Countless African households teach their children, from a very young age, to refrain from speaking. Phrases like “Just keep quiet,” or “Don’t cause trouble” echo through our lives, passed down as wisdom from those who came before us. On the surface, this advice seems mature and prudent.

Your quietness might damage your spirit instead of preserving love.

What if the very behaviors you learned to preserve calm (remaining silent, burying your emotions, and steering clear of conflict) are causing you to lose yourself?

People often misunderstand this route as a path to true tranquility. Over time, this lack of noise does not bring harmony; it breeds fear, resentment, rejection, and a deep, simmering anger.

Sometimes you observe yourself shrinking, evolving into a smaller version of who you were meant to be.

Your voice grows weaker until one day you wonder if you even have one.

This creeping feeling of inadequacy could cause you to distance from your true self, leading you to conclude that you’re not deserving of your own kindness and attention.

In many toxic homes, children grow into experts at appeasing their parents, sacrificing their own dreams, and even their happiness, just to feel accepted.

Guardians, especially mothers and wives, can become so consumed with caring for their families that their own ambitions and well-being slip away.

No matter where this people-pleasing or codependency begins, one truth remains: you cannot pour from an empty cup. One cannot share what one does not possess.

If you learned to swallow your feelings, and equate love with silence or relentless effort to win affection as a child, you set yourself on a path far from self-love.

We, as adults seeking love, often fall into cycles of codependency and people-pleasing, wherein we give, adapt, and sacrifice until our own identities become obscured.

This series will explore why so many of us become lost in our relationships, uncover the damaging habits forged in childhood, and examine how relying on others for validation traps us in harmful, normal cycles.

Suppositions and myths that lead to codependency.

My journey of recovering from childhood trauma led me to uncover a seldom-voiced truth:

So many of us stay in toxic relationships, sacrificing our true selves, because one persistent fear haunts us:

• What will people say?
• How will they see me?
• What will they think of me?

On the surface, you may appear cheerful and put together, but this silent fear eats away at us from the inside out.

Losing yourself in a relationship is never a sudden event. It’s a slow unraveling, thread by thread, until one day you barely recognize who you’ve become.

It seeps in through your self-perception, what you learned about love, and the patterns you witnessed as a child.

The way your caregivers expressed love during your childhood matters. The language you experienced as a child plays an important role.

The examples set by those around you– the words they spoke–these moments leave lasting imprints.

Many of us grew up with beliefs like:

“You have to endure in a relationship.”

“All men cheat” or “Women are not trustworthy.”

“One person must lead, the other must submit.”

“Two captains cannot be on one ship.”

These repeated messages, so common they feel like truth, become beliefs that shape our entire approach to love and connection.

Instead of teaching us that love is rooted in self-respect and boundaries, they condition us to see love as endless sacrifice.

My Personal Realization: When Love Meant Losing Myself

There was a chapter in my life when I truly believed that silence equaled love.
I thought that putting everyone else’s needs before my own was the highest form of love. My happiness, I thought, should be a reflection of everyone else’s contentment.

I felt responsible for everyone–except myself.

I became the fixer, the peacekeeper, always trying to make things work. It was the only way I knew to feel needed, valued, and loved.

But as I walked the long road to healing, I discovered something that changed everything:

Those were not acts of love at all.
They were trauma responses, survival patterns etched deep by years of emotional wounds.

That realization hurt, but it was also a turning point. It was the first time I began to see what true self-love could look like.

Many believe self-love is about occasional pampering, buying nice things, taking selfies, or treating yourself.

But real self-love runs much deeper; it’s about how we show up for ourselves every single day.

So What Is Codependency? (Simple Explanation)

Let’s break this down in a real, honest way, because so many are living it, even if they don’t yet have the word.

Codependency is when your sense of identity, worth, and emotional stability becomes tethered to someone else. You feel responsible for healing or fixing them, even when it breaks you in the process.

It means:

• You depend on others to feel okay about yourself.
• Your happiness is based on how they feel about you.
• You feel responsible for their emotions.
• You prioritize their needs above your own

You say words like:

“If they are happy, then I am okay.”

“If they are upset, I feel like I have done something wrong.”

“I need to fix things so everything can be okay again.”

“If I don’t do anything, things will fall apart.”

“I have to be there for them; I cannot fail them.”

“I am not enough; I need to get them to love me.”

