What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)

The stories that follow represent experiences many survivors face when navigating relationships affected by trauma. Lucille and Dominique’s journeys aren’t outliers or extremes – they illustrate common patterns that emerge when love becomes entangled with harm. Through their experiences, we can explore the confusion, pain, and ultimately the clarity that comes from understanding love’s true nature amid the fog of trauma.

As you read through these stories and concepts, you may find yourself confronting painful questions: “How did I not see this sooner?” “Am I stupid for loving someone who treats me this way?” “Why do I keep making the same relationship mistakes?” Please know that these thoughts are not only common but an expected part of processing relationship trauma. Later in this article, we’ll explore why intelligent, perceptive people find themselves caught in these patterns and why self-blame isn’t just undeserved—it’s actually part of the trauma itself. If these thoughts arise as you read, try to notice them with gentleness, knowing we’ll address them directly when we explore the grief that comes with recognizing what’s been missing in our relationships.

Lucille’s Choice

Lucille sat on the floor of her new apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes that contained the modest remains of her former life. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across bare walls – walls that held no family photographs, no inherited heirlooms, no visual reminders of where she had come from.

Three months ago, she had made the hardest decision of her life: to move across the country and change her phone number, cutting contact with her family of origin. It wasn’t done in anger or as punishment. It was done because she finally understood that her survival depended on it.

For years, Lucille had battled thoughts of ending her life. Each interaction with her family – the subtle criticisms, the dismissal of her feelings, the explosive arguments followed by pretending nothing had happened – left her feeling hollowed out, worthless, and increasingly convinced that her presence in the world was unnecessary. Therapy had helped her recognize that these weren’t her original dark thoughts but internalized messages planted through years of emotional abuse.

“You just need to be stronger,” her mother would say whenever Lucille tried to discuss her depression. “Everyone has problems. I love you, but you’ve always been too sensitive.”

Before he died, her father’s approach had also been damaging. Though he too regularly told Lucille he loved her, his actions communicated something else entirely. He would walk away whenever emotions entered the conversation, dismiss her accomplishments, and make all her life choices about himself, criticizing anything she did that he felt made him look bad. The stark contrast between his words of love and his acts of rejection created a confusing double-bind that Lucille had spent decades trying to reconcile.

When her father had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, Lucille dropped everything to care for him. She spent months shuttling between hospitals and his home, managing his medications, coordinating with doctors, and sitting beside his bed during long, silent nights. Her siblings visited occasionally, but the daily burden fell to Lucille.

What confused Lucille most was her own reaction to his diagnosis. Despite years of emotional neglect and having essentially given up on ever having a real relationship with him, when she learned about his cancer, she was overcome with panic and terror. She sobbed uncontrollably at the thought of losing him. This panicked devotion felt entirely disconnected from her understanding of their relationship.

Despite his lifelong emotional unavailability, she couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering. Throughout those months, she kept spending her own limited money on things to make his room nicer. She wanted the whole family to come closer and lend emotional support during this hard time. She waited for a shift in what “I love you” felt like. It never came. Her father died as he had lived – emotionally closed. And her family never hugged and cried together, she felt utterly out of place.

Oddly, once he passed, Lucille didn’t really miss her dad. The grief she expected never materialized. This confused her deeply – how could she have felt such desperate attachment at the thought of losing him, yet such numbness once he was gone?

Sometimes, when Lucille questioned whether her parents had ever truly loved her, a particular memory surfaced—one that made it harder to walk away. She was nine, home sick with the flu, curled up on the couch in a ball of fever and chills. Her mother, who usually brushed off illness as weakness, had unexpectedly brought her a bowl of homemade soup and stroked her hair while Lucille drifted in and out of sleep. For that one afternoon, there was no criticism, no tension—just warmth. Lucille had clung to that sliver of tenderness for decades, using it as proof that love had existed, even if it had rarely returned.

After her father’s death, Lucille hoped that perhaps her mother would finally become more emotionally available. She had always believed that her father’s narcissism somehow prevented her mother from showing the warmth and empathy Lucille craved. With him gone, Lucille waited for the mother-daughter relationship she had always wanted.

Instead, her mother’s emotional neglect continued unchanged. When Lucille finally gathered the courage to express her needs directly, her mother responded with dismissal. This final rejection of what seemed like such a reasonable request – to be treated with basic empathy – felt like a betrayal. The subconscious fantasy that had sustained Lucille for years – that her mother was capable of loving her but simply prevented from doing so – collapsed entirely.

Lucille had tried casual distancing with her remaining family. She had tried limited contact. She had tried explaining how their behaviors affected her. They would respond by insisting they loved her, but nothing changed, except that her resolve to stay alive grew more tenuous with each attempt at connection.

So she left. Not with a dramatic announcement, but quietly, as if stepping backward out of a room where no one had noticed her presence anyway.

Now, as she unpacked her sparse belongings in this new space, Lucille realized something unexpected. The crushing weight she had carried for so long had begun to lift. She slept through the night. The constant knot in her stomach had eased. Most surprising of all, she didn’t miss them. She had anticipated grief, guilt, longing – but what she felt instead was relief. Freedom. Space to breathe.

And this confused her deeply. If she loved her family – and surely she must love them, they were her family after all – shouldn’t she miss them? Shouldn’t their absence feel like a wound rather than a healing? If she could feel this peaceful away from them, had she ever truly loved them at all? Or was the fierce protectiveness she had always felt toward them, the desperate hope that they would change, the willingness to endure their mistreatment just to remain connected – was that something else entirely?

As she reflected, Lucille realized she had already been grieving her family for decades – grieving the relationships she had always wanted but never had, grieving the support and love that never materialized. The grief had started long before she physically left.

Even now, in her moments of peace, bitter memories would occasionally ambush her – her brother mocking her teenage poetry, her father saying “I love you, princess” while turning away when she tried to hug him, her mother ignoring her tears. Each memory triggered physical symptoms – racing heart, tight chest, the urge to hide. Her therapist had explained these as symptoms of complex trauma, remnants of a nervous system still responding to dangers no longer present.

Her mother had reached out through mutual connections, expressing profound hurt at Lucille’s decision to cut contact. “Why did you leave me? I miss you. I’ve always loved you more than anything,” she had said, words that triggered waves of guilt and confusion in Lucille. Was she wrong to protect herself? Was her mother’s pain more important than her own survival?

It had been three weeks since any fleeting thoughts of not wanting to be alive had drifted through her mind, a vast improvement. As Lucille placed a small plant on her windowsill – the first living thing she had ever felt confident she could nurture – she wondered: What exactly is love, anyway? And can we love someone we cannot safely remain connected to?

Dominique’s Boundary

Dominique stood in the center of what was now her room, a small utility room she had transformed into a sanctuary. The walls were freshly painted in soft blue, a color her husband disliked. Books she loved filled the bookshelf. A comfortable single bed replaced the air mattress she’d been sleeping on for the past two weeks.

Ten years into her marriage, Dominique had discovered her husband’s secret porn habit. While devastated, she had committed to working through it together. He had promised to stop, and as far as she could tell, he had kept that promise. But three years later, she discovered something worse – while there had been no physical affair, her husband had maintained inappropriate emotional relationships with several women, flirting, sharing private marital struggles, and seeking validation outside their marriage. When confronted, he dismissed her concerns, insisting she was trying to control him and “overreacting.”

This pattern of dismissal was nothing new. Throughout their marriage, Dominique had consistently found herself at the bottom of her husband’s priority list. He never missed his weekly basketball game with friends, but frequently forgot commitments he’d made to her. He remembered his mother’s favorite flowers but couldn’t recall Dominique’s birthday without a reminder. He would stay late at work to help a coworker but rarely offered the same support to her. In the early years, before the erosion began, he used to write her notes and make her laugh until she cried. That version of him felt like a dream she had once believed with all her heart.

What made all of this especially painful was that Dominique had chosen to save herself for marriage. Her decision to wait for physical intimacy had been deeply important to her. Yet within the first week after their wedding, her husband began turning down her advances. This profound rejection, followed by his years of sexual disinterest while maintaining a secret porn habit, left her questioning her identity as a woman and feeling fundamentally undesirable.

For years, Dominique had silenced the alarm bells in her body – the tightness in her chest when he was nicer to the female server than he ever was to her, the nausea when he dismissed her feelings, the exhaustion from constantly wondering when the next wrecking ball would hit. She had convinced herself that marriage required sacrifice, that her discomfort was the price of keeping her family intact. Somewhere along the way, she had mistaken endurance for virtue.

