In the days leading up to “official” adulthood, I’d convinced myself that once I exited childhood, the fear and helplessness wouldn’t penetrate as deeply. I was wrong.

Those things only intensified, and I felt helpless in the face of my powerlessness to thwart them. An adult by law now, I still possessed the mangled nervous system of a terrified child who’d long held the responsibilities of an adult. My 18th birthday felt like a cruel joke.

I became an adult long before society deemed me one. My childhood, though it held many glimmers of happiness, had also been suffocated by responsibilities that weren’t mine to bear. The people who should have buffered me from the pain that life sometimes delivers were often instead the perpetrators of chaos and heartache. Furthermore, they often saddled me with the cumbersome weight of adult burdens, expecting me to wear the heavy cloth of unreasonable expectations with a smile. In many ways, the roles of parent and child were reversed; this phenomenon is known as “parentification.” 

Parentification comes at a grueling cost. You learn to take responsibility for things that aren’t yours to bear. You protect the fragile emotions of others at the expense of your own and provide emotional support in places where you should receive it. In other words, you care for those who should care for you. Along the way, you develop a tangled web of unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

As if being robbed of vital pieces of childhood during your childhood isn’t enough, you may carry these burdens into adulthood. This might manifest in several ways, including but not limited to: 

• Social isolation related to exhaustion, fear, and an inability to relate to people your own age or people in general.
• Viewing your needs as burdens.
• Carrying a nameless guilt that seems to bear no origin and strangles your ability to live in the moment. 
• Measuring your worth by what you can do for others and/or accomplishments.
• Caring for others at a cost to yourself and/or finding it impossible to say “no.” 
• Difficulty expressing emotions while feeling responsibility for other people’s feelings.

A quarter of a century after my “formal” induction into adulthood, I mourn the innocence that was torn from my grasp in the dawning years of my life. Longing for the pieces of my childhood that I never lived, I feel pangs of sadness for the fragments of my adulthood that remain trapped in the shadows of my childhood. And…I feel gratitude. While the most vigorous parts of my healing journey have only recently begun to take shape, and chaos has not been a stranger to me as an adult, the weight of my childhood burdens has not broken my back.

Over time, I instead built a backbone of steel. As a child, I didn’t have the strength to wrestle for control nor the power to negotiate my fate. Somehow, I never let the weight completely crush me. My persistence continued into adulthood. While I’ve lived in survival mode for much of my life, I’ve defied the odds again and again. Chances are, if you’re reading this, so have you. We’re part of a club we never asked to join.

In the early stages of rewiring my discombobulated nervous system, I’m no longer afraid, and I’m not powerless. In fact, I’d say the opposite is true. I’ve been told I’m “formidable” and a “force to be reckoned with.”

I agree. I don’t know if I would’ve become this version of myself if not for the pain that paved the way. When I reflect on the fearful, mild-mannered, and shy child I was, I’m surprised by the confidence I bear as an adult. I’m no longer mild, and though feeling safe is an uphill battle, I wouldn’t say I’m always fearful either.

In reflecting on who I was as a child and who I am now, I realize that the common trait I carried from childhood into adulthood is strength. I didn’t have any other choice. As I navigated one nightmare after another, I dug into my reservoir of fortitude. I learned to put up a fight and to keep going even when exhaustion weighed me down. I learned to persevere. Less poetic, but equally true, eventually I arrived at a blissful place where I no longer take anyone’s crap. Over time, those things added up to the person I am today. There’s one word that best captures what I’m describing: resilience. 

In being forced to grow up before we’re ready, many of us develop resilience. Or…maybe we’re born with it? What does the word “resilience” mean? Well, you’ve heard the term, “to hell and back,” right? Resilience is essentially the ability to come back from hell…again, and again, and again. Resilience is not always born in trauma, but I think it takes on a unique “flavor” when it’s rooted in the challenges of “growing up early.” Those of us who “became adults” as children first used our resilience to survive. As a result, we started adulthood both behind and ahead of the metaphorical “starting line.” We entered “adulthood” exhausted and knowing too much.

We see the world through weary, sometimes cynical eyes that belong to a much older person. Have you ever been told you’re old or wise “for your age?” Me too. Although I’d love to have an even-keeled nervous system and a mind that doesn’t play out worst-case scenarios by default, I appreciate the wisdom and strength within me that emerged early; it’s only intensified with time. Furthermore, because of my cynicism and ability to read between the lines, I can detect BS from a mile away, and I’m not afraid to call people out if they have it coming. I’ve been silenced long enough, and my patience for what I refer to as “reindeer games” expired a lonnnng time ago. 

Furthermore, although it’s aggravating to have a hypervigilant nervous system that sometimes drags me into overly strong bodily and mental reactions to small things. The “big stuff” doesn’t really faze me in the same way it seems to others. I view life as a bit of a jack-in-the-box, and I know there’s always more crap rolling down the line. And…I know I can deal with whatever it is because I’ve dealt with so much already. 

I’ve crammed the pain of multiple lifetimes into one. This probably explains why I’ve never felt “my age.” Suspended between youth and old age, some days, I feel closer to age 70 both mentally and physically. But…something’s shifting. As I heal, some days I feel seven, but not the burdened seven-year-old I was. I see glimpses of the real seven; as I heal, I experience moments of unfettered joy that sparkled like rare diamonds in the dark cave of my childhood but could never be held.

I’ve learned a thing or two since then, though. Perhaps it’s because I feel like I’m at a place in my life where there’s less time left, but my goal has shifted from survival to thriving. Please join me. We’ve been surviving for far too long. It’s time to live.

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

But…as I plunge deeper into my healing journey, I’m asking myself how I cannot feel this way. Lately, smiles light my face from the heart up, and I’ve broken out in dance multiple times. Yes, dance. If you’re reading this and don’t know me, I can tell you that not that long ago, I would’ve been more likely to voluntarily shave off my eyebrows with a dull butter knife than break out in dance. Morose and withdrawn for decades, I’m suddenly brimming with unfettered joy. I’m becoming the kind of person who once froze me in baffled shock. 