Your life begins to revolve around someone else’s emotions, fulfilling their needs, fixing their problems, helping them, and seeking their approval to feel fulfilled.

You go the extra mile to make them happy, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness, your dreams, or even your identity.

You may dim your light so theirs can shine.

At that point, you no longer feel good enough on your own; you need their approval to feel secure.

It’s like walking through life uncovered, giving your last coat to everyone else, satisfied because they are warm, even as you shiver in the cold.

In simple terms:
Codependency is this: losing yourself, piece by piece, in your desperate attempt to hold on to someone else.

What Is People-Pleasing?

People-pleasing is the behavior that keeps codependency going.

It is when you constantly try to make others happy, even at your own expense.

It looks like:

• Saying “yes” when you want to say “no.”
• Keeping quiet to avoid conflict
• Ignoring your own needs so others can feel comfortable.
• Feeling guilty for putting yourself first
• Trying to be “good” so people will accept or love you.

In simple terms:
People-pleasing is what happens when you abandon your own needs, just to feel accepted by others.

What Is True Self-Love?

Self-love is not just pampering, taking pictures, or buying things.

Self-love is how you treat yourself on a daily basis.

It means:

• You respect your own feelings and needs.
• You don’t ignore yourself to please others.
• You speak up for yourself, even when it’s uncomfortable.
• You protect your peace without guilt.
• You choose what is healthy for you, not just what makes others happy.

In simple terms:
Self-love is choosing yourself, wholly and unapologetically, without shame or guilt.

How Codependency Makes You Lose Yourself in Relationships

No one wakes up and decides to lose themselves. It’s a slow process, rooted in what we were taught about love and worthiness.

1. Perhaps you were taught that love means enduring; no matter the cost.

You learned to tolerate instead of express.
To stay silent instead of speaking.

• You Start Living for Approval.

Your focus shifts from “Who am I?” to “How can I be accepted?” due to past painful experiences.

Maybe someone left you in the past, you grew up in a home where love was inconsistent, or someone hurt you deeply, and you still carry that wound or memory in your heart.

These old wounds shape how you see yourself, making you live for approval instead of embracing who you truly are.

• You feel responsible for everyone but yourself.

You carry everyone’s emotions, but neglect your own. You feel responsible for making everyone happy and for everything running smoothly, and that without you, they cannot be happy or okay.

Children who grew up taking adult responsibilities at a younger age are prone to this. So, in a relationship, they believe it is their responsibility to change every weakness and negative thing they see in their partner.

They become the parent in the relationship rather than a partner. They scold, complain, cry, and nag.

They stay in a toxic relationship, enduring, praying when they ought to walk away, and loving themselves.

Many will say, “Maybe if I behaved better, he or she would change.”

• You Confuse Being Needed with Being Loved.

You start to believe your value lies only in how much you can help, fix, or sacrifice for others.

Many struggle to break free from this cycle because the approval feels like a drug, without it, they don’t feel whole or enough. At the root of it all are unhealed trauma wounds, waiting to be faced.

• You Stop Listening to Yourself.

You stop asking what you feel, need, or want, and focus only on others.

What Is True Self-Love?

People pleasing is what you do.

Codependency is the pattern you are stuck in

Lack of self-love is the root of it all.

When you lack self-love, you:

• Seek validation from others.
• Struggle with boundaries
• Feel responsible for people’s emotions.

And so, the cycle repeats until you decide to break it.

You Don’t Have to Lose Yourself to Be Loved: A New Way Forward

Losing yourself in a relationship is not love, it’s a pattern called codependency. And you are not alone in it.

It is something many people learned from their upbringing, environment, and experiences.

But here’s the good news: you can unlearn these patterns.

• You can learn to love without losing yourself.
  You can learn to speak without fear.
  You can learn to exist fully in your relationships.

Start small today:

Speak up in one situation.

Say “no” without guilt.

Choose yourself in one decision.

Because the moment you choose to stop abandoning yourself…
That’s when you reclaim your power, and your healing truly begins.
This is Part 1 of the Codependency Series.

Let this be your first step toward becoming your most authentic, empowered self. Your best days are ahead!

In the next article, we’ll go deeper into codependency, childhood trauma, and narcissistic relationships, how they are all connected, and why many people find themselves repeating the same painful patterns.

Stay with me on this journey; understanding is the very first step toward healing.

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

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

Support your fellow writer:

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.