It is not because you are incapable.
It is not because you are hypersensitive or hypo sensitive.

More often than not, the greatest obstacle to feeling freely is this: a nervous system that has been living in prolonged stress, and a brain that has adapted to conserve energy in response to that stress.

When the body perceives an ongoing threat—whether from life events, emotional pain, or chronic pressure—it shifts into survival mode. The nervous system prioritizes protection over connection, and the brain begins to operate from an energy-conservation model. This means it becomes less interested in exploration, openness, and emotional processing, and more focused on efficiency, prediction, and staying safe.

Brain scientist Delia McCabe speaks to this beautifully: when we understand how the brain functions, we can begin to create the internal conditions that allow us to feel safe enough to feel. Without that sense of safety, the brain will always default to protection.

And protection, while essential in moments of real danger, can become limiting when it turns into a long-term state.

In trauma-related stress, the body produces elevated levels of stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. These are powerful chemicals designed to help us respond quickly to a threat. But over time, they come at a cost. The production and recycling of these stress hormones require significant nutritional resources—vitamins, minerals, and amino acids that the body also needs for other essential functions.

One of those functions is the production of serotonin, a neurotransmitter deeply involved in mood regulation, emotional stability, and a general sense of well-being. Another is acetylcholine, which plays a key role in learning, memory, focus, and the processing and integration of new information.

When the body is under prolonged stress, resources are diverted toward survival. This can gradually lead to nutrient depletion, leaving fewer building blocks to support balanced mood, clear thinking, and emotional regulation. The result is not just psychological—it is physiological.

You may feel more reactive, more anxious, more depleted.
You may find it harder to focus, remember, and process.
You may feel emotionally flooded one moment and numb the next.

This is not a personal failure.
It is a system under strain.

At the center of this system is the limbic system—the emotional brain. This includes structures such as the amygdala, which scans for threats, and the hippocampus, which helps process memory and context. When stress is chronic, the amygdala becomes more sensitive, more reactive, more likely to interpret neutral situations as threatening. At the same time, the systems that help regulate and contextualize emotion can become less effective.

This is why emotions can feel so intense, so sudden, and sometimes so disorganizing.

They are not just emotions.
They are survival signals amplified by a system that has been on high alert for too long.

And yet, within this understanding lies something deeply hopeful.

Because when we begin to support the nervous system and the brain in the ways they actually need, the experience of emotion begins to change.

We can start by creating conditions of safety.

Not by forcing ourselves to feel everything at once, but by gently teaching the system that feeling does not equal danger.

This can be as simple—and as profound—as:

• Slowing the breath to signal calm to the nervous system
• Grounding through the body by feeling the feet or the support beneath you
• Softening the muscles, especially around the face, jaw, and chest
• Orienting to your environment to remind the brain you are here, now, and safe

These small acts, that can be so quickly overlooked, can and do begin to regulate the limbic system when practiced with nervous system awareness in mind. They reduce the body based intensity of the stress response and allow the brain to shift out of pure survival mode.

As this happens, something begins to open.

Emotions, which once felt overwhelming or fragmenting, start to feel more fluid.

There is a beautiful truth about emotions that many people never get to experience fully:

When emotions are felt fully, without judgment, the often-frozen, stored stress associated with them begins to mobilize. Knowing how to orient this release of energy is equally important.

With the practice of titration and pendulation, we learn to fear emotions less and less. They arrive, their expression is felt, and they pass—like birds free to fly and land again.

It is when they are resisted, suppressed, or feared that they tend to linger, intensify, or fragment our inner world, often times causing inflammation due to the stress of storing them.

Feeling safe enough to witness your own emotional landscape—without immediately trying to fix, judge, or escape it—is one of the most precious and empowering skills you can develop.

When we can create and share that space, something shifts. You are no longer at the mercy of your emotions.
You are in a relationship with them. And from that relationship, regulation, integration, and healing become possible.

Over time, as the nervous system learns that it can feel without being overwhelmed, and the brain receives signals of safety while it approaches what is stressful to feel, the entire system begins to reorganize and create new predictions.

Energy becomes more available.
Mood stabilizes.
Clarity returns.
The body feels less like a battleground and more like a place you can inhabit.

And perhaps most importantly, you begin to rediscover something that may have felt lost for a long time:

The freedom to feel.

Photo Credit: Unsplash

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

When Trauma Leaves You In Hibernation Mode

Have you withdrawn from the world, feeling disconnected, like you don’t know how to live a “normal” life? Watching everything happen from behind glass? Does stepping back outside and re-engaging feel impossible? You’re not alone. Many trauma survivors experience “functional freeze”—a protective shutdown affecting nearly every aspect of life.

Luis Goes Into Hibernation: A Story

Luis used to be known for his energy – always the first to suggest a weekend hike, quick to laugh, and passionate about his work as a school counselor.

What others didn’t see was how Luis had spent his childhood walking on eggshells around an unpredictable parent with addiction issues. He’d learned early to be hyper-aware of others’ emotions, to make himself useful, to prevent conflict. He’d worked hard to overcome these patterns as an adult, building a life where he felt relatively safe and valued. In this season, he found stability by spending time with his closest friend since childhood, Steven. And Luis was saving up to buy an engagement ring for his long time partner Francesca.

Then began the harsh winds. First, the cold front arrived with the systematic undermining by a new principal who questioned his every decision and took credit for Luis’s programs. Around the same time, Steven moved across the country, leaving Luis without their regular workouts, pool nights, and belly laughs.

Then, bringing the first hard frost, Francesca dumped Luis for a younger guitar player. And as winter truly set in, Luis was mugged while walking to clear his head in a quiet park he’d always come to for peace – an event his sister dismissed with “at least they didn’t hurt you.” His roommate Marco, while not unkind, was emotionally distant and uncomfortable with vulnerable conversations.

As temperatures plunged outside, Luis felt winter spreading within him too.

First came the fatigue – bone-deep and unrelenting. He started declining social invitations, his body too heavy to move beyond necessary tasks. “Just busy,” he’d text, watching the chat bubbles fade as friends eventually stopped asking.

By mid-winter, Luis’s apartment became his cave – a place of necessary retreat. His entire system powered down. The dirty dishes didn’t register. The unwashed laundry didn’t matter. Marco’s comments about “pulling your weight around here” barely penetrated the protective numbness.

When absolutely required to leave for work, Luis would muster everything he had to get by – then return to collapse in exhaustion. At night, he’d stare blankly at his phone for hours, scrolling past images of former friends at concerts and dinners, feeling a hollow ache but lacking the energy to even name the feeling.

His sister kept telling Luis to go on antidepressants, but she didn’t understand. This wasn’t depression. This was survival.

Spring arrived outside, but not within. Luis remained in his protective cave. He couldn’t remember what spring felt like anymore, couldn’t imagine ever wanting to feel the sun again.