Despite being older than I’ve ever been, I somehow feel the youngest I’ve ever felt. As I heal, I’m experiencing an inverse aging phenomenon. It’s akin to falling in love. You know…that warm, glowing feeling, gooey as a freshly baked cinnamon roll, nearly soggy with icing? Yep, that’s me. Happy. Sappy. Saccharine. So uncharacteristically not “me” that I, at times, wonder if I’ve been body snatched. Yet…I know that this is me. This is me in the state of Self. This is me when I’m not stuck in constant survival mode. No longer confined to a perpetual prison of my go-to fear responses, I’m truly experiencing the present for the first time in decades, if not forever. It feels like the transition from black-and-white to color in “The Wizard of Oz.”

I wonder how I could have not smelled the blooming flowers or heard the chorus of birds in the past, yet somehow, I’ve never experienced life this way before. (If I’m being honest, I did hear some of the birds, and I used to swear at them for making noise. Who gets mad at birds?) Anyway, it feels like all my favorite songs have been merged into one magical masterpiece, and someone has cranked up the volume. It feels like an orgasm of the soul. I realize that my life has played out for over 40 years, not quite void of, but severely lacking vibrancy. 

It’s only fair, as we heal and begin to see life through the lens of hope, and dare I say happiness, that we question if this is what we’ve been missing out on?

Have people who have never lived within the CPTSD prison experienced this their whole lives? Is it this intense, or is it just another day for them? As these questions dance through our minds, we inevitably arrive at the question: why? What did we do to have this stolen from us all these years? The answer, of course, is nothing. That, however, doesn’t make it hurt any less or shake any sense into it. It’s not fair, and it’s infuriating. It’s easy to get stuck in this feeling, especially now that I can truly feel each angle and texture of my experiences. It’s okay to get angry, but we owe it to ourselves not to stay in a place of hopeless rage. We’ve been robbed of enough, so we must resist the temptation to rob ourselves. 

How can we let go of our grip on anger and embrace what we have left of this journey? I think, just like with so many other things in our lives, we (being the resourceful survivors that we are) find or create something that works for us. I’ve decided that I’m going to push through this hangup about missing out by telling myself that most people don’t experience this degree of appreciation for life’s beauty. I’ve convinced myself that the decades trapped in the lonely halls of darkness illuminate the light at the end of the hall.

The contrast between life’s lowest depths exaggerates and magnifies life’s greatest heights. Once afraid of feeling, I now feel everything, good and bad, so deeply that my body seems to hum with emotion. It’s a superpower of sorts. I don’t wear a cape, but I wear a cocky smile knowing I’ve made it through hell and I’m still standing.

A now-gone, but never-forgotten loved one, who also lived a life filled with heartache and challenges, lived by the motto: “Don’t worry, it will get worse.” The first time she laid this line on me, I laughed for about two seconds before it dawned on me that it was the truest thing I’d ever heard. I think I surprised her when I said: “You’re right. That’s the best advice I’ve ever gotten.”

You’ve gotta just keep going, and when things are good, enjoy them. Give yourself permission to marinate in happiness and savor every last succulent drop of unquantifiable bliss. None of us has a crystal ball, so there’s no point in trying to forecast the future. (If you just read that and thought, “That’s easier said than done,” trust me, a part of me intensely agrees.) That said, we can only control and live where we are right now. I heard another saying once that resonated with me: if you have one foot in the past and one foot in the future, you’re taking a leak on the present. Good point, right?

Things haven’t been easy for many of us, and sometimes it feels like we’ve survived a series of painful tests only to be rewarded with more pain.

Again, it really is not fair. But, like most things, there is another way to look at it. I recently discovered musician Kate Wolf, and the lines to her song “Unfinished Life” ring through my soul like a siren calling me home. Wolf wrote: 

“I’ve crossed so many rivers

In search of crystal fountains

I’ve found the truest paths

Always lead through mountains.”

Here’s the thing about climbing mountains to get to the other side…it brings us to a place where we see things clearly and from a place of advantage. We see the full scope of humanity. We feel the full scope of life’s experiences. I don’t know, maybe I’m full of crap, but it’s as good a justification as any. I do know one thing, though. The traumas that bring us to this page, where we seek answers, companionship, and hope, have changed us. They may have removed the power from our hands temporarily.

But…we survived. We have control over where we go from here.

Sometimes it takes Herculean effort to just enjoy the moment, but we can do it. How do I know? Well, mostly because we’ve already been to hell and back. So…if you’re finally able to hear the song and it makes you happy, it’s okay to dance! If you feel like you’re becoming “one of those people, look in the mirror and welcome yourself to the world. Maybe this whole thing is a bit like falling in love…with yourself and with life for the first time.

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

Nobody is immune from stress, regardless of age and we all have one thing in common — we react. How we react to stress is different for everyone, but there is a simple way we can all calm:

Through breathing

I see the way stress affects those around me. In my colleagues, my students and my own family and friends. None of us are good at juggling too many things, but many of us do.

I know I do. I take on too much and then I wonder how I’m going to get through it all.

Most of us forget that one of the most powerful tools that you have available is your breath. Breathing happens whether you think about it or not. It’s automatic, like a car engine stuck in gear.

Your breath is vital to keep you alive. Everything in your body is dependent on it. Without breathing, we would die within minutes.

When you are stressed, your breath often gets faster and shallow while your body goes through physical changes to cope with stress. It releases hormones to prepare your body for fight or flight to combat the situation.

Slowing down your breathing is the quickest way to calm down and get your body to go back into “safe mode.”

There are many benefits of doing regular simple breathing exercises to relieve anxiety, emotional overwhelm, panic attacks and improve your sleep.

As a trauma survivor, I have used many types of breathing techniques when I’m feeling overwhelmed or triggered.

I want to share these with you.

Five Finger Breathing

This is something you can easily do anytime and anywhere. I use this all the time and I’ve taught it to my students. Even kindergartners can do it.

Spread out one of your hands so that you have room between your fingers. (A little like reaching the keys on a piano). I usually start from the bottom of my thumb but you can start from your little finger, if that feels more natural.

How it works:

Put your index finger at the base of your thumb then trace your index up the thumb as you breathe in. Hold your breath to the count of 1,2,3 then exhale as you trace your index down the other side of your thumb. Keep breathing in and out as you move your index from your fingers to your little finger.

Star Breathing

This one is similar to the five finger breathing, but instead of tracing your fingers, you trace the shape of a star in the air. You can even do it on a piece of paper if it works better for you.

How it works:

Inhale on each line of your star shape, tracing up with your index. Hold for 1,2,3. Then exhale going down. Repeat as many times as you need to.

