Relationships | CPTSDfoundation.org https://cptsdfoundation.org The Foundation for Post-Traumatic Healing and Complex Trauma Research Tue, 03 Mar 2026 17:39:44 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 https://cptsdfoundation.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/cropped-Daily-Recovery-Support-Globe-iPad-Fav-32x32.png Relationships | CPTSDfoundation.org https://cptsdfoundation.org 32 32 I Do… A Wedding Story: How I started my wedding day alone - and gained a new family. https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/03/23/i-do-a-wedding-story-how-i-started-my-wedding-day-alone-and-gained-a-new-family/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/03/23/i-do-a-wedding-story-how-i-started-my-wedding-day-alone-and-gained-a-new-family/#respond Mon, 23 Mar 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987501568 Say “I do…”

Three little letters, two little words.

It’s the simplest part of the day.

But there’s nothing simple about the things that will remain unsaid.

I do means I do know I could be hurt. But I’m ready to be healed with you.

It means I do want to try.

Even when the fear of failure holds me back.

And I do not know the future, but I’m ready to be surprised along the way.

And I do means I do want your love and I do give you mine.

And nothing we do will ever be the same.

Because you and I will be doing it all together.

Poem written by Dean Batali. Writer of the Final Episode in TV Series Good Witch, Season 3, 2017.

When I think of weddings, I think back to this poem written by Dean Batali for the final episode of Good Witch. These words have since gone viral online, but there isn’t much credit to Dean Batali for his beautiful words.

A wedding day is a day of joy and happiness for most families. It’s the day of the union of two families. A day to celebrate the love between two human beings.

I was once a bride, but my wedding was a mixed bag of emotions. I’m a trauma survivor, and therefore, no family was sitting in half of the room — the bride’s half.

My husband’s side was packed full to the point of bursting, and our friends didn’t know which side to pick. You can imagine how I felt about that. I experienced a pain so great my heart could almost not take it as I looked back into that room. My side was empty. I was alone. Nobody was there to have my back.

Did I want to go through with this day alone? This wasn’t how I had envisioned my happiest day, celebrating with the love of my life next to me.

After a few awkward minutes, a brave older couple decided to stand in as “my parents,” for the ceremony. Within a minute, people shuffled across to even out the seats between the sides. With a lone tear streaking down my face and blurring my vision, I saw them. One by one, moving across to my side, until the room was evenly filled.

It was a gesture of compassion, for me and for my husband. It was them saying that they accept me for who I am. They showed me they understood my decision to live my life alone, without my family. Until that moment in the ceremony, when they claimed me as one of them. When I was officially married.

Marriage is not something to go into lightly. It takes a lot of patience and learning to work together. To give and take, while being prepared to compromise sometimes.

True love doesn’t turn away when you’re angry. Love is patient, and waiting to heal and comfort when you are in pain.

As a trauma survivor, I had never experienced true love. I had no idea what love meant, and I didn’t know what it was like to live in a normal family. My husband showed me the way when I was lost. He guided me back on the right path when I had nightmares. He has been my rock throughout the years, where we have flourished together. That is love.

I started my wedding day alone, and I gained a new family. From that moment, I have not been alone.

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

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https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

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/2026/03/23/i-do-a-wedding-story-how-i-started-my-wedding-day-alone-and-gained-a-new-family/feed/ 0 When the Body Keeps Score, but Blames the Mother https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/24/when-the-body-keeps-score-but-blames-the-mother/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/24/when-the-body-keeps-score-but-blames-the-mother/#comments Tue, 24 Feb 2026 11:00:00 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500673

In the aftermath of childhood sexual abuse, a painful pattern often emerges: survivors direct blame toward nonoffending mothers. It sounds unfair because it often is. It also has a biological and developmental logic that does not care about fairness. Understanding that logic changes how families, clinicians, and advocates respond.

The early attachment contract

Before birth, the mother is the infant’s entire environment. For months, physiology, sound, nutrition, and protection are mediated through her. That early attachment is not only emotional, it is neurobiological. Stress signals, rhythms, and regulation patterns are learned in that dyad. When a traumatic betrayal occurs later, the nervous system seeks an agent responsible for safety and chooses the first one it ever trusted. The result is a powerful, pre-verbal grievance: you were supposed to keep me safe.

How the nervous system assigns blame

Trauma floods the system with arousal, threat cues, and helplessness. Somatic memory marks the event but does not preserve courtroom detail. The body remembers the shock and searches for a stabilizing explanation. When the perpetrator is a familiar figure who also provided kindness or status, the survivor may split the image to survive: the abuser as good-enough, the mother as the broken promise. In that frame, context disappears. Efforts the mother made—reports, safeguards, therapy—do not register against the deeper biological expectation that protection should have been total and anticipatory.

What the research shows

Empirical work has documented two realities that can coexist. First, maternal support after disclosure is one of the strongest predictors of recovery. Second, survivors frequently misdirect anger toward primary caregivers, especially mothers, regardless of actual negligence. The data do not excuse hostility; they explain its frequency. In practice, the nervous system records betrayal more reliably than it records the circumstances that made perfect protection impossible.

Biology versus fairness

The human attachment system was built to prefer a single, steady source of safety. When that illusion breaks, the injury sometimes lands harder than the assault itself. The mother becomes the constant variable, the one expected to sense danger before it formed. If the mother carries her own trauma, the survivor’s body does not compute those limits. What it experiences is, a collapsed guarantee. That is why anger at a nonoffending mother can persist even when evidence shows she acted, intervened, and protected as far as the system allowed.

Guidance for families and clinicians

Start by naming the mechanism without surrendering to it. The survivor’s pain is real; the attribution may be misplaced. Separate validation of harm from endorsement of blame. For mothers, boundaries are not disloyal. Refusing ongoing mistreatment can coexist with an open door to repair when both parties are ready. For clinicians, map pre- and post-disclosure dynamics, document maternal actions, and coach both sides in language that acknowledges injury without cementing false causation. The goal is honest reconciliation if it becomes possible, not coerced forgiveness or endless self-indictment.

When repair does not occur

Some ruptures remain. If the survivor never engages the work needed to reassign responsibility accurately, the relationship may not be recoverable. That outcome is painful, and it is not proof of maternal failure. It is a reminder that biology favors simple stories under stress. Protecting against secondary harm—guilt without end, tolerance of abuse in the name of love—is part of ethical care for nonoffending parents.