In the depth of his hibernation, Luis couldn’t see that beneath the frozen surface, something was still alive, waiting for conditions to become safe enough to emerge. He just wanted to sleep and couldn’t even think about waking up.

Understanding Functional Freeze

What Luis is experiencing has a name in trauma psychology: functional freeze. Like hibernation in the natural world, functional freeze is a protective response to threatening conditions – not a character flaw or personal failing, but a natural adaptation when the environment becomes too harsh to navigate normally.

Functional freeze happens when your nervous system shifts into a state of profound shutdown (what therapists call a “dorsal vagal state”) to protect you from perceived threats that feel inescapable. It’s your body’s way of saying, “I can’t fight this danger, I can’t run from it, so I’ll preserve energy and disappear.”

This isn’t a conscious choice – it’s a neurobiological response controlled by your autonomic nervous system, specifically the oldest part of your vagus nerve. You didn’t decide to enter this state of withdrawal. Your body made this choice for you based on what it learned was necessary for survival.

A former marketing executive describes her experience: “After years of psychological abuse from my boss, I found myself unable to do the simplest things. I’d stare at my phone, knowing I should call friends back, but it felt like trying to lift a thousand pounds. Even making dinner decisions became overwhelming. I wasn’t depressed exactly – it was like my whole system had just… powered down.”

The Freeze Response Spectrum: From Fluctuating to Complete Shutdown

It’s important to understand that freeze responses exist on a spectrum, with several distinct forms that vary in intensity and impact on functioning. Understanding where you fall on this spectrum can help in recognizing your patterns and developing appropriate support strategies.

Fluctuating Freeze

Many trauma survivors experience fluctuating levels of freeze, moving between:

• Periods of greater engagement and capacity
• Episodes of deeper withdrawal and shutdown
• Cycles that may be affected by stress, triggers, or physical health

Partial or Situational Freeze

Some people experience freeze responses that are triggered only in specific situations or contexts:

• Freezing in social situations while functioning well alone
• Freezing at work but being more engaged at home
• Experiencing freeze only when confronted with specific triggers

Functional Freeze

The form of freeze described throughout this article is “functional freeze” – a state where the person maintains some minimal functioning while still experiencing profound shutdown in many areas of life. In functional freeze, a person can:

• Maintain basic survival needs, though often with difficulty
• Perform certain required tasks (like going to work) while collapsing afterward
• Engage in limited necessary interactions
• Appear “normal” to casual observers for brief periods

Complete Freeze and Tonic Immobility

At the most severe end of the spectrum is what might be called “non-functional freeze” or “complete freeze.” In this state, a person may be:

• Unable to maintain even basic self-care
• Physically immobilized for extended periods
• Completely withdrawn from all social contact
• Unable to work or engage in any productive activity
• In need of immediate intervention and help

This profound shutdown may require hospitalization or intensive support, as the person cannot meet their basic needs. It often occurs during or immediately after acute trauma.

In its most extreme manifestation, the freeze response can progress to complete physical shutdown – literally making it impossible to move, speak, or react. This is your body’s ancient “playing dead” response (what scientists call “tonic immobility”).

Just as certain animals become completely still when trapped by a predator, humans can experience this profound immobilization in moments of overwhelming threat. Someone experiencing tonic immobility might feel physically unable to move despite wanting to, be unable to call out or speak, remain conscious but unable to control their body, experience a sensation of heaviness or paralysis, or have difficulty breathing normally

Although this response is most common during acute traumatic events, some survivors experience episodes of tonic immobility even years later when faced with triggers that remind them of past trauma. This isn’t a conscious choice or “freezing up” from fear – it’s a primitive survival mechanism activating at a neurological level.

Like a hibernating animal whose bodily functions slow to near standstill during the deepest winter, tonic immobility represents the most profound conservation of resources in the face of perceived inescapable threat.

The spectrum is not fixed – many people move through different points as their healing progresses, sometimes experiencing improvements followed by temporary regressions. If you’re experiencing complete freeze or tonic immobility, please seek immediate professional help, as this state can become dangerous to your physical health and safety.

The Foundational Impact of Childhood Trauma

For many people experiencing functional freeze, the roots extend back to childhood experiences. When childhood trauma or neglect occurs, the developing nervous system learns early that the world isn’t safe, creating a foundation for freeze responses later in life.

Childhood trauma can include:

• Overt abuse – Physical, sexual, verbal, or emotional abuse from caregivers
• Neglect – When basic physical or emotional needs aren’t met, whether intentionally or unintentionally. This includes parents who were physically present but emotionally absent, or who couldn’t provide consistent care due to their own struggles
• Witnessing violence or conflict – Seeing abuse or intense conflict between family members, in the neighborhood, or at school, even when not directly targeted. This can include repeated exposure to frightening or age-inappropriate media content, especially when there’s no adult support to process these experiences
• Attachment disruptions – Inconsistent caregiving, frequent separations, or abandonment, starting from birth
• Emotional invalidation – When feelings are consistently ignored, dismissed, minimized, or punished. This includes being told you’re “too sensitive” or that your experiences aren’t real
• Unrecognized traumas – Experiences society often normalizes: severe bullying, medical procedures without adequate support, being forced to suppress your identity, or growing up in a home with addiction or mental illness

Even when caregivers weren’t intentionally harmful, their own trauma, mental health struggles, addiction, or inability to provide consistent emotional support can create lasting impacts on a child’s developing nervous system. As in Luis’s case, many adults with functional freeze have childhood histories where they learned to always scan for danger in others’ emotions, suppress their own needs and feelings, take responsibility for others’ emotional states, or see the world as fundamentally unsafe.

These early patterns create nervous system pathways that make the person more susceptible to freeze responses when trauma occurs in adulthood. What might seem like an “overreaction” to others (like Luis’s response to being mugged, according to his sister) makes perfect sense when understood as a reactivation of early survival patterns.

When childhood trauma exists, there may be no clear “pre-trauma” self to return to – but there is still the possibility of creating new patterns of safety, connection, and aliveness.

The Physical Reality and Biology of Functional Freeze

Functional freeze isn’t just a psychological state – it creates profound physiological changes in your body. Understanding these biological aspects helps explain why willpower alone isn’t enough to overcome freeze.

