The Black Sheep Hath Landed

When we were kids, I would climb trees or run wild with the boys, and Melanie would sit in a corner playing with dollhouses or reading a book. To get her to participate in any game was a herculean task. She disliked playing outdoors, didn’t like to socialize or attend birthday bashes, and kept to herself… The consequence of being kids from a dysfunctional family created two extreme personalities. I guess that’s how psychology works: in the absence of love and attention, you either withdraw into a shell or go out and seek it with a vengeance.

Poor Mel bore the brunt of my unpredictable personality. I drove her crazy by demanding attention, fighting, and bickering to get what I wanted ad hominem.

Full-Blown ADHD: Summer Days Drifting Away

One summer, I found myself bored and without company. All the neighbors were off for the holidays. But my 8-year-old mind wanted excitement, so I decided I wanted Mel to play with me. She refused even as she sat reading a book beneath the shade of a gooseberry tree, too busy to comply. I strode over, irate that she thwarted my plans. Above her head, nestled in the branches of the tree, hung a beehive, buzzing with activity; an evil, impish grin took over my face. I picked up a stone, threw it at the conclave of humming insects, and ran for my life. A clueless Melanie remained seated when, all of a sudden, piercing stings rained on her body from every direction. She ran, yelling and screaming, while I stood there, hands on hips, wondering if she would be ready to play now. Needless to say, Granny thrashed me, and that got me sobered up really fast.

My ADHD was definitely in full swing. Being precocious and hyperactive, I devised every possible prank and scheme to get my way. I was spirited and stubborn, a combination that was exhilarating for me but challenging for the adults trying to supervise me. My mother was busy dating and paid little attention to us, which allowed me to run wild and create chaos. I would kick, scream, and plot to get what I wanted. My grandmother would sit me down and warn me, but a brat wants what a brat wants. Mel endured my endless tantrums and fights without complaint. Eventually, when I turned 11, I had to grow up, as that was when my mother left us to get married, and her priorities changed.

Grandma: My Parent, Teacher, and Best Friend

After a year at boarding school, my mom, who often delayed fee payments, moved us to Uncle Lionel’s house. Grandma lived with us, too. After Grandpa passed away, she primarily stayed with Melanie and me because she wanted to look after us. She was the only one who genuinely cared about our well-being and taught me important values that I cherish. But we had our share of fights. I was a tough kid to raise—mischievous and pigheaded. Grandma would raise the cane, and I’d challenge her to “thrash me.” A few minutes later, we’d either be laughing or I’d be sulking, and she’d come to comfort me. Sometimes, I regret making her cry with all my antics, but beyond that, we were blood… Though she was my grandmother, she was the only real mother figure I ever knew. Our bond was incredibly precious.

Today, she is no longer with us, and I feel her absence deeply. I cherish the memories of walking to college with my sister; that journey took us an hour and was filled with laughter and dreams. Our grandmother, with her caring nature, always made sure we had a hearty breakfast before sending us off. Mostly, we would scrounge for pocket change to buy shampoo sachets, a small treat that felt like a luxury. On festive occasions, Grandma would lovingly stitch dresses for us. The fact is, she was one of the few people who understood that trauma lay beneath my hyperactive ADHD traits.

Phobias and Mischief

I vividly recall my tomboy phase, a time filled with adventure and mischief. I would climb trees, play with boys, and raise hell. My greatest joy came from racing across the fields with my neighbors and playing games like hide-and-seek and seven stones. I was also friends with Melanie’s classmates, who were the older boys.

A drawback of my childhood was my intense dislike of lizards. I have carried this phobia with me ever since. Being Indian means living with the many varieties we see here. My friend Donna aptly calls them “flycatchers.” I remember being afraid of the lizards darting around in Grandma’s garden. The chameleons especially revolted me, and boys, as usual, zeroed in on my phobia. Whenever they had a chance, I was chased with plastic lizards, live ones, and every color of lizard in between. Being the hellraiser I was, I always got my revenge one way or the other. “Don’t mess with me” was my motto.

 Also, these reptiles remind me of other dark moments, like being locked out of my home in the dark of night as a form of punishment for my hare-brained schemes. It was traumatizing for me, like many other such incidents, but I took it, and I suppose it toughened me. You might say chameleons are symbolic of how one can also adapt to a situation and protect oneself.

Quirky and Quirkier Friends

Since I was a social oddity, my friends tended to be like me. Damien was one such friend and Melanie’s classmate. He had an impish smile and a bag full of tricks. He was forever into tomfoolery and loved making wagers. During my teen years, I dared him to shave off his mustache. Sure enough, the next day, he showed up bright and early, completely clean-shaven. Everyone thought it was funny, but not Damien.

Over the years, I noticed that my choice of friends was different. I preferred buddies based on their character and kindness, not their popularity. They were unique, both male and female, and I usually had nicknames for them. I had this friend Sandra, whom I named Jack, and she called me Mike because I liked Michael Jackson.

 I still don’t mind being an oddball; I’ve always said normal is boring.

Summing up: What Children Believe, They Become

Yes, childhood trauma can increase the risk of ADHD symptoms.  Kids with ADHD especially need special care, including cognitive behavioral therapy and a strong support system both at home and in school. More importantly, engaging in activities that keep their curious minds busy can significantly help with impulse control. Don’t blame a child with ADHD; they are still learning how to regulate their emotions. Recovery from ADHD is a journey that takes time and patience. The CPTSD Foundation offers Daily Recovery Support and a Trauma-informed weekly newsletter for individuals healing from complex trauma.

In the end, remember this: family, friends, and love are all that truly matter. Let go of all hatred and set yourself free. If someone has hurt you, forgive them and embrace love, because love conquers all.

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Names of people have been changed to protect their identities. 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.

Jenney Clark

Jenney Clark is an Indian author and poet, best known for her book “Don’t Be Afraid to Love.” She has published eight books, including “Magic of the Ancients,” and hosts a podcast titled “Awakened Souls.” After leaving a successful job in the service industry, she pursued her passion for writing and became a life coach. Raised in a small town in India she discovered her psychic abilities at a young age and developed a strong interest in Tarot, astrology and numerology. She enjoys connecting with a diverse range of friends, including artists and writers and lives in a cozy “cubby hole” in Hyderabad with her dog, along with her beloved books and music

jenneyclark.com/

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.

Jenney Clark

Jenney Clark is an Indian author and poet, best known for her book “Don’t Be Afraid to Love.” She has published eight books, including “Magic of the Ancients,” and hosts a podcast titled “Awakened Souls.” After leaving a successful job in the service industry, she pursued her passion for writing and became a life coach. Raised in a small town in India she discovered her psychic abilities at a young age and developed a strong interest in Tarot, astrology and numerology. She enjoys connecting with a diverse range of friends, including artists and writers and lives in a cozy “cubby hole” in Hyderabad with her dog, along with her beloved books and music

jenneyclark.com/

Trauma as a Wound

The word trauma comes from the Greek word for wound. As author and trauma expert Gabor Maté points out, the two words are perfectly analogous in a number of ways. Wounds create a sensitive area that is painful to the touch; trauma makes us sensitive to emotional triggers. Wounds are covered with scar tissue that is inflexible, numb, and doesn’t grow; trauma’s impacts on a person can be described with precisely the same words. Trauma, therefore, can perhaps best be understood as a psychological wound.