Tracing shapes or familiar symbols is repetitive and will slow down your racing thoughts and giving you focus.

Box Breathing (4–4–4–4)

This technique is repetitive and steady, which should help calm those racing thoughts in no time. It’s a great one to try if you simply cannot calm down and your breathing is almost out of control. This works if you stick to the times four rule.

How it works:

Breathe in for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Breathe out for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Repeat.

Belly Breathing

This is a technique that requires you to sit down or stand. Choose a space where you feel comfortable and won’t be disturbed for a few minutes.

How it works:

Put one of your hands on your belly and breathe in slowly through your nose. Take notice of how your body feels as your lungs fill with air. Hold to the count of 1,2,3. Then exhale through the mouth.

The 4,7, 8 Breathing Technique

This technique is great for reducing anxiety and panic attacks quickly. It’s helped me several times when I’ve felt this way.

It’s simple and you can do it anywhere and at anytime. I’ve noticed that not many people are even aware when I’m doing it. I’ve done it in meetings, in elevators, the mall, and even in the food market.

How it works:

Inhale to the count of 1,2,3 and 4. Hold your breath for 7 seconds. Then exhale to the count of 8 seconds.

Rainbow Breathing

This technique works best when you either stand up with a straight back. I’ve done this while sitting cross-legged too, but it only works when your back is straight.

How it works:

Imagine that you are drawing an invisible rainbow above your head.

Inhale as you spread both arms out wide and lift them into an arc above your head. Hold to the count of three. Then exhale as you let your arms down slowly into their normal position by your sides.

The Shoulder Drop Technique

This technique is good if you are feeling tense or angry. You can do it anywhere but if you’re conscious of prying eyes, privacy is best.

How it works:

You simply inhale as you lift both shoulders. Hold for a few seconds. The relax your shoulders while you exhale. Repeat as many times as you need and focus on the out breath. With every breath, you will start feeling your body becomes less tense.

A final note:

Being stressed is not a nice feeling, and most of us feel that way every day. There’s just too much going on. By trying out these simple and quick techniques, you will start feeling much better.

I know they all worked for me.

I hope you will start to feel the difference in your body too, as your body regains its equilibrium.

Which one will you try first?

Let me know which one has helped you the most.

Take care

Remember, you matter.

My name is Lizzy. I’m a trauma survivor, a wife, a mom, a teacher, and an author.

If you like reading my posts, then please follow me.

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

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

More from Elizabeth Woods:

• How Do You Manage Stress?
• Are You Feeling Valued?
• Do You Have Humility?

In mental health, trauma is trauma. What matters is not how an event appears to an outsider, but how it lodges in the body and nervous system of the person who endured it. If an experience overwhelms your ability to cope, it is trauma

My adult life was built on buried memories: a cruel, narcissistic mother, an uncaring alcoholic father, and a home ruled by chaos, neglect, and emotional abuse. I lived through beatings, emotional abuse, and neglect. There was little food because my father drank away his paycheck and, according to my mother, consorted with prostitutes. I was six years old and did not even know what that word meant. The air in our house was volatile. I learned to be invisible. Shouting was the spoken language, and vulgarity took the place of affection. Violence was not an exception; it was part of the atmosphere.

 When you grow up in an environment of disregard and danger, your brain adapts to survive. Mine learned hypervigilance. I learned to read the room, read my parents, and anticipate threats. The woods near our house became my refuge. Even at six years old, I roamed the hills alone because I dreaded going home.

 When I finally crossed that threshold in 2001 and began an eight-year healing journey with my psychiatrist, Dr. Dan, I had to confront not only the truth of my upbringing but also the chaos it was still creating in my adult life. It had taken two years of sinking deeper into darkness before I made the call to his office. I was consumed by depression and anger. My nights were filled with recurring nightmares—wars, tornadoes, floods, and, most hauntingly, dreams that returned me to the childhood home where danger still lived.

We often imagine therapy as quiet and orderly: a comfortable chair, gentle questions, and a swift revelation that fixes everything. My experience was different.

The room was inviting, but my heart pounded as I fought the urge to flee, terrified of being judged or berated yet again. During that first visit, after hearing only an overview of my life, Dr. Dan told me that healing could take years, given the depth and duration of my trauma. I was stunned. I interrupted him and said he had three visits to fix me. I was exhausted and wanted the pain to stop.

Yet amid the emotional havoc of that first visit, I experienced a breakthrough. As we talked, something carried me back to childhood. I was five years old again, hiding under our dining room table in the dark. After dinner, my father had gone back to the Polish drinking club a few blocks away. My mother, expecting him to come home drunk and furious, locked the doors, as she had done before. When he could not get back inside, he erupted. My parents screamed at each other while my father yelled for me to unlock the door, and my mother ordered us to leave it locked.

I was paralyzed with fear, crying and pleading with them both, trapped once again in the middle of their fight. Then my father smashed the glass in the door, unlocked it, and went after my mother in the kitchen—and the flashback ended.

Dr. Dan asked gently, “Where did you go?” It took me a few seconds to decide whether I would tell the truth. My instinct had always been to say I was fine, but I knew that if I wanted to heal, I had to open that door. I described the scene in detail, looked at him, and broke down in tears. I did not just cry; I sobbed with a force I had never allowed myself to feel. The trauma I had carried into that room was suddenly visible. There was no judgment, no hostility—only empathy. That was the power of the room I spent eight years in: it could hold the toxic pain I had suffered for most of my life.

Healing required me to stop protecting the people who had hurt me and start protecting the child I once was.

The stigma around family dysfunction is powerful; we are taught that loyalty means silence. For me, that silence was corrosive. Healing came through years of intense psychodynamic therapy, during which I relived traumatic events and uncovered others I had buried even deeper. For a long time, I feared I was losing my mind or developing schizophrenia like my older brother.

Again and again, I asked Dr. Dan whether what I was feeling was normal. His answer never changed: not normal, but typical of someone in my situation. Those four words gave me more than comfort. They gave me language—and language made healing possible.

Phot 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

Some children become adults before anyone notices they were children. They learn early how to pay attention. They notice tension before anyone speaks about it. They become skilled at reading the room, anticipating problems, and adapting to whatever the moment requires. Adults praise them for being mature, dependable, and capable. Few people stop to consider what it took for a child to become that responsible.