How Your Body Changes in Freeze

When your nervous system enters protective shutdown, significant biological changes occur:

• Energy conservation – Your body drastically reduces energy available for “non-essential” functions. Physical activities, social engagement, creative thinking, planning for the future, and even basic self-care become nearly impossible as your body diverts limited resources toward basic survival functions.
• Hormone dysregulation – Particularly stress hormones like cortisol, which affect every system in your body from metabolism to immune function to sleep regulation
• Immune changes – Leading to increased inflammation and vulnerability to illness, as your body prioritizes immediate survival over long-term health maintenance
• Sleep disruption – Even when sleeping more hours than normal, trauma can prevent the deep, restorative sleep cycles your body needs, leading to persistent fatigue despite seemingly adequate or even excessive rest
• Digestive issues – Creating gut problems such as irritable bowel, inflammation, or stress-related digestive disturbances that further limit activity and well-being
• Appetite dysregulation – Either loss of appetite or emotional/comfort eating as the body’s attempt to regulate through food
• Diminished awareness – Feeling “numb,” “foggy,” or “not really here” as the brain protects itself from overwhelming emotions, including becoming blind to environmental disorder or clutter
• Minimal movement – Feeling “stuck” or “paralyzed,” struggling to initiate even basic tasks that require planning or sustained effort
• Reduced engagement with pleasurable activities – Diminished interest in previously enjoyable activities and withdrawal from things that once brought joy (a state known as “anhedonia”)
• Energy depletion at the cellular level – Affecting mitochondrial function and creating profound, bone-deep fatigue

These physical effects create a confusing reality – you have legitimate physical limitations while simultaneously experiencing psychological withdrawal. This makes it difficult to know: “Am I too tired because I’m physically ill, or is this my trauma response?”

The answer is often both, as these systems interconnect in complex ways. Your physical symptoms aren’t “just in your head” – they’re real physiological responses to trauma that require both physical and psychological healing approaches.

When Trauma Speaks Through Your Body

One of the most misunderstood aspects of functional freeze is how trauma manifests physically. Many survivors develop very real physical symptoms that doctors struggle to explain through conventional testing.

Unlike the outdated concept of “psychosomatic illness” which suggested symptoms were somehow imaginary or “all in your head,” we now understand that trauma creates genuine physiological changes that result in real physical symptoms:

• Chronic pain without clear structural causes
• Digestive disorders and gut inflammation
• Immune system dysfunction and increased susceptibility to illness
• Migraines and tension headaches
• Skin conditions that flare with stress
• Chronic fatigue and sleep disturbances
• Unexplained dizziness or balance problems

These conditions aren’t simply your mind “creating” symptoms – they’re the result of real changes in how your nervous system, immune system, and endocrine system function after trauma. Your body remembers your trauma, even when it’s not in your conscious thoughts.

Many trauma survivors find themselves caught in a frustrating cycle of medical appointments, inconclusive tests, and providers who suggest their symptoms might be “just stress” or “anxiety.” This minimizing experience can itself become traumatizing.

When addressing physical symptoms during functional freeze, the most effective approach typically combines holistic care for the whole body, trauma-informed therapeutic approaches, nervous system regulation practices, and gentle physical movement that respects your current limitations.

Just as a hibernating animal experiences profound physiological changes – altered metabolism, immune function, and healing processes – a person in trauma-induced functional freeze experiences genuine biological changes that require both physical and psychological healing approaches.

Signs You May Be in Functional Freeze

This protective state can manifest in many ways that affect every aspect of life:

Physical and Behavioral Signs

• Deep fatigue that rest doesn’t seem to touch – Your body’s energy systems remain in conservation mode regardless of how much you sleep
• Mindless numbing activities – Endless scrolling, binge-watching shows you barely remember, or playing mobile games for hours without enjoyment
• Sleep pattern changes – Either excessive sleeping as escape or disrupted sleep despite exhaustion
• Body disconnection – Profound alienation from your physical self, beyond just neglect of appearance
• Physical symptoms in social settings – Headaches, stomach issues, or feeling faint when attempting to engage with others

Social and Environmental Signs

• Avoiding social contact – Even with people you once enjoyed, because interactions require energy your system is conserving for survival
• Preferring isolation – Feeling safest behind locked doors, even when loneliness is painful
• Missing social cues or forgetting social skills – What one could call “social atrophy” – the weakening of social muscles through disuse
• Experiencing pain seeing others’ lives – Feeling shame, grief, or envy when seeing social media posts of others living seemingly normal lives
• Environmental blindness – Not seeing clutter, mess, or disorder in your living space
• Inability to meet basic responsibilities – Struggling with tasks like cleaning or self-care, which others might label as “laziness”
• Procrastination until deadlines – Waiting until the last minute to complete necessary tasks, as the stress of an immediate deadline provides the activation energy needed to overcome freeze

Mental and Emotional Signs

• Decision paralysis – Even small choices become overwhelming, from what to eat to which route to drive
• Time perception distortions – Days blur together while individual moments can feel endless
• Persistent mortality awareness – Frequent, non-distressing thoughts about death (your own or loved ones’)
• Diminished life aspirations – Inability to envision or plan for your future
• Shame cycles – Feeling ashamed about your withdrawal, which triggers deeper withdrawal, creating more shame
• Feeling like you’re “performing” in conversations – Either sharing too much (trauma dumping) or maintaining a painful facade of normalcy

The most confusing part? You may recognize you’re not truly living but feel oddly resistant to changing this pattern because on some level, it feels safer than the alternative.

Read the rest of this article in Ellen’s first book of her “There’s A Word for That” series: https://a.co/d/02U7m1gT

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. 😊

This article is part of Ellen’s first book.Order on paperback or Kindle.

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

Who listens to children? Who hears them and acts on the truth in a helpful way? Who chooses to walk away?

The truth is, not many adults act when they should, and the cost to abused children is too much. They are ignored by those who have the power to help, and they carry on being abused.

I was the child who was ignored despite my pleas for help. I wasn’t just ignored by my bio-family, but teachers and doctors too.

All child abuse survivors have felt this betrayal by those who hurt them and failed to take care of their basic needs. They don’t need further betrayal from those who could help — yet, they are.

That deep betrayal lives in me and in all other child abuse survivors.

Survivors’ experiences are different, but there is one thing that we all feel, and that is loneliness.

Abuse and trauma within a family almost always comes with deep-seated betrayal of trust, neglect, abandonment, and lies.

Survivors feel alone in the world, and that burden is like a choking desolation.

Nobody wants us, and no one around us knows or wants to know what is happening, even if we tell or act it out. ( I tried) That truth is crushing for a young child.

Imagine never having a loving parent tucking you in at night when you might be scared of the dark.

An abused child is deeply traumatized by the dark and agonizes about it every day because when that darkness arrives, so does the pain.

The Importance of Role-Models

Children growing up need role models to help them make sense of the world. Role models give children an idol, someone to count on and guide them through life’s ups and downs.

A child growing up in a loving family will learn to love and treat others.

If a child has never had a positive role model, they will grow up to be at a disadvantage in many developmental milestones, especially social skills.

If your parents never hugged you, how can you know what a hug feels like?

If your parents never talked to you, how can you develop speech patterns and convey meaning in language?

An abused child misses out on so much.

Teachers are great role models and open up a world of education and experiences that these children cannot get from home. School trips are fun, and classrooms come alive in color and models during those early Pre-K to elementary years.

Where else can you be better submerged in a community aside from an elementary school?

Kids are great role models and can show their peers what to do. We learn a lot from one another.

I realized that I could have more freedom when I disappeared.

The media and TV have an abundance of role models as well. We are immersed in the internet and social media culture, and everything trickles down to our kids.

