Narcissistic Abuse | CPTSDfoundation.org https://cptsdfoundation.org The Foundation for Post-Traumatic Healing and Complex Trauma Research Tue, 19 May 2026 14:12:25 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 https://cptsdfoundation.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/cropped-Daily-Recovery-Support-Globe-iPad-Fav-32x32.png Narcissistic Abuse | CPTSDfoundation.org https://cptsdfoundation.org 32 32 “I Don’t Want to Be Alive Anymore” – Understanding the Loss of Will to Live After Abuse https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/06/17/i-dont-want-to-be-alive-anymore-understanding-the-loss-of-will-to-live-after-abuse/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/06/17/i-dont-want-to-be-alive-anymore-understanding-the-loss-of-will-to-live-after-abuse/#respond Wed, 17 Jun 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987503475 Whether the narcissist is one person or a group, the pain of mistreatment can make you want to go to sleep and never wake up. Let’s validate this dilemma, consider why it happens, and how to heal.

The Weight You Carry

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

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

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

The Fog of Invisibility

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

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

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

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

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

The Silent Struggle: Loss of Will to Live

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

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

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

The Inner Struggle: Beyond the Surface

When Words Fail

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

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

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

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

“But My Abuse Wasn’t That Bad”

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

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

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

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

The Protective Part That Wants to Give Up

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

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

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

Living Minute by Minute

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

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

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

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

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

The Invisible Wounds

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

Causes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grieving What Was Lost

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

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

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

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

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

Living in the Shadow

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

Manifestation:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Small Triggers, Massive Waves

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

When Trust Is Shattered Again

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

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

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

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

The Invisibility of Triggers

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright Notice: This excerpt is from my book. All content is © 2025 Worldwide Groove Corporation. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or use of this material without permission is prohibited. Thank you for respecting my work. 😊

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]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/06/17/i-dont-want-to-be-alive-anymore-understanding-the-loss-of-will-to-live-after-abuse/feed/ 0 Anger: Is It the Poison Slowly Killing You, or the Antidote That Can Save You? https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/06/anger-is-it-the-poison-slowly-killing-you-or-the-antidote-that-can-save-you/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/06/anger-is-it-the-poison-slowly-killing-you-or-the-antidote-that-can-save-you/#respond Wed, 06 May 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987503467

Tobie’s Story

Tobie sat in their car, knuckles white against the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight their teeth might crack. They had just left yet another family gathering where their boundaries were trampled, their feelings dismissed, and their experiences minimized. The familiar heat rose in their chest, spreading up their neck, making their ears burn.

“Stop it,” they whispered to themselves. “Just let it go. You’re overreacting.”

But the anger wouldn’t subside. Instead, it swirled inside Tobie like a storm gathering strength. They’d learned early that anger wasn’t welcome in their childhood home. “Don’t you dare raise your voice.” “Stop being so sensitive.” “You have nothing to be angry about.” These messages had been hammered into them since before they could remember.

And yet here it was again—this overwhelming force that felt too big for their body. Tobie didn’t know what to do with it. Sometimes they’d push it down until it became a hard, cold stone in their stomach. Other times, it would erupt unexpectedly, leaving damaged relationships and crushing shame in its wake.

As they sat there trying to breathe, tears of frustration welling up, Tobie wondered: Was this anger poisoning them from within? Or was it trying to tell them something important—something they needed to hear?

Understanding Anger: What It Really Is

Anger is one of our primary emotions—as natural and necessary as joy, sadness, or fear. At its core, anger is information. It’s your mind and body’s alert system telling you that something isn’t right, that a boundary has been crossed, or that you or someone you care about may be in danger.

Physically, anger is an energy surge designed to prepare you for action. Your heart rate increases, muscles tense, breathing quickens, and stress hormones flood your system. This physical response evolved to help us survive threats. When we perceive an injustice or threat, our bodies prepare us to protect ourselves.

But for survivors of narcissistic abuse and complex trauma, anger becomes complicated. When you’ve grown up in an environment where expressions of anger were punished, where your emotional needs were invalidated, or where anger was wielded as a weapon against you, your relationship with this emotion becomes distorted.

Many survivors learned early that anger was:

    • Forbidden (“Nice people don’t get angry”)

    • Dangerous (“If I show anger, I’ll be abandoned or punished”)

    • Sinful (“Anger is a sin that separates you from God”)

    • Unproductive (“Anger doesn’t solve anything”)

    • A weakness (“You’re too sensitive/emotional”)

These messages create a deep confusion. Your anger arises naturally in response to mistreatment, yet you’ve been taught it’s wrong to feel it. This contradiction creates internal conflict that can last decades.Subscribed

A Roadmap for This Journey

In this article, we’ll explore the complex relationship between trauma and anger, looking at when anger acts as a poison in our lives and when it serves as a much-needed antidote. We’ll examine different types of anger, how it affects our bodies and brains, and practical ways to work with this powerful emotion rather than against it.

If you’re feeling shame about your anger or hopelessness about ever having a healthy relationship with it, know that this article offers concrete tools and perspectives that can help. Many trauma survivors have transformed their relationship with anger from one of fear and avoidance to one of respect and partnership. You can too.

We’ll move from understanding anger at the individual level to examining how it functions in broader contexts like communities and systems. Throughout, we’ll return to our central question: Is anger the poison that’s making you sick, or is it the antidote to what’s actually poisoning you?

The Many Faces of Anger

Anger, like a fluid, takes different forms depending on its container and circumstances. For trauma survivors, it may show up in various ways:

Righteous Anger: The pure, clean anger that rises when witnessing injustice—either against yourself or others. This form of anger has propelled social movements, inspired change, and protected the vulnerable. It’s the anger that says, “This is wrong, and it needs to stop.”

Protective Anger: The fierce energy that rises to defend yourself or loved ones. For many survivors, they can access anger on behalf of others long before they can feel it for themselves. “How dare they treat my friend that way?” often comes more easily than “How dare they treat ME that way?”

Repressed Anger: Anger that’s been pushed down and denied, often resurfacing as depression, anxiety, or physical ailments. Many trauma survivors become experts at swallowing their anger, not even recognizing it as such.

Internalized Anger: When anger turns inward, becoming self-criticism, self-harm, or self-sabotage. “I hate myself for letting this happen” is internalized anger that’s lost its true direction.

Chronic Rage: A constant state of anger that becomes a baseline emotion, coloring all experiences. This often happens when there’s been no safe outlet or validation for legitimate anger over a long period.

Vengeful Anger: The desire to make perpetrators suffer as you have suffered. While a natural response to significant harm, this form of anger can become consuming if not addressed.

Coercive Anger: Using anger as a tool to control others, much like abusers do. Some survivors unconsciously adopt this pattern after seeing it modeled.

Displacement: Directing anger at safer targets rather than its true source. Snapping at a cashier when you’re really angry at your abusive parent is displacement.

Understanding which form your anger takes is the first step toward working with it rather than against it.

Anger in the Body: How It Feels When You’ve Been Disconnected

Many trauma survivors have become so accustomed to pushing anger away that they no longer recognize its physical signatures. Reconnecting with how anger feels in your body can help you identify and work with this emotion before it becomes overwhelming.

Anger might show up as:

    • A tightness or heat in your chest or throat

    • Clenched jaw or teeth grinding

    • Tension in your shoulders, neck, or fists

    • A knot or churning in your stomach

    • Shallow, rapid breathing

    • Feeling flushed or hot in your face and neck

    • Restlessness or the need to move/pace

    • Headaches or pressure behind your eyes

    • A surge of energy through your arms and legs

    • Difficulty concentrating on anything else

    • Unexpected tears or crying when trying to express yourself strongly

    • A feeling of pressure that seems to need release

For those who’ve disconnected from anger, these sensations might be misinterpreted as anxiety, panic, or even illness. Learning to name these feelings as anger is an important step toward healing.