With trauma, however, we have the opportunity to actively heal rather than passively wait for scar tissue to form. Rose Kennedy once said: “It has been said that time heals all wounds, I don’t agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but is never gone.” Here she’s referring to what most of us typically do with our trauma: wait for time to make it better, ignore it, or hope it goes away. One need not look too carefully at the state of the world to see how this is working out.

Cause & Effect

It’s important to differentiate between trauma and traumatic event; the latter being the cause of the former. We often think of trauma as being what happened, but it’s actually the internal consequences of what happened – how it impacts us today, and what we make it mean about ourselves. In the words of some of the world’s trauma experts:​

“Many people think that trauma is the terrible event that happened to us. But trauma is the response that happens within the body’s nervous system.” – Thomas Hübl (mystic, healer)​

“Trauma is not an event. Trauma is how we react to certain things that happen to us.” – Esther Perel (relationship psychotherapist)​

“Trauma is not the story of something that happened back then. It’s the current imprint of that pain, horror, and fear living inside people.” – Bessel van der Kolk (trauma psychiatrist)

Overt vs. Covert

Traumatic events are often divided into two categories. The first of these is the more obvious one: Specific, overt events such as physical abuse, sexual abuse, or a car accident. Such events can inflict an immediate trauma on an individual, which if not addressed will often manifest in various ways for the rest of their lives.

​The second type of traumatic event is more subtle (covert) and is often called developmental trauma. Here, the traumatic “event” is a prolonged misattunement between a child and his/her parents, resulting in pain for the child. Children have certain fundamental needs that, until the last few thousand years, were consistently met throughout our evolutionary history. When these needs aren’t met – as is quite often the case in modern societies – trauma results. Developmental trauma, therefore, is most often what didn’t happen rather than what did happen.

The resultant traumas from these two types of events are often distinguished as Big-T and Little-T trauma. While I understand the intent behind this language, it’s not phrasing that I use. There is nothing “little” about Little-T trauma. Not only is developmental trauma more common, but its insidious nature makes its impact on a person’s life harder to recognize. Many pathological behaviors, thought patterns, and tendencies – both at the individual and societal levels – are the result of pervasive developmental trauma and are so common today that they’re considered normal. Recognition is an important first step.

Note that this is by no means an intent to minimize overt trauma. The point is simply that both types of trauma, in my view, warrant equal attention.

The Effects of Trauma

Whether overt or developmental, trauma is a spectrum – and we’re all on it somewhere. The extent to which it affects us in our day-to-day lives is often shocking to discover, but the key to keeping in mind is that all of these impacts are coping strategies that, when they originally formed, were very intelligent responses to the environment. These adaptations came along to protect us, typically as a result of trauma during childhood, and at first were quite effective at doing so. Over time, however, they become maladaptive.​ When we say that someone “has CPTSD”, it is their trauma adaptations that we’re referring to.

Coping strategies are like puppet masters in the unconscious, controlling our behavior to a far greater extent than we imagine. But there’s a good reason for this: to our unconscious, these adaptations are matters of survival. They came along to quite literally help us survive. The level of importance that the unconscious, therefore, assigns to these strategies is precisely why it can be so difficult to turn them off. It’s also the reason why resisting them, as we’re so often prone to do, is generally destined to fail. (See the Turning against the Self section below.)​

Below are some big-picture ways in which trauma adaptations impact us.

Disconnection from the Self

Trauma disconnects us from who we are, in the sense that coping strategies and adaptations aren’t fundamentally the real “us”. We tend to identify with these behaviors, not realizing that our real selves are hidden underneath. Someone may say, for example, “I’m a very anxious person”. But their true self isn’t anxious – the anxiety is simply a trauma response.

Another way of viewing this is that trauma splits off portions of us, which will then cause problems until they’re healed. As Thomas Hübl writes, “To survive, the person’s system splits off the physical, emotional, and mental experience of the trauma. If we don’t integrate that fragmented part, it will create side effects or symptoms that we call suffering. These symptoms will continually call our attention back to that unresolved past.”

Trauma also disconnects us from our bodies, causing us to view our bodies as something separate from ourselves. This is known as disembodiment and is a whole subject in of itself. The gist, however, is that when we view our body in a strictly utilitarian kind of way, we will tend to treat it marginally, ignore its wisdom, and even consider it a liability.

Disconnection from Life

We often operate in what might be called a semi-conscious trance state: mindlessly going from task to task, place to place, barely conscious of the individual decisions we’re making or the actions we’re performing. The classic example of a person going for a drive and not knowing how they got to their destination – being on autopilot, so to speak – describes a lot of our day-to-day lives far beyond just driving. While the intent isn’t to suggest that we “should” be 100% conscious at every moment, it’s interesting to consider just how much of our lives are lived semi-consciously, and what this might mean with respect to free will.

Disconnection from the Present Moment

Trauma disconnects us from the present moment in a number of ways. In day-to-day life, we tend to think that we’re reacting to the present, but often we’re reacting to the past. When someone triggers us, we can be sure that what is being triggered is past trauma. But even more subtly, the adaptations and coping strategies that we use are all based on the past – so we’re living in the past whenever we employ them. As mentioned above, in many cases we identify with these adaptations so much that we can’t separate from them – the result being that we’re living in the past, to some degree, at essentially every moment.

This can also show up when embarking on a healing journey. Trying to modify or get rid of our adaptations in a top-down kind of way – resisting or fighting against them – is another way of not being in the present. We disrespect who we are right now by trying to force change upon ourselves in order to become “better”. In this way, we live in the future rather than the present. This fake future can entrap us when we focus on a healing destination (“I want to fix myself“, “I should be more developed than I am“) rather than the journey (bringing curiosity and compassion to one’s patterns, and having a growth mindset).​

Trying to live more in the present is wonderful in theory, but one needs to take into account that not being present was the better option during painful times. Thus, a tendency to live in the past or the future is yet another trauma adaptation. And like all the others, resisting it tends to not work – as anyone can likely attest who, when scatter-brained during meditation, has tried to force themselves to be more present.