Periodically, only after Dominique took action to distance herself, her husband would seem to recognize the damage his behavior caused. He would apologize, promise to change, and show genuine improvement for weeks or even months. During these periods, he would be attentive, communicative, and seemingly committed to rebuilding their connection. Each time, Dominique would cautiously hope that this change would last. And each time, once she had emotionally reinvested in the relationship, he would gradually return to his old patterns, as if maintaining healthy connection required too much effort to sustain.

With two young children and no independent income, leaving seemed impossible. After a particularly painful argument – where her husband had once again shown complete disregard for her emotional safety – something in Dominique shifted. She didn’t have the resources to leave the house, but she could leave the bedroom. She could create a boundary, a space where she didn’t have to pretend.

On her first night in the new bedroom, Dominique had expected to feel sad, to mourn the loss of the marriage she had wanted. Instead, she felt an unexpected lightness, almost giddiness. The relief of not having to sleep next to someone unsafe, of not having to wake up with a feeling of dread seeing him there – it was overwhelming. For the first time in years, she felt free.

In the weeks that followed, Dominique and her husband established a careful choreography of co-parenting. They shared meals with the children, coordinated schedules, maintained the appearance of family unity. But beyond these necessary interactions, they rarely spoke. Her husband, who was taking her warnings seriously for the first time, occasionally attempted to discuss “fixing” their marriage, insisting he loved her and wanted to make things work. Dominique would simply respond, “What you did wasn’t love. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me for our entire relationship.”

Since their in-home separation, her husband had begun therapy, stopped his emotionally unfaithful behaviors, and was working on healthier communication styles. He seemed genuinely committed to change, though still very limited in his understanding. Yet despite these improvements, Dominique felt no return of warmth toward him. Her nervous system remained on high alert in his presence; her body remembered the years of emotional abandonment even as her mind acknowledged his efforts.

The strangest part for Dominique was that even with these changes, even wondering if she could eventually have financial independence if she returned to work once the children were older, she couldn’t imagine actually divorcing him. The thought of being the only two people left in the house after the children eventually moved out felt like a crisis, yet she couldn’t picture taking the final step to legal separation. This confused and frustrated her – why couldn’t she leave, even in her imagination? What invisible force held her in this relationship when all warmth and connection had died?

Sometimes Dominique worried that she had lost the capacity for romantic love entirely. The thought of physical intimacy – with her husband or anyone else – left her cold. Was this a temporary protective shutdown, or a permanent change? Had the years of emotional neglect and betrayal fundamentally altered her ability to connect?

Like Lucille, Dominique realized she had already been grieving her marriage long before learning about her husband’s secrets – grieving the partner she had thought she married, grieving the future she had imagined, grieving how she’d been mistreated, grieving the person she had been before repeated betrayals had taught her to expect pain from closeness and made her put up walls.

And like Lucille, she experienced unexpected moments of bitterness – rage at the years she had wasted trying to earn love from someone refusing to give it, sorrow for the younger self who had accepted so little while giving so much. These emotions would arrive without warning, bringing with them physical symptoms – headaches, digestive issues, overwhelming fatigue, panic attacks – that her therapist identified as manifestations of trauma stored in her body.

As she arranged her new space, placing framed photos of her children and herself (but none of her husband) on the dresser, Dominique wondered: Was what she and her husband had over the years ever love? And if not, what was it? And what would happen to this family once the children were grown?

What Is Love?

Love is perhaps the most discussed yet least understood human experience. We speak of it as an emotion, a choice, an action, a bond, and a commitment – sometimes all at once. To build a meaningful understanding of love, particularly when examining it through the lens of trauma and healing, we need to consider both its behavioral expressions and its felt experience.

At its core, love is a combination of genuine care for another’s wellbeing coupled with consistent actions that demonstrate that care. However, how this care is expressed may vary significantly based on neurological differences.

True love manifests through:

• Consistent kindness and compassion toward the other person
• Deep respect for their autonomy, thoughts, and feelings
• Active support during both their triumphs and struggles
• Understanding that accepts imperfection without enabling harm
• Reliability that builds trust and safety

Bell Hooks in her book All About Love eloquently defined love as “a willingness to extend ourselves for the spiritual growth of others.” While profound, this definition may seem abstract to those seeking practical understanding. We might expand this to say that love is the ongoing commitment to support another’s fullest, healthiest self-expression and development, while respecting their autonomy and honoring our own boundaries and wellbeing.

Neurodivergent Expressions of Love: Different, Not Deficient

When discussing authentic love, it’s crucial to recognize that neurodivergent individuals (those with autism, ADHD, sensory processing differences, etc.) may express love in ways that don’t align with neurotypical expectations. These differences don’t indicate an absence of love or attachment, but rather reflect fundamental neurological variations in how connection is experienced and expressed.

How Neurodivergent Love May Look Different

Communication Styles: An autistic partner might express love through detailed information-sharing about special interests rather than conventional romantic gestures. They may demonstrate deep care by solving practical problems or creating systems that support your wellbeing, rather than through words of affirmation or physical touch.

Emotional Processing: Neurodivergent individuals may process emotions differently—sometimes experiencing them more intensely, less intensely, or with delayed recognition. A partner with alexithymia (difficulty identifying emotions) might deeply love you while struggling to articulate those feelings in ways you immediately recognize.

Sensory Considerations: For those with sensory sensitivities, traditional expressions of love like sustained eye contact, certain types of physical touch, or crowded social gatherings might be genuinely distressing—even when desire for connection is strong. Their avoidance isn’t rejection but self-regulation.

Executive Function Impact: Someone with ADHD might forget anniversaries or struggle with consistent check-ins not from lack of care, but from differences in time perception and executive functioning. Their love might appear in bursts of hyperfocus and enthusiastic connection rather than steady, predictable patterns.

Distinguishing Difference from Harm

The key distinction: neurodivergent expressions of love may look different, but they should never be consistently harmful. Mutual respect, basic consideration, and willingness to understand each other remain essential regardless of neurotype.

When a neurodivergent person loves you, they may:

• Need explicit communication about your needs rather than picking up subtle cues
• Show care through unconventional but meaningful gestures
• Require accommodations for sensory or executive functioning differences
• Express love more directly or literally than you expect

However, neurodivergence never excuses:

• Consistent emotional neglect or dismissal of your feelings
• Refusal to acknowledge impact regardless of intent
• Unwillingness to work together on mutually satisfying compromises
• Using diagnosis as a shield against accountability

Building Bridges of Understanding

For neurotypical-neurodivergent relationships to thrive, both partners need:

• Explicit communication about needs and expressions of care
• Willingness to translate across neurological differences
• Recognition that different doesn’t mean deficient
• Respect for neurodivergent boundaries and accommodations

For readers questioning whether differences in love expression reflect neurodivergence or genuine emotional unavailability, consider: Does this person demonstrate consistent care in their own way, even if it’s not your preferred style? Are they willing to discuss these differences with openness rather than defensiveness? Do they acknowledge impact even when intent was different? The answers help distinguish between neurological differences and truly harmful patterns.

Love, in its healthiest form, is never one of submission, self-erasure, or suffering. True love cannot coexist with patterns of abuse, control, or disrespect. This fundamental truth forms the foundation for the questions we’ll explore throughout this article.

Understanding the Person Who Cannot Love: It’s Not About You

The Gap Between Knowing and Feeling

While intellectually understanding “it’s not about me” can provide relief, your body may still react as if you’re the problem—flooded with shame, self-doubt, or the urge to become “enough” to earn love. This disconnect between mind and body is normal when healing from relational trauma.

As you read, notice if your body tenses, if thoughts like “but in my case, it really was my fault” arise, or if you feel compelled to defend the person who hurt you. These responses don’t mean the information is wrong—they signal your nervous system is processing truths that challenge deep survival beliefs. Healing begins when we hold both the intellectual truth and the body’s protective reactions with compassion.

Why Some People Cannot Love Authentically

Most people are born with the capacity for love, seeking connection instinctively. Under healthy conditions, secure attachment forms through consistent, attuned caregiving, creating a blueprint for future relationships.