For many people, especially those socialized as female, anger often comes out as tears—which can be incredibly frustrating when you want to appear strong or be taken seriously. If this happens to you, know that it’s a common physiological response, not a sign of weakness. Some people find that acknowledging this pattern out loud (“I’m not sad, I’m angry, and my body expresses anger through tears”) can help others understand what’s really happening.

The Neurobiology of Anger After Trauma

Understanding what happens in your brain and body when you experience anger can help normalize and manage these intense feelings.

When you experience a trigger, your brain’s alarm system (the amygdala) activates, sending signals that prepare your body for fight or flight. For trauma survivors, this system is often oversensitive due to past danger, meaning you might have stronger, faster anger responses even to minor threats.

At the same time, trauma can impact the part of your brain responsible for logical thinking and impulse control (the prefrontal cortex). This can make it harder to “think through” your anger in the moment.

“Flooding” occurs when your nervous system becomes overwhelmed with stress hormones, effectively shutting down your ability to think clearly. This explains why you might say or do things in anger that you later regret—your rational brain becomes less accessible during extreme emotional activation.

For those with complex trauma, the nervous system often operates from a place of chronic hyperarousal. Your baseline anxiety level is already high, so it takes much less to push you into anger or rage. This isn’t a character flaw—it’s your brain and body trying to protect you based on past experiences.

When Your Reaction Seems “Too Big”

Have you ever felt embarrassed by how strongly you reacted to something that seemed small? There’s a saying in trauma therapy: “If it’s hysterical, it’s historical.” This means that when your reaction seems disproportionate to the current situation, it might be connected to your history of trauma.

For example, a simple comment from a friend might trigger an intense anger response not because the comment itself was so terrible, but because it echoed similar comments from years of emotional abuse. Your nervous system doesn’t distinguish between past and present threats—it just recognizes a familiar pattern and sounds the alarm.

This doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t valid. They absolutely are. But understanding the connection between past wounds and present triggers can help you navigate these intense emotions with more self-compassion. It’s not that you’re “overreacting”—it’s that you’re responding to the cumulative weight of many similar experiences, not just the current one.

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When Anger Becomes Poison

Like any powerful medicine, anger can heal or harm depending on how it’s used. Anger becomes poisonous when:

It’s chronic and unprocessed: Anger that remains unaddressed over time creates a state of constant stress. Your body stays flooded with stress hormones, wearing down your immune system, heart, and other vital functions. Chronic anger has been linked to heart disease, digestive problems, weakened immunity, and shorter lifespans.

It consumes your thoughts: When angry thoughts play on endless loop, they steal your present moment and your peace. This rumination keeps wounds fresh and prevents healing.

It becomes your primary identity: When “angry victim” becomes your main way of seeing yourself, it can keep you stuck in pain rather than moving toward healing.

It leads to harmful behaviors: Using anger to justify hurting yourself or others perpetuates cycles of harm rather than breaking them.

It prevents connection: When unmanaged anger becomes a wall between you and potential support, it isolates you when you most need connection.

It blinds you to nuance: Anger can sometimes create black-and-white thinking that oversimplifies complex situations and people.

It masks deeper emotions: Sometimes anger serves as a cover for more vulnerable feelings that may be harder to access or express. When we only experience the surface anger without recognizing what’s beneath it—like hurt, fear, disappointment, grief, or shame—we miss important information about our needs and experiences.

When Anger Is the Antidote

For many trauma survivors, accessing healthy anger is actually a crucial part of healing. Anger can be the antidote when:

It helps you recognize mistreatment: For those gaslit into doubting their perceptions, anger often emerges as the first clear signal that something is wrong. That surge of “No, this isn’t right!” can be the beginning of trusting yourself again.

It provides motivation to change: Anger can be the fuel that powers you out of harmful situations and into better ones. Many survivors report that anger was what finally gave them the strength to leave abusive relationships or set firm boundaries.

It restores your sense of worth: Feeling angry about mistreatment implies that you deserved better—a revolutionary concept for many trauma survivors. Anger says, “I matter enough to be treated well.”

It reconnects you with your power: Anger reminds you that you can take action and effect change. For those who’ve felt helpless, this reconnection with personal power is healing.

It validates your experience: Allowing yourself to feel angry about abuse confirms that what happened to you was wrong. This counteracts the minimization and denial that often accompany trauma.

It provides an exoskeleton: Anger can sometimes function as an exoskeleton—a hard outer shell that keeps you functioning when otherwise you might collapse. While not a permanent solution, this protective function of anger can be necessary during certain phases of healing.

It sets necessary boundaries: Healthy anger helps you establish and maintain the boundaries needed for your well-being, often for the first time.

It counteracts toxic shame: For many trauma survivors, existential shame—the false belief that there is something inherently wrong with you—acts as a poison in the psyche. Healthy anger can be the antidote to this shame, asserting “What happened to me was wrong” instead of “I am wrong.”

It cuts through numbness: When trauma has caused emotional numbing or dissociation, anger can sometimes be the first emotion strong enough to break through, reconnecting you with your capacity to feel.

Strategic Anger: The Medicine Cabinet

For some trauma survivors, especially those still in harmful relationships, anger can serve a critical purpose—not as poison hurting you now, but as a medicine you keep ready for when you need it.

When Holding Onto Anger Serves a Purpose

Malina’s relationship followed a painful cycle—criticism and control, followed by tearful apologies and promises to change. Each time, she felt her anger rise, but then questioned herself: “Maybe this time is different. Maybe I’m overreacting.” She forgave, her anger faded, and the cycle began again.

Over time, Malina realized that without her anger, she couldn’t maintain the resolve to leave. Each time she forgave, she lost the emotional fuel that almost propelled her to safety. So she chose to hold onto her anger—not out of spite, but as a resource. She wasn’t being vindictive; she was preserving medicine she knew she’d need.

This isn’t bitterness or rumination. It’s a conscious choice. In harmful situations—where leaving is constrained by finances, custody, health, or safety—anger can be a vital fuel for self-protection and eventual escape.

Anger as Protection Against Premature Vulnerability

“I can’t afford to let go of my anger yet,” Devon told his therapist. “If I do, I’ll start believing things are fine and drop my guard.” Devon’s anger wasn’t stubbornness—it was a shield, protecting him from vulnerability with someone who had repeatedly broken his trust.

In unsafe situations, releasing anger too soon can leave you exposed. It keeps you alert to patterns you might otherwise dismiss and guards you against the pull of gaslighting.

When Anger Preservation Happens Unconsciously

Sometimes, anger is preserved without conscious effort. Your nervous system, attuned to danger from past experiences, might maintain a level of protective anger without your deliberate effort. You might pick fights, remember past hurts seemingly “out of nowhere,” or feel irritable around someone who has harmed you—even when things seem fine.

Rather than judging this as “holding onto the past,” consider that your body might be protecting you in the most effective way it knows. Tobie, who we met at the beginning of this article, later realized their anger after family gatherings wasn’t just about what had happened that day—it was a safeguard rooted in a lifetime of boundary violations.

Timing Matters

Long-term, the goal is to process anger in ways that free you from its weight. But sometimes, the wisest choice is to say, “I’m not ready to release this anger yet. It’s keeping me safe.”

To use anger strategically, consider:

    • Containing it temporarily so it doesn’t overwhelm your daily life. You might visualize placing it in a secure container you can open when needed.

    • Distinguishing between strategic anger and harmful rumination. Are you maintaining awareness of critical truths, or endlessly recycling pain?

    • Acknowledging that this is a temporary strategy. In time, developing other protective skills will allow for fuller healing.

    • Being compassionate with yourself. Preserving anger for safety is an adaptive choice—not a failure.

Anger, when recognized as medicine rather than poison, becomes a resource—protecting you until you’re ready to create lasting safety and healing.

Processing Anger: From Poison to Antidote

The goal isn’t to eliminate anger but to transform it from a destructive force into a constructive one. Here are some approaches to begin this transformation:

Name it to tame it

Simply acknowledging “I am feeling angry right now” begins to engage your thinking brain and reduces alarm system activation. This simple act creates a tiny bit of space between you and the emotion, making it more manageable.