Turning against the Self

Just as we can identify with trauma adaptations such that they seem like they are truly us, so too can we turn against them and make them the enemy. This can take shape in the form of resisting emotions/behaviors that we consider bad, criticizing ourselves, or blaming ourselves for our past (or its resultant coping mechanisms). This creates what might be considered a psychological autoimmune condition. In medicine, the term autoimmune condition refers to the immune system attacking the body’s own tissues. Over time, this causes immense damage and can lead to death. The mind’s version of this is no less severe: negative self-talk is a chronic condition for many of us, despite how “normal” it may seem.​

Strange as it may sound, however, turning against the self in this way is also a coping strategy – one that served a valuable purpose when we were young. It is also a purely emotional response that doesn’t take direction from the intellect. For example, if someone tends to blame and shame themselves for their childhood (or adulthood) misery, they’re likely quite aware rationally that it’s not really their fault. But neither the person telling themselves to stop doing it nor someone else telling them will likely have an effect. This adaptation, therefore, warrants the same open curiosity and compassion as any other.

Living in Endurance

As a result of our coping strategies, we often end up largely living a life of endurance – enduring the parts of ourselves that we don’t like, enduring maladaptive thought patterns, enduring unpleasant and repetitive emotions, enduring behaviors that we subsequently regret, and enduring how others trigger us. The calling within us to heal is the part of us that doesn’t want to endure any longer. Honoring this part of ourselves is the beginning of our journey.

Becoming Whole

The word heal evolved from an Old English word that meant to make whole. While today we typically think of healing as curing or eliminating what ails us, its older definition was broader in scope, and recognized that humans strive for wholeness. While the specific meaning of wholeness could be debated, what’s clear is that trauma takes us away from it. Trauma disconnects us from ourselves by splitting off, shutting down, and hyper-activating various parts of our minds and bodies.

The healing journey is therefore one of returning to wholeness by reconnecting with ourselves. How precisely this is achieved will vary for each person. From therapy to yoga to psychedelics, the list of available modalities is a long one.

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.

Terry Baranski

www.healingtheself.net

Trauma-Centric Mental Health Practitioner and Parenting Coach

Internal Family Systems (IFS), Compassionate Inquiry, Therapeutic Coaching

 

A fugue state is a temporary state where a person has memory loss (amnesia) and can end up in an unexpected place with no memory of how they got there. They may appear confused about who they are, and where they are going and in some cases may not remember anything from their life before this fugue state occurs. 

Dissociation is a ‘splitting of the self’, as though a part of a person gets cut off and pushed to the side. It is almost always a Trauma response and a ‘Protective Trauma response’ at that. The brain is exceptionally clever at protecting our sense of self and so, if a trauma occurs that would be too destabilizing for a person to remember, the brain dissociates. This is exceptionally common for sufferers of Complex PTSD, though there is a wide range of phenomena when it comes to dissociation.

Imagine dissociation is on a continuum, at one end you have the ‘auto-pilot’ drive to work, and way at the other end of the spectrum you have DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder AKA Multiple Personality Disorder). There are so many variations and levels of dissociation in between. Some people may experience the feeling of ‘looking at their life from the outside in’, others may feel as though they are moving in slow motion.

You have Depersonalisation and Derealisation on that scale. Derealisation is where you feel the world around is unreal, as though you are in the Matrix except, like the main character, you are the only one awake. Depersonalization is where you have the feeling of being outside yourself and observing your actions, feelings, or thoughts from a distance; it’s described as more of an ‘out of body experience’.

Dissociation is, in essence, a detachment from the self due to high stress and it is prevalent within CPTSD.

Dissociative amnesia is when a person simply cannot remember things. Whether that is certain parts of their life, their name, the trauma they have endured, or a specific day. It’s as though someone has hijacked their brain for a time, again it’s a protective inter-psychic coping mechanism. Again, unfortunately, this is also widespread among those who suffer from CPTSD.

According to professionals, Dissociative Fugue is not usually associated with a singular trauma (PTSD), it is almost universally synced with Complex Trauma and a reaction to a triggering event. It’s an extreme response and extraordinarily rare, so rare that most Mental Health professionals have never even consulted on a case.

If you are losing time, more so than you may normally with the ‘normative’ dissociation and you are finding yourself in random places it is worth discussing DFD with your General Practitioner, Psychiatrist, or a trusted person involved in your primary care.

https://www.nhs.uk/mental-health/conditions/dissociative-disorders/

https://www.nhs.uk/mental-health/conditions/dissociative-disorders/

https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/symptoms/22836-dissociative-fugue

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.

LWK

About Me:- Who am I?

Well, first off what does that even mean? How do I answer that? As a human being I am always growing and developing, we are not human-dones now are we? Who I am today is technically, a little more than who I was yesterday and a little less than I will be tomorrow.

For the ‘traditionalists’ … I’m from the South of the UK. I have a Law Degree, almost finished with my Counselling and Psychology degree and I work with teenagers as a progression mentor, a large number of whom suffer with challenging behaviour, mental health conditions and physical impairments. I have a published book called ‘Maybe it’s just a thing…’ and I used to teach music privately, having retired from performing on stage.

blog63094.wordpress.com

I was finally old enough to go to school and get away from my mother’s screaming, beatings, and sexual abuse. My older brother and I smiled together as we got on the school bus that day. We were both glad to be getting away.

First grade was the first time in my life I felt understood. I loved everything about school. The snacks, the smell of mimeographed worksheets, learning how to read and write, the playground, and most of all, I loved my teacher, Mrs. King. She was one of the first adults who ever loved me back. It was a glorious year. And then…it came to an end.

I overheard my parents talking. “I can’t stand the other second-grade teachers,” my mother growled. I knew my mother was ramping up for a full-on tirade. She happened to be a second-grade teacher at the school where my brother and I attended. I flattened myself against the wall and continued to eavesdrop. 

“I mean it,” my mother continued. “None of them is any good. I’m not going to have it. I’m just not going to have it. That child isn’t going to learn a thing.” Over and over she went.

“Oh, for God’s sake, what do you want?” My father snarled using his usual tactic of intimidation. This was the constant dynamic in my family. My mother would screech and scream their complaint, finally wearing my father down. He would explode and either give her what she wanted or detonate in a rage causing a blanket of silence to fall over the house for several days. He was capitulating early this time. I was surprised.

“I’m going to put her in my classroom next year.” my mother gloated.

My blood turned to ice. All my mother ever dreamed had finally come true. She must have found out how happy I was with Mrs. King. Hated at home, and she was going to see to it that I was hated at school as well. 

Second grade passed in a blur. There was nowhere to turn for help. My mother perched herself upon a wooden teacher’s throne, exuding power and total control. Now, not only could she beat me at home, she could beat me all day long at school. And this time, she had an audience of twenty pairs of eyes to witness my shame. The principal had no idea what was going on. Besides, she was my mother, she could do whatever she wanted, and she took the opportunity to focus special attention on me. 

She made sure the classroom knew how stupid I was. I did bad work. I had bad handwriting. I couldn’t behave. I was wicked, dumb, and lazy. In fact, on all counts, I was the worst kid in the classroom. I was trash. Worse than trash. I did not deserve to live. All the terrible things my mother did to me during the years I was under her thumb at home happened all day long at school. 