Yet this innate capacity can be profoundly disrupted by:

1. Childhood Attachment Wounds
   When early needs for safety, attunement, or validation go unmet, the ability to form secure bonds fractures. A person who never received consistent love struggles to give what they’ve never known. Their relational template organizes around survival rather than mutual care.
2. Survival Adaptations
   Harmful behaviors often begin as creative childhood strategies. Emotional withdrawal, control, or manipulation may have once shielded them from overwhelm or danger. These adaptations become automatic, operating far below consciousness.
3. Intergenerational Trauma
   Patterns of neglect, abuse, or dysfunction often pass through generations like an invisible inheritance. Epigenetic research and attachment studies show how relational behaviors and stress responses are unconsciously replicated, even when they cause harm.
4. Developmental Trauma
   Trauma during critical developmental stages can alter brain structures governing empathy, emotional regulation, and connection. This may impair their ability to read emotions, regulate stress, or maintain consistent presence.
5. Personality Structure
   Some develop psychological frameworks (e.g., narcissistic or borderline patterns) organized around protecting a fragile sense of self. Their entire system avoids vulnerability—the cornerstone of authentic love. While these patterns are deeply entrenched, some individuals, particularly those who commit to long-term therapy, can develop a limited capacity for reciprocity over time. Their limitations don’t reflect a conscious choice but a psychological system that makes genuine connection feel threatening.

In rare cases, genetic predispositions combined with severe early trauma may result in an almost absent capacity for empathy or attachment, as seen in some antisocial traits. These extremes highlight that love’s absence isn’t always about you—or even something the other person can fully control.

The Nuance of “Self-Love First”

The adage “you can’t love others until you love yourself” contains partial truth but oversimplifies. While self-worth fosters healthier relationships, love isn’t just a choice or self-improvement project. It emerges from biology, early experiences, culture, and relational history.

The person who cannot love you authentically isn’t merely “choosing not to love themselves.” They may be trapped in attachment wounds, nervous system dysregulation, or personality structures that render vulnerability intolerable. That said, rebuilding your own self-worth remains essential—not to change the other person, but to break cycles of tolerating inadequate love.

What This Understanding Offers You

1. Freedom from the Impossible Task
   Recognizing their limitations stem from factors beyond their (or your) control liberates you from the fantasy that “if I just try harder, they’ll change.” You’re released from a mission that was never yours.
2. Compassion Without Compromise
   Understanding their wounds allows compassion—without confusing it with permission. You can think, “This person acts from unhealed trauma,” while affirming, “I deserve relationships that don’t demand my self-abandonment.” Healthy boundaries aren’t punishment; they prevent further harm to both parties.
3. Breaking Trauma Bonds
   Intermittent reinforcement—cycles of idealization and devaluation—can create addictive emotional hooks. Understanding the other person’s limitations can help you recognize that the “good times” aren’t evidence of potential for consistent love, but rather part of a pattern driven by the person’s own attachment needs. Seeing these patterns helps you disrupt their pull and choose relationships grounded in consistency, not familiarity with pain.

The Line Between Understanding and Enabling

A trauma history explains behavior but never excuses it. Compassion for someone’s wounds doesn’t require tolerating harm. In fact, boundaries with those incapable of authentic love may be the most compassionate act—for yourself and them.

Their inability to love reflects their limitations, not your worth. You can grieve the wounded child they were while refusing to be harmed by the adult they’ve become.

Remember: Their deficits were never about you. Your worthiness of love is immutable, regardless of another’s capacity to recognize it.

When Attachment Isn’t Love: Understanding Trauma Bonds

The Biology of Trauma Bonds and Fantasy Attachments

One of the most confusing aspects of recovering from relationship trauma is reconciling the intense feelings we have for those who have harmed us. Many survivors describe feeling desperately attached to those who hurt them – experiencing anxiety when separated, relief when reunited, and persistent hope that things will improve despite evidence to the contrary.

Trauma bonding occurs when a powerful emotional attachment forms through repeated cycles of abuse, tension, and reward. This happens on a biological level – when an abuser unpredictably alternates between cruelty and kindness, it triggers the brain’s survival mechanisms and addiction pathways. The resulting biochemical response creates feelings that can be more intense than typical romantic or familial love.

This biological reaction involves several key processes:

• Stress hormones and pleasure chemicals create powerful emotional highs and lows
• The body’s natural pain/pleasure system becomes dysregulated, creating addiction-like patterns
• The primitive attachment system, designed to keep us connected to essential caregivers for survival, overrides our logical assessment of danger

For someone like Dominique, her husband’s occasional moments of attentiveness after long periods of neglect created exactly this kind of emotional rollercoaster. Each improvement triggered hope, flooding her system with relief and reinforcing her attachment despite the overall pattern of emotional abandonment.

Many survivors describe their trauma bonds as the most powerful “love” they’ve ever felt. These feelings are real and overwhelming, but there’s a critical distinction: trauma bonds are rooted in survival responses, not authentic love. They revolve around relieving anxiety and pain rather than mutual growth and joy. They create dependency rather than healthy connection. And they feature dramatic highs and devastating lows rather than consistent safety and respect.

Often what keeps someone in a harmful relationship isn’t love for the person as they actually are, but attachment to who they could potentially become. This “fantasy bond” involves loving a fictional future version of the person rather than accepting the reality before us.

Dominique wasn’t in love with her husband as he was – chronically dishonest and emotionally withholding. She was in love with who he had pretended to be (who she believed was the “real” him) in the beginning, and who he could be again if he overcame these tendencies and went back to his “real” self. Each small improvement reinforced this fantasy, keeping her invested in a future that never fully arrived.

Lucille experienced a similar pattern with her mother. After her father’s death, she clung to the fantasy that her mother would finally become emotionally available. When this didn’t happen, Lucille felt not just disappointed but betrayed – as if a promise had been broken, though no such promise had ever been made except in her own mind.

When survivors finally accept that this potential version of their loved one may never exist, they experience grief – not just for the relationship, but for the death of a dream they’ve held onto, sometimes for decades.

Love vs. Trauma Bond: How to Tell the Difference

The Existential Search for Love’s Logic

Beyond the biological mechanisms of trauma bonding lies an even deeper existential drive. When someone who should love us fails to do so consistently, we often find ourselves returning to check if love has finally appeared—not just from emotional need, but from a profound desire to make the world make sense.

This impulse operates below conscious thought, arising from our instinctive understanding that being properly loved is the natural order of things. The mind struggles to accept a reality where this fundamental need remains unmet by those designed to fulfill it.

It’s like desperately craving a hug from the person who just punched you—a paradoxical yearning that defies logic but speaks to our soul’s deep need for coherence. This creates a reflexive pattern where, even after painful interactions that logically should push us away, survivors experience an overwhelming urge to reconnect—as if drawn by gravity to repair the tear in the fabric of how relationships should work.

This isn’t merely attachment seeking security; it’s the human spirit seeking coherence in a situation that fundamentally violates our deepest understanding of how the world should function.

The Protective Shutdown: When Your Body Says “Enough”

Both Lucille and Dominique experienced moments of emotional detachment – periods when they felt numb or even disgusted toward people they had once deeply cared about. This numbing isn’t a character flaw or evidence of coldness; it’s a protective mechanism deployed by an overwhelmed nervous system.

Emotional numbness is your body’s way of protecting you from repeated emotional injury. When you’ve been hurt too many times in a relationship, your nervous system essentially “powers down” emotional receptivity to prevent further damage. This protective shutdown often involves the dorsal vagal response – a primitive survival strategy that conserves resources when fighting or fleeing isn’t possible.

Signs of this protective shutdown may include:

• Feeling emotionally “flat” or numb
• Physical distance (avoiding touch or proximity)
• Cognitive distance (difficulty remembering positive aspects of the relationship)
• Dissociation (feeling detached from your own emotions or body)
• Disgust or aversion toward the person who caused harm

For Dominique, her aversion to physical intimacy represented this kind of protective mechanism; her body wisely refused to remain vulnerable with someone who had repeatedly proven unsafe with her heart.

Rather than seeing this as “falling out of love,” we might understand it as the protective wisdom of a body and heart that value survival over harmful attachment. This emotional detachment represents the natural boundary that love requires to sustain itself. Just as our physical pain response prevents us from keeping our hand on a hot stove, emotional detachment prevents us from continuing to invest in connections that consistently cause harm.

For some survivors like Lucille, suicidal thoughts can emerge as the ultimate form of protective shutdown. In therapeutic approaches like Internal Family Systems (IFS), these thoughts are understood not as self-destructive impulses but as desperate attempts by protective parts of the self to end unbearable emotional pain when no other escape seems possible. These parts believe they’re helping—trying to protect the person from continued suffering when all other coping mechanisms have been overwhelmed. Recognizing these thoughts as misguided protection rather than character flaws can reduce shame and create space for healing. When Lucille’s suicidal ideation decreased after establishing physical distance from her family, it demonstrated how creating external safety can reduce the need for these extreme internal protective measures.