Final thoughts

The body keeps score, and sometimes it writes the wrong name in the margin. Recognizing that reflex does not diminish the survivor’s wound. It restores accuracy to families and gives clinicians a clear frame: validate the injury, correct the attribution, and pursue repair without abandoning truth.

References

Van den Bergh BR, Mulder EJ, Mennes M, Glover V. Antenatal maternal anxiety and stress and the neurobehavioral development of the fetus and child: links and possible mechanisms. Frontiers in Psychology. 2020;11:1451.
Everson MD, Hunter WM, Runyan DK, Edelsohn GA, Coulter ML. Maternal support following disclosure of incest. Child Maltreatment. 2009;4(1):40–54.
Elliott AN, Carnes CN. Reactions of nonoffending parents to the sexual abuse of their child: a review of the literature. Journal of Child Sexual Abuse. 2001;10(2):49–62.
van der Kolk BA. The Body Keeps the Score. New York: Viking; 2014.

Photo credit: 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/2026/02/24/when-the-body-keeps-score-but-blames-the-mother/feed/ 3 Finding Freedom in My Individuality and Overcoming the Fear of Not Being Liked https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/01/27/finding-freedom-in-my-individuality-and-overcoming-the-fear-of-not-being-liked/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/01/27/finding-freedom-in-my-individuality-and-overcoming-the-fear-of-not-being-liked/#comments Tue, 27 Jan 2026 13:44:12 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987502465 I still remember the name of their exclusive club: CHABELCK.

In seventh grade, the children at my middle school traded their Nintendos and Polly Pocket dolls for iPhones and Barbie dolls–in the form of minions for their social cliques. Soon after the school year began, CHABELCK was established, and the name might as well have been trademarked.

So, what was CHABELCK? It was the official name of the “friend group” composed of all the popular girls in our class. I look back and chuckle at the name. They could have worked harder to come up with something catchier; to me, it sounds like the remnants of something a dog threw up! They simply took the initials of their first names and combined them into one word. Almost immediately after the group was created, the term CHABELCK and the girls who held that title loomed over the school, feared by all who encountered them. I took an observer’s perspective, watching in bewilderment as many of my innocent friends neglected our friendship to join CHABELCK–and consequently morphed into power-hungry monsters. 

CHABELCK’s presence at school was boisterous. The group’s name was plastered on binders, folders, and whiteboards. They took over online forums, cyberbullying other students whom they deemed unworthy of a spot in their cool kids’ club. A few members of CHABELCK were ultimately expelled from school, while others were disciplined. 

Groupthink, peer pressure, and tribalism throughout human history

I’ll never forget CHABELCK. It was my first exposure to the aggressive presence of tribalism and groupthink in our society. 

Why does the cacophony of the groups I’ve encountered throughout my life ring louder than the whisper of my own conscience? Humans are social creatures, and tribalism originated as a survival mechanism. We hunted and gathered to protect our own. He who strayed from the tribe vanished into the jaws of the enemy. To be excluded was to die. 

The battle between my internal desires and external expectations

Although tribalism is ingrained in my human DNA, I’m very much a free spirit. From a young age, conformity felt like an internal death sentence. I fought a daily battle between my disdain for Western civilization’s obsession with fortune and fame and my desire to escape into solitude. In environments filled with materialism and superficiality, I felt pressured to be someone I was not in order to be liked and accepted. The seduction of the herd was enticing. 

With every group I tried to join, I was eventually ostracized or, in some cases, viciously bullied out of them. Starting at a new school when I was thirteen, I quickly became the target of a situation of large-group interpersonal cruelty–the first of several such instances. This was the first time I came home from school expressing to my parents that I had thoughts of suicide. I switched schools, but the bullying continued as I navigated new peer environments. I tried hard to fit in, so that I wouldn’t be seen as an antisocial loser. Some mental health providers even pathologized the fact that I didn’t have friends. 

But even if I disregarded others’ opinions, I didn’t need a tyrant to criminalize me as a friendless outcast. Whenever I changed myself to fit in, I became my own jailer. Even when I was initially accepted into social groups, I felt like I had betrayed myself. I hated being like everyone else. The tug-of-war between my authentic self and my desire for acceptance was more painful than the rejection from those whose approval I craved. 

The anatomy of groupthink

I have developed intellectual friendships with social psychologists and philosophers like Arthur Schopenhauer and Solomon Asch, whose research and observations suggest that societal expectations of conformity can strip individuals of their freedom. As I reflected on my personal experiences with groupthink, I noticed some recurring patterns.

While these groups seemed powerful at the time (there is power in numbers, as they say!), they were actually quite weak. Much like the structure of a cult, these groups typically had a leader (or multiple leaders), with followers obediently trailing behind and idolizing them. When I interacted with these group members on an individual level, I noticed they were often insecure and relied on the group for validation. They frequently spoke poorly of other group members and revealed their secrets to me, indicating that their friendships were not genuine and that the group was performative. I recognized that if they spoke about their “friends” in this way to me, they were likely doing the same thing to me behind my back. 

My final straw before rejecting it all

I’ve learned the hard way that the petty high school behavior doesn’t stop after high school. When I moved to the countryside to begin my healing journey, I found myself isolated in a retirement town in the middle of nowhere, with a population of 1,942. I got to know a group of friends there, and was initially invited to their breakfasts and bonfires. I thought I had finally found my people. 

From the get-go, I had an internal inkling that, like with past groups, I would eventually be kicked to the curb. I found myself trying very hard to gain their approval. I changed my personality and overextended my generosity, spending money I didn’t even have in order to remain relevant to them. 

Unfortunately, my gut instincts turned out to be right. After the initial “love-bombing” phase, I was soon deemed unworthy of being in their presence. Around town, they went out of their way to make me feel inferior–snubbing me, humiliating me in front of others, and playing mind games with hot-and-cold behavior. It was bizarre! For months, I ruminated, trying to figure out what I could do to be good enough for this group and to coexist with them in the tiny town without tension. But nothing I did was good enough. 

After a few months of continuous rejection and their attempts to stifle success in my healing, the stress finally took its toll on me. One night, I woke up with itchy legs. My entire body had broken out in hives! Over the next two weeks, I visited the emergency room four times. Each time the ER managed to control the hives, they returned again within 48 hours. I wondered if I had an allergy, and ended up driving to the big city to consult with an allergist. 