Not all children are lucky to have access to the internet and media at home, but they will get exposure in school.

Music and videos are playing in malls, on billboards, and in advertisements all around us. We cannot help knowing what is happening because information is everywhere in the suburban world.

I realized that I could have more freedom when I disappeared from my bio-family.

As soon as I could get away, I would be out on the streets looking for role models who might want me. At that time, I was completely vulnerable. I met a lot of different people on the streets, but I was smart too and learned to watch my six and not trust adults.

I never found a magic family that wanted to adopt me. Instead, I got taken back to my house every single time I stayed out too long.

As an adolescent from an abusive home, I was the perfect target for drug dealers. I had already seen what drugs and alcohol did to people and wanted no part of that life.

Many adolescent abuse survivors turn to drugs and alcohol to fit in and get an escape from reality.

I preferred to stay hungry rather than break the law. I needed to get away permanently from my bio-family, not be thrown into jail.

Seeking comfort in strangers

I chose my role models based on the person I saw myself becoming one day.

I saw how the young lady always smiled at her customers at the food market, and how it affected her sales.

Grumpy Gus selling potatoes in monosyllabic grunts never attracted customers to linger and talk.

These people helped me decide who I wanted to be. I took notice of people and picked the attributes that I liked.

Those role models helped me put together my identity because I refused to be like the people who hurt me.

The need for role models doesn’t stop in childhood. It follows you throughout life.

You want to be around family during the holidays. I spent them alone.

You want your family at your wedding and college graduation. (I had none, and I felt it)

When you find out you are expecting a baby, it’s scary and brings up tons of stuff. You want to ask your parents about it. (I couldn’t)

There are many moments in life when you want your family to stand behind you. A survivor simply doesn’t have that bond with family, and it hurts. 

This article has given you an insight into what it is like to grow up as an abused child. The importance of role models follows survivors into adulthood and beyond.

Most of the time, survivors need hope and love. Hope that not everyone in this world is a monster, and that we are worthy of being loved.

This is the world we need to show kids. A world that is wonderful and exciting. A world where everyone matters because we do. We matter, and we all have a voice.

Nobody should be ignored and alone. 

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

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

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

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

I recently had the great joy of connecting with Stacey Fitzgerald. She is a Certified Nutritionist, Somatic Breathwork Practitioner, Trauma-Informed horse trainer, Singer/Songwriter, Wife, Mother, and Creator of Becoming Safe–an online course and community for healing through all forms of betrayal trauma. 

As soon as we started talking, I just knew I had to introduce you to her. I even had the chance to attend her amazing breathwork workshop, which was soothing, healing, and eye-opening!

RACHEL: What inspired you to start writing about/exploring this topic?

STACEY: In February 2021, I had what I call my Breakdown/Breakthrough, which was a resurfacing of unhealed and undiagnosed Complex PTSD. I was so rocked in my body, especially because I had done a lot of study and had a reasonably deep head knowledge of what I thought it was to “be well.”

I realized, through my own experience, even though I had processed it in my mind, was still stored in my body and had been coming out through my songwriting for decades!

And it was showing itself through severe panic attacks and debilitating physical symptoms.

I began a deeper study of all things nervous system and trauma, adding to my head knowledge, and then really finding and DOING the things for my body that helped to move the needle from knowing to being.

RACHEL: What key insights or lessons have you learned through your experiences with this subject?

STACEY: One of the questions I heard posed early on from an expert I was listening to was, “When in life have you FELT SAFE?” I found myself feeling stunned–I wasn’t really sure what was meant by “safe,” and I was quite certain that I had never really felt that way!

A key insight from that point was how we needed to REGULATE our nervous system before we process trauma. I realized I had been processing in my head, but not regulating my body. Regulation before processing is key!

The other key insight has been that our nervous system is not our enemy, even when it feels like it is! It is actually doing exactly what it was designed to do, which is keep us alive, and alert us that it needs our attention. We are not broken, rather, we are functioning exactly as intended.

The missing piece was understanding the language of the nervous system, and how to listen and respond to it.

Our body knows the way home, and when we learn to listen, and become friends with our nervous system, the way back to our true self becomes much clearer.

RACHEL:  What might you tell someone who is just beginning to work on healing trauma?

STACEY: It’s easy to say, but perhaps the hardest to commit to: you just cannot give up.

No matter what life throws at you, no matter what kind of break you might take from your healing, and whatever trouble you might get into because of that break, you have to come back to pursuing personal joy and ultimate peace.

My experience is that overcoming trauma and abuse comes down to accepting that while it was bad and horrible and wrong,it did happen. I learned to accept that it happened withoutcondoning that it happened.

So, how does a person do that? I think that one’s addictions are the easiest place to begin because there’s a free, accessible process: 12-step programs. These days, many good books you’ll come in contact with while working the steps include addressing childhood trauma. The best one I’ve reads is called Iron Legacy by Dr. Donna J. Bevan-Lee.

If you want to learn about recovery through written exercises and reading personal essays, get Iron Legacy. If you want to learn about it via story, get my book!

RACHEL: What challenges or misconceptions do you think people face when dealing with this topic, and how can they overcome them?

STACEY: I think many people feel like something is “wrong” with them–that they are alone, crazy, and broken. This misconception can lead to utter hopelessness, depression, or anxiety, and can cause serious health issues among many other uncomfortable and debilitating effects.

Knowing that the answer is closer than they realize brings hope and a sense of security to someone who may have been feeling really lost for a long time.

Another challenge is that others in their life may not understand what they are going through, so their efforts to “help” can often be more harmful than supportive, and lead to further disconnect, loneliness, and confusion.

Connecting with a program, a person, or a community that gets them (someone who understands what they’re going through, and how to take steps back to feeling safe) can be a lifeline in a sea of chaos!

RACHEL: Are there any common myths or misunderstandings about this topic that you’d like to address?

STACEY: The word itself–SAFE–can have multiple meanings and implications. For instance, “playing it safe” can infer that someone is hiding or holding back. And feeling “unsafe” can mistakenly be attributed only to physically dangerous situations, circumstances, and people.

When I refer to BEING SAFE, I’m talking about a felt sense of being at home in your own body, able to be calm and alert at the same time, and having a nervous system that can handle the stresses of life and then return to a restful state when needed. It’s about having CHOICE and not being STUCK in patterns of disfunction.

When I say that you can BE SAFE, I use the letters as an acronym to describe how it feels: Secure & Stabile, Awake/Aware/Alive, Free from…and Free to… (fill in the blanks), and Expansive–able to grow, learn, explore, and step into the fullness of what it means to be YOU!

Now who doesn’t want to be SAFE when viewed in that light!?

RACHEL: What resources, tools, or next steps would you recommend for readers who want to dive deeper into this topic?

STACEY: I highly recommend learning about how your nervous system functions and what it’s doing for you. This means developing a regular practice of working with your body (physiology & nervous system), soul (mind/thought, emotions/feelings, will/choices), and spirit (your breath and connection to Breath/Spirit).