Suddenly, my worksheets became indecipherable, confusing symbols. I could not understand the simplest directions or make sense of the math problems. Reading became difficult and nothing, nothing would ever be the same. The joy I felt with Mrs. King faded away never to return. I lay my head on my desk in defeat. My mother won. No matter what I did, my mother was always going to come out on top. For the rest of my academic career throughout high school, I was a strong D student. I graduated—just barely.

Let’s take a step back and ponder the pattern occurring in this story from my childhood. Look at the absolute genius of my mother. It is a perfect example of covert abuse. Placing me in the role of scapegoat, she was able to create and justify all of my shortcomings and thus, her abuse. And she did it in a public way without any reasonable adult the wiser. In fact, because no one ever intervened, in my childish mind, I was sure everything she said about me was true. I had no other experience to measure her lies and abuse against.

Roles in family systems follow a pattern. When you see the pattern emerge, you are able to bring understanding and change.  I’d like to answer two questions regarding patterns. How do abusers do it? And why do abusers do it?

How Abusers Commit Covert Abuse

The how. Dysfunctional and narcissistic parents divide and conquer by placing family members into different roles. In my family, my father was the head narcissist and the only person allowed to show anger. My mother was borderline histrionic and mentally ill. Both enabled each others’ behavior. Both focused their main attack on my older brother and I. My father set himself up as the “good” parent but in truth, he was the puppeteer. My mother was designated as the problem and the family orbited around this narrative. 

The following are just some of the usual roles found in abusive family systems. They can overlap and apply to children as well as adults. This is just a general guideline.

The Scapegoat– The child placed in the role of scapegoat, as seen in the story above, is chosen to carry the toxic feelings and emotions of the parent. It is a way to distract from or take responsibility for, their own problems and behaviors. It empowers the narcissistic parent and gives them the control and the narcissistic supply which they so crave.

The Caretaker– Also known as the enabler or martyr, the caretaker tries to keep everybody happy. Constantly picking up the pieces, the caretaker child (and sometimes the adult) stands in the way of the dysfunctional family ever facing the truth or the adults ever taking responsibility for their actions.

The Hero- To the untrained eye, the hero looks well-balanced and successful. Seeking to be perfect and to gain high achievement, the hero seeks to calm the dysfunction within the family. To outsiders, the hero confirms the idea that all is well.

The Mascot– The mascot serves as a sort of joker in the family. Using humor to distract from dysfunction, the mascot performs and tries to please and diffuse the situation before the parents have a blow-up or things get out of control.

The Lost Child – In this role, an attempt is made to disappear. By fading into the background, this child tries to find safety by hiding. Parents use both the hero role and the lost child as proof of how wonderful the family is doing. The lost child never causes any trouble.

The Golden Child– Similar to the hero, the golden child is chosen to carry all the positive traits of the family. Especially seen within narcissistic systems, the golden child can do no wrong, but love is always given conditionally and the role is not as positive as one might think. It is filled with fear and anxiety. Never being seen for who they really are, which is the case for all these roles, this behavior destroys a child’s sense of self, their emotional life, and the way they see themselves in the world. It has life-altering consequences. 

Why Parents Abuse Their Children

The why. This is one of the hardest questions a survivor of chronic childhood trauma will ever try to answer. Why would a parent treat their own child this way? The simple answer? People resort to abusive behavior in order to avoid dealing with their own emotional turmoil. And it does not stop when the child grows up. Abusers continue to demand adult children continue in the same broken patterns using blackmail and manipulation to ensure that they do. Oftentimes, the only way to stop the abuse and begin to heal is to leave the system altogether and cut off all contact.

Coming to a place where your heart’s belief embraces the truth is a life-long journey. It is the very essence of what it means to defy trauma. You had nothing to do with the family problems and you have no power to fix them. The only power you have is over yourself. The only change you can affect is to change the present—to heal, and to embrace joy for yourself. Come with me on this journey about relationships as we break the patterns of the past and finally find the way to who we were truly meant to be. Defy trauma, and embrace joy.

Receive this newsletter and others like it with exclusive videos and downloads by signing up at https://authorrebekahbrown.com

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

Rebekah Brown

Rebekah Brown, a native of the south, now resides in the Great American West. Surviving a complicated and abusive family system makes her unique writing style insightful as well as uplifting. Rebekah is the proud mother of two and grandmother of four.

My name is Elizabeth and I am a survivor of sexual childhood abuse and unspeakable trauma. Before I tell you my story, I want you to know that no matter how bad your life is, there is always hope. I lived in the darkness for a long time during my most vulnerable childhood years. I know how hard it can be just to exist. I almost gave up living many times but even in my darkest despair, I somehow found it within me to carry on breathing.

I survived and so can you. You are a lot stronger than you think.

I grew up unwanted, right from the start. An innocent baby girl born to the wrong parents. I was born into a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. As a very young girl, I got caught up in a secret sex ring where my so-called father was in charge and loaned me out to vicious sexual predators for their enjoyment. I suffered sexual abuse throughout my entire childhood and I desperately tried to seek help from the adults around me. They chose to sit by and watch me suffer and ignore my cries for help, even my schoolteachers, doctors, and psychiatrists! I was forced to witness several violent sex murders in front of my eyes. All of them happened right next to me whilst I was being raped or restrained. These will forever haunt me and I believed I was next. That fear made me start planning my escape.

My fear of being murdered propelled me throughout my childhood. I had to use different coping strategies to survive in any way I could. I survived in an environment where most kids would not. I lived so that I can tell my story and I am hoping that the world will change. No child should ever have to suffer sexual abuse or any kind of trauma. As part of my healing, I wrote about my life in my book: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds available on amazon.com

In my book, I tell my childhood story as I desperately battle to survive in the worst possible environment. Sexual abuse must stop and those responsible should be accountable for their actions. No one should have to suffer child abuse. It helped me to know that I was not alone and that is why I wanted people to know my story.

My plan to escape did eventually come true but I had to wait until I was 18. I knew that for me to survive, I had to leave everyone behind me and take a big leap, and hope that everything would work out. That meant cutting all ties from everything and everyone I had ever known. It was not an easy path to get to where I wanted to be but I was strong, determined, and stubborn. I kept overcoming every obstacle and person in my way and I pushed and kept going until I could start my own life. I was determined to break free because I wanted a life as my friends had with their parents. A life filled with love and happiness. I craved it like air in my lungs. I deserved to live my life, the way I wanted to live it. You can do this too!

Once I did break free, I was completely alone and I had no money. I had to get a job to support myself. It is easier said than done when you arrive in a foreign country and have no work experience. I was lucky and I found work but it was like being tortured, to begin with. I was hated and treated like a slave. I washed dishes, mopped floors, and cleaned bathrooms for a while. I stuck with it because going back was not an option. I managed to save my tiny salary and put myself through college night school and then I got myself into university. After I got my degree, I went from strength to strength. I opened doors, I never knew possible just a few years previously. My world had been closed to me but now suddenly, it was wide open! It was an incredible feeling!

