, and lack of access to affirming care.

Being an ally can help disrupt these harmful patterns.

Why Allyship Matters in Therapy

Therapists hold a unique responsibility—and opportunity—to foster trust and safety. For LGBTQ+ clients, a validating therapist can be life-changing. Affirming care can reduce mental health risks, increase self-acceptance, and build resilience. On the flip side, experiences with non-affirming professionals can retraumatize clients or push them away from seeking care altogether.

This means being an ally in therapy isn’t just “nice to have”—it’s necessary.

Here are a few ways allyship shows up in therapeutic settings:

• Using inclusive language and asking for (and respecting) pronouns.
• Educating ourselves continuously about LGBTQ+ issues, terminology, and lived experiences.
• Challenging biases, both our own and those present in systems or structures that affect our clients.
• Creating a safe and welcoming physical space, including visible signs of support like inclusive literature, Pride symbols, or nondiscrimination policies.

How Everyone Can Be an Ally

Allyship isn’t only for therapists or mental health professionals. Friends, family, coworkers, and community members all have a role to play. Here are some simple but powerful actions:

• Listen without judgment and believe people when they share their identity with you.
• Speak up against anti-LGBTQ+ comments, jokes, or policies—even when it’s uncomfortable.
• Support LGBTQ+ rights through advocacy, education, and voting.
• Celebrate LGBTQ+ joy, not just struggle.

A Commitment to Inclusive Care

At Brickel and Associates, we are committed to providing inclusive, trauma-informed care for LGBTQ+ individuals and families. Whether you’re seeking support as an individual, a couple, or a parent navigating questions around identity, you are welcome here. Our team continues to learn, grow, and advocate—because allyship is not a destination. It’s an ongoing practice rooted in compassion, humility, and action.

We see you. We support you. And we’re honored to walk with you.

If you’re looking for affirming therapy or would like to learn more about our approach to inclusive care, reach out to our team. We’re here to help.

If you’ve read my blog for more than five minutes, you already know I’ve been on this healing ride for a long while. Long enough to have collected a whole scrapbook of “Oh wow, I finally get it” moments… and an equally thick stack of “what fresh hell is this?” ones.

You’d think by now I’d be used to what I can only describe as “the whiplash:” the emotional ebbs, the flows, and the rogue waves that smack you right in the face when you’re just trying to mind your business.

Hate to break it to you, but… nope. Still not used to it. Not even close.

When Every Emotion Shows Up Uninvited

The last 48 hours have felt like hitting some kind of emotional epicenter, as though every feeling I’ve ever had RSVP’d “yes” and showed up early. It’s blindsided me, if I’m honest. I still don’t know what to do with all of it. I’m just here, trying to breathe through the overwhelm and trying not to judge myself for having a nervous system that occasionally goes full fireworks display for no clear reason.

But this is the work, right? Showing up even when you don’t feel ready.

The Junk Drawer of Feelings We Pretend Doesn’t Exist

Sitting with what hurts instead of shoving it back into the drawer to deal with it later. We’ve all done it, right? Slid something painful into that imaginary junk drawer, intending to deal with it later–even though we know “later” could mean anywhere from next week to the next decade. And then one day that drawer bursts open like a pissed-off jack-in-the-box, and suddenly you’re knee-deep in feelings you did not schedule into your day.

That’s kind of what this week has felt like. As if the universe leaned over, tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered, “Hey, remember that unresolved emotional rubble you were hoping would sort itself out? Yeah… about that.” And listen, I try to be a good sport about healing. I try to roll with whatever comes up. But even I have to laugh when my nervous system decides to deliver all its notifications at once, like some chaotic emotional iPhone: You have 47 new feelings.

Cool. Thanks. Exactly what I wanted this Saturday.

My Nervous System’s Saturday Gift

And what’s funny is that none of the feelings I’m having are new. They’re all familiar regulars: fear, sadness, longing, and that weird anticipatory dread that pops up for no apparent reason, just arriving louder than usual. Like someone turned the emotional volume knob up to eleven and walked away, it’s a lot. And my instinct, the little old me who learned to survive chaos by shutting down, still says, “Push it down. Make it neat and tidy. Don’t feel all of that at once.”