Practice: Next time you notice anger rising, pause and say (aloud or to yourself): “I am feeling angry right now. This is anger moving through my body.” Notice if this creates even a small shift in your experience.

Find the message in your anger

Anger always carries information. It might be telling you about:

    • A boundary that’s been crossed

    • A need that isn’t being met

    • A value that’s been violated

    • An old wound that’s been triggered

    • An injustice that needs addressing

Find more clarity by writing the following:

    1. What specifically triggered my anger? (Describe the situation)

    1. What boundary of mine might have been crossed?

    1. What need of mine isn’t being met?

    1. Does this remind me of something from my past?

    1. What would need to change for me to feel better?

If you’re having trouble identifying what’s beneath your anger, it can help to complete this sentence: “I’m angry because I didn’t get/have/receive _______.” or “I’m angry because _______ happened and it wasn’t fair/right/acceptable.”

Breaking the Rumination Cycle

When anger becomes repetitive thoughts that play on endless loop—replaying offenses or imagining confrontations—it can transform from a protective force into a drain on your well-being. This rumination keeps wounds fresh and steals your present moment.

For trauma survivors, rumination often serves a purpose: it can help identify patterns in abusive behavior and validate your experiences when you’ve been gaslighted. This is why simply telling yourself to “stop thinking about it” rarely works. Part of you may rightfully sense that this thinking process, painful as it is, serves a protective function.

However, when rumination becomes constant, it can keep you stuck in a state of heightened stress without moving you toward healing. Finding balance is key. Here are a few approaches that honor rumination’s protective intent while creating more space in your life:

Set boundaries around rumination: Rather than ruminating throughout the day, designate specific times to process these thoughts. “I’ll think about this during my 30-minute walk, but not while I’m with my children.” This contains the process without dismissing its importance.

Capture the insights: Keep a journal where you record patterns and realizations that emerge from your anger-based rumination. This validates that your mental work has purpose and creates a record you can refer to instead of needing to constantly keep the thoughts active.

Interrupt the physical cycle: When rumination feels overwhelming, change your physical state. Stand up, stretch, splash cold water on your face, or engage in brief intense exercise. This physical pattern-break can momentarily disrupt the thought cycle.

Engage your senses: Ground yourself in the present moment by naming five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste. This simple practice activates different neural pathways and provides temporary relief.

Remember that becoming skilled at managing rumination takes practice. Each time you gently redirect your thinking, you’re creating more choice about when and how to process your anger—even if the rumination returns minutes later. With consistent practice, you can develop more control over when you engage with these thoughts rather than having them control you.

Address the physical energy of anger

Anger creates a surge of energy meant for action. Finding safe ways to discharge this energy can prevent it from getting stuck in your body. If physical exercise feels overwhelming due to exhaustion from CPTSD or other health issues, even small movements can help:

    • Gentle options: Slowly squeezing and releasing your hands, shoulder rolls, gentle swaying, humming or making sounds, taking a short walk, rocking back and forth

    • Moderate options: Tearing paper, kneading dough or clay, gentle stretching, measured breathing

    • More vigorous options: Dancing, walking briskly, cleaning, gardening

    • High intensity options: Running, swimming, martial arts, screaming in a private space

Even if your anger feels hard-wired into your nervous system and too overwhelming to discharge, starting with just 30 seconds of one of these activities can begin to shift the physical experience.Subscribed

Express it appropriately

Learning to voice your anger in ways that aren’t destructive is a crucial skill. In situations where it’s safe to express your feelings directly:

Instead of: “You always ignore me, you’re so selfish!” Try: “I feel hurt and angry when my needs aren’t acknowledged.”

If you’re dealing with someone who might weaponize your “I feel” statements or use them against you, you might need more direct communication: “That doesn’t work for me.” “I’m not available for this conversation right now.” “I need to step away.” “This behavior is unacceptable.”

Remember that appropriate expression doesn’t always mean saying something in the moment. Sometimes writing a letter you never send or speaking your truth to a trusted friend is the safest way to express your feelings.

Look beneath the anger

Often, what appears as anger on the surface is actually masking more vulnerable emotions that might feel unsafe to express directly. Once the immediate intensity of anger subsides, ask yourself what else you might be feeling.

Common emotions beneath anger include:

    • Hurt: “I’m hurt that my needs weren’t considered.”

    • Fear: “I’m afraid this means I don’t matter.”

    • Disappointment: “I expected to be treated with respect.”

    • Grief: “I’m sad about what this relationship isn’t.”

    • Shame: “I feel exposed or humiliated.”

    • Helplessness: “I can’t control what’s happening.”

Write it out

Journaling about your anger—especially in uncensored, unfiltered ways that you don’t share with others—can help process the emotion without causing harm. Try writing a letter to the person you’re angry with that you don’t send, or simply dump all your thoughts onto paper without filtering.

Channel it constructively

Many survivors transform their anger into advocacy, creativity, or service that helps others. This doesn’t mean toxic “turning lemons into lemonade” thinking, but rather finding meaning that emerges organically from your experience.

Remember that anger’s visit is temporary

Even though it can feel eternal in the moment, anger, like all emotions, will naturally rise and fall if you don’t cling to it or push it away. If you’ve been angry for as long as you can remember, this might be hard to believe—but even chronic anger has waves and fluctuations. Noticing when your anger is even slightly less intense can help you recognize that it isn’t a permanent state, even if it’s been with you for a very long time.

If any of these approaches feel overwhelming or out of reach right now, that’s completely understandable. Trauma can make working with strong emotions particularly challenging. Keep reading for guidance on what to do when anger feels unresolvable.

 

 

Read the rest of this article in Ellen’s first book of her “There’s A Word for That” series: https://a.co/d/02U7m1gT

Copyright Notice: This excerpt is from my book. All content is © 2025 Worldwide Groove Corporation. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or use of this material without permission is prohibited. Thank you for respecting my work. 😊

 

This article is in the first book of Ellen’s series “There’s A Word for That”. Order on paperback or Kindle here https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FKJ8YJ2F

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

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/05/06/anger-is-it-the-poison-slowly-killing-you-or-the-antidote-that-can-save-you/feed/ 0 When Emotional Distance is not Narcissism: Understanding the Quiet Adult Child https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/02/when-emotional-distance-is-not-narcissism-understanding-the-quiet-adult-child/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/02/when-emotional-distance-is-not-narcissism-understanding-the-quiet-adult-child/#comments Thu, 02 Apr 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987502153 Families living with chronic instability often divide their children into roles that were never chosen. One child reacts loudly. Another reacts quietly. The loud one becomes the identified problem. The quiet one becomes the praised anomaly. The truth is less flattering.

Trauma has a way of forcing children into positions that protect the household at their own expense. The child who vanishes into silence learns to survive by reducing their emotional footprint, and adults misread that stillness as emotional maturity.

Many parents confront the shock years later when that quiet child grows into an adult who keeps distance, offers little emotional language, and seems unreachable. The instinct is to call it narcissism. The behavior looks similar on the surface. Both narcissistic adults and avoidant adults can appear detached, self-directed, and uncomfortable with closeness.

That superficial overlap fools people into believing the causes match. They do not.

  • Narcissism is built on entitlement and exploitation.
  • Avoidant attachment is built on fear and self-protection.

Children raised in high-tension environments learn the rules fast.

  • Emotional expression comes with consequences.
  • Loudness attracts conflict.
  • Tears amplify chaos.
  • Needs create interruptions the home cannot withstand.

The child who watches this learns to eliminate their own visibility. They become well-behaved. They expect nothing. They sleep through the night because waking adults feels dangerous. They develop a quiet reflex that stays with them long after the danger is gone. This is not early maturity; it is early adaptation.