I now live in a happy home with my husband and children. I am surrounded by friends and I have a job that I love. I settled far away from where I grew up. I will never completely heal from my past but I have a bright future surrounded by love as it should be. I treasure my life because I had to fight for it. I am who I chose to be. Every day is a gift and I go where I belong.

If you are fighting, take each day as it comes, and remember your life matters. You matter! The world is waiting for you to open those doors. Go ahead! If I could do it, so can you!

Sometimes I stop and listen to my breathing

My beating heart is a wonderful feeling

Hearing the wind blowing the leaves in the trees

the waves cascading in the sea breeze

feeling the sand underneath my feet

seeing the land and the ocean meet

smelling a meadow of wonderful flowers

I feel rich and alive in the sun’s power

The simple joy of someone’s laughter

In our beautiful world for us to look after.

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Elizabeth Woods

For more about me: https://www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Elizabeth Woods grew up in a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. Elizabeth is passionate about spreading awareness of what it is like to survive after trauma. She is the author of several books and has written her memoir, telling her childhood story: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds, available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.

Elizabeth is also the author of “Living with Complex PTSD” and the Cedar’s Port Fiction series: “Saving Joshua”, “Protecting Sarah”, “Guarding Noah” and “Bringing Back Faith,” and “Restoring Hope,” available here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BCBZQN7L/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=7e223b5b-1a29-45f0-ad9d-e9c8fdb59e9c&ref_=ap_rdr&ccs_id=931f96e2-c220-4765-acc8-cc99bb95e8bd

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/

If you grow up in a loving family, you meet family friends and you build friendships like a wide net around you. It’s a bit like a spider’s web of networks all around you, supporting you. The more you socialize, the better you become at it. As an abused child, communication and socializing do not happen as it does in a loving and supporting environment. Most often there is no communication at all or it is manipulative and one-sided. A relationship based on threats and fear can never blossom into a good relationship. Therefore, as a victim of abuse, you have no net, no spider’s web of amazing network friends who can help you as you are ready to take that first leap into society. That leap is scary for anyone but as a victim of abuse, it is like leaping into a black hole. You have no idea what is coming next but you put yourself on the line because it can never be as bad as where you have been.

A Fresh Start

I had to start all over again when I took my leap, and I was absolutely terrified. I got a passport to prove my identity, in secret and I had saved up money to buy a plane ticket as far away as possible. I wanted to get as far away as possible from my family so they could never hurt me again. I felt like I was completely alone, which in fact – I was! It felt like I had to take on the whole world one step at a time. I trusted no one and I was ready to sleep rough if I had to. First, I had to learn social cues and how to talk and be around people after I had cut ties with my family. I had done my research over the years and learned to ask my way forwards to where I wanted to be. It was not easy and I practiced in front of the mirror a lot. I knew where to go and get a job to make enough money for a studio apartment. I also knew that the apartment would be located in one of the worst places to live in the city, but I had no possessions other than a few old clothes, my notebooks, and my guitar. I didn’t really care where I was, I was away from THEM. When I closed my own front door that first day, I closed my eyes and sank down onto the floor, and sobbed. Relief and terror are all catching up with me. I had made it somehow. I was free and I had a job as a dishwasher/cleaner in a restaurant. Things were looking up.

I did my best to wash and clean whilst I was constantly on edge. My colleagues were teasing me as the new girl. It was just harmless banter from young adults my own age, but I didn’t respond the way the others did to the jokes. I was jumpy and soon became “weird”. One of the lads touched my shoulder once. It was harmless but I screamed so loud the whole room went deathly quiet. He had startled me. I was constantly exhausted those first few weeks, overlooking my shoulders for danger. I wasn’t used to working hard labour and I was fully alert for anything and everything. I had no idea then that I was suffering from Complex PTSD. I was having nightmares most nights, but my dreams were so full of terror they didn’t make sense. I was worried my abusers would find me and drag me back to my old life.

My stay in the apartment was short-lived because I just couldn’t make the rent. My meager savings ran out and as a dishwasher, I had miscalculated the rent and bills even for the hovel studio I got to call home. I was lucky and fell into an ad agency looking for live-in nannies. I relished the opportunity because by the end of that week I would be homeless. I was hired and suddenly I had upgraded my hovel for a room in a huge house in the suburbs. I thought I had struck gold!

As the reality of my zip code kept dazzling my brain that I was safe and in the perfect family home, I slowly started to fall back to earth. My landing was hard and painful. I was a nanny to the snobbiest, spoilt little rascals who abused me with endless teasing using their parents to make my life into a new nightmare. The parents hated me and felt threatened by me. ME!? Why on earth would anyone be threatened by me? I wouldn’t hurt anyone! The family asked me to clean their house as well as all their washing and childcare. This included the parents washing and sheets. My job was as a nanny but I ended up being a slave. The family had the heating turned off in my room so I ended up sleeping in full clothing and a hat and gloves when it was winter. My hands and lips were blue as I shivered in the cold. My room was on the end of a wing and had two outside windows, so I felt the cold all right. On top of that, the family chose to not heat the house and only heated the main room where they all spent their evenings. I was not invited. I was the help. Nothing more and once my “duties” has been done, I was expected to leave the house. I lived there! They wanted me gone because the parents thought I was listening to their conversation. They were important figures in society and my presence was not welcome. The family refused to give me their spare car and so I had no option but to walk to wherever, every single night. My trust in other human beings was at that point on an all-time “rock bottom”. I was cold and wet pacing the streets and avoiding being arrested in the winter. In the summer I could hide in the parks for hours and write. You probably wonder why I didn’t leave. I guess the answer is that as bad as it was, I had somewhere to go to call “home”. The kids were horrible because all their previous nannies had left and until I had stayed with them a while, they wouldn’t trust me. I stayed because I felt I couldn’t sink any lower or do better. Until I came up with a plan, I would put on my smile, get up each day and be the best nanny I could be. The house was beautiful, the shower was a new power shower, and no one timed me in the bathroom. The family allowed me to bake and I got the kids to help me. It opened up a bond with them and slowly they began to trust me. I played my guitar with them and got them to sing and practice for their school play.

As a thank, you, the mother in the family helped me to sign up for college night classes in the city. It was a college with a great reputation and I couldn’t believe my luck. I discovered I could get a train into the city. My classes got me out of the house for longer, giving the family their privacy, they wanted. My first class was hard because I was too nervous to join in. I found it difficult to speak other than my name. As those first few weeks went by, I found that I was more than capable to do the work. In fact, it was too easy, so I got bumped up to the advanced class. After a few months, I was teaching that class on my own. In those months, I learned how to communicate with people. I still had my “spidey sense” about people. Somehow, I knew straight away if I was going to be able to trust them eventually or if they would hurt me. The little hairs at the back of my neck would never lie as they stood to full alert if I felt something was off. I learned that all of society is not bad and out to hurt you. Most people have no idea what you have been through as a survivor. It is not written on my forehead in invisible ink. I never had a tattoo that said worthless and stupid like I believed, ignoring my common sense. I was the right age for a college student, and I made new friends who were my own age. My little friend network was starting to form.