I offer an online course and community that contains all of that called Becoming Safe, as well as a rich resource section with connections to other people and sources like the work Rachel does.

I also offer a 90 Day daily somatic practice journey called “The Doing,” which is a great way to gently work with your nervous system and learn it’s language, developing a trusting friendship that serves you daily, as well as Somatic Breathwork Sessions designed to do the “deep” cleaning of clearing out what no longer serves us, and re-wiring into how we want to feel and show up.

Both of those offerings, as well as links to my Facebook pages and YouTube channels can be found on my website: onpurposeinternational.org

—

To your healing,

Rachel

P.S. If you’re ready to take the next step in healing from abuse and would like to explore enrolling in the Beyond Surviving program, start by applying for a Discover Your Genuine Self Session.

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

Tonight, I told myself, I’m going to have the best sleep of my life.  

I had saved up a few hundred bucks to purchase a singing bowl. I had heard they’re miracle workers for people with sleep issues, and I just knew I had to give it the ol’ college try. 

I blocked out a Saturday afternoon to drive to a metaphysical store in the big city to pick out the perfect singing bowl. I spent about an hour testing dozens of bowls, allowing my body to feel the frequency of each sound to determine which one was the right fit. After completing my rounds, there was one that kept calling my name. I grazed the mallet around the bowl one last time. It felt like music to my ears.

That night, the only thing on my bedtime agenda was to relax. I put away all my screens and spent the evening cooking, cleaning, painting, and reading to calm my nervous system. I concluded the night with some restorative yoga poses. I fought back trauma responses to the flashbacks, but they were manageable.  

My singing bowl symphony

It was time to begin my bedtime symphony in hopes that tonight would be the first time in ten years I would sleep more than three hours without sleep paralysis or night terrors. 

I turned the lights down low, lit a candle, folded my fuzzy blanket onto the floor, and got comfy, straddling the singing bowl between my thighs. I lifted the mallet with my right hand and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 

I tapped the mallet on the side of the bowl and began to circle it around the rim gently, allowing the healing frequency to seep into every pore of my body. What had initially sounded like music to my ears at the metaphysical store was starting to feel a little intense as the flashbacks began to rile up. Still, I decided to sit with it. 

You spent three hundred bucks on this thing, Natalie. See it through, I reminded myself. 

I continued to play softly, but the flashbacks weren’t having it. They began to scream louder than the bowl could sing, and my body began pulsing with rage. The soothing sounds of the singing bowl must have been too beautiful for the flashbacks to handle, and they got jealous. They clearly weren’t going down without a fight.

I screamed in agony as I battled the trauma responses festering in my body. Finally, I had had enough. My body impulsively carried out one final jolt: my right arm darted forward with a violent, uncontrollable punch, like I was chopping a tree stump in half with an axe. The mallet struck the edge of the bowl, shattering it into a million pieces.  

The mess I made

I sat dumbfounded at the mosaic I had created between my crotch and my feet. After about fifteen seconds of pure shock, the wave of self-punishment began. I hurled obscenities at myself, scolded myself for my lack of control, and listed all the other things I could have spent those three hundred bucks on. 

The flashbacks now lay on the floor, transformed into tiny glass particles sparkling before my eyes. With each glimmer of light, I felt them mocking me. I could hear their taunting laughter and see their evil eyes in the shards, reminding me that I would never be free of them, no matter how hard I tried. 

I gingerly picked up one of the miniscule particles and caressed it between my thumb and index finger. A tear fell onto it, and I tossed it back into the sea of mockery and hopelessness. 

“You win again, flashbacks,” I muttered.  

Picking up the pieces

With trembling hands, I managed to push myself up, but I quickly lost my balance. My thigh scraped against the glass, and dozens of shards embedded themselves in the fabric of my leggings. I screamed again. 

I trudged to the bathroom to grab my tweezers, but after just a few steps, I realized that more glass was stuck in the soles of my feet. I screamed once more and collapsed onto my hands and knees, crawling on all fours until I reached the toilet. The sensory overload was unbearable. I puked out my only meal of the day. 

Finally feeling a release, I spent the next hour on the bathroom floor, tweezing out the microscopic glass particles from my feet as tears flooded the floor around me.  

The next morning

The first thing on my to-do list the next morning was to purchase a sack of potatoes at the farmer’s market. 

When I got home, I sliced each potato in half, got down on my hands and knees, and rubbed the mushy side of the potato against the cabin floor, picking up every glass shard, no matter how small. As I vacuumed and mopped, I felt bummed. It was time to go back to the drawing board. 

The painful sleep that comes with CPTSD

As a child, I never had any sleep issues. However, when my CPTSD symptoms began around age 13, my sleep started to deteriorate. For over a decade, I battled severe sleep issues: insomnia, sleep paralysis, night terrors, and narcolepsy. I absolutely dreaded going to bed each night. In fact, I hated sleeping more than I hated being awake. 

My trauma manifested in extreme ways during my sleep, often worse than the flashbacks I experienced at every second of the day. I managed to get through my waking hours by drinking eight cups of coffee, which only skyrocketed my anxiety. Even after episodes of sleep paralysis, I would eventually wake up and try to go back to sleep, but the cycle would continue. At one point, my night terrors were so intense that I had to set a 15-minute alarm to wake myself up, reset it, and then try to sleep again, terrified of the next round of torture. This cycle kept my nervous system in a constant state of hypervigilance during a time when I should have found refuge from the world.  

Over the years, I consulted numerous sleep doctors and psychiatrists in my quest to restore my sleep to its natural state. I begged my doctors for answers, asking why the meds weren’t working. They had no answers. Deep down, I knew that I would have to take control of my sleep on my own. During my East Texas cabin journey, I took active steps to learn how to sleep independently while working through withdrawal from high doses of Prazosin and Trazodone. 

Back to the basics

At the beginning of my cabin journey, I was gifted a book called “How to Break Up With Your Phone” by Catherine Price. With an open mind and a willingness to confront my digital habits, I read the entire book in one day. In it, Price highlights the detrimental effects that our addictive handheld devices have on our sleep. I had never considered that using my phone right before bedtime could affect my sleep, or that even leaving it on my nightstand as an alarm clock could send signals to my brain while I slept. Price challenges readers to go on a phone detox for 1 hour a day to reclaim their power. 

I’ve always been a “go big or go home” kind of girl. One hour a day? Pssh.

That’s too easy. So, I decided to embark on my first-ever 7-day complete tech detox. While Price didn’t suggest anywhere near this level of commitment, my sleep was poor enough that I was willing to do whatever it took to turn my bedroom into my sanctuary.  

Sitting with my own mind and setting intentions

My transformative week of being unplugged will be the subject of a future blog, but it served as the catalyst for figuring out my sleep issues. My goal was to fall asleep each night during those seven days without relying on Trazodone. 