Years later, those same children often become highly successful adults. They are leaders, entrepreneurs, clinicians, first responders, executives, and experts in their fields. They are trusted with difficult decisions and complex challenges because they have spent much of their lives learning how to navigate uncertainty.

Many of us recognize this story because we have lived it ourselves. We learned how to carry responsibility. We learned how to stay composed when others were overwhelmed. We learned how to solve problems, anticipate needs, and keep moving forward when circumstances became difficult. Those skills served us well. They helped us build careers, earn trust, and create success.

I have spent much of my life in environments where composure mattered. As an athlete, business leader, emergency responder, and crisis mitigation professional, staying calm under pressure was expected. That expectation followed me everywhere: in the gym, the boardroom, the back of an ambulance, and virtual meetings with employees half a world away.

What I eventually came to understand is that I was exceptionally good at being the responsible one.

I was far less skilled at simply being human. Sitting on a beach. Taking a day off. Letting someone else carry the burden for a while. Even when life was calm, part of me remained responsible for everyone around me.

Many high performers know exactly what I mean. We know how to show up for others. We know how to handle responsibility. We know how to keep going. Yet, there are moments when we quietly wonder why life feels so much heavier than it should. We may be respected thought leaders in our field, accomplished, and trusted by others, all while feeling completely disconnected from parts of ourselves when the workday is over.

For some of us, responsibility became more than a role. It became part of our identity because it was a survival mechanism. Being dependable does not feel like something we learned. It feels like something we have always been.

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

I know because I’m living this life. A life after enduring more than a human being should be able to survive.

The five F’s of Trauma Reactions

(No, I’m not writing about the swear word here.)

When a person is exposed to trauma through either threats or dangerous situations, the body releases stress hormones that make physiological changes to protect us.

These changes keep us alert so that we can react to a traumatic situation.

Yesterday, I wrote about the fight/flight and freeze states because those are the three most common ways of responding to traumatic events. I touched on emotional shutdown, too, but I didn’t label it.

We’ve all seen the anger, the inconsolable sadness, and the shutdown in people. These behaviors are sadly part of our everyday lives. I see it in the food market, the mall, the park, and in school.

Trauma is part of our community, our towns and cities, and our world, whether we like it or not. Many of us are still suffering from events that happened years ago, like Hurricane Katrina, and more recently, Helene.

When you are in danger, your body chooses how you react in the moment to keep you alive. It’s instinctive like a survival mechanism.

Do you choose fight, flight, freeze, fawn or flop when you face danger?

A quick recap on the three F’s from yesterday’s article:

Fight State is when you choose to confront whatever is happening to you or around you.

Flight State — Is when you choose to escape to run away from the threat or situation.

Freeze State — Is when you feel paralyzed / frozen and unable to respond in any way.

The Fawn and Flop Reactions to Traumatic Events

There are two more ways that a person can react in response to traumatic events. They are Fawn and Flop states.

The Fawn State is when a person submits to the danger. They become people-pleasing and appeasing their abusers to the detriment of their own needs.

Some traits of fawning include:

• Neglecting your personal needs and boundaries
• Complimenting excessively, even if it is not authentic
• Can’t say “no” and grants every wish and demand of others.
• Being a people pleaser
• Having no sense of personal identity
• Hypervigilance and awareness of others moods and emotions
• Neglecting or not knowing your own emotions and feelings
• Turns to others to know how the feel or “should” feel
• Makes themselves a servant to others like being as helpful and useful as possible
• Feeling guilty when not being helpful

The Flop State — This is the state that not many professionals have heard of. I know it well because I used this response when I was very young and I still remember it decades later because of how I felt.

The flop state is the most extreme reaction to traumatic events. It can happen because you are being violently attacked like a child being physically or sexually abused. It can also happen to torture victims when the pain is so severe that you “tune out.”

The Flop state is an involuntary, instinctual reaction to overwhelming terror where the body shuts down, causing physical collapse, fainting, or total mental unresponsiveness.

Some traits of the Flop state include:

Total body collapse

Playing Dead

Mental and physical unawareness — when the traumatized person dissociates and becomes disengaged, disoriented, and emotionally turned off.

Loss of body control — You’re intensely scared and lose control of your bodily functions.

So, what happens inside the brain to cause these physiological reactions to a person?

The role of Cortisol

There’s so much more that happens inside a trauma brain to cause the Fight / Flight/ Freeze / Fawn and Flop states.

When an individual is traumatized, and I mean scared to death, we produce a stress hormone called, Cortisol.

Cortisol is a steroid hormone(nicknamed the stress hormone) that is produced in the adrenal glands just above the kidneys. The function of Cortisol is to regulate stress in our bodies, but it has other jobs too.

Cortisol regulates how your body uses Glucose (sugar) for energy. It regulates your blood pressure and reduces inflammation in the body. Cortisol also helps control your sleep and wake rhythm.

The human body needs Cortisol to regulate and keep us going.

Increased Cortisol Levels wreak havoc in the brain and body

When our Cortisol levels are either too high or too low, we start to feel unwell.

High levels of Cortisol can develop into high blood pressure, high blood sugar, and make us gain weight around the stomach and face. We can also notice muscle weakness in our arms and legs.

Low levels of Cortisol can cause extreme fatigue, weight loss and no appetite as well as low blood pressure.

Increased levels of Cortisol is fine for short periods to get our bodies ready for action, but in a trauma brain, Cortisol levels stay high. This is because your body releases more Cortisol as a response to stress in harmful situations:

Acute Stress — Short-term stress, like an accident.

Chronic Stress — Long-term stress from a demanding job, dysfunctional family life, living in poverty, and having a chronic illness.

Traumatic Stress — Situations that are exceptionally threatening, dangerous and sometimes catastrophic.

Delving Deeper into Traumatic Stress

Traumatic stress is what causes high levels of Cortisol in the body, and because this type of stress doesn’t go away, the body keeps producing the hormone.

Traumatic Stress comes from:

Direct exposure to a horrific situation or event like abuse or torture.

Witnessing people or someone being abused or tortured.

Indirect exposure — Learning of a loved one being abused or tortured.

Occupation — Professions like serving in the Navy / Army / Coast Guard, Police and fire fighters seeing or being assaulted in war and conflicts. Doctors and body guards handling crisis situations.