My friends realised I had lived a hard life and they helped me buy clothes that fit me and were trendy. They helped me open a bank account for my hard-earned cash and I was able to get a volunteer job on the side which turned into paid work. After 18 months I had opened enough doors to manage my own life so I left the family and I could stand on my own two feet. I rented a room from a little old lady who just wanted company after her husband had died.

How did you manage that first year away from your abusive family? Who did you turn to? Where did you go? Life does carry on. It is one of the hardest things you will do but if you are like me, you have no other option. There are many of us out there, still surviving after abuse. You can do it too. Hang in there!

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Elizabeth Woods

For more about me: https://www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Elizabeth Woods grew up in a world of brutal sex offenders, murderers, and inconceivably neglectful adults. Elizabeth is passionate about spreading awareness of what it is like to survive after trauma. She is the author of several books and has written her memoir, telling her childhood story: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds, available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.

Elizabeth is also the author of “Living with Complex PTSD” and the Cedar’s Port Fiction series: “Saving Joshua”, “Protecting Sarah”, “Guarding Noah” and “Bringing Back Faith,” and “Restoring Hope,” available here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BCBZQN7L/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=7e223b5b-1a29-45f0-ad9d-e9c8fdb59e9c&ref_=ap_rdr&ccs_id=931f96e2-c220-4765-acc8-cc99bb95e8bd

www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com/

Disclaimer: Partners in Men’s Health and Tar Tales — Change for Children.

No one goes into a relationship wanting a partner who is mean, manipulative, and controlling. In most cases, the partner seems fine in the begging. They may be rough around the edges, but the good sometimes outweighs the bad.

Then, their true selves begin to show. They become plain insufferable! You’re soon in a relationship with someone for a long time, and ending things is just hard.

While you can’t always see the real face of your partner until a long time has passed, there could be subtle red flags early in the relationship that may indicate that they are not relationship material. You should reconsider whether or not you want to devote your life to them. Here are some red flags to look out for. Seeking professional help from an online therapist (PMH)can be effective in talking you through red flags in a relationship.

You Must Justify Their Bad Behavior

Your relationship shouldn’t consist of writing apologies for your partner. Sometimes, there is a reason for the undesired behavior, but often you are trying to take something inexcusable and use mental gymnastics to excuse it. If you find yourself doing this, it is a red flag.

Your Family And Friends Don’t Like Them!

The cliché of the overly critical parent has made some people brush off any criticisms family members may have of their partner. Still, sometimes, they might be onto something. If you generally respect the opinions of your family or friends, it’s worth examining how likely it is that they’re completely wrong about disliking your significant other.

This isn’t to say that you should break up with your partner just because your parent or friend doesn’t like your partner. However, you should listen to their words and try to look at them objectively, as your family and friends could be hinting at smaller yellow flags that could become one major red flag down the line if you ignore them.

They Don’t Want To Take Responsibility

No one has their life fully together, especially if the two of you are young. If your partner is in a bad situation, such as not having a job, it doesn’t mean they are not worthy of having a romantic relationship with you. However, if they are always making every excuse under the sun as to why they haven’t had a job yet or won’t change another problem they have, they may not be worth dating and could be a deal breaker. You’re in a relationship, not babysitting. A lack of accountability is always a relationship red flag!

They Just Can’t Apologize

One of the cornerstones of a good relationship is apologizing and compromising. Couples will get into fights or be wrong about things, and apologizing is a great way to hold accountability and help repair the problems you will inevitably face.

However, if your partner won’t ever admit they were wrong or apologize for something they blatantly did, then this may be a sign of a bad relationship. Some people have a hard time admitting fault, which can make your relationship’s future more complicated.

How can the two of you grow if one refuses to admit their flaws?

What To Do When You Experience These Red Flags?

We are all flawed people, and your partner will likely have some flaws or traits you don’t like. If you experience a few red flags, it may not necessarily be a reason for you to cut ties just yet. They may not be aware of their behavior, and what you perceive as a red flag could be an honest mistake and not deliberate. If they’re willing to make a change, they will spend time listening and trying to improve their behavior. If they get aggressive and attend therapy just to break up then maybe it’s time to end the relationship and try to find someone who does want to grow with you.

1. Know Your Boundaries

Trust your gut if you think you’re in an emotionally (verbal or psychological) abusive relationship. Know when it’s time for your partnership to end. Certain circumstances are intolerable, and a deal breaker and these relationship red flags are one of them.

2. Watch Out For Manipulation

Some people want to manipulate you. Overtly verbal or emotional abuse is wrong. You could be spending energy trying to fix something that will stay broken. Some people don’t give others respect, and that’s an issue and one of the most common red flags in a relationship.

Sometimes manipulation might not appear negative on the surface, however. Love bombing is a common strategy used in unhealthy relationships by manipulative and abusive partners, too.

You need to focus on your mental health, and a person who negatively wields power over you is not healthy. Unfortunately, some people are out to hurt others. You can find someone who treats you well and doesn’t have anger management issues or manipulate your feelings for their gain. If you’ve told someone multiple times to stop doing the behavior and they don’t listen to your boundary, that’s a problem. It can even involve silent treatment! A manipulative person lacks integrity, and they might not even realize what they’re doing to you, but their excuses do not justify behavior that makes you feel bad about yourself.

Speak Up!

It can be difficult to speak up when you feel unheard. Some people are focused on their voices and forget to listen to others. If you’re in a relationship where your partner isn’t listening and lacks self-awareness, it’s okay to point out that you have things to say. If you advocate for yourself, you will probably feel more empowered. It can contribute to your personal growth. If you find that your partner brushes you off every time you stand up for yourself, that’s a red flag that something isn’t right. It’s crucial to speak up for yourself.

Everybody has a story to share. That is why we created the TAR Tales website, where you can share your experiences with the rest of our community and help us raise awareness of the victims of domestic abuse. We invite you to speak up and share your survival and recovery stories. Why? Because it is beneficial for your healing and will become the foundation of international public health, educational, and awareness campaign.

Sharing stories is the only way we can connect as humans.

Learning more about someone and their story enables us to understand them on a different level and form a deeper connection. For those of you who are struggling to open up, remember:

Safety is not the absence of the threat, but the presence of connection.

Guilt Isn’t a Reason to Stay.