The Old Instinct to Shut Down (And Why It Doesn’t Work Anymore)

But I can’t do that anymore. Every time I’ve tried, it’s ended in absolute fuckery. And that takes more out of me than sitting with the feelings, letting them be, and feeling them. So here I am, doing just that.

But what people don’t realize is that “sitting with it” sometimes looks like staring at a wall, drinking lukewarm tea, internally screaming, and wondering why healing doesn’t come with a handbook or at least a troubleshooting guide. I could use something like, “If you are suddenly overwhelmed by feelings for no apparent reason, please try turning yourself off and back on again.”

But no. All we get is the mess.

Healing Isn’t Neat, But It Is Honest

But at the end of the day, that’s the point. Because healing isn’t about becoming someone who never gets overwhelmed. It’s about becoming someone who doesn’t abandon themselves when they do. And let me tell you, that one stings a little. Because if I’m being brutally honest, the person I’ve abandoned the most over the years is me. I don’t say that to beat myself up, but to acknowledge the truth. When you grow up believing your feelings are “too much,” you learn to make yourself small. You learn to take up as little emotional space as possible.

Learning Not to Abandon Myself

But I’m not doing that anymore (or, at least, I’m trying really hard not to). So here I am, trying to stay with myself through all of this intensity. Trying to remind the younger parts of me that they’re not alone this time. To breathe instead of run. And trying to trust that there’s nothing wrong with me for having big feelings; there’s just a lot inside that finally feels safe enough to surface.

And maybe that’s what this emotional epicenter really is: proof that something inside me believes I can handle what’s coming up now. Proof that my system is opening, rather than breaking.

Messily. Loudly. Inconveniently.

But still opening.

For Anyone Riding Their Own Rogue Wave Right Now

If you’re here too, riding your own rogue wave right now, just know you’re not doing it wrong. Sometimes the heart cracks open not because you’re falling apart, but because something inside you is finally ready to be seen. And honestly? As brutal as it feels… that’s kind of beautiful.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop 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.

Many clinicians meet clients who arrive with ritual abuse claims, fractured timelines, no corroboration, and a history of moving from specialist to specialist in search of answers. Most are not fabricating. Many are not remembering with precision either. A common statement appears in these rooms: if the body reacts, it must have happened. It sounds compassionate. It is not. It shortcuts assessment, confuses physiology with fact, and turns treatment into a confirmation loop. The alliance becomes a mirror that reflects back whatever the client fears most, rather than a container that steadies and clarifies.

Consider a typical presentation from practice. A client recalled being left overnight in a freezing basement. The concrete floor, footsteps overhead, a cold doorknob out of reach. The scene held sensory weight and carried real fear. Later, family records showed the home had no basement. The conclusion is not that nothing happened. The conclusion is that the image may have fused borrowed fragments and emotional truths into a single picture the nervous system could organize around. The body reacted. The target of that reaction was misidentified. What needed work was not a fast-track diagnosis based on physiology, but a paced inquiry into what the body was trying to protect and what events might actually fit the pattern.

The nervous system encodes threat. Implicit memory lives in posture, breath, and gut. None of that provides coordinates. Somatic evidence flags significance. It does not settle attribution. Collapse those two and accuracy drops. In trauma care, accuracy is not a luxury. It is ethical triage. Misreading hyperarousal as proof of incest, or adopting a story that later fails against hospital logs or sibling testimony, harms clients and families and erodes trust in the field. The emotional pain remains real. The backstory can still have holes.

Memory science has been clear on this point for decades. Some dislike the mess that research exposed, but disliking a finding does not erase it. Suggestion is powerful. The therapeutic relationship amplifies that power because trust lowers a client’s defenses against influence. Recovered memories do occur. They can surface slowly and unevenly and later find support in records or witnesses. They do not usually arrive polished, and they never deserve to be declared true on the basis of shaking hands or a rolling stomach. The correct posture is steady attunement, careful pacing, and respect for a mind that can both shield and distort.

The larger problem is cultural. Many therapists fear that skepticism will be heard as betrayal. They worry about appearing to side with perpetrators. They default to affirmation in order to avoid conflict. Caution then gets mislabeled as minimization, and verification gets mislabeled as doubt. In that climate, it is tempting to protect one’s reputation rather than the client. That is not care. That is drift.