Avoidant attachment is a nervous system strategy. It trains the child to regulate alone. They resolve their own distress in silence because it feels safer than risking emotional exposure. Over time, they carry this pattern into adulthood. They communicate in short sentences. They withdraw instead of argue. They offer factual statements instead of warmth. They rarely initiate contact but respond when approached gently. Their emotional range appears narrow, but it is not absent. It is contained to avoid adding pressure to people they care about.

Narcissism carries an entirely different architecture. It depends on admiration, exploitation, and the chronic need to control others for internal regulation.

  • Where avoidance retreats from closeness, narcissism pulls people in.
  • Where avoidance fears burdening others, narcissism demands attention regardless of the cost.
  • A narcissistic individual punishes boundaries. An avoidant individual often respects them because clear limits remove emotional guesswork.

The outer behavior may look similar in brief interactions, but the inner motive is nothing alike.

Parents who assume they “created a narcissist” often carry guilt they never deserved. They did not raise a self-centered adult. They raised a child who learned that invisibility kept the peace. Trauma work shows this pattern repeatedly.

The quiet child grows into an adult who avoids conflict by reducing emotional presence whether in person, on the phone, or through email and text. Their distance is not a sign of superiority. It is a residue of early hypervigilance. They learned that anything loud enough to be noticed could escalate into something dangerous.

Understanding this difference can change the entire trajectory of a strained parent–child relationship. When the parent stops treating the adult child like a narcissistic threat, the parent becomes calmer, clearer, and more consistent. Avoidant individuals do not respond to emotional pushing. They respond to steadiness. They warm slowly, without theatrics. Their contact comes in small, reliable increments. They will not chase connection, but they do not reject it when it arrives safely.

The danger of mislabeling avoidance as narcissism is simple.

  • Narcissism requires firm distance and self-protection.
  • Avoidance requires patient presence from someone who does not demand emotional performance.

Mixing the two leads to unnecessary cutoffs and reinforces the child’s belief that closeness is unsafe. Many parents discover that the adult child, once seen as cold, is actually careful, and that their emotional restraint comes from survival experience rather than a personality disorder.

The quiet child was not narcissistic. They were trained by circumstance to reduce the weight they placed on the household. Their emotional distance in adulthood is the same survival method, just dressed in grown-up clothing. When approached through a trauma-accurate lens, that distance becomes understandable. From there, connection is possible, not through force, but through steady, low-pressure contact that does not activate old reflexes.

Trauma reorganizes the behavior of children who never had the chance to be anything other than adaptive. The quiet ones internalized everything to protect everyone. They carried that lesson into adulthood because no one told their nervous system it was safe to let it go. Recognizing the distinction between emotional avoidance and narcissism is not an act of forgiveness. It is an act of accuracy.

And accuracy, in trauma work, is what makes healing possible.

References:

Bruce D. Perry (Note: Often paired with Baylin, but you didn’t list him here. Including in case you meant Hughes & Baylin’s co-authored work with Perry. If not, ignore.)

Daniel A. Hughes — clinical psychologist known for Dyadic Developmental Psychotherapy and attachment trauma work.

Jon G. Baylin — neuropsychologist specializing in trauma, attachment, and brain-based parenting interventions; co-author with Hughes.

Bessel A. van der Kolk — psychiatrist and trauma researcher; author of The Body Keeps the Score.

Stephen W. Porges — neuroscientist; creator of the Polyvagal Theory and researcher in autonomic regulation and trauma.

Daniel J. Siegel — psychiatrist; pioneer in interpersonal neurobiology, trauma-informed development, and attachment research.

Journal of Traumatic Stress

Development and Psychopathology

Nature Communications (structural brain change study)

American Journal of Psychiatry

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

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/02/when-emotional-distance-is-not-narcissism-understanding-the-quiet-adult-child/feed/ 2 Not Driving Home for Holidays https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/01/not-driving-home-for-holidays/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/01/not-driving-home-for-holidays/#respond Wed, 01 Apr 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987502696 Christmas, or other types of family reunions, can be tricky in the best of families. For survivors of childhood abuse, trekking home for the holidays is nothing short of a draining and re-traumatising return to the scene of the crime. It’s an exercise in appeasement and self-abasement that will leave them feeling besmirched, dazed, and detached as well as so much smaller, so much younger – reduced to size, for the predator is wont to have its pound of flesh. Whatever growth, accomplishment and healing have taken place need to be decimated.

This is where you come from, this is who you are, and don’t you forget it. Let’s cut you (and whatever semblances of confidence and self-esteem you have scraped together since last we met) down to a devourable size. Then let’s be having you, again and again and again.

Just like old times. Only you’re no longer little. What makes this even more fun is that you are all grown up now, and back here out of your own free will. Things can’t have been so very terrible, can they, if you keep rocking up for more of the same, and to play happy families for all to see. For you are in your prime now, and potentially so very powerful.

There are no victims, only volunteers; my dear, dare I say you are asking for it?

Like the best torturers, we never left any marks (and will not have to answer to any court) but there is the danger of you realising your strength, and of you finding the words for what we have done, and for what we are. The truth to us is a like a red rag to a bull, and to keep it at bay we have to keep you discombobulated and uncertain of yourself at all times while with us: trapped in that painfully familiar, utterly false childhood self – lying, self-denying, desperately trying to please us, accepting that truth, love, confidence and happiness are unthinkable and unspeakable in this house.

You are what we want you to be, a nothing, a joke, a tool to be used at our convenience.

We will do whatever it takes. Words for us are deadly blades in this, your first home. Even after all these years, we can still take your breath away with our unfettered sadism and creative callousness. But we are getting on, and as we grow old and frail, we use your stupid morality against you: you would not want to upset someone weaker than yourself, would you?

Well, that’s a good one coming from unrepentant child abusers, but in this as in other matters, we take great delight in duping you. The past, of course, is for us to rewrite as we see fit. Go there at your own peril – we will call you a liar, a fantasist, a lunatic, whatever it takes to shut you up, and more.

Why go? Why yank your inner child back to the place it worked so hard to escape – they might have crippled you for life, but hey, it’s a holiday or a special family event, that somehow is reason enough?

You likely go because you need the approval and validation of the world in a primal, desperate way, and thus want to do right by its standards. You hunger for a healthy normality, but the thought of having a family of your own scares you senseless, as does the thought of a Christmas all by yourself.

And while the world out there pays lip service to the protection of children, it is all out of sympathy when it comes to adult survivors of child abuse – how bad can it have been, you turned out alright, be grateful, forgive … anything other than the truth will do, on this much of the world concurs with the predators. 

And yet, fortunately, the world has also begun to change over the last decade or so. 2025 saw the release of Eamon Dolan’s excellent book, The Power of Parting, Finding Peace and Freedom through Family Estrangement – one of many powerful experiential and academic contributions to a thriving field focused on legitimising cutting abusers out of one’s life.

Alice Segell is a pseudonym. The author is a wife, researcher, writer and survivor.

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

 

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/04/01/not-driving-home-for-holidays/feed/ 0 There is Life After Hidden Abuse https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/16/there-is-life-after-hidden-abuse/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/16/there-is-life-after-hidden-abuse/#comments Mon, 16 Feb 2026 11:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987502730

Writer’s Note: I previously wrote about my experience being a victim of psychological abuse. Two years from my first writing, I find myself in a much better place in my recovery, and I want to share new insights. I also want to recommend a book by Shannon Thomas that greatly impacted my life. 

I’d had enough of the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles and decided it was time to escape to a simpler place to clear my mind. With a long weekend approaching, I booked a shipping container on a farm in California’s wine country. As I drove through the rolling hills and sun-soaked vineyards of Central California, I finally started to relax. This weekend was for me and me alone. 

At the top of my weekend to-do list was unpacking an Amazon package containing a book I had been itching to read: Healing from Hidden Abuse by Shannon Thomas. I had read dozens of other books in search of clarity regarding a specific trauma from high school and college that still inhabited my body, but none had provided the understanding I was seeking. Little did I know that within this little package lay the answers I had been desperately searching for. 