When Your Mind and Body Are on Different Timelines

For many survivors like Dominique, a confusing disconnect emerges between intellectual understanding and bodily response. Her mind had already cataloged her husband’s betrayals and recognized the relationship as harmful—yet something kept her physically unable to take decisive action toward divorce.

This mind-body gap creates profound confusion. “If I know this relationship is damaging me, why can’t I just leave?” survivors often wonder. “Am I weak? Do I secretly want to stay? Is something wrong with me?”

This mismatch isn’t weakness or contradiction—it’s your nervous system working exactly as designed. Your cognitive brain can process information and reach conclusions rapidly through conscious thought. Your body, however, changes more gradually, through lived experience rather than intellectual insight.

Dominique’s conscious mind understood her marriage was unhealthy, but her nervous system—shaped by years of intermittent reinforcement and trauma bonding—remained physiologically tethered to the relationship. Her body remembered both the pain and the occasional relief of connection, creating a complex web of neurological and hormonal responses that couldn’t be dismantled through reasoning alone.

This gap explains why many survivors experience the frustrating cycle of “knowing better” while feeling unable to act on that knowledge. You might intellectually recognize a relationship as harmful on Monday, yet find yourself deeply longing for that same person on Tuesday—not because your assessment was wrong, but because your body is processing change at its own necessary pace.

Healing this disconnect requires patience with your body’s timeline. Rather than forcing action before your nervous system is ready (which often leads to return cycles), focus on gradually building safety signals that allow your body to catch up with your mind. Small, consistent steps toward safety—like Dominique creating her separate bedroom—often prove more sustainable than dramatic gestures that overwhelm your system’s capacity to integrate change.

Harmful vs. Abusive: Understanding the Spectrum of Relational Harm

Relational harm exists on a spectrum – from consciously abusive to unintentionally harmful. While both can damage your wellbeing, understanding where someone falls can help determine whether reconciliation is possible or whether distance is safest. Many survivors struggle to categorize relationships that cause pain but don’t fit clear definitions of abuse. Is Lucille’s mother who failed to protect her from her father’s emotional neglect “abusive,” or simply “harmful”? Is Dominique’s husband who betrayed her trust repeatedly but shows a measure of remorse “abusive” or just deeply flawed? Does intention matter when the impact damages your wellbeing either way?

While impact ultimately matters more than intent, understanding these distinctions can help you navigate complex relationships and determine appropriate boundaries. Consider these differences:

Signs a person may be engaging in abuse:

• Pattern of control and domination (limiting your autonomy, monitoring behavior)
• Consistent disregard for your boundaries after they’ve been clearly communicated
• Calculated manipulation, including intermittent reinforcement to keep you attached
• Emotional punishment when you assert independence or challenge their behavior
• Denies harmful behavior even when presented with clear evidence
• Shows dramatically different behavior in public versus private
• Creates isolation from potential support systems
• Blames you for their harmful actions (“you made me do this”)
• Shows minimal genuine remorse that translates into sustained behavior change
• Uses threats (explicit or implied) to maintain compliance

Signs someone may be harmful without being intentionally abusive:

• Causes harm through passivity or avoidance rather than active control
• Shows genuine remorse and temporary improvement when confronted
• Their harmful patterns often mirror their own unhealed trauma
• Lacks emotional skills rather than deliberately manipulating
• Behavior is more consistent across different relationships and contexts
• May show real confusion or distress when told they’ve caused harm
• Has moments of genuine empathy and connection, though inconsistent
• Harmful behavior often emerges from overwhelm, fear, or limited capacity rather than from desire for control
• May accept boundaries once they truly understand them, though they might struggle to maintain this acceptance under pressure

Questions to help you reflect on your specific situation:

1. Does this person show different sides to different people, or are they consistently flawed?
2. When they hurt you, do they seem satisfied or distressed by your pain?
3. Have they shown capacity for change in other areas of their life?
4. Do you generally feel controlled by them, or disappointed by their limitations?
5. If they had more awareness and skills, do you believe they would choose to treat you better?
6. When they do show improvement, does it seem strategic or genuine?
7. Do they seem invested in your growth and independence, even if they struggle to support it?
8. When they apologize, is it focused on your pain or their justification?
9. Do you find yourself constantly researching their behavior to understand it?

Remember that these distinctions aren’t about excusing harmful behavior, but about helping you understand what you’re dealing with. Even well-intentioned harm can necessitate strong boundaries. The key difference is that relationships with non-abusive but harmful people may have potential for change if the person commits to sustained work with appropriate professional help and sincere effort, while relationships with truly abusive individuals rarely improve sustainably without profound intervention and change.

Your nervous system will often signal the difference before your conscious mind recognizes it. Trust that wisdom—it’s trying to keep you safe. When harm persists despite awareness, even well-intentioned relationships can leave us emotionally numb – a protective response we’ll explore next.

Affirmation: Understanding someone’s harmful behavior doesn’t mean I must endure it. My boundaries protect, not punish.

The Heartbreak of Growing Numb: When You Still Want to Love Someone Who Hurts You

Perhaps one of the most painful experiences for survivors is the disconnect between their hopes and their nervous system’s protective responses. This is especially acute when dealing with people who may not consciously intend harm but repeatedly fail to provide safety—particularly aging parents or long-term partners who seem to understand in some moments yet continue patterns that cause pain.

Many survivors face relationships where the harm isn’t constant or obviously malicious, but occurs in patterns of:

Inconsistent protection – Like a parent who acknowledges your pain in private but won’t stand up for you when it matters, saying they “don’t want to get involved” in conflicts between their children, even when one child clearly harms the other

Moments of genuine connection followed by devastating betrayals – Such as when a parent sincerely validates your experience and promises change, only to revert to harmful patterns when pressured by others

Passive enabling – When someone doesn’t directly hurt you but consistently allows others to do so, perhaps due to their own fears, dependency needs, or conflict avoidance

Selective awareness – When someone seems to genuinely understand in some contexts but becomes conveniently “unable to see” the problem in situations where protecting you would come at personal cost

These unpredictable patterns – where hope and harm alternate – create a special kind of pain because they offer just enough hope to keep you invested while repeatedly demonstrating that the person cannot or will not provide consistent safety. Your nervous system registers this inconsistency not as “sometimes safe” but as “fundamentally unpredictable”—a state that often triggers stronger protective responses than consistent harm.

When someone is unpredictable—loving one moment, hurtful the next—our nervous system doesn’t know how to respond. If a situation is always dangerous, our brain can adapt with clear survival strategies. But when the danger comes and goes without warning, we’re forced to stay on high alert all the time, never sure what’s coming next.

This kind of inconsistency creates deep confusion in our bodies and minds. It’s what trauma experts call disorganized attachment—a painful inner tug-of-war where we’re wired to turn to someone for safety, while also sensing that person might be a source of harm. It’s a no-win situation that leaves us stuck in a constant state of stress.

Imagine living in a house where the floor could give way at any time. Even when things seem calm, you can’t truly relax. That’s what it feels like to be close to someone whose love isn’t safe. Over time, this nonstop vigilance can be even more damaging than being in a situation that’s always hurtful—because at least in predictable pain, your brain knows when to brace itself. With unpredictable harm, there’s no off switch.

Many survivors express this heartbreaking dilemma: “I know they sometimes try. I see them understand in certain moments. I want to feel warmth and compassion toward them, especially knowing they won’t be around forever—but my body won’t let me. Instead, I feel dread, obligation, and guilt about these reactions. Why can’t I override this? Am I broken?”

This gap—between the compassion you wish to feel and the protective numbness your body imposes—creates a special kind of grief. This is a double grief: mourning the love and safety you deserved but never received, and the love you long to give but cannot safely express. It’s okay to ache for both.

This emotional numbing isn’t a moral failing or character flaw. It’s your body’s wisdom asserting boundaries that your conscious mind—influenced by cultural expectations, guilt, or genuine compassion for the other person’s struggles—might not be ready to establish. Your nervous system has reached its limit for absorbing harm while maintaining connection, even when your mind understands the reasons behind the harmful behavior. This numbness isn’t indifference—it’s often the aftermath of prolonged emotional strain. Think of it as your heart’s ‘calluses’ after years of walking barefoot over gravel.