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Milena "Mila" Stankovic

Milena “Mila” Stankovic is a Co-Founder at STAR Network, TAR Anon and Partners In Mens Health. Milena “Mila” Stankovic is a mental health advocate & ambassador , screenwriter, writer and creator. She covers clinical and experience-based standpoints on topics such as Toxic Abusive Relationships, trauma, CPTSD, Toxic Families,  Parental Alienation, and Narcissism. Mila provides practical, vulnerable, and real-life examples to help those who have been abused to overcome their fears. She will help you heal: one article at a time. She is also a Please check the organizations which are still under development here:

https://partnersinmenshealth.com/
https://tartales.org
https://starnetwork.org
https://taranon.org
If you wish to write and share your stories and get in touch with Mila, please contact her at mila@starnetwork.org

medium.com/@milena-koljensic

Every year I battle depression during the holidays, and every year I judge myself for seeing the world through glass-half-empty lenses. Because let’s be real, no one actually likes the glass-half-empty relative or co-worker!  

 This year is a bit different though. Make no mistake, I’m still depressed! But I have a year of Internal Family Systems therapy under my belt this year. And the cardinal rule in IFS is: all parts are welcome. Even the grouchy ones! 

What’s Internal Family System?

Internal Family Systems (IFS) is a psychotherapy approach that identifies and addresses sub-personalities or families within a person’s mental system.

Every part of my system has an identity, a purpose, and a story. And together, my parts’ varied interests, feelings, and concerns created something beautiful. 

My internal family created: my survival.

 I have an Anxiety part, an Anger part, an Inner-child, and even a Shame part. 

On the good days,  I cope with my CPTSD triggers by letting my parts speak to me. By letting my internal family speak through me. Whether it’s art or poetry or music-  I feel more grounded and grateful after my parts say their piece. Their worldview makes more sense, and I can’t help but feel an influx of radical empathy for them. For their stories. 

So today, I allowed Christmas Graffiti, the fiery, cynical, and sad part of me who hates Christmas, to share her story. I nicked named her after graffiti because, much like the style of art, her views defy societal norms. And Graffiti could care less about anyone’s expectations.  Here’s a bit of her monologue! 

Meet Christmas Graffiti 

Christmases were consistently bad from year 7 of this lifetime forward. 

That was around the time my mother buried her pain in church and was all but consumed by the Prosperity wave of the Pentecostal movement. … If you just thought: “Well, Whereeeeee was Brittany’s Dad?”

I’ll answer your question- with a question: 

WHERE WERE MOST OF OUR DADS?!? Like most of my close friends growing up: 

1. Church was norm 1 
2. Poverty was norm 2 
3. War- level emotional violence was …

Graffiti’s Favorite Christmas

Anyway, my favorite Christmas of this lifetime is year 17! 

It was so simple and sweet! Everyone was happy that day. Dream Girls on a loop. I remember Chinese food and Starbucks and smiles and laughter. I remember WARMTH. 

Still no Fathers 👀 but … If Adam would have been there, I’d stamp that memory #perfect! 

I think of that memory sometimes when my mind and my heart get really quiet. You know, when I’m lonely.  I try not to let my mind wander there this time of year though. Because, within seconds, my nostalgia settles into the depths of what Abraham Hicks calls: contrast. That’s the part of our existence that teaches us what we don’t like … what we loathe. 

When I sit in my dark room for too long…  I’m reminded of the nuances that make me detest our favorite Christmas. 

Graffiti’s… Not So Favorite Memories From Year 17

You see, in Year 17, we ALSO lived off Avenue K in Arlington. There were up to 8 of us in a 1 bedroom apartment. 

1234567 … EIGHT! 

No beds, no furniture, no abundance, and still no Fathers 👀. 

Just sleep pallets! The few friends I had at Lamont High never understood why I refused to invite them into our shabby apartment after school. 

I’m sure they assumed I had a beautiful crib. Because kids with parents who drove Audis and Hummers usually had beautiful cribs! In 2006 anyway! 

Tracy from UTA was the first friend I invited inside that empty, dingy little apartment. I felt safe letting her witness my shame. Tracy grew up middle class, but somehow it felt like her heart held as much sorrow as mine. Somehow I knew she’d be kind. And I was grateful that she never asked why I didn’t have my own room or a bed or even a couch! 

I’m still grateful today! 

Anyway- it bothers me that I’m such a cynic.  Mostly because it bothers Brittany. She’s on the whole: be positive, manifest the life you want, and write a gratitude list wave. 

So, I’m the grinch destroying her Christmas season, so to speak. 

 I’m a bit like a recurring thumbnail that won’t erase no matter how much Brittany tries to bury me. But I can’t help what replays in my head constantly. I can’t help that I remember the worst parts of our favorite Christmas the best. And I can’t help that the worst Christmas in this lifetime is stamped across every holiday season. Undoubtedly, our worst year was year 14! 

Graffiti’s Worst Christmas Memory 

Hand me that little canvas would ya? It was my, I mean her, Brittany’s freshman year of high school: 

• Haltom City 
• Park Vista Section 8 Apartments 
• Filth 
• Me, mom, and my brother shared a room in Jessie’s house 
• Jessie had 4 sons 
• We had no beds 
• NO fathers (👀) 

There were pallets! One for Brittany, one for her baby brother, and one for her Mom. 

And all we got on Year 14 were socks and these off-brand candies. They were these tri-color gummy, round candies! Our gifts along with the Turkey loaf Jessie doctored up for us were from a local charity in Fort Worth. It was cold and lonely and awful at Jessie’s house year-round.  And I cried a lot in year 14. I cried for God. Especially on days, I thought  I was home alone.

 👧🏾🙏🏾: “Our Father who art in heaven” 👀

One of Jessie’s sons heard me screaming and crying while praying one day. 

I assured him I was okay. But I wasn’t … And neither was he. Oh, how I’d pray and pray and PRAY… 

“Please! God help me.”Please God help my family!”👧🏾 🙏🏾: “Our father who art in heaven” 👀

In this lifetime, even the divine Father situated in heaven was … ABSENT! 👀… Especially during year 14. 

He never came to save me. He never came for us. Brittany’s Dad never came for us. Brandon’s Dad never came for us. The only person who came for us was Brittany, but that was 6 years later!

 It was too late. 

Abandonment dipped in holiness is still abandonment is what I’m saying I guess. I was very depressed and confused during year 14. We all were. 

But technically, Turkey loaf is way better than nothing at all! 

I’m just saying that it bothers me a bit that I remember more about my worst Christmas than my sweetest one. I seem to only remember the bad. But it happened … okay. The bad happened. And closing your eyes and pretending that it didn’t is how bad things continue to happen. 

Graffiti’s Early Memories 

Brittany’s parents told me I was spoiled, from years 0 to 7, of this lifetime anyway. 