I knew that the first step in falling asleep was to overcome my fear of getting in my bed. Each day, I went to my climbing gym and sat in the sauna. I did some deep breathing exercises and focused on setting positive intentions throughout the day to prepare for nighttime: “I am not afraid to fall asleep.”

I repeated this statement out loud over and over again, (sometimes even screaming it!) through agonizing physiological pain. I must have said it hundreds of times. I also voiced numerous other mantras, such as: 

• My sleep is peaceful. 
• I will 100% be at rest tonight.
• My sleep is transformative, lucid, and creative. 
• Nothing is allowed to interfere with my sleep. 

Five in, five out 

That night, as I lay in bed, I practiced a breathing technique I had learned. I placed one hand on my heart and the other on my stomach. Breathe in for five seconds, breathe out for five seconds. Fighting back flashbacks, I repeated this exercise over and over. I screamed in agony. Rolled around. Punched my pillow. Reset myself again. Five in. Five out. Just as I had been taught. 

After six hours of this, I finally drifted off to sleep. The next morning, when I glanced at the clock, a tear trickled down my cheek. I had only slept three hours, and I still had sleep paralysis, but I had done it without my Trazodone. I felt so proud of myself. 

My new favorite part of the day

During my first tech detox, I established a consistent sleep routine. I maintained this routine, among other habits, over the next year. On February 6, 2025, I had my first ever 7-hour night of sleep without experiencing sleep paralysis or night terrors since I was a teenager. It took about a year of persistent daily practice to reach this point, but I finally got there. Now, in 2026, this has become my norm every single night. 

I never needed any external aids to help me sleep. I had spent years experimenting with sound machines, sleep trinkets, prescription meds, over-the-counter drugs, and home remedies like herbal teas. Ultimately, I realized that in order to restore my sleep to its natural state, I needed to reclaim my power through somatic methods. How could my sleep ever be truly restorative if I relied on synthetic substances to induce an artificial state of rest? Nothing worked as well as setting aside all distractions, allowing the sounds and sensations of my own breath to fill my body with complete tranquility, and letting my subconscious take over. 

What was once the most dreaded part of my day has now become my favorite. I love going to sleep. Every night, I fall asleep within 10 seconds of lying down. I no longer have a sleep routine because I remain consistently calm throughout the day. I no longer experience sleep paralysis or night terrors. Instead, I build my dreams and fly through alternate worlds that I create with my subconscious mind. I wake up feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, and I don’t need daytime naps. Oh! And I haven’t had a sip of caffeine in two years. I used to think none of this was possible.  

Never give up on conquering insomnia, sleep paralysis, night terrors, or narcolepsy

To any survivors struggling with sleep, I encourage you to be patient with yourself. Your sleep will ebb and flow during your recovery as the trauma is released from your body. But once you reach a more stable phase in your healing process, you’ll find that sleep becomes easier. Don’t give up. Explore different options that work for you, whether they are medications, natural remedies, or other methods. Remember, what works for one person may not work for another. Everybody and every body is different! You have the power to cultivate control of your sleep.  

My sleep is my refuge. It is my creative canvas and my slice of heaven. I am no longer afraid to fall asleep. 

Photo by Sherin on Pexels

To my readers who have been following my journey: I am excited to share that I have created a personal blog called “Little Cabin Life.” This blog chronicles my healing journey, where I share my experiences and the things I am doing to support my recovery. You’ll also find tips that have been helpful to me along the way. If you’re interested in following my story, please feel free to visit www.littlecabinlife.com.

Guest Post Disclaimer: 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

For trauma survivors, that confusion can do real damage.

The body can be detoxed. The alcohol can leave the bloodstream. The pills can stop. The drug screen can turn clean. None of that, by itself, settles a nervous system shaped by fear, chaos, betrayal, chronic stress, or long exposure to emotional instability. If the substance had been muting panic, softening body memories, dulling grief, slowing intrusive thoughts, or creating a few hours of internal quiet, then taking it away may leave the survivor more exposed, not less.

That does not mean sobriety is the problem. It means the pain was there before the substance, and removing the substance does not remove the pain.

Not Every Survivor Numbs the Same Way

This part needs to be said plainly because people love crude formulas. Growing up around addiction does not sentence a child to become a drinker or a drug user. That is not how real human adaptation works. One person raised around 2 functioning alcoholics may grow up to drink heavily. Another may never become a drinker at all. Another may avoid every chemical escape route and build a life around control, overwork, hypervigilance, caretaking, food restriction, compulsive productivity, or emotional shutdown.

The injury field can be similar. The adaptation can look very different.

I have seen people flatten this into a lazy story about repetition, as if trauma always reproduces itself in the same visible form. It does not. Some survivors numb with substances. Some numb with performance. Some numb with distance. Some become so overcontrolled that they look stable from the outside while living in a near-constant state of internal bracing.

That is why survivor-centered writing has to stay accurate. Trauma does not produce one fixed behavioral outcome. It produces survival strategies. Addiction is one of them. It is not the only one.

What Detox Can Do

Detox has a place. In alcohol withdrawal and in withdrawal from certain sedatives, it can be medically necessary and sometimes lifesaving. The body has to be stabilized first. No serious clinician disputes that. But detox is not trauma treatment, and calling it treatment in the broad sense creates false expectations that many survivors later pay for.

Detox addresses acute physiological withdrawal. It manages the immediate medical event. It helps the body get through the short-range crisis. That is real work. It can lower danger. It can create a starting point. What it does not do is repair the nervous system, process trauma, treat attachment injury, resolve chronic shame, restore sleep architecture, or teach a survivor how to live without the thing that had been buffering reality.

A person can complete detox and still be in psychic free fall. That sentence should not shock anybody, yet families, institutions, and sometimes even treatment programs keep behaving as if a chemically cleared body should produce a settled life. It does not work that way.

What The Substance Was Doing

A substance usually acquires power because it is doing a job. Sometimes it is reducing social fear. Sometimes it is making sleep possible. Sometimes it is slowing body alarm. Sometimes it is muting grief. Sometimes it is producing enough numbness for a person to get through dinner, bedtime, a memory trigger, a night alone, or a work shift without falling apart.

That functional role is what many treatment conversations skip over.

If a survivor used alcohol to blunt hyperarousal, or opioids to mute both physical and emotional pain, or sedatives to stop internal overdrive, then simple abstinence language is too thin to carry the case. It asks the person to surrender the only tool that has been reliably changing their state without giving equal attention to what will replace it. That is not strength-building. That is exposure without cover.

The same logic applies to survivors who never become drinkers. The behavior can change while the function stays the same. A person may never touch alcohol and still live by rigid control because control is what quiets fear. Another may overfunction for everyone in the room because usefulness feels safer than need. Another may stay emotionally flat because intensity feels dangerous. Remove the adaptation before treating the underlying distress and the system often destabilizes.