Many survivors find themselves in an impossible bind: maintaining contact damages their wellbeing, yet distance triggers guilt and grief, especially with aging family members. The thought, ‘They’ll be gone soon, and then I’ll regret not trying harder,’ often overlooks a harder truth: you’ve likely been trying for decades. Healing isn’t about giving up—it’s about redirecting your care in ways that don’t demand your own destruction.

If you’re experiencing this disconnect, consider:

• Your emotional numbing doesn’t negate your compassion; it exists alongside it
• You can hold awareness of someone’s limitations and good intentions while still honoring your body’s need for protection
• The guilt you feel often comes from cultural messages that prioritize others’ needs above your survival
• It’s possible to wish someone well from a distance that protects your nervous system
• Healing may eventually allow you to feel compassion without the overwhelming need for protection, but this healing requires safety first

Remember that your nervous system’s protective responses developed for good reason. Rather than fighting against this numbness or judging yourself for it, you might view it as valuable information about what you’ve endured and what you need now to heal. Sometimes the most compassionate choice—both for yourself and ultimately for the other person—is to honor these protective responses while finding ways to express your values that don’t require continued exposure to harm.

Your numbness isn’t a wall—it’s a bridge. It carries you toward a future where compassion won’t require self-abandonment, and where love won’t demand your silence.

Affirmation: My body’s protective responses are wise, not cold. This numbness is keeping me safe, not making me heartless.

Read the rest of this article in the first book of Ellen’s series “There’s A Word for That”: https://a.co/d/0fA4uGN6

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

Photo Credit: Author, Substack

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

“I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.” – Virginia Woolf.

Virginia Woolf’s epic observation, often rephrased as “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman,” is a clinical analysis of a biased history that still continues to haunt many writers, especially in conservative cultures. Many adopted pen names or vague pseudonyms out of necessity.

History is full of these survival tactics. The Brontë Sisters published as Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell to avoid being “looked on with prejudice.” George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans) knew her work required a male name to be taken seriously. Jane Austen wrote simply as “By a Lady” to shield her family from scandal. Centuries later, E.L. James (Erika Mitchell) of “Fifty Shades of Grey” fame chose a pen name to write bold themes without judgment. And then there is J.K. Rowling.

For these writers, anonymity was a shield to navigate a world that punished their voices. Their narratives remind us how exclusion, gatekeeping, and the pressure to perform or disappear have long shaped who gets heard—and who gets erased.

Never  Hide Your Voice: Own it

‘If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.’ — George Orwell.

My experience has been a masterclass in life lessons. I speak only for myself here. I have anxiety, BPD, and mild ADHD, and I am no expert on human behaviour. Yet every time I think I’ve finally built a shield against toxic behaviour, life comes crashing with another powerful lesson.

Lack of Empathy, and Dehumanization

Truth be told, we are constantly surrounded by mirrors—people whose kindness, cruelty, manipulation, or love reveal who we are.

As humans, we cannot live as islands. We crave the security of community. Yet the dark irony is that we often judge others to feel we belong in a community.

We huddle into cliques, become self-appointed gatekeepers of groups, and decide who is in and who is out.

We use taunts and jabs by indirect implication. We hide behind herds, and God help the person who doesn’t fit the mold.

When “Your Circle” Weaponizes Power &Triggers CPTSD

For CPTSD survivors, the deepest wounds often come not from dramatic violence, the screaming arguments, the stinging blow of physical abuse, or getting sucker punched. It happens from slow, agonizing social isolation—whether chosen or weaponized by others. In my dysfunctional family, the people meant to be my safe haven hurt me in ways that still echo to this day.

Toxic families and friends can use exclusion and isolation to hurt you. This is a silent ban with a thousand cuts, delivered by people who claim to care about you.

The “Outcast/Blacksheep” Syndrome

I have anxiety, BPD, and mild ADHD; growing up in a dysfunctional family, my sister and I were the “unnecessary baggage” . We were outcasts because it was easier for the “strong adults” to trample the “weak children.”

“There is bullying, and then there is bullying of the worst kind; it’s called ‘social isolation… where you herd together ‘the strong’ and trample ‘the weak’ because there is strength in numbers.” — Jenney Clark, Don’t Be Afraid to Love

When you grow up with BPD, your nervous system learns that safety is conditional. You learn that if you don’t “perform” how the family wants, you will be cast out. This is the very definition of CPTSD. It is about the constant, looming threat of being abandoned, socially and emotionally.

Tales from the Trenches

Discrimination and bullying don’t end just because people become adults after they get their degree or a manager’s office. It just gets a more expensive haircut, a success or money-can-buy-anything uncivilized behaviour, and a “social” mask. I’ve seen it play out in my own life for years, through family, work, and inner circles. These are situations that shaped my life.

Consider the dynamic I encountered a few years back.

The Architect, a person with professional standing who never raised their voice. Instead, they used the “social snub”: inviting me to events only to exclude me from conversations, joking loudly with others just out of my reach. It was a clear power move signalling to the room: She is on the outside. It keeps you permanently on the outside looking in.

Not calling out such behaviour is tantamount to letting this form of bullying happen to someone else.

Then, there are the Bystanders. The ones who watched this happen. This person was the “silent enabler.” They will look at you, shrug, and justify the Architect’s behavior. “Oh, they didn’t mean it like that.” But their eyes will say, I’m just happy it’s you and not me. In a clique, silence isn’t neutral. By saying nothing, the Bystander becomes the enabler. If you dont speak out against a wrong, you are an accomplice.

Discrimination and Baiting Crowd: Why This Triggers CPTSD

Is bullying even more contemptible when it is done by adults?

For those of us with childhood trauma, these adult “toxic communities” are  retraumatizing. They mirror the “outcast” feeling of being unprotected and unseen. When your experience is invalidated as “everyone goes through difficulties,” it triggers a primal survival fear. Imagine opening your heart to trusted people and getting trolled for baring your soul to them.

It’s a psychological hijack. You feel like you are five years old, abandoned, and alone again

And the worst part? The gaslighting that follows—“You’re too sensitive,” “It’s all in your head”—is classic emotional abuse.

Choosing “Real Love” Over “Fake Safety”

The hardest lesson I’ve learned—and one I’m calling from the rooftops to my fellow trauma warriors is that you cannot find “healing” in toxic relationships.

If you’re feeling alone, consider this:

Call out the bully: Bullies are often cowards, and they no longer exist only on the playground. They exist on your social media as trolls behind the safety of a screen; they are in your teams and in your communities. Calling out their behaviour sets boundaries, stops the cycle of abuse, and asserts that their behaviour is unacceptable.

• Recognize people for who they are: Some people thrive  on security in numbers, rather than authenticity or inner resilience. Their need for control says everything about them and nothing about your worth.
• Forgive, but set boundaries: As for me, I forgave those who hurt me, yet I no longer allow them space in my life.
• Seek your genuine exceptions: Look for the rare souls who offer kindness when it costs them something—the “loyalists” who provide support and unconditional love.
• Refuse to settle: You are as worthy. Real love—authentic connection—exists outside the trolling and herd mentality.

Don’t shrink yourself to fit rooms that want to keep you out. Healing means refusing to let others define your story.

Practical Steps for Healing from Trauma

• Understand your triggers and patterns: Journal the ways childhood dysfunctions, bullying, and toxic behaviours have shaped your nervous system responses.
• Practice somatic safety: Gentle body-based practices such as grounding, mindfulness, and breathwork help “the fight or flight” mode that exclusion triggers.
• Build micro-connections: Start with one safe person or a small, values-aligned group rather than seeking large groups.
• Seek trauma-informed support: Therapies like EMDR, somatic experiencing, or CPTSD-focused groups can help with relational wounds.

While everyone’s journey is unique, in my experience, reaching out for support helps.  If you are experiencing any form of toxic relationships, bullying, adult bullying, or isolation, reach out to the CPTSD Foundation community or a trauma-informed therapist. You are not alone. The only person who can truly grant us freedom is ourselves. So, take your power back!!!

