I am realizing in my own journey and as I watch other people interact, I am concluding that many of us childhood trauma survivors struggle with living in a world of absolutes. Brutal honesty here – Until I began my own journey, I didn’t know why I seemed to gravitate towards needing control and yet I HATED being controlled and I resented the feeling that I “had” to oversee everything. Quite the paradox!
Soon enough I learned that my sense of safety or lack thereof was behind it all. It began to make sense and eventually I came to understand that I don’t think I ever truly felt safe. When I look back on that inner rigidity, I chuckle. I see now how much unnecessary pressure I put on myself and those around me. How unkind and unloving it was – silly me – I was a trauma survivor, and I was just trying to feel safe. Enter the self-compassion.
As you can see, I’m processing this absolute thinking and how criticism, judgment, and wanting conformity or uniformity all came from the same feelings of fear, shame, and powerlessness. This is what I am figuring out:
Uniformity fears difference because it views deviation as a threat to stability, and stability means safety. It is rigid and conditional: "You are only safe/acceptable if you agree with me." Being critical and judgmental is often a subconscious defense mechanism. It is an attempt to force the world into neat, predictable, "uniform" categories so the nervous system doesn't have to face the terrifying ambiguity of difference.
Moving from demanding uniformity to allowing unity takes time. It involves teaching the brain and nervous system that someone can disagree or be different from you and still be safe to love and connect with.
Unity is about being aligned despite differences. It’s like an orchestra—a violin, a flute, and a drum are completely different instruments making different sounds, but they work together to create a single piece of music. Unity values the collective whole without requiring individuals to erase who they are. And I don’t want anyone have to feel that. So, this blog is about making sense of this old mindset and learning how to manage the need for uniformity and feel safe enough to be open to the differences – the gray of life – teaching the amygdala (threat detection centre) that you are an adult now and know what to do and have to power to do that to keep you safe.
Here are some steps that can help – IPGP.
- Inner child validation and support. This is ongoing work because each time there are flashbacks, more compassion, understanding, validation and support must be shown.
~ There are also somatic movements that help the brain transition from survival mode to safe thriving mode.
- Pause and name the part that’s protecting. The moment you catch yourself thinking in absolutes, (They always do this, They are completely wrong, This is ruined), pause. Instead of fighting the thought, name it with curiosity rather than shame.
~ For example – instead of saying, I am being so judgmental right now, try saying, A part of me is feeling highly critical right now because it feels unsafe or disconnected.
This creates psychological distance.
~ Remember, You are not your trauma response; it is just a protective mechanism (part or inner child) running in the background.
- Get Grounded. Take two or three long, slow exhalations (making the exhale longer than the inhale). Feel your feet flat on the floor or touch something physically textured nearby.
~ Remind your body: I am safe right now. A difference in opinion or behaviour cannot hurt me in this moment.
- Pivot to using, And. When you notice the either/or thinking, practice inserting the word, and. This allows flexibility so you can hold two seemingly opposite truths at the same time. For example:
- They are doing this completely wrong and it's frustrating, to, They are doing this differently than I would, and their way might still work out okay.
- If I make a mistake here, I am a total failure, to, I messed up this specific task, and I am still a capable, worthy person.
Other strategies
To train your brain out of the survival binary over time, you can use these two mental filters when you feel the urge to judge:
1. "What is the third option?" When your brain gives you a menu with only two choices (e.g., Succeed or Fail, Perfect or Terrible), explicitly force yourself to invent a third middle-ground option. What does a "70% good" outcome look like?
2. "Is this a safety issue or a preference issue?" Ask yourself: Is this person actually putting me in danger, or are they just failing to conform to how I think things should be done? Separating actual danger from mere discomfort is a massive step in trauma recovery.
Be incredibly gentle with yourself as you practice this. That inner critic spent years keeping you safe in a chaotic world; it takes time to convince it that it's finally allowed to retire.
In time, childhood trauma survivors will notice less bodily tension and a more relaxed way of being. Confidence grows as we see that we can manage emotions successfully – that differences are not threatening to our wellbeing – that we can feel safe enough. Here is where that sense of freedom exists and you deserve to feel this.
For survivors of sibling sexual abuse, finding the immense courage to finally tell your biological family the truth is an act of breathtaking bravery. You expect the disclosure to be the hardest part. But so often, the deepest, most unexpected wound comes from what happens after the truth is spoken.
When you turn on the light in a dysfunctional system, the family dynamic often shifts greatly. It is a devastating reality that very few families are healthy or strong enough to withstand the bomb of a hard truth. Instead of gathering around to protect you, many families immediately scramble to protect their own identity. They cling to the comforting illusion that "we are a good family," treating your trauma as a minor irritation—or pretending it never happened at all—just to keep their world from fracturing.