A responsible approach is plain and repeatable. Stabilize first. Map what the body does before, during, and after certain narratives. Separate sensation from story. Ask where the language came from and what other explanations could fit the same physiology. Invite corroboration where it is possible to do so without harm. Hold space for what cannot yet be known. Keep the alliance strong without making promises the facts cannot carry. Somatic validation and factual verification are not enemies. They are different tools used for different questions.

Good therapy does not hand people answers. It teaches people how to hold possibility without certainty, and how to test what can be tested while protecting what still needs time. If a client reports abuse, the report is taken seriously and treated with respect. The work then proceeds without rushing the story into a fixed shape. Memory is important. That is why it deserves clinical accountability rather than slogans or ideological immunity.

Final thoughts

Somatic truth and factual truth are not the same category. Both matter. One guides immediate regulation and safety planning. The other guides attribution, repair, and justice. When clinicians keep those lanes clear, survivors get care that is humane, scientifically honest, and legally durable.

References

Scientific American. People Likely Aren’t as Susceptible to False Memories as Researchers Thought. 2025.
Murphy G, et al. False Memory Replication Dataset. University College Cork. 2023.
Loftus E. The “lost in the mall” technique. 1995.
Otgaar H, et al. The return of the repressed. Perspectives on Psychological Science. 2019.
McNally RJ. Remembering Trauma. Harvard University Press. 2003.
van der Kolk BA. The Body Keeps the Score. Viking. 2014.
Lynn SJ, Lilienfeld SO, Merckelbach H, et al. Dissociation and dissociative disorders. Clinical Psychology Review. 2014.

Cover Image: jonathan-borba-OhU7gVp0D7c-unsplash.jpg

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.

What actually gets passed down

Trauma can alter the expression of genes. That is epigenetics. Stress, famine, displacement, and chronic fear can leave biochemical markers on DNA packaging that change gene function without changing the genetic code. What parents and grandparents endured not only shapes family habits. It can shape how a nervous system responds to threat, attachment, and safety many decades later. In a landmark study of Holocaust families, researchers documented shifts in methylation of FKBP5, a regulator of the cortisol system, in survivors and in their children who did not live through the original events. Comparable patterns show up in other contexts as well, including families affected by war, genocide, severe discrimination, natural disasters, and refugee flight. The point is simple. When people say trauma runs in a family, it is not just a figure of speech.

Inherited trauma rarely looks like a story

What passes forward is not always a narrative or a flashback. It often looks like a survival strategy that does not match the current environment. A child grows up in a safe home, yet cannot sleep unless every curtain is closed and every door is checked. A teenager treats disagreement like a death sentence, even in a respectful household. An adult keeps pushing away secure partners because the body has learned that calm usually comes before danger. These are not quirks. They are trained reflexes. They stay invisible until someone starts asking the right questions.

You do not inherit a diagnosis. You inherit the coping

CPTSD is not handed down like eye color. Defense patterns are. Silence is. Emotional constriction is. When trauma is not processed, it leaks into parenting through control, through chaos, or through inconsistency that leaves a child sensing danger without language to name it. Children repeat what works, even if it only worked in the old house. They pass it on not because they are broken, but because they were trained by example.

When pain gets ritualized

Trauma does not always announce itself. Sometimes it hides inside rules that are treated as virtues. Do not talk about feelings. Stay productive no matter what. Outsiders cannot be trusted. Keep the family’s business inside the house. Loyalty above all. The same mechanism hides domestic violence that nobody names. It hides animal abuse that neighbors avoid reporting. It hides generational child abuse that gets rebranded as strict parenting. In some families, stints in jail become a rite of passage rather than a warning sign. From the inside, these patterns sound like culture or tradition. Trace them backward and you usually find war, forced moves, addiction, shame, betrayal, or plain neglect. When trauma is not processed, it gets ritualized. It is repackaged as rules, reinforced as identity, and handed down as survival even when the danger is long gone. Dysfunction is often inherited pain on autopilot.