What is psychological abuse? 

Psychological abuse is a sophisticated form of brainwashing, stalking, and mind control. The perpetrator(s) deliberately selects a target and employs subtle and strategic methods of coercion, intimidation, and manipulation, gradually wearing down the victim’s mental state without leaving any evidence. Due to its covert nature, when the victim speaks up to ask for help, she is often not believed and is labeled to be the “crazy” one. Meanwhile, the abusers walk away with no blood on their hands.  

Psychological abuse is not limited to romantic relationships or parent-child dynamics. I didn’t seek it out, nor did I cause it. It didn’t happen in my home, and it wasn’t the result of a silly conflict with a boyfriend. It happened at school, where I became the target of covert bullying by two individuals–twin sisters. They used me as a measuring stick for their academic success, believing that if they could extinguish my bright light, it would make them appear more successful in comparison. 

My abusers were deranged. They had a sick obsession with identifying my internal weaknesses, insecurities, and fears. They weaponized this information against me, attacking me where it hurt the most. Over time, they eroded everything that mattered in my life: my relationships with family and friends, my love for learning, my sense of safety, and my innate zest for life as an empath. And they did it all in a way where not a single soul would notice. Except for me.

A silent murder: no words to describe the pain

To explain what psychological abuse feels like to someone who has never experienced it, I would compare it to what the prisoners endured in the Stanford Prison Experiment of 1971. It felt as though I was curled up into a tight ball, starving in a solitary confinement cell of my own mind, body, psyche, and soul. My abusers and their “flying monkeys” would occasionally pass by my cell, gawk at my suffering through the narrow window slit with smirks on their faces, and dangle a carrot in front of me to taunt me. I would crawl closer and closer to the carrot with my trembling hand extended, but at the last second, they would rip it back through the window slit and walk away laughing, leaving me to starve again in the darkness. 

Though I had seemingly more significant traumas to recover from, I wrestled for years with post-traumatic stress symptoms related to these bullies. My abusers took over my mind uncontrollably. I couldn’t clearly describe what they had done to me. My reality had been distorted. Even after they were long gone, they continued to dictate what I did, said, and thought. I was utterly terrified of them. I avoided anyone and anything that might remind me of them or trigger flashbacks related to their abuse. This avoidance grew exponentially over the years, and I ultimately lost everything from my hometown because of them. I didn’t trust anyone anymore. I couldn’t even trust myself.

Misdiagnosed, misunderstood, and revictimized

It takes someone who has survived psychological abuse to truly understand its impact on the mind, body, psyche, and soul. Throughout their time tormenting me, my abusers caused me to end up in the hospital numerous times. I learned the hard way that most mental health professionals do not understand psychological abuse and mind control, which can lead to further gaslighting of the victim. The medical providers labeled me with schizophrenic and psychotic diagnoses and injected various anti-psychotics to calm me down. While these short-term treatments numbed and tranquilized me, the long-term effects of the abrupt medication changes only created more side effects after each discharge.  

I didn’t see any improvement with a therapeutic approach either. The fact that my experience stemmed from school bullying, rather than in a romantic or familial context, made mental health professionals take it even less seriously. I was laughed at, misdiagnosed, and dismissed as overthinking, paranoid, hysterical, even obsessed. 

Some professionals took things even further. Being upfront about my Stockholm Syndrome reactions to the abuse, including suicidal ideation, got me in trouble. Multiple professionals diagnosed me with Borderline Personality Disorder and ordered me to be institutionalized. Another diagnosed me with Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly Multiple Personality Disorder), suggesting that my perpetrators were one of my “alters.” He convinced me that my abusers weren’t real people but rather figments of my imagination, and then spent three months brainwashing me into communicating with numerous other alters he fabricated. If the psychological abuse hadn’t already done enough crazymaking, these medical providers, who groomed me to fulfill their own sick agendas, made me feel even more insane. 

Topo Chicos and Central California cafés 

Sitting at a quaint café in Paso Robles, California, I was at my wit’s end. My body couldn’t take it anymore. I ordered a Topo Chico, poured it over a glass of ice, and began reading Healing from Hidden Abuse. 

I had only planned to read the first couple of chapters and then get on with my day, but three Topo Chicos and a multitude of tears later, I had finished the book cover to cover. 

I sat there in awe. I did not know this woman, and she certainly didn’t know me. But she understood me. It was like she had written the book specifically for me. In that moment, she was sitting across the coffee table, holding my hand and wiping away my tears, reassuring me that one day everything would be okay.

This was in the summer of 2022. Over the next two years, I reread the book four times and listened to the audiobook on repeat during long drives. At the time, I was still living in California, but I noticed in Shannon’s bio at the end of the book that she was a counselor in the metroplex of my hometown. I knew in my heart that one day, I would meet the woman who validated what I had been through.

Deprogramming and recalibration

Fast forward to 2024, and I found myself living on the outskirts of my hometown. I reached out to Shannon and was accepted as her client. 

Meeting with Shannon was my saving grace. As I stepped into her office, I was terrified to face yet another mental health professional who might revictimize me. But the moment I entered her office, I felt a warmth that I hadn’t experienced in any therapist’s office before. The Christmas decorations filled me with a childlike joy, and the Diet Coke from the mini-fridge was so refreshing. 

In her book, Shannon guides readers through the six stages of recovery from psychological abuse. It’s safe to say that I had been stuck in Stage 1–the Despair stage–for many years. When therapy began, I could barely articulate what had been done to me. I was dissociated, overmedicated, and sleep-deprived.

Additionally, I was still concerned I might be The Girl Who Cried Wolf. In a world where the words narcissist, sociopath, and psychopath are thrown around carelessly, I felt guilty for calling myself a victim. Was I no different from all the tone-deaf TikTokers who sling these labels onto the slightest person who annoys them?

From despair to restoration

Shannon assured me I wasn’t overthinking anything and that my pain was valid. With patience and empathy, she began walking me through the stages of recovery. 

At that time, I was still meeting with several other therapists and psychiatrists across different parts of the state, along with multiple hospital visits, including what would become my final suicide hold of my life. In environments where my suffering continued to be pathologized, Shannon listened with open ears and didn’t add fuel to the fire.

My recovery process from psychological abuse, both in therapy and on my own, felt like I was deprogramming from a cult. My body had to recalibrate itself, and my mind needed to register that I was no longer in danger. But I didn’t want to spend any more time rehashing and ruminating about what had been done to me; I had already endured enough of that in my head for years. While I did some of this with Shannon, and it was necessary at first, the real work was in reclaiming my power.  

What Shannon did so well in our work together was fast-track my healing to what she identifies as the Restoration phase (Stage 6) of recovery. I took active steps to begin rebuilding a life of peace and contentment. She encouraged me to get colorful decorations for my blank apartment walls, take on part-time jobs to have social interaction during my recovery, and get a little bit of exercise each day. Therapy became an opportunity to create a beautiful painting from a blank canvas. 

Taking my power back

The panic attacks, crying spells, and paramedic visits are long gone. I no longer have emotions attached to the abuse. The only things that remain are the visual and auditory remnants of the trauma, in the form of flashbacks, and I won’t stop until they are eradicated as well.  

Because of what the twins did to me, I have unlocked an internal strength I didn’t know I had. During my healing process, I discovered that my abusers were ten thousand times more afraid of me than I ever was of them. I was not targeted because I am weak; I was targeted because of my strengths. I was targeted because I possess the very qualities that my abusers never will. While they had me fooled for quite some time, with a clearer head and a restored subconscious, I can finally see them for the con artists they truly are.

It is possible to recover from the crazymaking

Survivors, if no mental health professional has given you this validation, I hope you can hear it from me: You are not crazy; you were just damaged by crazy. You are not sick; you were just injured by truly sick people. You do not have a personality disorder or any other extreme diagnosis as a result of what you’ve experienced; you are a trauma survivor who had healthy reactions to being violated. You are not broken beyond repair; you are simply a survivor of an insidious form of hidden abuse that is widely misunderstood by both mental health professionals and laypeople. 