The Invisible Trap of the "Lost Sheep"
If you have watched your family close ranks around the person who harmed you, putting more effort so that the abuser doesn’t feel cast out or lonely, please know you are not crazy, and you are not the problem.
Abusers, particularly within religious or tight-knit families, are often deeply terrified of losing their status. Driven by this fear, they rely on denial, toxic grooming and manipulation to secure their position. They present themselves as the lost sheep (the victim) in need of support and understanding grace, while you are met with a wall of indifference or silence. It is the ultimate act of cowardice. Yet, it works because the family system is often groomed to prioritize the offender’s comfort over the victim's actual safety.
When family members say, I just don't want to take sides, it is a deep betrayal. They try to pass off neutrality as peace. But true neutrality doesn't exist when it comes to abuse. Choosing to look the other way, or treating the truth as a matter of opinion, isn't being a peacemaker—it is actively choosing to maintain an illusion because facing reality requires too much hard, uncomfortable work. It also enables the sibling sexual abusers to keep on psychologically abusing by allowing them to manipulate the family’s thinking and control the narrative.
Misusing Forgiveness as a Silencer
For survivors in faith-based circles, spiritual concepts are frequently weaponized to enforce compliance. You might be told that you must forgive, or that love covers a multitude of sins, or, just be more loving. Or maybe, you’ve been told that you need to pray more.
Let’s be incredibly clear: you can completely forgive someone—releasing the bitterness from your own heart for your own healing—without ever allowing them back into your space (because they haven’t proven their genuinely sorry and that they’re safe). Forgiveness is a personal release; it is not reconciliation. Reconciliation requires accountability, safety, and a shared commitment to the truth. When a family acts like the abuse never happened – won’t talk about it with the survivor, and there are no consequences for the abuser, that isn't being Christian or being peaceable. It is systemic grooming and frankly, it’s toxic.
Choosing Your Own Safe Harbour
Deciding to go low-contact or completely no-contact with your biological family is one of the most painful choices you will ever make. And it is not a vengeful act, nor is it an attempt to control who your family talks to. It is a necessary, protective response to betrayal trauma.
If seeing a family member's face or name flash on your phone causes your heart to race and your lungs to tighten, listen to your body. Your nervous system knows that this environment is no longer a safe harbour. You are not being unforgiving; you are simply refusing to participate in a false peace built on a lie. Your sense of safety is paramount. You need to heal.
Stepping away from the biological family system to stand in the light is a profound grieving process. The family you were born into and hoped to have may not be, but your integrity remains whole.
If you are standing in the light alone right now, take a deep breath. The feelings from the frantic scattering of the family will eventually fade into the background. As you continue to practice your boundaries and prioritize your safety, the grieving will slow down. You will find the safe, honest people who can truly see you, believe you, and walk beside you.
You are stronger than the illusion they chose, and you deserve a life lived in the truth. And who knows! Maybe, one day, the people you had hoped would understand finally do. Then relationship repair may be possible.
Now that I have relocated to be closer to my sons and their families, it puts me close to where I grew up. This means old memories are surfacing and I am processing more. That’s OK. This always helps me gain more clarity and supports the ongoing healing and growth process. Lately I’ve been thinking about Machiavellianism because, like most CPTSD survivors, I look for information that explains who people are and why they do what they do. In identifying behaviours and their impact, it helps me have clarity on what is “mine” and what isn’t.
The following is what I’ve seen in the one who sexually assaulted me – with his self-centered schemes to deflect and avoid accountability after disclosure.
- Manipulation & Deceit: Use of charm, lies, and calculated strategies to influence others for personal gain.
- Lack of Empathy/Emotion: Emotional detached, prioritizing self-interest over moral constraints or feelings of others.
- Long-Term Strategy: Unlike impulsive psychopaths, Machiavellian individuals are patient, methodical planners, manipulative.
While I’ve mentioned these strategies previously it now feels right to put them under one umbrella.
So, from this lens I write this blog – to share my experience, shedding light on certain behaviours and offering the reader the opportunity to see if this is something that you too are dealing with. Disclaimer – I am not a licensed psychologist, psychiatrist, or therapist. I cannot and do not diagnose.
That said, I do know what I experienced and what I saw and heard. As the saying goes: You have to name it to tame it.
When I finally found the words to speak of the sexual abuse, I didn't find a path to justice; I found a complex, Machiavellian system designed to ensure my silence. I’ve come to realize that for a calculated manipulator, the original act of sexual assault was only the first violation. The Second Assault is the post-abuse grooming: the systematic management of the narrative to protect his reputation at the cost of mine. I learned to see the machinery of this for what it is. By naming these tactics, I take back the power he tried to bury.