Seeing a traumatic event on social media like YouTube doesn’t cause the type of stress I’m describing, unless a person works in these situations.

Living with Chronic stress can have a big impact on your life through your overall health, your sleep patterns and your mood.

What can you do to reduce your Cortisol levels if you have been exposed to traumatic stress?

The first and best way to reduce Cortisol is to get good sleep. I mean quality sleep without nightmares and waking up every five minutes. That’s not easy for someone who is affected by traumatic stress.

Exercising and moving your body is another way to remove Cortisol or any excess hormones from the body.

Breath work through deep breathing and yoga can greatly help someone who is feeling stressed.

Socialize with friends and family who make you feel good. Go out and enjoy yourself and laugh deep belly laughs.

Distance yourself from those who don’t make you happy.

I’ve lived through trauma and come out the other side. This is what it feels like to live with trauma for years and sometimes decades after the events. Now, you will recognize these traits and behaviors in your world.

My name is Lizzy. I’m a trauma survivor, a wife, a mom, a teacher, and an author.

If you like reading my posts, then please follow me.

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

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

Far from it. It is the beginning of the work; it shows exactly where it needs to start.

“I can’t talk about it” is not resistance. It is information. It tells us that one or more barriers are in place. These barriers need to be identified, brought into the open, and presented to the client for consideration.

In short, “I can’t talk about it” contains enough information to guide the next phase of therapy, if its internal logic is made explicit.

Discovering Disclosure Barriers Is Therapy Gold

Finding these barriers is not a preliminary step. It is a vital part of the therapy.

The position of “I can’t talk about it” is itself a Stuck Point – one of those rigid, distressing thoughts and beliefs that feel impossible to move beyond.

Stuck points are often the mind’s default response to unprocessed trauma. They are not random. They are structured attempts to make sense of overwhelming experience.

What Sits Behind “I Can’t Talk About It?”

In therapy, it is often enough for now to talk about why you can’t talk about it. That is not avoidance. That is a large part of the work.

Like a form of emotional echo-location, we can begin to map the terrain indirectly.

By exploring the barriers and ‘exemptions’, we begin to understand:

• The shape of the trauma
• Its weight
• Its personal meaning

We may not be talking about the event itself yet, but we are getting very close to it.

Stuck Points Rarely Come Alone

Stuck points tend to multiply across time. The original traumas often give rise to unhelpful beliefs that harden into stuck points.

By exploring a person’s:

• View of the past
• View of the trauma(s)
• View of the time between trauma and now
• Experience of the present
• Expectations of the future

we can build a Timeline of Stuck Points, as shown in the diagram below.

Note how for each Timeline Key Moment, there are emotions/feelings attached.
Then, in each of the red boxes there are Stuck Point Statements.

Seeing the System Can Change Everything

You see now how we have a lot more information to work with.

We now know a lot more fixed beliefs and mental loops: Stuck Point Statements. What emerges is not a single belief, but a network of fixed positions, and how the person feels about them.

For many people, this is the first time they see the full picture. Thoughts that once felt chaotic and intrusive are now named, organised and contained.

Damaging thoughts that came into consciousness; caused harm and faded away, only to loop around repeatedly, now become known, visible and accounted for.

What once swirled unpredictably now has coherence, shape and boundaries.
That alone has therapeutic value.

When people see how many stuck points they are carrying, something often shifts.

There is often a moment of recognition, even shock. The realisation comes,

“All this has been running my thinking.”

In many cases, the person has already begun opening up, without realising it.

By describing their beliefs across time, they have revealed:

• How the trauma shaped their identity
• How it influenced their interpretations
• How it continues to operate

From here, some stuck points can begin to loosen.

For example:
“The old me is gone” may soften when examined more closely. It may be that the past is being viewed through a rose-coloured nostalgic lens, and that in truth, there were significant life difficulties before the main trauma event(s) occurred.

This does not dismantle the belief entirely. But it creates a small opening.
And sometimes, that is enough.

From Mapping to Movement

Through a combination of:

• Recognising the cumulative weight of multiple stuck points
• Gently re-examining less rigid beliefs

The conversation can begin to shift.

The trauma, once avoided, sometimes becomes:

• Something that can be approached
• Something that has edges
• Something that can be worked with

From there, deeper phases of therapy may become possible.

But It Is Not Always That Straightforward

In many cases, the barriers are more entrenched.

This is where a deeper understanding becomes necessary.

‘I Can’t Talk About It’ and Stacked Disclosure Barriers

“I can’t talk about it” stuck points do not always operate in isolation.
They can combine. They can reinforce each other.

This is what we will call Stacked Disclosure Barriers.

A person might reveal:

• Disclosure Barrier 1: “There’s no point talking about it.” (Futility)
• Disclosure Barrier 2: “I don’t want to burden anyone.” (Moral)

This creates a closed system:

• It won’t help
• It’s not safe

No action feels possible.
No action feels justified.

Until each position is understood, the system holds.

Please see below for a diagram: Timeline of Stuck Points with Stacked Disclosure Barriers.

Where to From Here?

At this point, the therapist has something extremely valuable.

The client has revealed not just their distress, but the logic that sustains it.

This is where the work becomes precise:

• Futility blocks everything downstream
• Moral beliefs can mask deeper positions

Therapists tend to work with the barrier that makes all other work feel pointless or unsafe.

For the purposes of this article, we will begin with the disclosure barrier of futility.

Example 1: Futility Thinking – “There’s No Point”

“There’s no point talking about it. What happened can’t be undone.”

At first glance, this seems reasonable. And in one sense, it is true.

But beneath this statement sit deeper beliefs:

• “I am uniquely broken.”
• “My suffering is irredeemable.”
• “Nothing can change how I feel.”

From this position, not talking is logical.

The Unifying Principle of Futility Thinking

People do not open up simply because they feel understood.

They open up when they believe something useful can happen.

The barrier is often not:

“This hurts too much”

It is:

“This won’t help”

Understanding Futility Thinking

Futility thinking sounds rational:

• “Talking won’t change anything.”
• “Nothing will fix this.”

But the mind has shifted from:

“It won’t undo the past”
to
“Nothing can change how I experience it now”

That is the critical shift.

Why This Thinking Exists

Futility protects:

• You don’t have to try
• You don’t risk disappointment
• You don’t re-enter the pain

But it assumes the only purpose of talking is to fix the past.