Resources & References

• Relational Trauma: CPTSD Foundation – Treating Complex Relational Trauma
  https://cptsdfoundation.org/2022/11/14/treating-complex-relational-trauma/
  https://cptsdfoundation.org/2026/02/19/the-hidden-legacy-of-relational-trauma-breaking-free-from-codependency-and-complex-ptsd/)
• Scapegoating Dynamics: Psychology Today
  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/family-dynamics
  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/tech-support/202104/how-toxic-families-choose-a-child-to-scapegoat)
• My Journey: Awakened Souls Podcast | www.jenneyclark.com
  

International Support for Adult Bullying, Trauma & Isolation:

• Befrienders Worldwide – Emotional support and listening services in over 90 countries (find local helplines): https://befrienders.org/
• International Bullying Prevention Association (IBPA) – Global resources for bullying prevention and intervention: https://ibpaworld.org/
• International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation (ISSTD) – Resources, fact sheets, and therapist locator for complex trauma: https://www.isst-d.org/
• Blue Knot Foundation (Australia-focused but useful internationally for complex trauma survivors): https://blueknot.org.au/ (Helpline: 1300 657 380)
• Support: If you are experiencing adult bullying, reach out to the Workplace Bullying Institute (a leading resource for adult and workplace bullying support) https://workplacebullying.org/
• Additional general support: StopBullying.gov resources for adults – https://www.stopbullying.gov/

If you’re in immediate distress or crisis anywhere in the world, reach out to a local helpline via Befrienders Worldwide or your country’s emergency services.

Photo by Luke Leung on 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

As a child, I trembled at the thought of my brother being drafted into war, picturing his desperate flight to Canada, hitchhiking in disguise to avoid the draft. The terror of conflict consumed me, its senseless carnage etching itself into my soul.

Decades later, my godson toyed with enlisting. I pleaded with him to reconsider, but at his boot camp graduation, I stood frozen, watching young, ebullient recruits chant of killing and conquest. Horror gripped me. 

I understand this is the purpose of boot camp training: to indoctrinate human beings into an unnatural state of being, of allegiance and obedience. 

It’s similar in our family ancestral line, our schooling (vs. education), our religious systems, and our social structures…

What if we trained these beautiful young recruits for peace instead…

And what if peace is our innate impulse…

I refuse to believe humans are born for war and rather envision that war is becoming obsolete. I suspect a darker force has conditioned us across millennia, twisting our nature. What if we broke free from this programming in every system that has touched our lives? What if we tuned into our hearts and unlocked our true potential through the quiet power of discernment?

This has been my journey in recognizing my toxic systems of influence and CPTSD triggers – going within and rewiring my inner systems. 

Please consider pausing to reflect: Where did toxicity take root in your life? School? Family? Work? Religion? 

Trace the moments when obedience to something wrong bent your path. Then, turn inward, claim your authentic choices, and stand tall. 

Your discernment is your power, your sovereignty, and your strength. 

Living true to yourself liberates you and ultimately can light the way for others to break free, too.

Susan Gold guides her clients to break free from toxic systems, empowering them to live authentically from the heart and embrace their innate intuitive abilities. Visit her website, https://www.susangold.us/, and YouTube channel, https://www.youtube.com/@susangoldismagical, for free resources, including her inspiring new podcast, Gold Conversations. Tune in as guests reveal their transformative journeys—awakening from toxicity to thriving in alignment with their true selves.

Featured Image Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash

Other image provided by author

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.

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.

Toxic systems are those practices, behaviors, and structures that prioritize control, dysfunction, or harm—often at the expense of individual freedom, authenticity, and well-being. In today’s complex and turbulent climate, that’s a lot to unpack.

The truth is that many of us are unaware of the toxic systems we are entrenched in, enabling, or impacted by. These systems often emerge subtly, embedded within ancestral patterns, education, workplaces, religion, cultural programming, healthcare, societal institutions, and more.

As this volatile year comes to a close and a new chapter begins, let’s take a closer look at the defining characteristics of toxic systems and reflect on how they may be affecting us:

1. Imbalance of Power

Toxic systems often centralize control, disempowering individuals in favor of a privileged few. This imbalance exploits and represses the majority to maintain its structure.

2. Fear and Dependency

These systems foster dependency for survival or success, using fear, manipulation, and psychological tactics like gaslighting to undermine your confidence and autonomy.

3. Clouded Transparency

Information is distorted, withheld, or manipulated, ensuring decisions remain hidden while dominance is asserted. This leaves you disempowered and unable to advocate for yourself effectively.

4. Severed Authenticity

Conformity is rewarded, while individuality is punished. You may feel pressured to fit a mold or adopt predefined roles to gain acceptance or success.

5. Cycles of Exploitation and Abuse

Toxic systems exploit your time, energy, money, or emotions without adequate return or acknowledgment. These cycles leave you feeling depleted and devalued.

6. Resistance to Change

Change agents are often ridiculed, ostracized, or punished. Rigid traditions and unyielding practices block evolution, ensuring the toxic system’s survival at the expense of growth.

7. Psychological and Emotional Harm

Participation in these systems often leads to feelings of guilt, shame, and anxiety, leaving you drained, dehumanized, and disconnected from your own power.

8. Conditioning and Indoctrination

Rituals and repetitive messaging enforce compliance and discourage critical thinking, creating deeply ingrained patterns of acceptance.

9. Intergenerational Patterns

Toxicity can be inherited through family or ancestral lines, perpetuating harmful beliefs and behaviors that reinforce the system over time.

10. Punishment for Defiance, Rewards for Compliance

Nonconformity results in exclusion, retaliation, or loss of resources, while compliance is incentivized with privileges, safety, or acceptance.

11. Isolation and Disconnection

Toxic systems thrive on disconnection from nature, self, and community. Isolation prevents unity and shared resistance, keeping individuals trapped within the system.

Recognizing these dynamics is the first step toward dismantling harmful structures and reclaiming your power. Whether the toxic system exists at work, in school, within your relationships, governing bodies, or even in your own mind, awakening to its influence is vital to returning to your natural wisdom and authentic power.

As the global paradigm shifts toward higher consciousness, maintaining balance can be challenging. To support your journey, I’m offering a complimentary 30-minute grounded activation session to help you feel nurtured, centered, and connected. Together, we can work to cultivate clarity, reduce frustration, and align with your inner truth.

👉 [Click here to schedule your session]

Additionally, I invite you to visit my YouTube channel for weekly inspiration designed to gently awaken you from toxic systems and guide your transformation.

Here’s to a life-changing, empowering, and joy-filled 2025. Let’s step forward together.

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.

Grandma Clare, my stepmother, is a narcissist. Over the past decade, I have set boundaries and distanced my family from her emotionally abusive behavior.

“It would be weird for the average person to invite their twenty-two-year-old granddaughter, who still lives at home with her father, mother, and younger sister, over for a birthday celebration while not inviting the rest of the family,” I acknowledged. “But unfortunately, it’s classic Grandma Clare behavior. She doesn’t typically consider other peoples’ feelings.”

“So, should I go,” Harper asked. “I’d like to see Grandma and Grandpa; it just feels strange going by myself.”

I encouraged my daughter to go to dinner and spend time with her Grandparents since she wanted to see them. Even though my stepmother was self-centered and manipulative, Harper’s had a decent relationship with them over the years, and I always fostered that for her sake. Harper was the first-born grandchild, so Clare was fond of her. Sadly, the novelty wore off when my second daughter, Abby, was born, and Clare has mostly ignored her.

When Harper came home from dinner, she had half a birthday cake.

“Grandma insisted I take the rest of the cake home,” Harper told us. “I told her no thank you a few times, but she pretty much forced me to take it.”

Harper filled me in on some updates about her cousins and said it was mostly an enjoyable time, with a handful of awkward silences. I smiled and told her that I was glad she enjoyed the dinner.

After Harper left the kitchen I looked at the half-cake sitting on the counter with a lump in my throat. Clare makes that cake for everyone, for every birthday. It was the cake I had for each of my birthdays throughout middle school and high school. And even though I am the one who opted to go low contact with that side of my family, looking at that cake brought me to tears.

It triggered a mix of emotions in me. I felt hurt and anger from being reminded of my tumultuous teenage years growing up without my own mother, who had passed away, and being raised by a stepmother who didn’t care much for me, to put it mildly. I also experienced resentment because I’d done a lot of work to heal and grow, putting boundaries in place to protect myself and my family, and it could all be shaken by something as absurd as a cake. I was surprised by grief, a sense of mourning the loss of my relationship with the family I grew up in.

My husband walked into the kitchen as I was about to leave, “Are you okay?”

I told him what was going on and said, “I don’t want Harper to see me upset, I’m glad she has a relationship with them. It just hurts to see that cake, the cake that was a part of the family that I used to be a part of, but I’m not anymore.”