1. The Weaponization of Spirit
In our family, faith was the highest currency, so it was the first thing he weaponized. He told me, God won't forgive you if you don't forgive me. He was insinuating that If I were truly spiritual, I would let this go.
Not only is this ignorance talking – It is also the Weaponization of Faith and Forgiveness. It creates a moral injury, making you feel like a spiritual failure and ashamed for having normal human reactions to trauma. Therefore, I learned that forgiveness is not a gag order. Forgiveness takes time. It is a gradual internal release of the trauma for my own healing and recovery; it is not a legal contract that wipes away the past. Using God to silence a victim is the very definition of taking a holy name in vain.
2. The Spiritual Cage
He didn't stop at forgiveness. He used High-stakes Leverage, suggesting that speaking the truth would jeopardize my salvation or my chance to see my father again in the resurrection. He turned speaking about my trauma into a threat to my eternal future. He misapplied scripture and implied that telling my story is malicious gossip, divisive, and unchristian.
And yet, truth is a requirement for peace – for salvation. No spiritual system based on truth can require a lie to function. If a family’s hope of preservation is built on the silence of a victim, that hope is fragile and false. The Truth is more important than reputation.
3. The Performance of the "Pseudo-Saint (Good Guy)"
There was an incident where he tried to be the picture of Christ-like concern. He shouted, "I still love you!" in front of witnesses and spoke with calm concern for me and my future salvation. This Pseudo-Saint Performance is designed to win the PR war, that’s it. I didn’t buy it for one second.
Performance is not repentance. A truly repentant person does not bellow their love for an audience; they listen privately, own their choices, accept the consequences, and prove they are deeply sorry. His spoken “love” was just a tool for social dominance; it was done for appearances’ sake only.
4. Semantic Distortion and Tactical Amnesia
When he couldn't play the good guy, he played the "I don’t remember” card. He renamed predatory acts as non-malicious, using Semantic Distortion to try to make me feel my trauma was overblown. When cornered, he would retreat into Tactical Amnesia, claiming he didn't remember. I know he remembers everything he did.
The fact that he nodded his head when I asked if he remembered and then said, I'm surprised this still bothers you, proves his amnesia was a strategic choice. Calling a crime a "non-malicious act" or a "mistake" is just a Machiavellian attempt to redefine reality. Intent does not trump impact.
5. The "Exacting" Family Standard
And that’s not all he did in trying to silence me. He said, You're abusing our Mother by bringing this up. This weaponization of the mother casts me as the black sheep and the disruptor of family harmony. It’s also part of the “Attack” part of the DARVO playbook, trying to make me the villain.
It didn’t take long to acknowledge: The secret is the poison, not the truth. Telling the truth isn't what hurt the family; the original act is what hurt the family. Shifting the blame to the messenger is just a diversion to keep the spotlight off the perpetrator.
What he did to me was equal to having a bomb explode in the family. Right then and there, decades ago, the dysfunction was evident. And all these years I kept it hidden because I was protecting myself and the rest of the family from the truth. Doing so nearly killed me.
It is no longer my secret to carry.
Reclaiming the Reality
What I’ve learned is that a Machiavellian doesn't need to prove you are a liar; they only need to create enough "gray area" that people feel comfortable doing nothing. They rely on the above strategies and more to keep from being held accountable – to run away from their own shame.
I realized that the gaslighting, the isolation, and the crushing family pressure weren't reflections of my worth—they were parts of a machine designed to protect a coward and the family’s reputation. The complexity of his lies is not a sign of his strength; it is a testament to how terrified he is of my voice.
I stopped trying to convince the people he had groomed. I stopped hoping that those who hurt and abandoned me would help heal me. I realized that if someone is more invested in a comfortable lie than an uncomfortable truth, they aren't safe harbour for my story anyway. My healing started when I stepped out of his architecture and started building my own.
His selfish recklessness treated a child, his little sister, like a sexual experimental toy, but I am a soul, not a toy. My spirit isn't gone—it was just forced into hiding for protection. Reclaiming my narrative is the first step in bringing that child-self back into the light.
I have spent a lifetime being a character in a script I didn't write, playing a role designed to protect a coward and other people’s feelings. No more! I am no longer seeking a 'verdict' from a jury that was groomed to doubt me. I am the Narrator now. I am the Curator and Creator of my own story. And in this story, the truth is no longer a secret to be kept—it is the ground I stand on.
Are you like me in that you’ve spent countless hours, weeks, years trying to figure out what’s wrong with you? You know something’s off and while it takes a long time to identify it. The brain fog is such a struggle.
Recalling the words spoken to me by someone who loved me, he said: “People don’t just like you, the want to BE you!”
I couldn’t “get it” back then. No matter how hard I tried, there was a block. Finally, I do now, today. It’s been over 7 years of focused trauma recovery work. What a journey that has been!