What Therapy Actually Does

Therapy does not change what happened.

It changes what happens next.

It changes:

• How the experience is held
• How it is interpreted
• How it moves through you

A gap begins to form between:

1. The painful event
2. The belief it can never ease

A skilled therapist will explain and demonstrate that the (1) The painful event and (2) The belief that the hurt can never be reduced, are two different things.

From here:

• Rumination loosens
• Memories move toward acceptance
• The “negative future mirror” begins to weaken (the belief that the future will be as bad as or worse than today.)

The hurtful event still happened, and the memory of it will always be there, but the strongly felt relationship with the trauma can begin to ease, by degrees, until the previously all-consuming pain can be viewed through a lens of greater emotional comfort, and distance.

Eventually it becomes possible to walk alongside the memories, contextualising them as events that happened, but which do not have to interrupt one’s sense of journeying through life in pursuit of personally valuable goals.

Example 2: Moral Barrier – “I Don’t Want to Burden Anyone”

“I don’t want to put this on anyone.”

This is often strength, misapplied.

People are trying to:

• Protect others
• Avoid harm
• Carry their own weight

But the belief shifts from:

“I don’t want to harm others”
to
“My pain harms others”

When Silence Feels Right

From the outside, it looks like avoidance.
From the inside, it feels like integrity.

“I don’t want to put this onto other people.”

This aligns with values:

• I protect others
• I don’t hurt people
• I carry my own weight

Silence becomes loyalty to those values.

Why This Is Hard to Shift

When a belief attaches to identity, it feels like truth.

Therapy then looks like harm transfer.
Speaking feels like:

• Burdening
• Contaminating
• Imposing

So silence feels right.

The Hidden Assumption

“If I speak, others will feel what I felt.”

Trauma makes this feel true.
But therapy works differently.

A therapist:

• Contains
• Regulates
• Structures

They are not harmed by the material.

Why It Still Feels Unsafe

Many people have learned:

• Disclosure leads to dismissal
• Or overwhelm

So the nervous system says: “Be careful.”

Safety builds through experience, not reassurance.

Often the first step is the articulation of the disclosure barrier:

“I feel like if I talk about this, I’ll hurt you.”

Then:

• The belief becomes visible, and can be discussed
• The therapist invites small ‘test’ disclosures (sometimes framing them as ‘5%’ disclosures)
• The feared outcome does not occur

This begins to loosen the equation:

“If I speak, I cause harm.”

Final Position

“I can’t talk about it” is not a wall. It is a doorway.

Not into the trauma itself, not yet. But into the system of beliefs around it.

Once that system is:

• Visible
• Organised
• Understood

It can be worked with.
It can be questioned.
It can begin to loosen.

That is where movement starts.

Not all at once. Not completely.
But enough.

And often, enough is where everything begins.

Courtesy of www.reliefandhope.com

Important Caveat:
Some “I can’t talk about it” is not belief-driven. It is state-dependent:

• Freeze
• Shutdown
• Dissociation

Not all barriers are cognitive. Some are physiological constraints.

Evidence-Based Citations:

1. “I can’t talk about it” as information, not resistance

Principle: Client avoidance or silence contains clinically meaningful data rather than being obstruction.

• Judith Herman (1992). Trauma and Recovery.
  → Establishes that avoidance and silence are core trauma responses and meaningful indicators of psychological state.
• Bessel van der Kolk (2014). The Body Keeps the Score.
  → Describes how trauma is encoded non-verbally and why clients may be unable, not unwilling, to speak.
• Edna Foa & Kozak, M. (1986). Emotional processing of fear. Psychological Bulletin.
  → Avoidance is part of the fear structure and signals where therapeutic work is needed.

2. “Stuck points” as structured beliefs

Principle: Trauma-related beliefs are organised, not random, and maintain distress.

• Patricia Resick et al. (2017). Cognitive Processing Therapy for PTSD.
  → Defines “stuck points” as rigid maladaptive beliefs that maintain PTSD.
• Resick, P. A., & Schnicke, M. K. (1992). Cognitive processing therapy. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology.
  → Introduces the structured nature of trauma-related cognitions.
• Aaron Beck (1976). Cognitive Therapy and the Emotional Disorders.
  → Foundational work on cognitive schemas shaping emotional responses.

3. Indirect processing (“talking about why you can’t talk”)

Principle: Approaching trauma indirectly is still therapeutic work.

• Marylene Cloitre et al. (2012). STAIR model.
  → Emphasises phased treatment and indirect engagement before trauma processing.
• Herman (1992)
  → Phase-oriented trauma therapy: safety → remembrance → reconnection.
• Pierre Janet (1907/modern interpretations)
  → Early work on dissociation and the need for gradual integration.

4. Mapping beliefs across time (timeline work)

Principle: Trauma impacts past, present, and future meaning-making.

• Janoff-Bulman (1992). Shattered Assumptions.
  → Trauma disrupts core beliefs about self, world, and future.
• Ehlers & Clark, D. (2000). Cognitive model of PTSD. Behaviour Research and Therapy.
  → Persistent threat arises from maladaptive appraisals over time.
• Donald Meichenbaum (1994). A Clinical Handbook.
  → Emphasises narrative reconstruction and meaning across timelines.

5. Making implicit systems visible

Principle: Naming and organising internal experiences reduces distress.

• Daniel Siegel (2010). Mindsight.
  → “Name it to tame it” concept, linking awareness to regulation.
• James Pennebaker (1997). Expressive writing research.
  → Structuring emotional experience improves psychological outcomes.
• Karl Weick (1995). Sensemaking in Organizations.
  → Coherence reduces chaos and improves functioning.

6. Belief loosening through cognitive reappraisal

Principle: Small shifts in rigid beliefs create therapeutic movement.

• Beck (1976)
  → Cognitive restructuring as core mechanism of change.
• David Clark & Beck, A. (2010). Cognitive Therapy of Anxiety Disorders.
  → Examining beliefs reduces emotional intensity.
• Ehlers & Clark (2000)
  → Updating trauma appraisals reduces PTSD symptoms.

7. “Stacked” or interacting barriers

Principle: Multiple beliefs interact to maintain avoidance.