Why The Return Happens

When people cycle through detox, rehab, relapse, detox, rehab, relapse, the usual language is refusal, denial, noncompliance, poor choices. Some of that language is lazy and some of it is dishonest. A lot of repeated treatment failure is a mismatch between the layer being treated and the layer actually driving the behavior.

If the body is stabilized but the survivor goes back to the same triggers, same relationship, same insomnia, same grief, same panic, same body memories, same housing instability, same court pressure, same loneliness, then the return to the old coping method is not mysterious. The original conditions are still intact. In many cases they are sharper because the chemical cover is gone.

Early sobriety can feel worse before it feels better. That is not proof that sobriety is harmful. It is often proof that untreated trauma has become more visible. Survivors can find themselves face to face with symptoms that had been chemically muffled for years. Sleep gets thinner. Fear gets louder. Shame gets more immediate. Old material comes back without sedation sitting on top of it.

This is where public judgment does its worst work. People see the return and assume the person wanted the substance more than healing. In many cases the more accurate reading is that the person had not yet been given a durable way to survive what sobriety exposed.

What Survivor-Centered Care Has To Reach

Care has to go below the behavior. It has to ask what the substance, compulsion, or control pattern was regulating. Then it has to treat that layer with something stronger than slogans.

For some survivors, that means medication for substance use disorder. For others, it means trauma-informed therapy paced slowly enough not to flood the system. It may mean treatment for PTSD, depression, panic, dissociation, chronic insomnia, or chronic pain. It may mean safer housing, better case management, distance from predatory relationships, and practical stabilization before deep trauma work. It may also mean naming that a survivor who never drank at all may still be living under the same old architecture of fear.

That last point belongs in the record. Survival adaptation should not be measured only by whether a person used a substance. Some survivors swallow pain with alcohol. Some swallow it with silence. The body can be cleared before the mind is ready. The symptom can stop before the injury is treated. Sobriety can be necessary and still feel brutal when it strips away the thing that had been managing the unbearable. That is where the real work starts. Not at the point where the substance is gone, but at the point where pain is still there.

Record note: ASAM states that alcohol withdrawal management alone is not an effective treatment for alcohol use disorder and should be part of initiating and engaging patients in ongoing care. SAMHSA reports that 21.2 million adults had co-occurring mental illness and substance use disorder in the 2024 NSDUH. NIDA notes that many people diagnosed with PTSD also have a substance use disorder, and NIAAA-supported literature warns against making broad assumptions about any specific child of an alcoholic based on family history alone.

Sources

American Society of Addiction Medicine. (2020). The ASAM clinical practice guideline on alcohol withdrawal management.

National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism. (n.d.). Understanding alcohol use disorder.

National Institute on Drug Abuse. (2024, February 6). Trauma and stress.

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. (2025, December 22). Co-occurring disorders and other health conditions.

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. (2025, July). Key substance use and mental health indicators in the United States: Results from the 2024 National Survey on Drug Use and Health.

Photo Credit: Unsplash

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

My name is Elizabeth, and I’m a survivor of child abuse and horrific trauma. Healing from trauma is not a quick fix, and recognizing that it will take time is part of the struggle.

“I want to feel better” We say to ourselves.

But some days just don’t go our way, and no matter what life throws at us, we hit the red lights at every intersection.

Other days, we flow through life like a river rushing towards a giant waterfall, as we plunge right to where we want to be. No matter what kind of day, week, or month you are having, it’s important to recognize that you cannot go through life as easily on your own.

Human beings are social creatures, and we often feel better when receiving support from a strong network around us. For most people, it’s our families that hold us together like “glue”.

How many times have you heard your friends talking about their families?

Every day, am I right?

I think it’s nice to hear people share their family stories, but it also makes me jealous.

I’ve got nothing to say when people ask me about my family. I tell them they’re all dead, but it’s not true.

I’ve never had a strong family behind me that I could turn to when I hit all the red lights. I’ve never had a strong role model in my life to help me when I needed it.

Life is harder when the going gets tough for survivors of child abuse and trauma.

I’ve heard the old saying that “It takes a village to raise a child” many times. I agree with that statement, but I think it doesn’t stop when you grow up.

An adult still needs a strong social network of support through all of life’s successes and downfalls.

Imagine if you have to go through a tricky surgery and you need to leave your young kids with someone you trust. Most people choose family.

I never could trust my own family with my own safety, so how could I trust them with my children?

When you get married, you want the world to come to the wedding. I walked down the aisle with “my half” of the room empty. Someone saw a lone tear escape down my cheek, and a big shuffle started with people moving across to my side. It was a nice gesture that made me feel welcomed into my husband’s family.

When you graduate from college, you want people to come and see you achieve a milestone in your life.

I’ve never had that support, and the loss feels like a vacuum in my life, leaving an empty void.

Sharing special moments must be incredible with family around you. I wish I knew how it felt.

It’s much harder to succeed in achieving your goals all alone, but if you get help and support along the way, it’s easier.

Part of healing from abuse is being willing to accept help from others.

This is something most trauma survivors struggle with because part of the damage is that we don’t “trust anyone to be there for us”, without it coming with a price tag, or a ramification of some sort.

It’s even more difficult to recognize that we need help and to ask for it.

I know I’m not good at asking for help, but I also know that I’m one of those people who will bend over backward for anyone who needs my help.

Isn’t that weird?

I’ve been told that accepting help and offering help to others are two different things. As a trauma survivor, I recognize hurt so much quicker than someone who has not lived through trauma. I see the pain from just a look, and I get “that feeling.” It can be overwhelming at times.

Reaching out

When life isn’t going so well, it is important to reach out to people you trust, like friends and, of course, family, if you have them.

Reaching out to friends and family not only feels good, but it also helps you to regulate your feelings.

I don’t know how often I have crossed the street to my friend’s house and sat in her kitchen with a coffee, watching her do laundry while our kids run around our feet. I mean, who does that? Well, my friends and I do it all the time. Just being in someone else’s house can help if you are having a bad day.

Make sure to choose the people you turn to who’s got your back. You will find out very quickly if someone is not trustworthy, and it’s not a nice feeling to be betrayed by someone close. It can take a while to get back up on your feet again.

Sometimes you think you know the person, only to find out they never had your best interests at heart.

If it doesn’t feel right, then it probably isn’t. Listen to that inner voice of yours.

There are those times when you need more help than just sitting in someone’s kitchen or having a catch-up coffee with a friend.

Tell that person you need their undivided attention to listen to you vent or to understand that you have a problem and need their advice. For these conversations, only privacy can help.

Let someone else take care of the kids for an hour and go somewhere private. Sometimes, these conversations are so difficult that you might just need a shoulder to cry on. Boy, have I been there plenty of times.

Whatever you need at that moment is the right thing to do.

I have come a long way in my healing journey by opening up to trusting people about my past. I feel better after sharing my hurt and pain with people.

I wrote a memoir of my childhood Amazon.com: The Sex-Offender’s Daughter: A True Story of Survival Against All Odds eBook: Woods, Elizabeth: Kindle Store and published it for the world to see.