I have crossed over that line where I can finally FEEL my worth.
Not seeing my value, my worth, held me back sooo much in my life. It’s painful to look back and see how much it did. How sad – I didn’t grasp opportunities what would have put my life on completely different trajectories both professionally and personally. Not that I regret who I am today – I’m simply curious about that part.
Even while raising my family, low self-worth impacted so much. I held myself back. I didn’t see how valuable I was and am in my sons’ lives. I couldn’t see how much I brought to their world and how much they loved and needed me, how much they appreciated me. Oh, I knew the value of motherhood cerebrally, but to feel that value inside, my value….that is something totally different.
And now I weep a little; weep as the realization of how much I failed to emotionally support my children as much as I wanted to, because I just didn’t see my worth. I was blocked from doing so. And admittedly, there is a bit of anger there for all the lost moments, for what I missed celebrating as a mom, for not being able to be fully present, no matter how much I wanted to be from the get to.
I was shy even towards my kids. I couldn’t be authentic, I didn’t know how. I had a hard time making eye contact – and that has shame written all over it.
What helped remove this block are trauma recovery strategies. These include doing TIM (Trauma Informed Movement) created by fellow CPTSD coach Linda Meredith, coupled with deeper journalling and line writing of affirmations. I also increased my spiritual/religious activities, intensely focusing on letting God’s love into my heart and letting that truly BE. I kept reminding myself that since God believes I am a precious daughter of his, then I must be! Who am I to call my heavenly Father wrong?!
In time, the intense desire to be with my kids resurfaced. (the longing for connection had disappeared while I was battling the demons of childhood trauma.)
It is so exciting to have broken through this barrier and to feel freer than I have ever felt!
Trauma recovery is long and arduous work. Nevertheless, it is so worth it. I am worth it! And so are you.
Ah, my confidence is growing. My trauma recovery journey has hit a milestone. When looking back we see that bit by bit, we take back our power, we connect to the little one who was so wounded and help her come out of the shadows and let her light shine. We help her feel safe, loved, and valued. Her and I get to taste that God is good, that we can live life shackle free, as He intended. It feels so good to let go of an abuse-based lie that I had been living under all these decades.
Yes, it was oppression, degradation, gaslighting, shame, unworthiness, powerlessness, and more. Each time we childhood trauma survivors shed another layer, we feel lighter, smile brighter, we stand up taller, we make eye contact without shame, and we smile more. We appreciate who we are and love ourselves healthfully.
Survivors of childhood trauma often struggle with the confusion stemming from a lack of boundaries and respect for their bodies, which is a significant challenge to overcome. Added to this there probably was an environment that lacked emotional intelligence and healthy supportive and loving conversations. These survivors usually grew up feeling devastatingly alone, even insignificant.
As they heal and learn to name what they experienced, the need to say out loud what happened to them is important. Telling is a vital step in trauma recovery. In telling the survivor validates themselves and reinforces that what happened to them is wrong, bad, criminal, and it should have never happened. It also sheds light on the fact that they didn’t have the emotional support needed to be safe enough; they didn’t feel loved, cared for and about, they were not protected or nurtured.
So, it’s not the outright abuse that scars and damages, it is also what didn’t happen for them.
Later if they decide to go to a therapist and begin to unravel their confusing story, and it is received with compassion, understanding and tenderness, they begin to lift their heads up. And with that, they start the journey of handing shame back onto the ones who abused and neglected.
If these survivors are raised as Christians or are Bible readers it can be confusing when they learn about the admonition to not gossip or spread disparaging information about others. So… what to do? Is it wrong to go to the police?
Is it wrong to talk about what happened to you?
Is it wrong or unchristian to share your story, to share about the pain you went through and how the abuse impacted you?
Should you feel ashamed for telling?
Absolutely not. Your story deserves to be heard. YOU deserve and should be heard.
Telling IS healing. And I’ll get more personal here.
It is not gossip when you share what happened to you.
If the abuser(s) get upset because you’re telling what they did, that is not on you. That is their shame surfacing. It is not your responsibility to fix their feelings, to soften the blow of reality, to protect them, to ease their discomfort.
For some survivors, the push back from the abusers and their enablers/supports can be intense. Remember, it is not you who did wrong; it is them. They don’t like their vile deeds coming to light. Speaking out is not being disloyal, it is not gossiping, and it is certainly not unchristian. You are not “airing dirty laundry.” In fact, speaking truth is expected of Christians, covering up wrongdoing is a sin. And child abuse is not something that survivors need to “just get over, just let it go and move on.”
If they accuse you of gossiping or making up stories, then they are gaslighting. Be careful not to get sucked into their refusal to own their choices and behaviours. Stand true in your clarity of what was and is happening.