Rest easy and know this: You are normal. You are healthy. You are human. You have survived pure evil, and you just need to be listened to.

Baby steps to a beautiful post-abuse life

I hope my story encourages survivors that healing is possible. Over the past two years, after receiving proper support regarding the reality of what I experienced, I have worked tirelessly to rebuild what my bullies robbed from me. Slowly but surely, I am restoring my life to a sense of normalcy.

My work with Shannon has shown me that there is life, freedom, joy, and peace after psychological abuse. Each time I left Shannon’s office, I felt a renewed sense of hope that it would be possible to return to the “me” I once knew. In both her writing and in the therapy room, Shannon leads with compassion, empathy, and a tender heart for survivors of psychological abuse. In Shannon, I have gained a lifelong confidant and therapeutic relationship that I know is 100% safe to return to if I ever need it. 

For those seeking clarity on their suffering, I encourage you to curl up with a cozy blanket and read Healing from Hidden Abuse. Please visit www.shannonthomas.com for more information. 

Featured Post Photo by Oscar Keyson Unsplash

Quote attributed to Tracy Malone. Graphic created by post author.

To my readers who have been following my journey: I am excited to share that I have created a personal blog called “Little Cabin Life.” This blog chronicles my healing journey, where I share my experiences and the things I am doing to support my recovery. You’ll also find tips that have been helpful to me along the way. If you’re interested in following my story, please feel free to visit www.littlecabinlife.com.

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

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/16/there-is-life-after-hidden-abuse/feed/ 2 How the Narcissistic Parent Uses Annihilation https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/08/28/how-the-narcissistic-parent-uses-annihilation/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/08/28/how-the-narcissistic-parent-uses-annihilation/#comments Thu, 28 Aug 2025 12:59:03 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987501395 Narcissistic Behavior

I watched as the rage my father always carried washed over his face. Turing red, he stared at me with threatening eyes. I immediately looked for a way to back down. I had stepped over the boundary and committed the unpardonable sin—I had expressed a personal opinion that didn’t agree with his. My words were seen as a challenge, and he communicated total compliance without saying a word. 

When that covert narcissist happens to be a parent, the damage they do has lifelong consequences. 

If you have ever had a run-in with a covert narcissist, you will be familiar with this type of behavior. Whether it be a boss, a friend, or a family member, the covert narcissist has an amazing ability to communicate threat in a quiet but clear way. And when that covert narcissist happens to be a parent, the damage they do has lifelong consequences. 

My father laid down total compliance throughout my childhood. In those years, it was easy to assault my personhood using physical, verbal, and emotional abuse because I was trapped with no way to escape. Totally dependent on him, he used my vulnerability and innocence as a way to extend his control. 

Later, as an adult, he used tactics like questioning my decisions, behaving like a gatekeeper of approval, controlling the narrative, and acting as the moral authority to undermine any sense of independence I gained. Whenever I attempted something new, or stumbled into his orbit by sharing my plans, he would predict failure, imply collapse, and undercut my safety—unless, that is, I shored up his narcissistic system. Even then, his approval was doled out in crumbs. I snapped them up like a starving animal, oblivious to what he was up to.

How a Narcissist Tries to Annihilate Their Adult Child

In my adulthood, my father used manipulative behavior to express his displeasure. My son’s graduation from college was another opportunity for my father to ruin an otherwise happy occasion. Having barely survived childhood, I was so relieved and excited to have arrived at such a milestone and could not wait to see my son receive his engineering degree from a prestigious university. Instead of joining in the celebration, at the last minute, my father decided not to show up. I spent the entire ceremony wondering where he was and scanning the crowd in hopes that he had simply sat in the wrong seat. Afterwards, we hastily drove to his house, where he pouted in his bedroom, refusing to come out and speak to me. I cried the entire three-hour drive home. 

You are nothing. I am the center, and you revolve around me

Weeks later, he told me flippantly, “I felt left out, but I was just having a bad day.” No apology, no self-awareness, no understanding of what his behavior had cost me, not to mention the entire family that day. After decades of tolerating his abuse, my emotional life was filled with anxiety and distress. On this day of all days, my father had decided to once again communicate the message: “You exist only in relation to me; without my approval, guidance, or control, you are nothing. I am the center, and you revolve around me. If you step out of my control, you will collapse into nothingness. I will always have the ability to destroy your happiness.”

As a child, survival depended upon appeasing this man. As an adult, I believed my safety and survival still depended on him. After that incident, I finally began to realize that nothing I ever did was going to be enough. Disentangling myself would become a mission. He wasn’t going to change, but I could.

Why Do Narcissists Do This?

Why do narcissists behave like this? It is complicated, but knowing a few reasons why can help alleviate blaming yourself. (Which is what the narcissist wants you to do.)

Fear of Losing Control

-Narcissists see their children as extensions of themselves. When a child grows up and asserts autonomy, the narcissist experiences this as betrayal or abandonment. 

-Threats of annihilation become weapons to keep the child psychologically tethered.

Power Through Fear

-Narcissists lack empathy, so fear is their most reliable way to maintain dominance

-This keeps the adult child in a cycle of anxiety, hesitation, and self-doubt

Projection of Their Own Terror

-Deep down, narcissists live with an unacknowledged fear of annihilation themselves. They fear being irrelevant, abandoned, or exposed.

-They project these fears onto the child and use attacks, threats or emotional blackmail to unload their own inner chaos.

How Covert Narcissistic Tactics Work

Knowledge is power, and nowhere is this truer than in breaking free from the power of a narcissistic parent. Understanding what they are up to is the first step in the healing process. The following may help you distinguish the types of tactics a narcissist uses to establish their destructive dominance, especially toward their children.

-Undermining Confidence and Questioning Reality: “Are you sure that happened?”  Planting doubt so you second-guess yourself.

Minimizing success: “That’s nothing special, anyone could do that.”

Shifting credit: Quietly taking credit for your achievements or framing them as their doing. (My father wanted credit for my son’s achievement. He later came out and said so.)

Withholding & Silent Control, Stonewalling: Refusing to engage, making you feel like you don’t exist unless you comply. Withdrawal of affection. Coldness or indifference as punishment. Strategic silence. Using non-response to keep you uneasy and seeking approval.

Subtle Power Moves, Positioning Themselves as the Expert: Correcting you constantly, even in small ways. Backhanded compliments. “You look good — for once.” Mocking or smirking. Nonverbal ways of belittling that keep them on top without a word spoken.

Playing the Victim, martyr narrative: “After all I’ve done for you…” Fragility as control. Acting wounded by your independence, so you feel guilty for separating. Inverted blame. You are “selfish,” “ungrateful,” or “cruel” if you assert yourself.

Covert Threats forecasting failure: “You’ll regret that” or “You’ll never make it without me.”Implying collapse. Suggesting that your choices will “ruin the family” or “destroy everything.” Undercutting safety. Quietly reminding you that no one else will care for you the way they do.

Placing Themselves in the Seat of Power, Gatekeeping Approval: Making you earn small crumbs of validation. Controlling narratives. Telling others your version of your life so you look unstable or dependent. Acting as the moral authority. Subtly elevating themselves as more righteous, smarter, or “wiser.”

My father never said the words, “I’ll annihilate you,” but that was the hidden message driving his interactions with me. Recently spending time in deep, inner healing work, my therapist asked me, “Can you remember a single time your father ever did anything out of love for you?” I thought for several minutes, and to my shock, I could not think of a single time. Even things that appeared good were done to shore up his narcissistic system or make himself look better. If you find yourself trying to break free of a powerful narcissistic parent, don’t give up. It is difficult, but possible, even necessary in order to reclaim the life that should be yours. Defy trauma, embrace joy.