Facing the pain of rejection and uncovering subconscious memories

There was no allergy: the hives were stress-related. Yes, the rejection stung (and itched!) that deeply. The rejection didn’t hurt because these people were particularly special; in truth, they barely took the time to get to know me before they discarded me. If it had been strangers behaving this way, I would have brushed it off immediately, reminding myself that their actions stemmed from their own misery and insecurity. However, because I had met these people at the beginning of my cabin journey, they became my final hope of solidifying a friend group I could rely on for the rest of my life. When I was rejected, they became the symbol of all the interpersonal cruelty I had faced during my formative years.

It was painful to be ostracized by the people who promised me they would be on the other side of my success. Still, there was a silver lining: with each instance of being belittled by this group, I brought my feelings to my therapist. Together, we worked through the physical sensations I felt in response to these moments using a technique called brainspotting. During each session, subconscious memories connected to these emotions resurfaced–memories of the hurt I had experienced from groups in my peer environments and religious communities. Through brainspotting work, those buried memories were processed and healed. 

I will no longer participate in it

After years of chasing a dangling carrot held by various groups, I grew tired of hearing, “If you just do this… then you can finally sit with us.” I decided to stop trying to prove that I am “good enough” for these groups and instead realized that I am too good to participate in their infantile behavior. 

My entire life, I had questioned whether these kinds of people wanted to be friends with me. But things changed when I learned to ask myself, “Do I even want to be friends with them?” 

I refuse to march around in aggressive cults and pretend to have disdain for people and groups whose stories I know nothing about. I do not feel superior by making others feel inferior. I find no satisfaction in mocking or intimidating innocent people. I don’t enjoy latching onto narratives or rumors based on hearsay. I cannot bow in submission while my heart screams in protest. I refuse to trade my authenticity for acceptance. 

My path to true freedom

In a world where the crowd roars with confidence, my solitude felt like madness. But when I quieted my mind in the countryside, I discovered that my greatest fear as a radical nonconformist was not the herd itself: it was becoming like the herd. 

Today, I’m not a part of any friend groups, and I don’t want to be. I do almost everything alone, and I actually prefer it that way. Despite how medical providers pathologized my introversion in the past, I now know there is nothing wrong with wanting to be alone. Once I found freedom in my individuality, I no longer needed the approval of those I had previously put on a false pedestal. I’ve built authentic and easygoing friendships with people who have no agenda and do not require me to participate in activities that conflict with my values. 

I will not pretend to be someone I’m not just to feel like I belong. To me, true belonging means being at home within my own soul. I will continue to stand strong on my own two feet and keep my head held high, never surrendering to the crowd.  

 

Photo by Dibya Jyoti Ghosh on Unsplash

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/2026/01/27/finding-freedom-in-my-individuality-and-overcoming-the-fear-of-not-being-liked/feed/ 2 Embracing My Superpowers as an Empath and Highly Sensitive Person https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/10/07/embracing-my-superpowers-as-an-empath-and-highly-sensitive-person/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/10/07/embracing-my-superpowers-as-an-empath-and-highly-sensitive-person/#comments Tue, 07 Oct 2025 11:06:42 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987501595

Recently, while I was waiting at a crowded restaurant, I found myself interacting with a toddler and his mother. I smiled, played peek-a-boo, and gave him a playful “Hello!” At first, he hid behind his mother’s legs, peeking out at me every few seconds. Suddenly, he ran to me and wrapped his arms around my calves, refusing to let go.

It was the sweetest thing! His mother laughed a little and apologized, but I wasn’t mad. This is normal for me. It served as another reminder that the pure-hearted can sense my motherly energy. I knelt down, reciprocated his embrace, and felt empathy connecting us.

What is an empath?

Do you often find yourself to be overly generous and highly sensitive to your surroundings? Do you prioritize experiences over material possessions? Do you crave solitude? If so, you may be an empath.

While many people are capable of feeling empathy, being a true empath involves a deeper level of emotional intelligence. With proper discernment, empaths can understand and appreciate the suffering of others without directly experiencing it themselves. Dr. Judith Orloff has a helpful list of twenty traits that characterize empaths, which I found valuable in confirming my own empathic nature—I checked “yes” to every single one of them!

Empaths are curious about strangers, exhibit more interest in others than in themselves, and are less likely to hold to social stereotypes. Unfortunately, their authenticity may come across as disingenuous to some. Empaths may find it challenging to fit in, and relationships or social events can be draining. We can also be very forgiving, which can make us appear weak or naïve.

Scientific research on empathy has shown that only a tiny fraction of the population consists of true empaths. Dr. Michael Banissy and Dr. Natalie Bowling at Goldsmiths University of London conducted years of research on empathy. Their findings concluded that mirror-touch synesthesia—the phenomenon of mirroring and feeling the emotions of others—is present in only about 1-2% of humans with hypersensitive mirror neurons.

My own empathy

I’ve often heard others remark that I’m an empath. I must admit: I wear my heart on my sleeve.

I’m an emotional creature and a deep thinker; I feel the emotions of others as if they are my own. Pain, happiness, joy, anxiety, fear, sadness—I absorb them. It can be overwhelming.

In the past, I jokingly responded, “It’s a blessing and a curse! Mostly a curse!”

The empath’s “curse”

I once cursed my empathy. The ability to feel another’s pain meant that I absorbed it without being able to distinguish it from my own. My body reacted in visceral ways, and I wanted to be able to release the stimuli that had violated my inner peace.

Reflecting on my years of anxiety, chronic fatigue, panic attacks, and autoimmune symptoms, I see that these signs were a direct result of my tendency to internalize the pain of others. To stop viewing my empathy as a curse, I learned how to better control it. I taught myself to differentiate my own emotions from those of others so I wouldn’t be overwhelmed by what I now consider my superpowers. Today, I am grateful and will never again curse my empathy.

Feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated as a child

From a young age, I was easily overstimulated, but I struggled to articulate how “different” I felt compared to the other children. I wanted to fit in, but I just couldn’t. While my classmates effortlessly went to football games, concerts, and busy public places, I found these environments overwhelming. Sitting in the crowd of a large stadium was not exciting for me–it was torturous. The bright lights were blinding, the billboard graphics pierced my amygdala, and the crowd hooping and hollering brought me to tears. I wondered what was so wrong with me.