For your wellness, stick to those who believe you, who validate you, who support you, who are kind and patient and understanding. You will heal more within healthy relationships. Stay away from toxic ones – the ones who prefer to spew their shame back onto you. These ones are too busy looking at the “straw” in your eye while ignoring the “rafter” in their own.
What is wrong is covering up the wrongdoing – the interpersonal crimes. If people want to heal, they need to face what happened. Name it accordingly – not sugar coat it or dismiss it as immature mistakes, especially if the perpetrator was also a minor at the time. The perpetrator(s) need to own what they did. If they are truly sorry, there would be evidence of intense remorse. There would be apologies and a proactive approach to repair the damage caused and ensure it isn’t repeated. These are signs of emotional and spiritual maturity. And the survivor also needs to face what happened, name it, and do the work necessary to heal the deep wounds (trauma) that resulted. Believe me, there are layers and layers to work through, and you CAN do the hard work – with the right support.
It’s true that as a survivor, you have a significant journey of healing ahead. But remember, this journey is yours to take, and it’s one that leads to a life filled with joy, meaning, and confidence. By continuing the work of trauma recovery, you’re not only healing yourself but also paving the way for healthier emotional connections with others. Every step you take is a step towards a brighter future. And always remember, you are worth every bit of effort and love you invest in yourself.
I am here to walk alongside you. Reach out when you’re ready to take the next step.
Healing from emotionally painful relationships rarely happens all at once. It’s a quiet, often invisible process—one that can take years, even decades. Even when we know someone disrupts our peace or diminishes our worth, we may find ourselves drawn back—hoping, deep down, that this time might be different.
We’re seeking something beautiful: kindness, connection, recognition.
But too often, we’re met with disappointment—neglect, criticism, or even cruelty.
And each return chips away at our sense of self.
What Is Repetition Compulsion?
There’s a name for this deeply human pattern: repetition compulsion.
It’s the brain’s way of trying to make sense of earlier emotional injuries by returning to familiar scenarios—this time, hoping for a different outcome.
This may feel frustrating or self-defeating, but it’s not a flaw. It’s a survival strategy.
The brain, in all its complexity and power, isn't sabotaging us—it returns to what’s familiar because it’s familiar – even if it comes with pain. These patterns aren’t born of confusion, but of an ingrained unhealthy loyalty. They are deeply entrenched, often stemming from childhood.
Understanding this allows us to meet these patterns not with shame, but with compassion—for how hard the brain has worked to make sense of and developing according to its environment, and how bravely we are now learning to choose new paths.
Why We Keep Hoping
When love was once tied to pain, our nervous system may confuse familiarity with safety. We go back, not because we don’t understand what’s happening, but because a tender part of us still believes that if we try hard enough, it might finally feel different.
We keep hoping that maybe they’ll see our value and truly love us.
This longing isn’t shameful.
It’s proof of your capacity to love.
Sometimes we pour ourselves into relationships, hoping someone will finally offer the warmth, steadiness, or nurturing we’ve always deserved.
This isn't naïve. It's courageous.
The Grief Beneath the Pattern
Often, just below the surface, there's a quiet refusal to fully acknowledge the truth—not because we're in denial, but because admitting it might break our hearts.
There’s fear that grieving what never was will leave us truly alone.
So we keep reaching.
Knocking on doors that stay closed.
Still clinging to the dream of being fully seen and deeply loved.
Until, one day, the ache gently nudges us to stop.
To breathe.
And to begin facing forward.
When Enough Is Enough
Not everyone we care for can offer the love we need.
That doesn’t make them cruel. It just means their emotional capacity doesn’t align with ours.
If someone leaves you anxious, diminished, or doubting yourself—it may be time to gently ask:
“Is this connection nurturing my healing?”
The truth is: some people simply aren’t our emotional people.
Even if they’re bound to us by blood, history, or longing, they may not be able to meet us with compassion, clarity, or care.
And recognizing this isn’t giving up—it’s waking up.
What Healing Can Look Like
Healing isn’t always dramatic.
Often, it starts with small, sacred shifts:
- Turning away from the fire. You no longer owe your story to those who cannot hold it.
- Building tender boundaries. Boundaries aren’t barriers—they’re bridges to self-respect. When we respect ourselves, we won’t tolerate mistreatment of any kind.
- Seeking safe spaces. In therapy, in friendship, in spirituality, in the quiet voice of your wiser self.
- Letting go of fantasy. Not to punish them, but to free yourself.
You don’t have to cut everyone out.
But you do have to stop handing your heart to those who keep dropping it – if you want to heal.
You Are Not Broken
There is nothing wrong with wanting love.
There is so much right with choosing peace.
Let this be the moment you stop knocking on locked doors—and begin building your own.
One that opens into safety.
One that welcomes joy.