Harper was coming back towards the kitchen and overheard us talking, and a few days later, she approached me. We talked about the cake and Grandma Clare.

“At first, I thought Grandma was just trying to be nice by having me take the cake home,” Harper said. “But after hearing you and Dad talk, I had a conversation with my friend Emma about it. You know Emma’s a psych major, right? She said it sounded like triangulation.” Harper went on to tell me she looked it up and read about how triangulation is used to play favorites and pit one person against another so that the manipulator feels a sense of control and supremacy.

“I think Grandma may have had me take the cake home on purpose to get to you,” she disclosed. “I know that sounds like a bit much, but I tried to tell her I didn’t want the cake, and she literally made me take it home.” Harper continued, “And then hearing how it did upset you made me think that may have been her intention. I know you don’t really talk to her anymore, so the only way she can bother you now is through other people. I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Harper, you have nothing to apologize for,” I reassured. “Her psychologically abusive behavior is the reason I opted for low contact all of those years ago. She tends to pull in her favored kids and grandkids close while snubbing the ones she doesn’t like as much. Sending you home with cake certainly could have been her way of showing me what I’m missing. Her using you to bring something home that would get a reaction out of me does sound like a triangulation tactic,” I admitted. “But it’s also a good reminder that we can engage with her if and when we want to, yet we do not have to succumb to her ploys of manipulation. Doing what we’re doing right now, communicating openly with each other, will hopefully shut down future attempts to influence us. Instead, we can dismiss them as her pitiful attempts to feel superior to others.”

Photo: jaison-lin-6OjROsQH4Qw-unsplash.jpeg

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.

Our workplace behaviors often serve as a reflection of our personal histories. For many, unresolved childhood trauma subtly influences the way they interact with colleagues, handle responsibilities, and manage challenges. While the effects of trauma are deeply personal and vary from person to person, there are common patterns that can emerge in professional environments. Recognizing these signs is the first step toward fostering understanding, empathy, and healthier work dynamics.

In this article, we’ll explore how past trauma can shape workplace behaviors, identify key signs to watch for, and offer practical strategies for fostering a healthier relationship with work. Whether you’re recognizing these patterns in yourself or others, this guide will help you better understand the hidden impact of trauma and provide tools to navigate it effectively.

The Invisible Impact of Childhood Trauma

Trauma doesn’t remain confined to the past – it shapes our perceptions, coping mechanisms, and relationships. At work, these influences may appear in ways that are often misinterpreted as personality quirks or professional shortcomings. However, these behaviors are often survival strategies that individuals have carried with them since childhood.

Here are some of the ways childhood trauma can manifest in the workplace:

• The burden of excessive independence
• Overextending beyond your limits
• The inability to set boundaries
• Perfectionism and the fear of failure
• Struggles with trust and authority

The Burden of Excessive Independence

A strong sense of independence can appear admirable, but for some, it stems from a deep fear of relying on others. Individuals who experience this may avoid asking for help or delegating tasks, believing that doing so could inconvenience their colleagues or expose perceived vulnerabilities. For instance, consider an employee who insists on handling every aspect of a project on their own, even to the point of exhaustion. This excessive self-reliance might mask an underlying belief that seeking assistance is a sign of weakness.

Pushing Yourself Past Your Limits

Many individuals with a history of trauma struggle to prioritize their own needs. They may feel compelled to take on more responsibilities than they can manage, often running on empty while continuing to give to others. This pattern may stem from a desire to feel valued or avoid feelings of rejection. Picture a colleague who constantly volunteers for new projects, even when their plate is already full. Despite the strain, they push forward, often neglecting their well-being in the process.

Struggling to Set Boundaries

Boundaries are essential for maintaining balance and protecting one’s mental health, but for some, the fear of disappointing others can make it difficult to say no. These individuals might take on additional tasks or responsibilities, even at the cost of their own energy and peace of mind. Imagine an employee who agrees to lead a major project despite being overwhelmed with other commitments. Their inability to decline may stem from a deep-seated fear of letting others down or being perceived as unreliable.

The Drive for Perfection and Fear of Failure

For many people, childhood trauma instills a relentless fear of failure. This can manifest as perfectionism in the workplace – a need to exceed expectations in order to feel secure or worthy. While striving for excellence is not inherently bad, it can become unhealthy when driven by anxiety or self-doubt. An employee caught in this cycle might spend hours perfecting minor details or overanalyzing feedback, often at the expense of their mental health and productivity.

Struggles with Trust and Authority

Past experiences with unreliable or controlling figures can lead to difficulties in trusting authority or colleagues. This may cause individuals to question others’ motives or avoid collaboration, even when it is unnecessary. For example, someone who struggles with trust might hesitate to share ideas in meetings or prefer to work alone, fearing that their contributions won’t be valued or respected.

How to Support Yourself or Others

Recognizing these behaviors as potential signs of trauma is a powerful step toward understanding yourself and others. By addressing these patterns and seeking support, individuals can begin to break free from the shadows of trauma and create a more balanced and fulfilling professional life. If you’re ready to take the next step in your journey of recovery, consider joining TAR Anon™, powered by STAR Network™. 

TAR Anon is a free, safe, online, and anonymous worldwide program dedicated to providing emotional regulation, co-regulation, and healing from complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD).

Through research-based Steps, Promises, and the support of trained mentors, TAR Anon offers a compassionate community where you can connect with others, access valuable resources, and share your experiences – all at NO COST. 

You’ll find a space for support, understanding, and growth.

The STAR Network and TAR Anon invite you to become part of a supportive community where healing becomes possible. 

Together, we can transform childhood mirages into real oases of hope and resilience. Join TAR Anon and take the next step in your recovery today.

Photo by Desola Lanre-Ologun on Unsplash

This manipulative strategy, designed to isolate and control, often pulls loved ones into the narcissist’s web to unknowingly serve as “flying monkeys”—trusted people who, often without realizing it, carry out the narcissist’s agenda. 

For anyone healing from the trauma of narcissistic abuse, understanding this tactic is crucial to reclaiming peace and support.

A close friend of mine recently experienced the heartbreak of this firsthand. After a difficult separation from his covertly narcissistic ex, they began to share custody of their young son. Despite his efforts to co-parent and provide stability, his child became a victim of parental alienation—a painful outcome common when a narcissistic parent is involved.

My friend has fought hard, from court actions to therapy, only to find his every effort blocked or undermined. His only option now is to be a consistent, loving presence for his son. But even that is threatened by the narcissist’s manipulation of family and friends, who have been influenced to interfere and isolate him further.

Over time, he noticed his own family members coordinating with his ex to schedule visits that clashed with his planned time with his son. Gradually, he found himself feeling isolated and abandoned by those closest to him—a deeply painful experience for survivors of narcissistic abuse. His family, likely unaware, had become “flying monkeys,” unknowingly doing his ex’s bidding and further alienating him.

Understanding “Flying Monkeys” in Narcissistic Relationships

In the context of narcissistic abuse, “flying monkeys” are those the narcissist recruits to spread gossip, spy, or serve as go-betweens. Narcissists are skilled at presenting themselves as victims, twisting narratives, and recruiting allies—especially those who are empathetic or wish to “keep the peace.” 

For my friend, his father became a flying monkey, choosing to stay in contact with the narcissist to keep access to his grandson, even if it hurt his son. His mother, seeing herself as a “rescuer,” started defending his ex, buying into the narcissist’s portrayal of being the reasonable parent. Another friend, struggling with his own insecurities, sided with the narcissist, seeing it as a way to feel powerful.

Narcissists are adept at manipulating family members with seemingly innocent phrases like, “I just want what’s best for our child” or “I’m trying, but he makes it so difficult.” This subtly plants seeds of doubt, gradually making family members suspicious of the actual victim instead of the narcissist. The resulting trauma from this isolation can trigger or deepen Complex PTSD, eroding trust, self-worth, and connection to loved ones.

Why Family Members Side With Narcissists

Family members may choose to align with the narcissist for various reasons, often because it’s easier to accept the narcissist’s narrative than face a painful reality. Some may have their own unresolved issues that the narcissist skillfully exploits, leading them to betray or distance themselves from the survivor. 