As I got older, the overstimulation persisted. In college, I spent countless nights tossing and turning in bed, disturbed by the sensorial overwhelm of sounds from the city below me. Why couldn’t I find the peace I so desperately craved? All I wanted was to retreat, escape to the middle of nowhere, take a bubble bath, binge Gilmore Girls, and forget about the outside world.

The innate beauty of high sensitivity and empathy

In the past, I wasn’t certain about identifying as an empath or a highly sensitive person. The only descriptors that I came into contact with were the dehumanizing and inaccurate diagnoses I received from healthcare providers. The opposing narrative of what medicine labeled me had me feeling like an imposter. I was told I had a kind of “problem,” so that I felt guilty for even possessing such beautiful qualities associated with empathy and high-sensitivity.

How I embraced my own inner empathy

Recently, I have grown confident in calling myself an empath and highly sensitive person. Embracing my true gifts isn’t pathological; I had to look beyond the DSM to find confidence in my superpowers.

#1: I studied different personality types and accepted that not everyone reasons, thinks, and feels as I do

It was difficult for me to accept that some people blatantly lack empathy and do not have small egos. Encountering Machiavellian personality types—people who prey on compassionate individuals like empaths—led me to being exploited numerous times in the past. I poured my heart into many relationships in a desperate attempt to have friends, but to them, I was nothing other than a source of supply for their own gain.

I have too much respect for myself to continue to go on with energy vampires and emotional barnacles. It took me a while to identify who in my life genuinely supports me and is safe to trust. One of the greatest gifts from my healing journey is that I now know who those individuals are.

#2: I stopped trying to “fix” things external to me and overcame my people-pleasing tendencies

Realizing that not everyone is an empath, I learned to manage my empathy more effectively. In the past, when someone violated my trust, I would forgive them and empathize with them, trying to justify that their actions stemmed from their own pain. I often felt the need to get on their level and “help” their issues out of the goodness of my heart. This approach backfired; I unintentionally made myself easy prey for sick people.

I used to believe that it was my obligation to use my gifts to make the world a better place. However, I eventually came to realize that my people-pleasing tendencies put my health and safety at risk. I learned that my authenticity can’t change deceitful people, my kindness can’t soften hardened hearts, and that the only person I can change is myself.

#3. I slowed down, adopted a quieter life, and put my healing first

For years, I lived in a big city while wrestling with Complex PTSD symptoms. To kickstart my healing, I moved to a rural area, where the pace of life is slower. My only regret was not packing my bags sooner!

After about 18 months in the countryside, I felt replenished, and I was ready to return to the suburbs. I took all the tools I perfected in my cabin in the woods and implemented them as I moved to a new environment. After giving my psyche the time it needed to repair itself, I am now able to handle the stimulation of the city. The difference is that I know my needs and boundaries, and seek balance for a lifestyle that is mindful and consistent.

#4 I stopped blaming myself and developed self-compassion.

Looking back on all the ways I used to react to the trauma I endured, I have so much compassion for myself. That wasn’t the real Natalie; she was an overmedicated and dissociated caricature of me who was doing her best to survive. But rather than allowing medical providers to pathologize my sensitivity, I  realized that I was someone who had normal reactions to abnormal situations. This means that I am a healthy person–not weird, incapable, or unhealthy. There is nothing to be ashamed of; in fact, I would feel ashamed of myself if I didn’t react to injustice with so much heart.

Something that helped me was taking one of my difficult experiences and imagining if it happened to someone I cared about. A daily ritual during my healing journey was to take a situation that was still contributing to my inner critic and envision how I would compassionately counsel my future daughter about it. I would look in the mirror and pour my heart out to her. Once I got over the initial awkwardness of doing this, it became a habit, and I developed true self-compassion.

#5 I stopped consuming media and began communing with nature

As humans, we are not designed to be confined to a desk, hunched over a computer. There came a point when I had grown exhausted with staring into a computer screen for ten hours each day. My attention span had become so short, and I had lost touch with my true home: Mother Earth. I made a point to spend more and more time outside and, now, I crave it daily. To regulate my circadian rhythm, I start each morning with my bare feet in the grass while the sun is rising. I also try to get as much mid-day sun as I possibly can. I hang out with any animal pals who want to join me for my grounding sessions—ducks, deer, lizards—and relish in the colors and textures of the leaves on the trees. Nature really is an empath’s refuge.

Learning self-compassion

I am proud to have finally grown out of survival mode. I have worked so hard, both in therapy and on my own, essentially making healing my full-time job. I have learned that with the right tools, I can release emotions and stimuli that do not belong to me. I once thought it was impossible to let go of the damaging emotions I took in (that kept my inner critic on infinite loop). Today, I am proud to say that the emotions I absorbed from my perpetrators are now disconnected from my flashbacks. What remains are the visual and auditory remnants of my trauma–but with no emotions attached. I am now beginning a thorough brain-retraining process, and I will not give up until every last little bit of flashback is eradicated forever. I am not afraid anymore.

My commitment to working on myself has paid off. I have developed a deep sense of empathy for myself (touché!) and my subconscious has been renewed. Ultimately, I want to experience high levels of sensitivity across the spectrum, rather than be someone who feels very little–or nothing at all. I choose to focus on empathy as a gift that has positives, rather than punishing myself for feeling or caring too much. Of course, this takes self-knowledge and patience. Today, I pride myself in my ability to make a difference in the world by simply slowing down, listening to myself and others, and being in tune with my surroundings.

I am proud to be an empath

Growing up, some teachers and mental health professionals misunderstood and shamed my gifts. However, I now know that being different is a good thing. My sensitivity is an integral part of who I am, and the world needs as much empathy as it can get. I am no longer worried about fitting into other people’s standards, and don’t hold myself to their false narratives. This newfound confidence has helped me persevere through difficult experiences and even shielded me from others taking advantage of me. By listening to myself and nurturing my empathy and sensitivity, I have become wiser, stronger, and better prepared for the future. Now, my greatest challenge is how to use my gifts to impact the world around me.

I have always felt a little different from others–and I still do. And that’s a good thing! I will never again curse my superpowers.