One where you are finally, fully home.
Have you ever felt the sting of a double standard — where someone expects grace, understanding, or respect from you, but offers little of it in return? Double standards don’t build connection — they create confusion, resentment, and distance. They often show up in subtle, relational ways that are hard to name but deeply felt.
At the root of many double standards are traits like emotional immaturity, unacknowledged pain, and sometimes, subtle narcissistic behaviours. These aren’t always dramatic or intentional — in fact, they often fly under the radar, masked as personality quirks or “just how someone is.”
As licensed clinical social worker Bree Bonchay points out, these traits can quietly undermine relationships, creating imbalance and frustration. The list below reflects some of those patterns.
You may recognize them in others — and maybe, if you’re willing to be gently honest, in yourself too.
This isn’t about blame. It’s about awareness.
Because it’s awareness — paired with honesty, humility, and integrity — that allows us to build stronger, healthier connections.
- Grandiose, yet fragile
- Can dish it out, but can’t take it
- Demanding you meet their needs, but uninterested in meeting yours
- Hypersensitive, yet insensitive
- Oppositional, yet intolerant of opposition
- Emotionally intitled, yet depriving
- Quick to blame, but unwilling to accept accountability
- Image conscious, but lacks self-awareness
- Expects absolute loyalty, but is quick to betray others
- Demands constant praise, but is very critical
She labels these as “the narcissistic paradoxes of double standards.”
We know that the word narcissistic is thrown around a lot these days. Fortunately, with people becoming more socially attuned we are now able to identify some of our experiences and perhaps even our own behaviours. Being imperfect, we all have a thread of what is now called narcissism (self-centeredness). Knowing this and doing something about it is the jam. Emotionally and spiritually mature people don’t make excuses for their imperfections.
So, let’s reframe her 10 into something more self-reflective.
- Do I think/believe I deserve to be respected and feel hurt when I am not?
- Do I find it easy to tease or be sarcastic yet don’t like it when I am the brunt of other’s jokes?
- Do I want people to meet my needs but make excuses why I’m not there for others?
- Am I easily offended while not being aware that I can be insensitive to other’s feelings and needs too?
- Do I not like it when people talk back, ignore what I’m saying, yet have no problem standing up for myself and calling people out on their stuff that I don’t like.
- Do I expect others to respect my emotional needs yet am not sensitive to others’ needs, according to them?
- Am I quick to point out the faults of and the neglects of others but don’t like to fully own my failures in the relationship?
- Do I describe myself as being self-aware while downplaying my faults?
- Do I expect others to not talk about me negatively while I talk about them negatively?
- Do I expect to be commended and acknowledged for the good I do and the changes I’ve made but cannot seem to see the good in others or commend them for trying?
And I’ll add 10 more.
- Do I struggle with apologizing — or offer apologies that shift the blame (“I’m sorry you feel that way”) instead of taking full responsibility?
- Am I more focused on how others make me feel than on how I make others feel?
- Do I interrupt, dominate conversations, or steer discussions back to my experiences — especially when others are trying to share something vulnerable?
- Do I secretly feel superior to others who are struggling — even if I don’t say it out loud?
- Do I expect people to “just know” what I need or want, and feel resentful when they don’t?
- Do I offer help or support to others with strings attached — expecting loyalty, praise, or reciprocation in return?
- Am I uncomfortable when others outshine me or receive more attention, even if I don’t say anything?
- Do I justify my emotional reactions but label others as “too sensitive” when they express theirs?
- Do I feel a need to always be the one who’s “right” or the one who has it “worse”?
- Do I struggle to genuinely celebrate others’ growth, achievements, or happiness unless I’m part of the credit?
Closing Reflection:
Reading this may sting a little. I get that. And if you really want to heal, I suggest going a bit further and ask these questions to someone who knows you and is prepared to give honest, direct feedback.
It’s likely that all of us, at some point, can see glimpses of ourselves in the reflections above. That’s not a reason for shame — it’s a reason for curiosity. The point isn’t to judge, but to ask:
Am I aware of these tendencies — and what am I doing to ensure they don’t harm my relationships?
Because underneath these traits — the defensiveness, the emotional distance, the harsh judgments — there are often deeper wounds: Unhealthy self-worth. Jealousy. A sense of entitlement. Fear of vulnerability. A competitive spirit. A disconnection from our own feelings.
And under all of that?
Fear. Shame. Humiliation. Unworthiness.
Sometimes these behaviours are not arrogance — they’re avoidance. Not confidence — but protection. Not meanness — but pain masked in control.
When we behave this way, we may be trying to outrun the beliefs and fears we carry about ourselves. And being truly seen — flaws and all — can feel terrifying when we’ve learned to survive by hiding or controlling or when we never felt truly accepted.