If you’re dealing with a narcissist who has recruited flying monkeys, here are some steps to protect your mental health and regain a sense of control:

• Set Boundaries: Limit what you share with those who seem aligned with the narcissist, even if they’re family. Not everyone deserves access to your inner life.
• Detach Emotionally: Narcissists and their allies often thrive on emotional reactions. Responding with calm, clarity, and minimal detail can lessen their hold on you.
• Surround Yourself with Supportive People: Seek out friends and allies who understand your journey, will validate your experiences, and won’t be swayed by manipulation.
• Prioritize Your Mental Health: Remember, healing comes from recognizing that your well-being and authenticity come first. Trauma recovery and healing from CPTSD are possible, especially when surrounded by genuine support.

Family loyalty can be a powerful force, but in the hands of a narcissist, it can also become a tool of manipulation and control. This isolation and betrayal can trigger deep-seated trauma, and healing from such wounds requires community and support.

Finding Community Support and Healing

For those struggling to find genuine community and healing, STAR Network offers resources like TAR Anon™, a trauma-informed fellowship dedicated to supporting survivors of narcissistic abuse. Through TAR Anon, survivors find a safe place to share their stories and learn from others who have been there. This “family of choice” offers compassionate support for rebuilding self-worth, resilience, and trust—away from the reach of narcissists and their flying monkeys.

If you’re experiencing the isolation, pain, and CPTSD that narcissistic abuse brings, know that you are not alone. Recovery is possible, and with the right support, you can find a path back to yourself, reconnect with those who genuinely care for you, and heal from the trauma inflicted by narcissistic manipulation.

The young woman sitting to my right began to cry. “I have worked so hard to make a home. I hold down a job, I do all the housework, and I try to be pleasant, but no matter what I do, my husband stays mad. He comes home mad. He leaves mad. He slaps me. He insults me. I’ve tried everything I know, and nothing has worked. What is wrong with me? Maybe if I made more money. Maybe if I just tried a little harder. I wonder every single day what I am doing wrong. We argue and fight, and I talk and talk and talk. Still, I just can’t figure it out. What is it? What am I doing wrong?”

Unable to keep my mouth shut, I piped up. “I can answer that.”

That’s how abusers work. They make you think their behavior is your fault.

Dead silence fell over the room. The young woman’s eyes grew wide as she stared my way. Gaining the full attention of the room, I shared my insight. “Nothing,” I said. “The answer is…nothing. There is nothing you did to cause it, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. That’s how abusers work. They make you think their behavior is your fault.”

After watching the wheels turn in her head for five seconds, she spoke. “I cook, I clean, I work so hard. I just can’t figure it out. I know I’m not perfect, but I just can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. Maybe if I…” and on and on, she went as if I had not said a single word. She was convinced she was causing the abuse and, therefore, had the power to stop it.

How could she possibly not see the self-blame? And why could I see it so easily in her and not myself?

I was a bad child. A very bad child. I talked too much. My fun-loving nature was obnoxious. Nobody wanted to be around me. I caused trouble everywhere I went. In addition, I was cataclysmically stupid. Why did my parents have to have a child like me? Doomed to failure, I was inherently bad. I was the reason my parents were so unhappy. I was the reason our family was so troubled. I tried everything. Nothing worked. So I decided to try and disappear. Even being quiet made no difference. I could never disappear enough for the abuse to stop. As an adult, according to my parents, I was a stupid idiot. Too dumb to make a decision, too unsuccessful to be loved, I lived under my parents’ condemnation for decades, believing in the depths of my soul every bit of blame they sent my way. Their abuse continued as long as I remained in contact. I was over fifty years old before I finally said NO MORE.

Why would anyone stay in an abusive relationship for so long?

But more to the point…Why do victims of abuse blame themselves instead of believing the truth?

Like my friend from the support group, I went round and round in my head, trying to discover the reason I had always been such a problem. I discovered that blame and, more importantly, self-blame follow a pattern.

Why self-blame cements itself in childhood trauma:

People are more likely to blame themselves when abuse occurs within interpersonal, close relationships, such as with a parent or spouse. Vulnerability and dependence are both hallmarks of these close relationships, giving the abuser a wider as well as deeper swath of access.

The following are some of the reasons self-blame cements itself in the heart of a child.

1. Children believe their abuser
2. The abuser is seen as “normal” or a pillar of the community by others
3. When children try to tell, the abuse is either downplayed or not believed at all. Sometimes there is no one children can tell.
4. Abuse is all the child knows.
5. When a child tries to stand up for themselves, the abuser uses it as justification for more abuse
6. Self-blame is often the only way a child can control an unbearable and uncontrollable situation.
7. Self-blame is a survival technique
8. The loss of the relationship is so threatening blaming yourself feels safer than admitting the truth
9. The abuser has trained you (brainwashed you) to blame yourself
10. Chronic feelings of guilt, anxiety, and shame are temporarily relieved by blaming yourself.

Signs you are blaming yourself

-people pleasing
-feelings of self-hatred
-compliments make you uncomfortable
-conflict avoidance
-difficulty with trust
-attributing success to luck
-self-sabotage
-sensitive to rejection
-struggle with boundaries
-seeing yourself as responsible for everything that goes wrong

The Thought Process Behind Self-Blame

I should have known better
I should have said no
I should have stood up for myself
I should have used my voice
If I had been a good child, I would not have been abused
If I could figure out how to please my parents, the abuse will stop
If I can be successful, I will finally be loved

How to Stop Blaming Yourself

I don’t want to stop at the causes and symptoms of self-blame. The word paradigm means a standard, perspective, or set of ideas. To stop self-blame, there must be a paradigm shift at the deepest level of who you are. Join me in part II of this blog series on creating a paradigm shift and stopping self-blame in its tracks forever! Defy trauma, embrace joy.

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/2024/07/03/987497922/feed/ 4 987497922 https://cptsdfoundation.org/2024/04/17/denial-a-sign-of-a-toxic-family-system/ https://cptsdfoundation.org/2024/04/17/denial-a-sign-of-a-toxic-family-system/#respond Wed, 17 Apr 2024 16:55:25 +0000 https://cptsdfoundation.org/?p=987488878 Denial was a key component of my toxic family system. I could feel that big fat elephant in the middle of the living room. Most often, I chose to tip-toe around it. As an empath, I could clearly feel the tangible reality of the insidious storyline the denial would create. Speaking up and naming the truth could lead to a fierce punishment. I refrained from poking a hole through the denial’s dense cloak in exchange for some faulty sense of safety through allegiance. Mind-fluffing screams of “you’re crazy,”  “you’re making up stories,” or “you lying son of a *itch” would come flooding my way in spewing torrents if I didn’t obey. 

Denying the problems within my toxic family system while rationalizing, making excuses, or deceiving myself was what I ultimately was programmed into believing. And when fidelity to denial became my mantra, it helped me to fit into that broken system, sometimes. 

 It also gnawed at my own sense of sanity, self-worth, and mental well-being. Secrets were sealed into place with emotions askew, beaten into submission, and placed into some ancient ancestral closet, never to see the light.

My body is often my key to decoding the denial scenario

The learned coping tool of denial transferred into my adult life. Though it did give me time to process my emotions, it mostly has led me to behaviors I saw demonstrated while growing up, addictions, and being locked into relationships and work scenarios well past their expiration date.

Seeing through denial by surrendering the pretending and bravely calling circumstances as I see, feel, and hear them with a calm, level, and non-judgemental grounding is more often my unshakeable reality now.  My body is often my key to decoding the denial scenario.

Shallow breathing, a dry mouth and feeling heat in my face or ears or sometimes a bone chilling cold all over my body are a few of the somatic alarm bells.  I’m able to give myself the space to believe in myself, trust what I sense, give my body the credit due and honor by exiting the circumstance if I’m not able to instantly address the pretending, placating or excuses that often come up around unhealthy denial.

Processing the circumstance with a trusted friend, professional, or by writing is helpful, and then choosing whether or not I want to confront the situation are my next steps. This reprogrammed and learned behavior is leading me to authentic security, safety and a semblance of true value and self-worth from the inside out.

Denial is just one sign of many in a toxic family system.  Many of us don’t even realize we’ve grown up amongst dysfunctional systems until adulthood and red flags begin to surface similar to those we witnessed in childhood. I’ve created a free, short digital course called Signs of A Toxic Family to help us all work through a few of the signs, remnants, and tools to heal after growing up in a dysfunctional home.  Just scroll down to the footer of my website:  https://www.susangold.us/, join the email list and receive the free course.

Wishing you well on your journey and please know we are all in this together.

Contributor Susan Gold is an author and transformationalist. After growing up in a toxic family system, she now helps others through similar trauma, leading with heart and love. Her YouTube video posts are at: https://www.youtube.com/@susangoldismagical