Sign up for my free monthly newsletter and read more blogs like this one at: 

https://rebekahlaynebrown.com
 
Photo by Red Dot 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.
]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/08/28/how-the-narcissistic-parent-uses-annihilation/feed/ 1 Unmasking the Wounds: My Journey Through Narcissistic Abuse https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/07/29/unmasking-the-wounds-my-journey-through-narcissistic-abuse/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/07/29/unmasking-the-wounds-my-journey-through-narcissistic-abuse/#comments Tue, 29 Jul 2025 11:38:15 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987501005

For my own emotional safety and privacy, I have chosen to use alternate names for those involved. “Debby” and “Valerie” are not their real names, but they represent very real pain. For most of my life, I questioned my reactions to emotional pain. I convinced myself I was too sensitive, too reactive, or too forgiving. It took years of confusion, self-blame, and emotional exhaustion before I understood that I had been caught in a cycle of narcissistic abuse, carefully hidden behind smiles, passive-aggressive remarks, and performative concern.

“You always twist everything to make yourself the victim. It’s exhausting.”

Debby came into my life through family. She was the kind of person who masked cruelty behind sweetness and intelligence. To everyone else, she appeared thoughtful, well-spoken, even graceful. But in private moments, she delivered cutting comments with a smile and thrived on power dynamics she subtly engineered. She often played the victim while simultaneously controlling the narrative, twisting events and conversations to paint herself as misunderstood or targeted. It took me a long time to realize that she enjoyed emotional chaos as long as it kept her in the spotlight. One message from Debby still echoes in my mind: “You always twist everything to make yourself the victim. It’s exhausting.” Debby’s manipulation tactics were layered and calculated. She used triangulation frequently, looping in others behind my back to shift perception and create confusion. She and her husband even learned sign language as a private form of communication in front of others, including me, and once signed a message to him during a family gathering to “control your mother and get her checked” because she felt annoyed by his mom.

She frequently used the phrase, “You’re being aggressive,” any time I attempted to express a boundary or respond to her provocations. Debby also weaponized private information I had shared with her, subtly leaking it to others in a twisted form to damage my reputation while keeping her own hands clean. She refused to take accountability for anything but thrived on issuing ultimatums, flipping the script, and responding with, “Then stop contacting me,” when I asked for respect and honesty.

Then came Valerie.

She portrayed herself as the nurturing one, the martyr holding everything together. But underneath the surface, she constantly positioned herself above others. She was more subtle, using backhanded compliments, guilt trips, and triangulation to maintain control. I found myself second-guessing every interaction with her, walking on eggshells to avoid triggering her defensiveness or judgment. When I did try to set boundaries, she would redirect the focus onto herself, making my pain feel inconvenient or invalid. One message from Valerie that stayed with me was: “You should really think about why everyone has such a hard time getting along with you.” Valerie’s manipulation was often masked in concern or self-pity. She regularly framed herself as the peacemaker, while quietly seeding division behind the scenes. She frequently called her own husband “crazy” in front of others to invalidate his feelings or opinions.

On one hand, she portrayed herself as rejected and mistreated, and on the other, she seemed tightly woven into the fabric of her family’s life.

Valerie convinced him to annul a previous marriage through the Catholic Church in order to marry her, despite his having children from that relationship. She also used guilt-based tactics to gain control over family dynamics, such as framing her involvement in every situation as being “just to help” while taking subtle jabs at others’ character. When she felt threatened or confronted, she would say, “I’m just trying to keep the peace,” as a way to end the conversation and avoid accountability. Her most consistent tactic was rewriting history, claiming I was distant, difficult, or dramatic while minimizing her own role in creating those dynamics. Valerie also frequently claimed to be the black sheep in her own family, stating that no one liked her or treated her well. Yet despite those claims, she maintained a close and visible relationship with her family, posting affectionate messages online and attending family events regularly. This contradiction only added to the confusion. On one hand, she portrayed herself as rejected and mistreated, and on the other, she seemed tightly woven into the fabric of her family’s life. It created an illusion that made her stories harder to question, because they came wrapped in both victimhood and performance. I tolerated it for a long time. I stayed quiet to avoid making waves, hoping things would change if I just tried harder. But the more I bent myself to keep the peace, the more fractured I became inside. I started losing trust in my own perception.

I isolated myself emotionally, ashamed of how deeply these women’s words and behaviors affected me. The turning point came when I began learning about narcissistic behavior patterns. Suddenly, my experiences made sense. The love-bombing, the gaslighting, the silent treatment, the manipulation, it all clicked. I was not imagining it. I was not being dramatic. I had been systematically emotionally worn down by individuals who needed to feel superior in order to feel secure. Healing did not happen overnight. It started with journaling, therapy, and slowly allowing myself to believe that what happened was real. I created distance. I stopped explaining myself to those committed to misunderstanding me. I permitted myself to choose peace over performance, and truth over silence. Telling this story is not about revenge. It is about reclaiming my voice after years of being silenced through subtle cruelty. It is about helping others feel less alone in the shadows of emotional manipulation. If you recognize yourself in this story, please know: you are not weak, and you are not alone. What you went through was real. And you deserve the kind of love that does not demand your silence as the price of belonging. Disclaimer: Names have been changed to protect my privacy. Any resemblance to real individuals is purely coincidental.

10 Ways to Spot a Narcissist.

10 Ways to Spot a Narcissist. They twist facts to fit their version of the story.

1. They rewrite conversations and events to make themselves look like the victim or the hero, never the problem.
2. They give backhanded compliments. Praise often comes with a sting, like “You look good… for once.”
3. They lack accountability. Apologies, if given, are usually deflective- “Sorry you feel that way,” instead of genuine remorse. 4. They demand loyalty but gossip about others, even those considered close to them, under the guise of “superiority” or “concern”. They create alliances to isolate people and maintain control, then turn on others just as quickly.
5. They use your emotions against you. Vulnerability is weaponized. When you open up, they later use your words to shame or discredit you.
6. They thrive on control and attention. If the focus is not on them, they find subtle or dramatic ways to reclaim the spotlight. 7. They play the victim when called out. Instead of addressing the issue, they redirect by saying, “I can’t believe you would accuse me of that” or “what do you mean by accountability?” only admitting that they have no intentions or can’t possess the capacity to hold such a standard
8. They fluctuate between idealizing and devaluing. One moment you are “the only one who understands them,” and the next, you are “too much” or “not enough.”
9. They make you doubt your reality. Through gaslighting, they cause you to question your memory, perception, or feelings. 10. They are highly reactive to boundaries. Any request for space, clarity, or respect is seen as an attack or betrayal.

10 Grounded Phrases to Keep Your Peace and Integrity

1. “That is not how I experienced it, and I will not debate my reality.” (Clear, calm, and boundary-based.)
2. “I will not engage in a conversation that twists my words.” (Stops the spin.)
3. “You are entitled to your version. I am allowed to hold mine.” (Affirms both separation and self-trust.)
4. “I am not available for guilt trips or emotional manipulation.” (Names the tactic without getting pulled in.)
5. “We can continue this conversation when respect is part of it.” (Sets a condition for communication.)
6. “I will not accept blame for things outside of my control.” (Protects from scapegoating.)
7. “That comment feels disrespectful, and I am stepping away.” (Protects your nervous system.)
8. “Silence or withdrawal will not pressure me to comply.” (Neutralizes the silent treatment.)
9. “No is a full sentence.” (Short, solid, and self-honoring.)
10. “I do not owe continued access to someone who does not treat me with care.” (Affirms your worth and boundaries.)

Cover Image created with AI

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.

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/07/29/unmasking-the-wounds-my-journey-through-narcissistic-abuse/feed/ 2 The Death of A Narcissist https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/05/20/the-death-of-a-narcissist/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/05/20/the-death-of-a-narcissist/#respond Tue, 20 May 2025 16:25:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500487 It’s something every survivor of childhood trauma dreads: the death of their abuser. No one has any idea how they are going to react. Will you be awash in regret? How about grief? The losses incurred dealing with a narcissistic parent over a lifetime complicate everything, even death. And that is true whether you walked away years ago or stayed nominally in touch. Both my parents were highly dysfunctional. My mother, who died in 2021, was a mentally ill enabler. She was definitely a narcissist, but in a different way from my father. 