The truth is though, to get to the place where it’s safe and comfortable to be seen, we must first do the tender, messy, transformative work of fully accepting ourselves — every single piece. And that takes time. It takes work. It takes ongoing brain rewiring and nervous system support to fully recover from the wounds of childhood trauma. And as these long-standing wounds heal, we can look at ourselves honestly, admit our faults, and still love and accept ourselves as we are, without feeling shame.
If you’ve made it to this point in the blog, you’ve already taken that first brave step toward transformation.
I’m here if you want to go further.
As a Trauma & Resilience Specialist, I offer safe, compassionate support for adults navigating the complex journey of healing.
Reach out. Let’s talk about where you are — and where you long to be.
After six plus years of trauma recovery more realizations are forthcoming. 🙂
For many years, I carried the deep pain of being distanced from my family of origin after disclosing the sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of one of my brothers. The rejection I felt was profound, and I grieved not only the loss of my family but also the dream that we could acknowledge and heal together. Over time, though, I came to see an unexpected gift in this experience: the freedom to heal, grow, and become the person I always wanted to be. I have come to see there are blessings of being the black sheep and or scapegoat.
I know this happens in many families. Mine is not unique. In families that struggle with unresolved pain and silence, those who acknowledge the truth can become outsiders. At first, this felt like abandonment. But with time, I realized that distancing myself from an environment that resisted open curious discussion allowed me to begin healing in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if I had stayed. The distance gave me space to see things more clearly and to prioritize my well-being.
Many families operate under the belief that if a problem is ignored long enough, it will disappear. This is not out of malice but often stems from fear and deeply ingrained survival patterns. I have come to understand that my family of origin carries intergenerational shame, much of it unspoken and unconscious. The unwillingness to be vulnerable or curious reflects this burden, one I don’t think they even realize they are carrying.
Experiencing childhood trauma made me different. I used to hate that but now I embrace it. One of the ways I’ve been different – I see the value of talking things through. I’m willing to have the difficult conversations with like-minded individuals. I’d rather resolve issues than point fingers or assign blame (the straw and rafter principle). Conversations and relationship repair is about just that – repair and resolution. It is not about winning the argument. I have learned to take responsibility for my part in misunderstandings, even when others are unwilling or unable to do the same. I can’t make people be open to different perspectives. I can’t make people care. I can’t make people “see.” After learning about the far-reaching tentacles of shame, I now see shame has a lot to do with behaviour and choices – making it difficult to admit one’s own weaknesses and failures, even though every human being has them. My family is just like any other; we are not special or different in this regard.
Doing my childhood trauma healing has required a large measure of humility. I have had to acknowledge where I was wounded, where I needed to grow, and where I needed to extend grace—to myself and to others. True healing isn’t about proving I was right or waiting for others to change; it’s about doing the internal work necessary to free myself from the patterns of traumatic pain that once defined me. This process has been humbling, but it has also been deeply empowering.
Separation gave me the opportunity to reflect in ways I hadn’t before. I learned to trust my emotions, recognize patterns in my own behaviour, and break free from cycles of self-doubt. Without the external pressure to conform to my family’s way of coping, I embraced my own perspective and deepened my emotional intelligence. I’ve learned to name what I’ve experienced and name what I see and it’s necessary for mental and emotional clarity.
Choosing to heal meant approaching life differently than some generations had. It meant refusing to ignore painful realities for the sake of appearances. It meant committing to self-awareness and emotional honesty, even when it was uncomfortable, even painful. By doing this, I’ve been able to cultivate relationships based on openness and mutual respect—ones that feel authentic and fulfilling rather than strained by unspoken truths. This is part of the joy and confidence I feel now.
When a family relies on avoidance to maintain harmony, those who seek acknowledgment can feel out of place. For a long time, I struggled with self-doubt, wondering if I was wrong to want honesty and accountability and validation. But through my healing, I’ve learned that trusting my instincts and valuing my truth are not flaws—they are strengths. Setting boundaries that honour my well-being has deepened my self-trust and authenticity. My personal Bible study has further strengthened this, ensuring that my healing aligns with my spiritual values and bringing me confidence, inner peace, and safety.
While the pain of separation was real, it also built in me a resilience I might not have otherwise discovered. I learned that I could survive loss, navigate difficult emotions, and still find joy and connection. My journey has shown me that healing is not about waiting for others to change but about stepping into my own sense of self and creating a life aligned with my personal and spiritual values.
One of the greatest gifts of all this awareness and growth has been the realization that family is not solely defined by blood. (Psalm 27:10*) I have found deep, meaningful connections with people who see and accept me fully. These relationships, built on mutual respect and understanding, have shown me how it feels to be truly supported and loved unconditionally.