I wrote the book to help other survivors know that it is okay to be allowed to have a life after abuse, and to fully live it. I also wrote it for therapists and other professionals who work with trauma survivors, so that they can understand what survivors carry before they get help.

You are not alone in the world. Use the people around you who make you feel better and let them know what your struggles are. The people who love you will want to know, and help you thrive.

Trust your instincts about people. They are usually right.

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

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

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

Photo Credit: Unsplash

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

My body ached constantly, yet my brain and face surpassed that and became continually numb. My thoughts and actions had become mechanized, and the emotion of life had disappeared; nor was I capable of feeling or accepting it. I had come to a place of having a limited understanding of who and where I was, but remained unable to discern much of anything. The journey forward would be punishing, and many years later, I would be diagnosed with CPTSD.

At the time, there were few resources, and in hindsight, they were not only inadequate for what I was facing, but they mostly didn’t exist. Looking through my rear-view mirror, I can only imagine how my healing trajectory may have progressed had there been trauma-informed therapists, social media, articles on the internet, and most importantly, a public willing to acknowledge it. But there wasn’t any of this despite my efforts to find the help I desperately needed. And culturally, there was little compassion for mental illness, and more so, it was socially unacceptable to discuss it.

So I found myself leaning into the only tool I had: writing my feelings on paper.

Admittedly, I was a fairly poor writer at the time, but as I would come to learn, that was not the point. And little did I realize, my years of journaling would probably create one of the clearest memoirs of what it is like to be mentally ill with CPTSD. But I continued expressing my feelings at all times of the day and would often do it on scraps of paper or the margins of some printed document.

Sometimes the thoughts were cogent, but decades later, much was rambling and incoherent.

Having come from a dysfunctional family, my emotional maturity and understanding of an array of human feelings were low. Yet all of this was my reality. Part of my life was coherent, namely work, where I pulled off one of the greatest acts ever, but the rest was the dark hours that I mentally battled into the night. At one point, I wrote “the days are long and the nights even longer,” lamenting the end of the utter and unrelenting agony I was facing. I was scared to fall asleep.

In hindsight, as I moved into a daily journaling rhythm, I learned the importance of it as an incredibly powerful tool in one’s healing journey. It is not the style or length, but the fact that you are downloading complex and often indecipherable concepts, so you can not only get them out of your head, but create a strategy to deal with them. And having written for three plus decades, here are some approaches to embrace, many of which I wish had been taught to me early on:

• Writing – this is not an English paper. Grammar, style, neatness, spelling, and word choice do not matter. The goal is to get the barrage of information out of your head, whether it be fragmented sentences, a few words, lists, goals, dreams, etc. Repeating the same concepts is good as well, until you can master how to move forward with it.

• Highlighting – after journaling, underline a few key words and add an entry date. The value of this information is not always immediate, and by preparing in advance, you can find a specific thought for future reference or additional exploration. I found this particularly helpful with ruminating thoughts and dreams.

• Recording – with my memory gone, I found that writing before, during, and after doctor or therapist visits became crucial. This allowed me to use the limited time in appointments effectively and to reflect further on key topics later. In some cases, I forgot everything, so I had to learn the information again.

• Saving – while I would come to write a book about my experience, I wish I had organized these writings in a more logical way. In fact, decades later, I found a banker’s box of notes. While you might think of using a diary, I might suggest a binder, as you can tape small pieces of paper onto larger sheets or use plastic sleeves.

• Securing – your notes may be very personal, and consideration to safeguard them is important. Most notably, never take it to work unless you can keep it on your person. This is where the small pieces of paper came into play. If privacy at home is an issue, be creative about where you keep it.

When I meet people who are early in their healing, I ask them whether they journal, and I am surprised how few do. To reframe the importance of this, if you are only seeing a therapist once or twice a month, this has to be supplemented by positive actions that offset the plethora of negative ones.

In my case, I was probably consuming hundreds of hours each month when not at work. I could say anything to myself at any time of the day, and I would not be judged, though admittedly, I was hard on myself at times. I would continue journaling heavily for at least ten years, and this would be what led me away from my past. In 2024, after finding thousands of notes, I realized there was enough content to help others, and so here begins my first article with CPTSD Foundation.

I look forward to sharing more with you.

Kevin Macomber is the author of the PTSD memoir Walking From The Shadows – My Journey With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as well as an advocate and speaker for awareness on the topic.

Photo Credit: Unsplash

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

For the life you should have had

I think of you often.

The life you should have lived. Who you would have become.

But didn’t.

We looked alike — back then. I was younger.

You were murdered at ten-years-old. You died right next to me — by a monster.

I never understood why. Still don’t.

We were so young back then. You had a confidence about you that I lacked at my eight-years-old.

I didn’t understand – until it was too late.

They wrestled us both to the ground.

I tried to tell you to let them do what they wanted. It had happened to me many times. I knew to play robot.

I remember turning my head. My eyes were pleading.

Don’t fight them! It makes it worse.

You didn’t stop fighting.

He got mad. He hurt you more.

Then you stopped.

I saw it all.

After — You laid sprawled on the dirt, unseeing eyes staring into the cerulean sky. Naked. The memory etched into my brain forever.

It should never have happened.

He just left you there, dusted himself off and started shouting and swearing. He went crazy, and tried to go for me too.

My monster stopped him.

The monsters put you in that black garbage bag, tied it and left you in the stifling heat.

After I was forced away, I couldn’t help looking back to see if you had tried to get free. They wouldn’t let me see but I managed one eye through a tight hand over my face.

You never moved.

I screamed at them to help you.

I was hysterical by seeing you in that black garbage bag. Like you were trash that needed to be thrown away.

We had just played a game. I wanted to play more. I couldn’t understand what had happened.

I wanted to know you were okay.

I guess part of me knew — even back then, that your life had ended.

The national newspaper put your picture on the front page. Your face on milk cartons.

No one believed the eight-year-old me, when I tried to explain what happened. My words wouldn’t come. It was as if my voice couldn’t speak those words about what happened to you — and to me.

Yet, I lived. I’m still alive — decades later.

Your life ended at age ten.

It doesn’t seem fair.

You should have lived. Had your first kiss and slow dance with your first love. Lost your virginity in the back of a truck. Gone through high school and off to college and become someone. You should have had the opportunity to fall in love and get married. Maybe even had your own family someday — if you wanted to.

You should have lived, and I feel deeply sorry that you didn’t.

I was there that day. I couldn’t stop them.

I will never forget you.

I have had the opportunities I spoke of. I have loved, and felt true happiness. I have had the gift of having children. I have witnessed many things.

I have never forgotten you. Instead I have carried you as I experienced life. In some ways I have lived my life because I knew you couldn’t.

I found out recently that your killer was caught, and he hung himself in prison a long time ago. I wish I had found out sooner because the man haunts me in my dreams.

My monster is still out there. He was never caught.

He let me live that day.

I still wonder why.

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

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