Here are some books that helped me understand being an empath and highly sensitive person:

Featured Photo by Satit Wongsampan on Unsplash: https://unsplash.com/photos/woman-in-white-long-sleeve-dress-standing-on-green-grass-field-during-sunset-vG46wEciGSg

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/2025/10/07/embracing-my-superpowers-as-an-empath-and-highly-sensitive-person/feed/ 2 What Your Family Didn’t Say Still Got Passed Down https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/09/25/what-your-family-didnt-say-still-got-passed-down/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/09/25/what-your-family-didnt-say-still-got-passed-down/#comments Thu, 25 Sep 2025 10:44:25 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500693 There is a stubborn belief, especially in pull-yourself-up cultures, that if something did not happen directly to you, it should not affect you. People want to assume trauma stops with the person who first lived it. That is not how trauma works. Not biologically. Not emotionally. Not across generations. Trauma does not live only in memory. It embeds in family systems and daily practices. If nobody interrupts the system, it keeps replicating quietly, reflexively, and sometimes violently.

What actually gets passed down

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

Inherited trauma rarely looks like a story

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

You do not inherit a diagnosis. You inherit the coping

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

When pain gets ritualized

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

Breaking a pattern requires recognition, not avoidance

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

Final thoughts

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

References

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

Photo by Sangharsh Lohakare 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/2025/09/25/what-your-family-didnt-say-still-got-passed-down/feed/ 2 Drowning in Drama: When Calm Feels Like a Threat Instead of a Relief https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/09/18/drowning-in-drama-when-calm-feels-like-a-threat-instead-of-a-relief/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/09/18/drowning-in-drama-when-calm-feels-like-a-threat-instead-of-a-relief/#respond Thu, 18 Sep 2025 10:28:26 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987501454 Drowning in Drama: When Calm Feels Like a Threat Instead of a Relief

The most misunderstood trait in trauma survivors isn’t volatility, mistrust, or emotional escalation. It’s the fact that many of them can’t tolerate peace. Not because they’re wired for chaos by choice—but because the traumatized body doesn’t recognize calm as safe.

For survivors of long-term relational trauma, especially those with complex post-traumatic stress strains, calm feels suspicious. Silence can register as danger. Something on a normal Tuesday afternoon might stir up the same physical warning signals as a life-or-death emergency. And when life gets too quiet, the nervous system doesn’t say, “Ah, finally!”—it says, “Brace yourself.”

This is not a personality quirk. It’s a biological glitch rooted in trauma adaptation and reinforced by an overstimulated digital environment that keeps survival patterns running on a loop.

Before smartphones, the system had natural limits.

We couldn’t talk 24/7. Long phone calls, handwritten letters, or occasional drop-ins served as the main outlets for emotional expression. There were enforced pauses: time gaps softened intensity. We had the chance to catch our breath.

Now, constant contact is normalized. One person’s panic can be offloaded onto someone else with a single swipe. Notifications hit like lightning strikes. The nervous system barely gets a second to recalibrate before another wave of adrenaline spikes. The result? We’re watching generations of trauma survivors stuck in a real-time panic loop with no built-in off switch.

Only, it doesn’t look like “doing the best we can” survival behavior from the outside. It looks like drama. Overreaction. Manipulation. People start using words like “toxic” or “high-maintenance.” And because it’s happening in group texts, comments, Discord servers, and encrypted messages, it creates the illusion of choice—like the survivor is selecting chaos, rather than reflexively reenacting it.

But chronic hypervigilance isn’t a lifestyle.

It’s the symptom of a system that has felt unsafe for so long that it doesn’t know how to stand down. 

Behavioral science and trauma research have already mapped the internal terrain.

A dysregulated amygdala—essentially the brain’s alarm system—fires prematurely and doesn’t shut off efficiently. The prefrontal cortex, responsible for rational judgment, gets overridden. Survivors are conditioned to feel like they’re responding to something life-threatening, even when nothing’s wrong. In clinical terms, the threat is gone, but the body doesn’t know that yet.

In these cases, the survivor doesn’t want drama.

But they don’t know how to trust the absence of it.

The brain, wired for pattern recognition, starts to correlate calm with the start of something worse. If the abuse always came after a good moment, that becomes the template. The body prepares itself, emotionally and physically to feel poisoned when things are nice and pleasant. It can’t relax, even though life got better. The wiring needs time—and structure—to rebuild.

That’s where things get even more complicated.

Some trauma survivors struggle with far more than stress symptoms. They also show clinical traits that resemble or overlap with personality disorders. This isn’t pathology in the traditional sense–it’s behavioral adaptation shaped by years of inconsistent attachment, emotional neglect, or outright abuse. Common overlaps occur with Borderline Personality Disorder and Histrionic Personality Disorder—both of which involve intense emotion, identity diffusion, and an unstable sense of relational security.

These traits, under strain, can look explosive in the digital world. The need for response, reassurance, and reactivity becomes relentless. Every pause feels like abandonment. Every comment feels like rejection. For the person on the receiving end, it can feel like emotional blackmail. But to the survivor, it feels like the edge of a giant cliff.

Add in technology—platforms designed to bypass patience and reward immediacy—and the entire situation escalates in a matter of minutes.

This is where compassion fatigue sets in.

Not because the supporter doesn’t care, but because their capacity gets exhausted. Every ping starts to feel like a threat. They go silent. The survivor feels abandoned. The cycle repeats. Emotional debt builds on both sides.

The solution isn’t cutting off the connection, though that’s often what happens. The actual fix is introducing digital boundaries that protect both parties. Not rigid rules disguised as punishments—but carefully defined limits that reduce reactivity and reintroduce appropriate pacing.

Mute is better than block. Scheduled responses help more than open-ended replies. Short, honest statements like “I can’t respond to everything, but I still care” preserve trust without sacrificing sanity. Most importantly, removing the guilt tied to these boundaries is essential. Real compassion isn’t measured by how fast someone replies. It’s measured by they can thoughtfully stay well in the relationship without burning out.

This isn’t just emotional hygiene–it’s ethical care. Survivors need time and repetition to rewire their survival responses. Supporters need respectful bandwidth to stay human. Technology, while useful, tends to make everything feel urgent when it’s not.

Understanding this doesn’t mean that we are excusing anyone’s behavior. Rather, we are promoting clarity. 

When someone constantly collapses under the weight of a good moment, they’re not trying to ruin it. They’re trying to prepare for loss. That’s not immaturity–it’s traumatic muscle memory.