• Steven Hayes et al. (1999). Acceptance and Commitment Therapy.
  → Cognitive fusion and experiential avoidance as interacting systems.
• Marsha Linehan (1993). CBT for Borderline Personality Disorder.
  → Multiple reinforcing belief systems maintain behavioural patterns.
• Paul Salkovskis (1996).
  → Safety behaviours and beliefs form self-reinforcing loops.

8. Futility thinking (“this won’t help”)

Principle: Engagement depends on perceived utility, not just distress tolerance.

• Albert Bandura (1977). Self-efficacy theory.
  → Behaviour depends on belief that action will produce results.
• Irvin Yalom (2002). The Gift of Therapy.
  → Hope and perceived usefulness are central to engagement.
• Frank & Frank (1991). Persuasion and Healing.
  → Therapy works partly by restoring expectation of benefit.

9. Therapy changes relationship to the past, not the past itself

Principle: Distress reduction comes from reprocessing, not erasing events.

• Edna Foa et al. (2007). Prolonged Exposure Therapy.
  → Emotional processing reduces distress without changing the event.
• van der Kolk (2014)
  → Trauma memory integration changes lived experience.
• Francine Shapiro (2001). EMDR.
  → Reprocessing alters emotional intensity and meaning.

10. Moral barriers and identity-linked beliefs

Principle: Values can reinforce avoidance when misapplied.

• Kristin Neff (2003). Self-compassion research.
  → Harsh self-standards often mask as morality.
• Hayes et al. (1999)
  → Values can both guide and rigidify behaviour.
• Brene Brown (2012). Daring Greatly.
  → Shame and fear of burdening others inhibit disclosure.

11. Gradual exposure and “test disclosures”

Principle: Safety is built through experience, not reassurance.

• Foa et al. (2007)
  → Gradual exposure reduces fear response.
• Joseph Wolpe (1958). Systematic desensitisation.
  → Incremental exposure reduces anxiety.
• Cloitre et al. (2012)
  → Skills + gradual disclosure improves outcomes.

12. Final principle: “The system becomes workable once visible”

Principle: Insight plus structure enables change.

• Siegel (2010)
• Pennebaker (1997)
• Ehlers & Clark (2000)

All converge on the same mechanism:
awareness → organisation → reappraisal → reduced distress

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

Like so many people who finally “discover” what is wrong with them, I embarked on a program to “fix” myself. I was determined to overcome the earlier portion of life that had hampered and shaped me. For the last near decade, I struggled to find help that was qualified, knowledgeable, affordable, reachable, and available. It’s a set of problems that most folks with CPTSD (at least here in the U.S.) commonly have to fight their way through.

“Maybe now,” I think, “maybe now I’ll have time to finally heal.”

And then I wonder, is it worth it?

I suspect some readers will give that sentence the side-eye.
It sounds kind of unintuitive to my mind, too. But here is the thinking behind the idea…

I’ve written before about the crushing sense of lost time that overshadows me. As you might guess, as I’ve gotten older, that sense of the end is nigh is only looming larger in my thoughts. I really don’t have time to waste.

So, am I calling the attempt to “heal” from CPTSD a waste? No, I’m not (although, yes, I might be, a little). And there stands a spectacular example of the near-terminal ambivalence that can accompany folks sporting this lovely set of letters. Let me try to explain. It goes like this:

Healing takes time. That’s a given. There is no pill, no magic word, no ritual that can reshape me into a whole and functional human in an instant (pity that). So healing takes time and work. Don’t forget the work!

It also takes money and access to resources, both of which are in short supply in my life at the moment.

Let’s limit the scope of this question to just one aspect: time. I have limited time on this rock–that’s also a given. Modern medicine might extend my life, but I want functional years. And I want them now, while I can still function.

So instead of growing, I became small. I learned to do without. I learned to stop wanting. Then I stopped dreaming. I remember in high school frustrating a teacher to no end because I couldn’t answer the question, “Where do I want to be in ten years?” I had no way to even frame the question in my mind. Answering was impossible.

Fifty years on, I finally have an answer. I want to write. I want to tell stories and be remembered for them.

Finally, after treading water for decades and floundering in some pretty heavy seas for nearly another decade, I have a direction.

And I have no time.

That’s the part that feels cruelest.

There is, associated with CPTSD, a form of pain in knowing that you aren’t living. And, once you discover the reason behind the problem, that ushers in a new challenge of doing the work to birth yourself, years later. And finally, when you know, or at least have a pretty good inkling of who you are, you find that you have no time to become that person.

Obstacles that folks faced with support (and while they had youth on their side and a “the future ahead of them”) I am facing now, well over half-way through my expected years.

So, here’s the reality I’m wrestling with: I can function to an extent day to day. Pursuing healing, the messy de- and then reconstruction would take time and resources I don’t have. What I do have is a direction. After flailing for over fifty years, I have a direction. And, I have limited time.

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

I’m surprised I wasn’t born wearing a tiny pair of boxing gloves. That would have been appropriate, given the kind of life I would be leading as a kid.

For people like me who grew up with complex trauma, our nervous systems helped us survive through trauma responses. Way back in the early 20th century, an old guy named Walter Bradford Cannon coined the ‘fight or flight’ responses in his 1915 book titled Bodily Changes in Pain, Hunger, Fear, and Rage. This work is grounded in physiology, though, the way the body responds–not psychology or trauma theory.

“Freeze” was added later by trauma researchers, and Complex PTSD expert Pete Walker added “fawn” in his 2013 book Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving. Fight, flight, and freeze are biologically ancient reactions in animals and humans, while fawning is innately human, rooted in relational trauma. When people “fawn” as a trauma response, their nervous system is helping them survive in a socially unequal power struggle. Generally, those who fawn in a situation will attempt to appease or please their abuser as a response to abuse.

I was not made to fawn. That doesn’t make me any better than someone who fawns, or freezes, or flees; this is just how I am made, deep within the biology of my cells. Because of this, I have a hard time understanding that response because I have witnessed chronically abused children, first-hand, and I just wanted to scream, “STAND UP FOR YOURSELF FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” Or, “why are you letting her manipulate you like that? You see this is about control, right?”

Perhaps I had to be a fighter in order to thrive after the traumas I experienced as a child and young adult, I don’t know for certain. I am working on being more understanding and accepting that not everyone is made the way I am, and that for some people, standing up for themselves could feel like a death sentence.