My father finally died a few months ago. Survivors will understand the word finally. I thought he would never die. Billy Joel’s song “Only the Good Die Young” was certainly true in this situation. I had gone no contact about seven years before, but the shadow of power this man wielded over my life continued, whether I was in contact with him or not. I even moved all the way across the country to put space between me and him. Space between the present and the past. The constructed reality he demanded everyone agree with, the dominating presence where no voice save his was heard, the judgmental pronouncements of doom and gloom over your life, the complete lack of understanding or empathy. These were just a few of the ways his brainwashing impacted me. 

These were just a few of the ways his brainwashing impacted me. 

And when he died, instead of the relief I felt at my mother’s passing, a terrible door that had been shut for over sixty years was opened. The parts of me from childhood that had split off and carried the load felt free to come forward, and it was hard. Hard to face them, hard to talk to them, and hard to become an ally to them instead of an enemy. 

There are no words to describe the damage and loss that occur when your parents choose the path of narcissism. To their very grave, my parents never had the slightest inkling of self-awareness or took any personal responsibility. In fact, my sibling and I were “disinherited.” The old threat to keep me within my father’s orbit finally came true. For me, I could understand it; I walked away years ago. But for my sibling who provided for my father financially and took care of his ex-wife, our mother, who otherwise would have been homeless, it was a low blow. Yet again, the narcissist showed his true colors. It did not matter what you did for the man; he did not know how to do anything other than hurt us. His final message? “You are worthless.” 

But I survived, and guess what? My father was wrong. It took everything I had to slog through the twisted spider web of lies he had spun. I spent decades trying to understand, reaching toward the truth that seemed to dissipate into mist at the slightest stress. To quiet the dissonance in my mind, heart, and soul. I used every technique and read every book I could get my hands on, but you know what? I made it. I have written a new chapter, established new relationships, and I walk in truth. What does the Bible say? The truth will set you free? Yep, that’s what it says. I can wonder at the joy in life, pursue dreams and goals I never thought reachable, and more than anything else, I can finish well, leaving a legacy of peace, encouragement, and kindness to my children. 

I pity my mother and father. They never knew how wonderful life could be. It is still hard sometimes, I suppose I will always bear the scars to a certain degree, but I made it. I made it out, and I am so thankful I did not give up. Defy trauma, embrace joy. It is worth it.

If you are interested in my newsletter or reading more content like this, please go to:

https://rebekahlaynebrown.com

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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.

]]> https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/05/20/the-death-of-a-narcissist/feed/ 0 The Wounds That Don’t Show https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/05/08/the-wounds-that-dont-show/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/05/08/the-wounds-that-dont-show/#comments Thu, 08 May 2025 11:25:38 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500392 Reclaiming Safety after Narcissistic Abuse

This post explores the unseen consequences of narcissistic abuse, the breakdown of psychological and physiological safety, and the slow, sacred journey of healing ‘functional freeze’ that invites us to reclaim our inner warmth.

How Narcissistic Abuse Disrupts the Nervous System

Narcissistic abuse doesn’t just hurt emotionally. It rewires the nervous system. Love becomes laced with fear. Intuition is replaced by doubt. The body learns to stay on alert, never knowing when the next emotional ambush will strike. These are not just psychological scars—they are physiological adaptations.

Common nervous system responses among survivors:

  • Chronic anxiety or emotional numbness
  • Over-apologizing
  • Fear of abandonment over minor conflict
  • Difficulty setting boundaries without guilt
  • Feeling responsible for others’ emotions

These are survival strategies encoded into the nervous system through repeated betrayal, manipulation, and neglect.

The Hidden Insults

While emotional abuse can be covert, it is often accompanied by devastating tactics that attack a person’s reality and sense of belonging:

Smear campaigns and the calculated effort to damage someone’s reputation through lies, exaggerations, or half-truths. It causes social isolation, chronic fight-or-flight activation and the complete breakdown of trust in self and others.

Over time, victims may experience health issues like chronic fatigue, autoimmune conditions, and depression.

Triangulation introduces a third person to control, confuse, or destabilize relationships. Whether in families, workplaces, or romantic partnerships, it creates instability and self-doubt, keeping the nervous system in survival mode.

The disorientation and confusion is used as a control mechanism. Gaslighting, word salads, blame-shifting and future faking, we’ve heard it all before and know it well. But the results? Cognitive overload, emotional dysregulation, and loss of interoceptive awareness (gut instinct). This prolonged disorientation leads many into chronic freeze states or dissociation.

The freeze response is a survival mechanism — often a final refuge when fight or flight isn’t possible. In environments filled with chronic gaslighting, unpredictability, or betrayal, the body may enter this state or bounce between freeze and flight to cope with overwhelm. To heal, we first name it and understand it, and then gently support ourselves in thawing.

Recognizing You’re in a Freeze State

Recognizing that haze and sense of disconnection from your body or emotions, the difficulty making decisions or forming coherent thoughts (brain fog), the flat affect and emotional numbness, of being here but not. Slowly losing interest in things you used to enjoy. The sometimes comforting yet lonely feeling of invisibility or of being unreachable, even around others. The fatigue has no clear cause, but you quietly know what lies beneath it. The difficulty sensing hunger, thirst, or needing to use the bathroom, and the subtle painful tap dance between shame or guilt for “not doing enough”


In freeze, the nervous system is still highly activated beneath the surface, but energy gets “locked in” to prevent you from feeling it all at once. It’s like hitting the emergency brakes internally. The damage to the nervous system is real. Healing is not about “getting over it.” It’s about re-establishing the trust that was broken—restoring the nervous system and connection between body and mind, self and others.

Nervous System Recovery Begins With Restoring Safety to the System, then:

  • Recognition: Understanding manipulation helps restore clarity.
  • Boundary repair: Healthy boundaries signal to your body: “You are safe now.”
  • Somatic practices: Breathwork, vagal toning, movement, and trauma-informed yoga shift you out of stuck survival stress states.
  • Reconnecting to intuition: Somatic therapy and journaling help restore healthy interoception.
  • Safe connection: Healthy relationships restore oxytocin flow and ventral vagal activation (social engagement).

The cyclical nature of healing and the quiet, grief-filled moments become sacred territory for you to navigate with such an immense level of kindness towards what is arising for you. This is not about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who you were before the distortion. The self that was buried beneath the rubble the noise and manipulation. We rise again because we learn to tend to our own vision of our future selves while reclaiming our shattered, displaced, and stolen pieces.

You might recognize these signs of coming out of freeze by suddenly crying all the choked back tears, maybe the body will even begin to quiver and shake, and yawn with a desire to stretch. Increased awareness of your breath or bodily sensations indicates you are coming back home to your body. This might trigger subtle emotional stirrings (grief, anger, longing), maybe feeling both scared and curious at the same time. The beginning of boundaries forming internally is a really good sign of recovery.

Gentle Reminder:
Coming out of freeze can feel overwhelming — even “too alive” — so it’s important to go slowly, be tender and understand the nuances and nudges of your inner world. Your nervous system is doing something extraordinary: rediscovering presence and both physiological and psychological.

A Note of Hope

Narcissistic abuse is real. Its impact is profound. But so is the recovery.

The nervous system, once betrayed, can learn to feel safe again. It can rewire, reconnect, and reclaim its vital energy.

Along the healing path, you will meet others who see you. Who understand you. Who walk beside you as you rediscover your worth and rebuild your inner sanctuary.

You are becoming.

And your nervous system deserves nothing less than peace, presence, and protection.

Cover image: romario-roges-LwOHND7viXA-unsplash.jpg

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.

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