And until the body learns that calm is safe and silence isn’t a setup, every good thing will feel like bait.

Final Thoughts

Chronic crisis behavior isn’t a personality issue. It’s a conditioned reflex amplified by the pace and permanence of modern communication. Not everyone feels peaceful when there is peace, and constant digital access can be extremely disruptive. What happens is that the line between survival and sabotage blurs. And while we know that boundaries don’t fix trauma, they do create the structure needed for something far better than survival: stability.

That’s not drama. That’s science.

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.

References:

Figley, C. R. (2002). Compassion fatigue: Psychotherapists’ chronic lack of self-care. Journal of Clinical Psychology, 58(11), 1433–1441.

McEwen, B. S., & Morrison, J. H. (2013). The brain on stress: Vulnerability and plasticity of the prefrontal cortex over the life course. Neuron, 79(1), 16–29.

Herman, J. L. (1992). Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror.

Van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma.

Photo by Blake Cheek 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/2025/09/18/drowning-in-drama-when-calm-feels-like-a-threat-instead-of-a-relief/feed/ 0 Do I Tell Them? Sitting with the Weight of Sharing Your Story with Your Parents https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/06/30/do-i-tell-them-sitting-with-the-weight-of-sharing-your-story-with-your-parents/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/06/30/do-i-tell-them-sitting-with-the-weight-of-sharing-your-story-with-your-parents/#respond Mon, 30 Jun 2025 12:48:38 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987500491 There comes a point on the healing journey when the question doesn’t whisper. It roars.

Do I tell my parents?
Do they deserve to know what happened to me?
Would they believe me?
Would they hold it with care, or would it break me all over again?

If you’re here, standing in that in-between place, you’re not alone. This is one of the hardest crossroads survivors face. For some, the decision feels clear. For others, like me, it’s layered and ongoing.

Sometimes the abuse happened under your parents’ roof.
Sometimes it was hidden in plain sight.
And sometimes, you don’t even know if they know.

You might find yourself circling questions like:

  • Do I owe them this truth?
  • Will it bring healing or harm?
  • What if they can’t hold it? What if they say the wrong thing, or nothing at all?
  • What if I speak it and everything changes—or worse, nothing does?

The truth is, sharing your story with a parent is not required for healing. It is a choice. And like all sacred choices, it deserves time, care, and safety.

Ask Yourself These Questions First

Before deciding to disclose, here are a few grounding questions to sit with:

1. Why do I want to share this?
Is it for connection? Clarity? Validation? To reclaim power? To draw a boundary?
There is no wrong reason, but knowing your why can anchor you.

2. What do I hope will happen? What do I fear might happen?
Give yourself permission to answer both. Hope and fear can live side by side.

3. Have I processed this enough to hold steady if their response is hurtful, shocked, or dismissive?
If not, that’s okay. It may not be time yet.

4. Do I have support ready, a friend, therapist, or coach to debrief with afterward?
You are not meant to carry this alone, no matter how strong you are.

If You Do Choose to Share, Prepare Yourself First

Here are a few things that can help:

  • Write down what you want to say.
    It can be a letter, a few bullet points, or a full narrative. Organizing your thoughts helps you stay grounded.
  • Practice.
    Talk it through with someone you trust. Let your nervous system rehearse what it feels like to be witnessed.
  • Set boundaries before the conversation.
    Say things like, “I just need you to listen right now,” or “I’m not looking for advice or debate.”
  • Prepare for all outcomes.
    They may meet you with compassion, or they may not. Your truth is still valid.
  • Have a plan for how to step away if needed.
    If things get overwhelming, you get to pause, end, or redirect the conversation.

And If You Decide Not to Tell Them? That’s Valid Too.

You do not owe anyone your story. Not even your family.

You can be deeply healing and wildly brave without ever telling your parents what happened.

Not telling doesn’t mean you’re hiding. It means you are choosing what is safest, kindest, and most aligned for you right now.

And if your answer changes later? That’s okay. This journey is not linear.

Final Thoughts

This part of your story, the telling, the not telling, the wondering, still belongs to you.

You don’t have to rush. You don’t need anyone’s permission. You get to honor your truth in whatever way feels right. You are not broken. You are becoming. And that is powerful.

As for me, I still haven’t shared my story with my parents.
They can’t even hold my warm memories without minimizing them, so I’ve chosen not to interrupt my peace just to be met with silence or dismissal. I may never get the response I would hope for, and that’s a grief I’ve learned to hold gently. For now, protecting my healing matters more than being understood by people who never truly saw me.

And maybe that’s the bravest choice of all.

Photo by Ioann-Mark Kuznietsov 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/2025/06/30/do-i-tell-them-sitting-with-the-weight-of-sharing-your-story-with-your-parents/feed/ 0 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

Photo by Robert Anasch 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/2025/05/20/the-death-of-a-narcissist/feed/ 0 Breaking Free Of The Cycle: Healing Family Karma https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/03/04/breaking-free-of-the-cycle-healing-family-karma/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2025/03/04/breaking-free-of-the-cycle-healing-family-karma/#comments Tue, 04 Mar 2025 11:24:19 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987499848 Who am I? Growing up, I was a child with trust issues due to emotional and physical abuse. Then, at 18, I was assaulted on a date. Trauma often leaves invisible scars. While most physical wounds can heal, mental and emotional wounds run deep.

I have faced many traumas in my life and experienced repeated betrayal, often from those we are told we can trust—family.

An Existential Identity Crisis

I consider myself a quirk of fate; by some macabre twist, I was launched into a profoundly dysfunctional family. I grew up fatherless in a middle-class Roman Catholic household in a small South Indian town. My older sister Melanie and I were raised by our young, widowed mother in our maternal grandparents’ home, where we lived with an extended joint family.

I discovered that my father passed away from a heart attack just months after my mother conceived me, so I never knew him. Growing up without a father left me feeling empty, which may have influenced my tendency to form fleeting connections with abusive relationships and toxic friendships. The absence of pictures of my dad was heartbreaking, as it felt like all memories of him had been erased. I understand my mother likely acted out of her own grief, but it was painful that she didn’t encourage us to talk about him, leaving many questions unanswered.