Those years are foggy. It’s like trying to write a novel with the details from 3 blurry Polaroid pictures. Luckily I have a literal picture from that era. And there was a huge Christmas tree and lots of shiny gift boxes. My blood relatives are there. Even Brittany’s father.  These are my “normal” family memories. But I don’t think of them for too long because…

Graffiti’s Ethos

There are barely a handful of happy, healthy memories. But for the sake of simplicity and optimism, let’s say I-, I mean Brittany had  2 “good” Christmas memories and 1 awful one. 

And you may ask, 

“But … isn’t 2 good memories better than no good Christmas memories, Brittany- (I meant Graffiti)”? 

“Shouldn’t you just be grateful that things weren’t worse?”

There are the glass half full and the glass half empty folks. And then, there’s me Graffiti, waving my hands and angrily asking who’s being stingy with the [expletive] water pitcher. Everyone deserves overflowing cups. That’s what I read. That’s what I prayed. My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy.

I’m completely convinced I’d be happier if my stupid glass was empty! ~

I’d rather have nothing than not enough, so yeah pour this out right now. Just Empty my cup and leave. 

My Gratitude for Graffiti 

Though it seems intuitive to hold compassion and empathy for the parts of me that stubbornly latch onto righteous anger, most days it’s incredibly hard for me to sit down and do it. There’s a part of me that knows  I suffered enough as a kid. And, now that I’m finally safe, I should focus on happiness and abundance. Some refer to this as spiritual bypassing. 

It’s almost like I will myself into being this healed, whole, beautifully spiritual archetype that doesn’t actually exist. The real world is ruled by duality. 

And, there’s beauty in the nuances of our stories. It’s where our unique stories and our legacies begin. 

I’m excited to continue creating the parent I never had as I continue healing.  But year 14 and year 17 deserve reverence. They deserve space. They deserve to be seen. They deserve safety. They deserve LOVE.  Even if their stories aren’t filled with sunshine, rainbows,  or Santa in a winter wonderland. It’s mine! This is my internal family. 

These are the amazing stories of how I survived Complex Trauma.  A million love stories filled with triumphs and despair and life- lessons. And every part is worthy. 

May I keep striving to never take my parts for granted. 

Feeling inspired? Take a few moments to reflect on your best and worst holiday memories. Jot your thoughts down and share them with your therapist or someone you trust! 

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Brittany Dickey’s a CPTSD warrior making her mark by promoting self-care.  She’s a go-to marketing expert for clients across industries. She has a strong background in strategic and creative planning, social media management, and content strategy. With over 8 years of experience, she’s worked with a diverse set of clients including Fortune 500 Companies, Marketing Agencies, Tech startups, Non-profits, and more!

Brittany N. Dickey

Brittany Dickey’s a CPTSD warrior making her mark by promoting self-care. She’s a go-to marketing expert for clients across industries. She has a strong background in strategic and creative planning, social media management, and content strategy. With more than 8 years of experience, she’s worked with a diverse set of clients including Fortune 500 Companies, Marketing Agencies, Tech Startups, Nonprofits, and more!

After getting divorced, dads facing single parenthood often feel depressed. Many feel they’ve lost a teammate in the parenting struggle. Others find themselves parenting alone for the first time. Kids aren’t all emotionally volatile in the wake of a divorce, but many struggle with the emotional fallout. Given these compounding issues, it’s not surprising that divorced dads often become highly permissive or toy crazy. But giving kids what they want is different than giving kids what they need. Being a great dad is all about managing circumstances to create normalcy while showcasing thoughtfulness and love. It is immensely difficult, but doable long as fathers prioritize self-care.

Dads need to make sure that they are taking care of themselves if they are going to be able to be the ‎best dad for their kids.

When fathers don’t allow themselves to heal, it sets up a situation where children can adopt a caretaking role. That’s simply unhealthy for everyone involved. And importantly, the caretaking may not come in the form a father might expect. Instead of sweetness, kids may act out with disruptive behaviors in an attempt to distract preoccupied dads.

What can you do?

Figure out what you need for yourself. Accept love and support from family members, friends, and colleagues. Do not drop whatever it is you do to feel good, to feel loved, to feel empowered, and even attractive so that you can put all your energy into helping your kids. Of course, part of what makes self-care so important is that it allows fathers to regain their emotional stability. That’s very important, considering children thrive on structure, routine, and consistency, whether it be emotional or physical.

How to Be a Great Divorced Dad?

• Take time for self-care: Denying your own needs can cause children to act as caretakers.
• Don’t overcompensate: Trying to make things better with material goods and permissiveness might just prolong the pain.
• Be consistent with discipline: Children want to know parents can be trusted to keep a family life stable and structured.
• Spend quality time: Regardless of how long fathers might have with kids, it’s important that the time spent is active and interactive. No passive TV watching or game playing.
• Redefine family traditions: Some traditions may be impossible, so it’s important for fathers to create new ones with their children.
• Keep it simple: No need to spend enormous amounts of money on fun. A kid just wants to be close to their dad.
• Keep it Civil: Absolutely do not engage in hostile behavior with an ex-spouse. Keep conflicts out of site and never tear down the other parent in front of your kid.

Spend quality time, not quantity time with your children. Your children will remember going to the parks, playing boards, and going on ice cream dates. They won’t remember watching movies together or sitting in the same room with you as you do work.

By being thoughtful about his own needs and caring about what he says to his ex-spouse, a father can find a sense of strength. Adding stability in discipline and novelty in play will also help a divorced dad be a good dad and guide their children through the difficulties of watching their family be redefined.

Show Love Every Single Day

•  When our children behave badly, we may become angry or upset with them. We may also feel miserable because we become angry or upset. But these feelings are different from not loving our children. Young adolescents need adults who are there for them—people who connect with them, communicate with them, spend time with them and show a genuine interest in them. This is how they learn to care for and love others. Parents can love their children but not necessarily love what they do—and children need to trust that this is true.”
• Provide support. Young adolescents need support as they struggle with problems that may seem unimportant to their parents and families. They need praise when they’ve done their best. They need encouragement to develop interests and personal characteristics.

Remember no matter what you are the dad, and your child needs you the most even when at times, they don’t show it. Be an adult and show up, every single day.

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 do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Milena "Mila" Stankovic

Milena “Mila” Stankovic is a Co-Founder at STAR Network, TAR Anon and Partners In Mens Health. Milena “Mila” Stankovic is a mental health advocate & ambassador , screenwriter, writer and creator. She covers clinical and experience-based standpoints on topics such as Toxic Abusive Relationships, trauma, CPTSD, Toxic Families,  Parental Alienation, and Narcissism. Mila provides practical, vulnerable, and real-life examples to help those who have been abused to overcome their fears. She will help you heal: one article at a time. She is also a Please check the organizations which are still under development here:

https://partnersinmenshealth.com/
https://tartales.org
https://starnetwork.org
https://taranon.org
If you wish to write and share your stories and get in touch with Mila, please contact her at mila@starnetwork.org

medium.com/@milena-koljensic