Breaking a pattern requires recognition, not avoidance

Moving on without naming the pattern does not change the pattern. It extends it. Real change starts with accurate labels. Name what happened in the family line, even if it was not your direct experience. Notice the default settings that make no sense in your current life. Choose deliberate counter-moves. Rest when the old rule says grind. Set a boundary where the old rule says keep secrets. Speak where the old rule says stay quiet. This is demanding work because you are not only adjusting your mood. You are rerouting generations of survival programming. That is heavy labor, not a slogan. It is also where the leverage sits. You are not obligated to carry the pain forward because it was handed to you. The future of the pattern is not fixed.

Final thoughts

If you feel like you were born carrying grief that did not start with you, or fear that does not match your lived history, you are not defective. You may be the first one who chose to hold up the mirror. You get to decide what continues and what ends.

References

Yehuda R, Daskalakis NP, et al. Holocaust exposure induced intergenerational effects on FKBP5 methylation. Biological Psychiatry. 2016;80(5):372-380.
Dias BG, Ressler KJ. Parental olfactory experience influences behavior and neural structure in subsequent generations. Nature Neuroscience. 2014;17(1):89-96.
Serpeloni F, Radtke KM, et al. Does prenatal stress shape postnatal resilience? Epigenetics and behavior in war-exposed Syrian refugees. Translational Psychiatry. 2017;7(7):e1185.

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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.

Embrace Your Progress

First and foremost, give yourself a pat on the back. You’ve taken the time to prioritize your mental health, and that’s something to be proud of. Your break wasn’t just time off; it was an investment in yourself. As you return to work, carry that self-care mindset with you.

Start with Small Steps

Diving headfirst into a full workload might feel overwhelming. Instead, consider easing back in:

1. If possible, start with shorter workdays or a reduced workweek.
2. Focus on manageable tasks to build your confidence.
3. Take regular breaks to check in with yourself.

Communicate Openly

Open communication can be your greatest ally. While you don’t need to share more than you’re comfortable with, consider:

1. Having a conversation with your supervisor about your return.
2. Discussing any accommodations that might help you transition smoothly.
3. Sharing your preferred communication style with colleagues.

Asking for support isn’t a sign of weakness — it’s a sign of self-awareness and professionalism.

Establish Boundaries

As you settle back into work, it’s crucial to maintain the self-care practices you’ve developed. This might mean:

1. Setting clear work hours and sticking to them.
2. Learning to say ‘no’ to additional responsibilities when you’re at capacity.
3. Creating a dedicated workspace that supports your mental well-being.

Practice Self-Compassion

There may be days when things don’t go as planned, and that’s okay. Treat yourself with the same kindness you’d offer a friend. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, take a deep breath and remind yourself: “I’m doing the best I can, and that’s enough.”

Celebrate Small Wins

Every step forward is progress. Did you complete a task you were worried about? Did you successfully navigate a challenging conversation? Take a moment to acknowledge these victories, no matter how small they might seem.

Stay Connected

Maintain connections with your support system, both inside and outside of work. Whether it’s a trusted colleague, a mental health professional, or a close friend, having people you can turn to can make a world of difference.

Become Your Own Work-Wellness Ambassador

As you navigate your return to work, consider how your experience might benefit others. Could you become an advocate for mental health awareness in your workplace? Perhaps you could suggest implementing mental health days or starting a support group for colleagues. Your journey could be the catalyst for positive change, creating a more understanding and supportive work environment for everyone.

Questions for Self-Reflection and Journaling:

As you continue on this journey, take some time to reflect on these questions. Consider journaling your responses:

1. What strengths have you discovered or rediscovered during your mental health break?
2. Recall a time when you felt truly balanced and fulfilled at work. What elements were present that contributed to that feeling?
3. Imagine your ideal work environment that supports your mental health. What does it look like? How can you bring elements of that vision into your current situation?
4. Think of a colleague or supervisor who has been supportive. How can you build on that positive relationship to create a more supportive work environment for yourself and others?
5. What self-care practice has been most impactful for you? How can you ensure it remains a priority as you return to work?

Returning to work is not just about picking up where you left off. It’s an opportunity to redefine your relationship with work, armed with new insights and strategies for maintaining your mental health. You’ve got this!

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.