Becoming a Social Outcast

At first, my mother worked hard as a teacher at our school until my soon-to-be stepfather, a medical student seven years younger, came into the picture. In the conservative town we lived in, rumors about the teacher and the young man quickly spread, and all hell broke loose at my grandparents’ home. The entire family was upset with her new relationship, but my mother was so in love that she didn’t care.

The school was even worse; we became social outcasts overnight, facing snide comments from classmates and family friends who labeled us as “the daughters” of the “flighty widow.” The reputation stuck.

As a grown woman, I understand that my widowed mother had the right to move on and lead her life. However, at age five, I only felt the loss of friends. Back then, single mothers dating wasn’t common in rural India, and my mother was blissfully unaware, caught up in her new romance as she traipsed around town in love-infested bliss.

The Birth of the Fear of Abandonment

When I was in third grade, she finally married and a few years later moved to the Middle East with her new doctor husband, leaving behind two lonely kids and a controversial reputation.

At every family event, we were seen as the “orphan Annies” and “oddballs,” garnering pity or scorn from others. In that conservative town, we stood out, burdened by a reputation we longed to escape. This likely fueled my craving for love and contributed to  ADHD and borderline personality disorder, which I discovered many years later.

Meanwhile, my childhood became a series of moves between relatives, amplifying feelings of abandonment. We were treated as unnecessary baggage, and the meager food we received was often rationed. Name-calling and forced chores made us feel like maidservants, whether cleaning the house, doing laundry, cooking, or babysitting. I was not yet 13, and I often went to bed hungry.

With each move, my sister and I faced a new set of accusations. In hindsight, I believe this wasn’t because we lacked virtue, but rather because our relatives were tired of bearing the burden of my mother. This was their way of “passing the buck” to someone else. Meanwhile, our mother hardly contributed to our expenses or sent money to those who took care of us.

Though Mom would visit us occasionally, her relationship with us, her daughters, changed dramatically. She refused to believe what we had endured and the ongoing criticism from our “overburdened” relatives. Instead, she relied only on hearsay, choosing to accept the narrative that portrayed us as the problem.

Walking Away From Abuse

At a relative’s home, life became so chaotic that we went from being poor, abandoned orphans to harassed teens overnight. The saddest part was that no one, especially our mother, wanted to believe us. They preferred to sweep everything under the rug rather than face the discomfort of the truth. I realized they chose not to support us because it allowed them to avoid their responsibilities.

As a result, in an effort to protect ourselves, two vulnerable girls walked away from a highly volatile situation and sought help from strangers. We felt unsafe among our own family.

Believe it or not, since then, we have mostly been estranged from our mother and socially isolated from our relatives. Aside from the odd occasion, I haven’t spent time with my relatives or mom in decades. Mom systematically and deliberately cut us off from any contact with the family.

 There is bullying, and then there is bullying of the worst kind; it’s called “social isolation,” the kind that was perpetuated by my dysfunctional family and also by friends at school.

This is the kind of bullying where “the strong” band together and trample “the defenseless” because there is strength in numbers—often aided by money, peer pressure, or the seniority that comes with age.

Rising from the Ashes

As a teenager, I found myself alone and began working hard to support myself. Life took a difficult turn; I met many people from whom I learned valuable lessons. I made numerous mistakes due to poor judgment and misplaced trust, but I’ve always managed to rise from them. While I regret those lapses, I would live my life the same way again because my past has shaped who I am today.

My career choice allowed me to meet many people. Early on, I took various odd jobs, each helping me develop new skills and fueling my ambition for success. I was open to any challenge, adapting and learning as I went. Eventually, I spent several years in the hospitality industry.

Final Thoughts: Know Thyself and Thou Shall Know Thy God

Along the way, I made friends and learned that everyone is unique; no one is perfect; certainly not people with the “pointy fingers.” Nevertheless, I noticed that most people focus on four basic needs: food, money, power, and sex—but not necessarily in that order. Whereas for me it has always been like Freddy Mercury sang that “crazy little thing called LOVE.“ But when we go through abuse, neglect, and trauma and don’t find love, we settle for mediocrity or less. Trauma comes in many forms, but it’s our choice whether to continue the cycle of family karma or to break it. The buck stops with you.

Whichever way it goes, childhood trauma makes you do the thing you’ve been “conditioned” to do all your life. I understand how challenging it can be to navigate through trauma, and I want to share what has helped me along the way: love, friendships, books, music, and spirituality. Healing is not a straight path, and I certainly don’t consider myself an expert. I’ve experienced the many faces of depression, including a recent episode of panic and anxiety, which I know can feel overwhelming. If you’re struggling, please remember that you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to your loved ones and consider seeking therapy. It’s so important to take that step and not delay getting the support you need. If you are like me, you deserve to find peace and healing.

 

Photo by Annie Spratt 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/2025/03/04/breaking-free-of-the-cycle-healing-family-karma/feed/ 4 “Was It Even Abuse?” Unpacking Psychological Abuse https://cptsdfoundation.org/2024/09/10/was-it-even-abuse-unpacking-psychological-abuse/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2024/09/10/was-it-even-abuse-unpacking-psychological-abuse/#comments Tue, 10 Sep 2024 08:27:57 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987489816 What type of abuser can break their victim enough to land her in an ambulance without even touching her? The psychological abuser. 

They walk like us, they talk like us, and they may even have pristine reputations in their communities. However, nothing can prepare a victim for the way her life will change once a psychological abuser “picks” her.

A psychological abuser’s goal is to utilize mental tantalization to break a victim’s psyche down over time, make her appear crazy, and isolate her from mutual connections without leaving a trail of evidence. After you’re discarded from a relationship with one of these personalities, the abuser will spit seething venom at you, disempowering you and removing your humanity and self-worth. They don’t care who you were before, during, or after your relationship with them, as they utilize hot and cold behavior to make you question your reality. You’re not a human being; you’re a commodity to be exploited in their game of life. To these personalities, everything is your fault. No matter how many nice things you do for them, nothing is good enough. No matter who you are, what you say, or what you do, your existence enrages them. If you look them in the eyes, there’s nothing there — almost as if they have no conscience. Even being given the “death glare” or “sociopathic stare” by one of these people is enough to transfer that intense hatred of you into yourself and make your body shake. Their sadism lurks behind a facade of innocence.

Who is the Psychological Abuser? 