I hated watching these children being raised by an emotionally abusive mother, and then their brother was added as an abuser, as well. It was heart-wrenching to see how their response was to fawn. The times they did try to fight, before puberty, their mother put them in their place very quickly; she threatened to kill herself, and they were terrified of her. Even though they’re young adults now, they are still drinking the Kool-Aid, and I mourn the kind of lives they could have had if they didn’t grow up that way.

My life might have been easier if I just fawned over my mother’s demands, her insults, her constant criticisms, and her blatant and excessive coddling of my brother–who was only 15 months younger than I was.

If I fawned instead of fought, I probably wouldn’t have been institutionalized in a mental hospital on my 13th birthday because she just couldn’t handle me. I probably wouldn’t have been constantly grounded for nonsense, including taking away my ability to get to work.

The truth is, I fought her constantly with logic, with reason, with common sense. But emotional abusers are anything but logical and reasonable, especially emotional abusers with personality disorders like borderline, narcissistic personality disorder, and bipolar disorder. I was fighting a battle that I would never win as a minor–but I fought anyway.

By the time I left for college (which I did 100% on my own, without support), I was battle-scarred and seeping from so many wounds–but no one could see them. I was exhausted from the fight, which had gone on for eight years straight. Distance helped immensely and because I was not connected to my abuser in any way, especially emotionally, removing myself nearly completely helped me feel just a little bit closer to normal.

We fighters are very misunderstood because our survival strategy violates social expectations about how pain, fear, vulnerability, and self-advocacy are “supposed” to look. The other trauma responses retreat, appease, or disappear, but we fighters move toward the threat, and that makes people uncomfortable–especially the abusers. However, some abusers, like mine, used it to their advantage.

A fight trauma response looks like a raised voice, firm boundaries, anger, confrontation, or refusal to back down. On the outside looking in, these appear deliberate, like the person fighting is choosing conflict. In reality, this fight response is automatic nervous system mobilization. Our body detects danger, so it prepares to push back in order to survive. In my personal situation, my abuser used it as evidence that I was “difficult,” “impossible,” and “defiant”.

People assume, “that person could control it if they wanted to”, or “they just seem to enjoy conflict” because responses look active rather than passive. We humans are much more comfortable recognizing trauma when it looks like collapse compared to when it looks like resistance.

Anger is one of the least tolerated emotions, especially when it’s expressed by women, children, and marginalized people. When trauma shows up as anger, it gets moralized instead of medicalized. Rather than asking, “What threat taught you to respond in this manner?” people ask:

Why are you so aggressive?

Why can’t you calm down?

What’s wrong with you?

This fight response is misread as a character flaw instead of a complex learned survival skill.

Fighters disrupt people’s comfort and their need for control–especially emotional abusers. Freeze and fawn responses make the other person feel needed, calm, unchallenged, and in charge, whereas fight responses do the exact opposite. Fighters will question authority and push back against unfairness; they refuse to emotionally disappear when mistreated, and will make tension visible and uncomfortable for those in the room.

Systems like families, workplaces, and relationships that rely on silence and compliance are threatened by those who have a fight response. It’s easier to label the fighter as the problem than to examine the environment that required the fight response to begin with.

As much as it pains me to admit this, fight is related to fear and is rarely recognized as such. As humans, we are taught that fear looks like crying, avoidance, withdrawal, and panic, but for fighters, fear looks like increased energy, argument, defensiveness, and readiness, along with a “bring-it-on” attitude. Because fear is hidden inside these other, more aggressive emotions, it’s missed and replaced with incorrect assumptions about hostility and ego. In truth, fight is fear with momentum.

Many fighters grew up where fight was the only protection they had in emotionally abusive, chaotic, or unsafe environments because freeze wasn’t safe–it meant they would be the target. Fawn didn’t work–their needs weren’t respected, nor were their efforts to be nice/good/useful recognized. Flight wasn’t possible because they couldn’t leave and had nowhere to go. So, fight was the only way to maintain dignity, boundaries, or a sense of self.

I want to share a brief story.

When I was 11 years old, my father was out of the house because his heroin habit took over his life. One bitterly cold night, there was a knock at the door. Usually, my mother was working, but she was home that night. My father came to the door asking for food and a blanket. He pawned his leather jacket and was homeless.

I heard his plea and got up from watching my TV program to make him some Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup, spread some butter on white bread, and take my blanket off my bed, which was gifted to me by my neighbor, Mary. I carefully took these through the living room and was blocked by my mother, who threatened me, belittled me, and cursed me, but I fought back with everything I had to get to the door and give my father food and warmth.

Writing this still fills me with difficult emotions. The trauma of that night is woven into the fibers of who I am. She would not keep me from helping my father without a fight, and, in the end, he had the soup, and I let him keep the blanket.

Culturally, we seem to prefer trauma survivors who are quiet, forgiving, insightful without being threatening, and resilient–but in soft, palatable ways. Fighters complicate the story because we’re not always gentle; we may hold on to anger longer; we may not rush to forgive (or may not forgive at all); we may insist things were wrong and, at least at first, demand retribution if not at least some form of acknowledgment of the wrongdoing done to us. All of this makes us fighters hard to celebrate and easier to dismiss.

If you’re a fighter, I stand in solidarity with you. Fighters are misunderstood because our trauma response looks like aggression instead of fear, choice instead of instinctual reflex, and defiance instead of personal protection. This makes it so much easier to blame us than to recognize the threats we had to deal with every day, and how we learned to survive them.

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

Resources

Cole, P. M., Martin, S. E., & Dennis, T. A. (2004). Emotion regulation as a scientific construct. Child Development, 75(2), 317–333. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-8624.2004.00675.x (article)

Marshburn, C. K., Cochran, K. J., Flynn, E., & Levine, L. J. (2020). Workplace anger costs women irrespective of race. Frontiers in Psychology, 11, 579884. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2020.579884 (article)

Perry, Bruce. (2021). What Happened to You? (book)

Riggs, S. A. (2010). Childhood emotional abuse and the attachment system across the life cycle: What theory and research tell us. Journal of Aggression, Maltreatment & Trauma, 19(1), 5–51. https://doi.org/10.1080/10926770903475968 (article)

Walker, Pete. (2013). Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving (book)

Xu, M. (2025). Reconsider the anger of marginalized communities. Journal of Marital and Family Therapy, 51(2), e70018. https://doi.org/10.1111/jmft.70018 (article)

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