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The fawn response is the least recognized of the four primary trauma reactions: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. While the first three are more familiar in both psychology and pop culture, fawning often flies under the radar because it doesn’t look like fear. It looks like being helpful, agreeable, and selfless. But under the surface, it’s a survival strategy wired into the nervous system to avoid conflict, maintain attachment, and stay safe.

What Is the Fawn Response?

Coined by therapist Pete Walker, the fawn response refers to a trauma-driven pattern of people-pleasing behaviors designed to diffuse danger when the brain senses threat, especially social or relational threat. The survivor may instinctively placate, appease, or over-accommodate.

Research in polyvagal theory, developed by Dr. Stephen Porges, helps explain why this happens. When fight, flight, or freeze aren’t viable options—as is often the case in childhood trauma, domestic violence, or institutional abuse—the nervous system defaults to fawning to stay safe. It’s a biologically embedded attempt to maintain a connection with those who may also be the source of a threat.

What begins as a protective strategy becomes a deeply ingrained personality pattern. Over time, many survivors confuse the fawn response with their identity, unaware that their constant accommodating is actually trauma playing out in slow motion.

What It Looks Like in Real Life

People who operate from the fawn response often exhibit:

• Chronic people-pleasing and approval-seeking
• Avoidance of conflict at any cost
• Over-apologizing, even when not at fault
• Feeling responsible for others’ emotions
• Struggling to set or enforce boundaries
• Difficulty identifying their own needs

These patterns are often rewarded in society—especially in women and marginalized groups—which makes them even harder to detect. Being seen as “nice,” “helpful,” or “loyal” can reinforce fawning behaviors that are actually rooted in fear, not authenticity.

In professional settings, fawning might look like never saying no to extra tasks, tolerating mistreatment from superiors, or downplaying achievements to avoid attention. In relationships, it can manifest as staying silent about unmet needs, walking on eggshells, or becoming emotionally invisible to preserve peace.

The Psychological Toll of Fawning

Though it appears calm on the surface, the fawn response takes a significant psychological toll. It can lead to:

• Emotional exhaustion and burnout
• Resentment and repressed anger
• Identity erosion (not knowing who you are without others’ needs guiding you)
• Depersonalization or dissociation
• Anxiety, depression, and complex PTSD

Long-term fawning also inhibits healing. It keeps survivors locked in trauma-informed behavior patterns that prevent true emotional intimacy and self-trust. While other trauma responses may draw more attention, fawning quietly corrodes a survivor’s sense of agency.

Why It’s So Hard to Recognize

Unlike fight or flight, fawning is socially rewarded. Kindness is a virtue, and empathy is crucial in any society—but when those traits are compulsively used to manage fear or prevent abandonment, they become survival tools, not values. That distinction is subtle but critical.

Trauma-informed behavioral profiling shows that fawning is not about being nice—it’s about being safe. Survivors may feel discomfort when praised for being “so easy to work with” or “always willing to help,” because somewhere inside, they know the behavior isn’t truly a choice.

Fawning is often misdiagnosed as low self-esteem or social anxiety. In reality, it’s a deeply rehearsed pattern born from environments where saying no, expressing anger, or having needs led to punishment or withdrawal.

Pathways to Recovery

Healing from the fawn response requires more than setting boundaries. It requires reclaiming the nervous system’s sense of safety.

Some strategies include:

• Working with trauma-informed professionals who understand CPTSD and the fawn response
• Learning to tolerate the discomfort of healthy conflict
• Rebuilding connection to one’s own preferences, needs, and limits
• Somatic practices to regulate the nervous system
• Reframing self-worth as intrinsic, not earned through service or sacrifice

True kindness is not self-erasure. It’s grounded in authenticity, not appeasement.

Closing Thoughts

Many survivors live decades unaware that their most praised traits—generosity, agreeableness, and loyalty—may actually be coping mechanisms forged in trauma. The fawn response isn’t who you are. It’s survival skills – that is, what you learned to do to stay alive.

Recognizing this pattern isn’t about shame—it’s about clarity. And with clarity comes the quiet power to rewire the fear-driven patterns and rebuild a life led by choice, not compulsion.

This isn’t about fixing your personality. It’s about finally hearing your own voice underneath the noise of survival.

Photo by Adrian Swancar 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.