Psychological abusers are emotional toddlers in adult bodies. The abuse doesn’t have to happen in a romantic or familial relationship, as is most commonly discussed. Abuse can occur in any type of relationship or environment—schools, workplaces, churches, or any communities where humans gather. Abusers have plenty of experience — they typically have multiple victims. While psychological abuse can be so crafty that the victim might even question if she is really a victim, they know exactly what they do to you, and they enjoy it. But the words “abuser” and “bully” are the last words they would use to describe themselves. They don’t think they are doing anything wrong.

While it isn’t possible for victims to diagnose these types of people, just be aware that they have serious pathological issues consisting of narcissistic, sociopathic, and psychopathic tendencies. I don’t typically subscribe to using the word “normal” to describe human behavior because of the history of the word being used to ostracize people who do not conform to groupthink. However, I’m fine with using the word “normal” to describe healthy people in relation to these abusive personalities. Psychological abusers live in an entirely different reality than normal people do.

Who Do Abusers Target? 

Abusers target people who have something they do not or cannot have themselves. Since nothing is ever good enough for them, they envy those who are content with themselves. They typically target empaths — people who have an innate joy and genuine gratitude for life, see every human being as worthy of love and tend to see the good in others. Their animosity toward empaths comes from a place of not being able to fathom how another person can have that much joy regardless of life circumstances. 

Abusers can work alone or in groups. Typically, they eventually rope “flying monkeys” into their games — minions who either overtly or covertly help the abuser perpetrate the abuse. Often, these flying monkeys do not even know the victim personally. Since the abuse is so insidious, even these flying monkeys might not understand the full extent of the torment inflicted on the victim. If these supporting actors could see the full extent of the abuse, they may stop being pawns in the abuser’s destructive game. Unfortunately, most of these flying monkeys don’t want to understand the harm they’re complicit in, but they want to be part of the group and win the abuser’s praise, and they get their own power trip satisfied in the process.

For reference, The term “flying monkey” comes from The Wizard of Oz. The Wicked Witch of the West puts them under her spell.

The Average Person Does Not Understand Psychological Abuse

Psychological abuse can be an amorphous force, very difficult for an outsider to detect. Abusers often charm other people close to their victims, so these people have no reason to believe that the abuser is doing anything wrong to them. Outsiders may even ask, “What did they even do to you?”

It’s sneaky. As the victim, I couldn’t even fully put it into words myself. This is precisely why abusers utilize psychological abuse as their weapon of choice. They are crafty enough to know that if they did it in any other way, they would “get caught” by outsiders. The victim may be told that she’s “overthinking it” or that it’s “just how she’s perceiving it.” The power dynamics, manipulation, hot and cold behavior, gaslighting, and mind games form a Stockholm Syndrome-style trauma bond, which makes the victim believe: “Maybe they’ll eventually give me closure.” The victim may come across as “unable to move on” from the relationship when, in reality, she is wrestling with that trauma bond as she tries to fathom what is being done to her after the discard and seek a resolution to the tension. 

The mind games taunt the victim with a false hope for closure and an ending to the sick games, but that closure never comes. If victims question what’s going on, perpetrators use tactics like gaslighting and denial to pretend like nothing is happening and boomerang the blame back onto the true victim, further making her question her own reality. They may even try to convince others, and even themselves, that they are the victims. Don’t be fooled. They are not victims.

Abusers want their victims to spend their time wondering what they did wrong, but the only thing they did “wrong” was threaten their inflated ego by simply existing in their vicinity. Their tactics come from a need to control their environment and manipulate the people around them so that their world is centered around the one and only thing that matters: themselves. 

Some Mental Health Professionals Misunderstand Psychological Abuse

During my years in the mental health system, I tried bringing up some of these situations to the clinicians I saw, believing that they would be able to help me understand the painful symptoms I was experiencing in my body as a result. What I learned, though, was that many medical professionals don’t understand this type of abuse and will even go as far as to blame and retraumatize the victim further. 

After these gut-wrenching experiences with professionals I opened my heart to, I took active steps to seek out experts trained to handle victims of psychological abuse. The professional I started working with was so helpful, and she was open about being a survivor herself. 

Having felt victimized by other mental health professionals when I first met with her, I still wasn’t sure if what I had endured was abuse or if I was truly a victim. I had a list of all the things I had experienced as a result of what I had been through, many of which the medical system had previously written off as “all in my head,” giving me outlandish diagnoses. I also “confessed” all my reactions to the abuse along the lines of fight, flight, freeze, and fawn reactions. Some of those trauma responses were made out of dissociation. I felt so guilty for these reactions, and I felt like this professional needed to know how “awful” I was for making my abusers uncomfortable with my attempts to reconcile the tension. In my case, I was not a victim of just one psychological abuser. I was a victim of more than one perpetrator, and they banded together to target me, feeding off each other. 

After going through my laundry list of symptoms and reactions with this professional, I put my notebook down and looked up at her with eyes full of tears. I waited for her to tell me that I was a horrible person and that I had done everything wrong. I waited for her to laugh at me. I waited for her to tell me I was crazy. I waited for her to tell me that perhaps I was the abuser myself. And I waited for her to kick me out of her office since I was probably too much to deal with. 

She paused for a while and looked me in the eyes, saying, “You did nothing wrong. And it’s not just in your head. Everything you’ve shared tells me that you were targeted by psychological abusers.” 

Getting that validation was incredible for me. As a survivor herself and an expert researcher on the subject, nothing phased her—she had heard it all. She reassured me that everything I was experiencing was perfectly normal. I felt so seen, validated, and heard for the first time in so long. It often takes someone who has survived the same thing to truly understand where a victim is coming from, and I finally received that validation from someone who understood. As I looked into the eyes of another survivor who had been in my exact shoes, even though she was a trained professional much older, both of our eyes teared up, and we shared a humbling moment of our hearts touching one another. My work with her was transformative in understanding the reality of what I had been through and overcoming my self-guilt. 

Many Do Not Understand It, But Psychological Abuse is Insidious

Psychological abuse is real, and it is insidious. There are times when flashbacks and emotions still come up for me, but I implement grounding and nervous system regulation tools to remind myself that I am safe.

Survivors, while you may feel incredibly isolated in healing from this despicable form of hidden abuse, know that there is a community of C-PTSD survivors who have been or are in your shoes. We are all healing together. From one survivor to another, you are so strong, and I believe that you can overcome it.  

Photo by Lil Artsy on Pexels

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