If you have found yourself in a similar situation, know that you are not alone. It is natural to long for connection and understanding from those we were raised with, but healing does not require their validation. You learn to validate yourself. Your journey is your own, and it holds infinite possibilities beyond the past. You were not meant to shrink yourself to fit into a space that does not allow for your truth. You were meant to grow, heal, and let your light shine, not to hide your gifts under a basket.
I invite you to see your experience as the family scapegoat, not as a one of rejection but as an opportunity for profound healing and transformation. And if you need support along the way, know that there are others who see you, hear you, and walk this path alongside you.
This blog highlights the blessings that come from being the scapegoat—freedom, clarity, healing, and deeper connections.
*Until recently I have resisted religious language as I know that many childhood trauma survivors have had religion and misquoted/misapplied scripture used against them. Please know that I understand. In this blog, the sharing of divine quotes is in ways that support, encourage, and validate, not to shame or judge.
This image holds a powerful reminder of how our perceptions can be misleading. It’s a photo of rocks that, from a particular angle, appear as a person quietly sitting in water, reading a book. The visual illusion mirrors the inner landscape of trauma recovery: assumptions about appearances can lead to profound misunderstandings.
When I first saw this image, it resonated with a deep part of me, surfacing wounds from times when I was misjudged, or my intentions were misunderstood. I thought back to moments when, instead of being asked for clarification, conclusions were jumped to, judgments were made, and these opinions were held as “fact.” And once people believe their perception to be true, there’s often little room left for understanding, or for compassion. It can be deeply painful to feel that someone wants to believe the worst, consciously or unconsciously. Such experiences can feel like a loss, and I find myself feeling sad for those who cling to assumptions rather than seeking connection.
In my journey through trauma recovery, I’ve had to carefully choose a small circle of people who embody kindness, acceptance, and understanding. I no longer have the energy for criticism and judgments that stem from others’ unresolved fears and insecurities. I’ve reached a point where my healing journey cannot coexist with others’ unmet shame or the finger-pointing that often accompanies it.
Constructive feedback, shared gently and with care, has its place. I appreciate when people express concerns using a compassionate approach, which softens the message and shows that it comes from a place of love rather than judgment. But when criticism becomes harsh or unjust, or when accusations are made, there comes a time to draw a line.
There’s a unique layer of difficulty for childhood trauma survivors, who too often find themselves the target of uninformed or hurtful opinions. Unsolicited advice from those lacking trauma awareness can cause more harm than healing. Criticism, particularly when disguised as concern, can feel more like an attack than support. Childhood trauma survivors have endured enough of this throughout their lives, often internalizing it until self-compassion feels like a distant hope.
For years, I absorbed criticism, both from others and from myself, struggling to see my own worth. Healing has allowed me to shift the lens I use to view myself and others. With a healthy sense of self, I now recognize that harsh criticism often comes from a place of hurt and fear. While I understand the pain behind the critical mindset, I’m choosing not to expose myself to it any longer. My mental health and peace require an environment of love, respect, and acceptance.
Like so many trauma survivors, I hope that others can eventually open their hearts and minds, gaining the insight needed to support without judgment. For those who care for trauma survivors, I ask that you approach with humility and curiosity. Strive for a perspective based on understanding, ask questions, and be open to growth and change. Sometimes, things are not as they seem. Remember that rock formation — it reminds us that assumptions can obscure the truth.
Stay open, and stay curious.
Discrediting a person is a common behaviour from someone who feels afraid, shameful, or jealous. Sometimes it comes from sheer ignorance. To those who receive the misjudgment (discrediting) know what is being said is not true and trust that eventually the truth will come out and if the accused is innocent, they’ll be exonerated.
Childhood trauma survivors deal with discrediting often. It can come from the abuser themselves because it is a way to move the focus from them and onto the accuser. (aka Post Abuse Grooming) The intention is to cause doubt in the credibility of the accuser.
Sometimes discrediting comes from the abuser’s enablers who have believed in or were influenced by the abusers’ denial and DARVO tactics. When enablers discredit the survivor, they join the ranks of abuser because they emotionally abuse the same survivor.
Discrediting is cruel because it makes people shy away from supporting the survivor, which adds weight and length to their painful healing journey. Withholding support to a deeply wounded individual is inhumane. It is wrong and unchristian. Emotional abandonment like this is a form of emotional abuse.
Remember, it’s part of the healing process to name what happened. Naming provides essential clarity for trauma recovery. Many abuse survivors talk about what happened to them, and when they feel safe enough, name or identify the offender. We shouldn’t be shocked because abusive people hide in plain sight. They project one way to the outside world and a different way to their target – the one revealing their toxicity. Once the offender and the offence are identified, healing happens. Why? Because secrets are no longer carried by the survivor. Survivors are now able to see what happened, name it, and address it so that they can get on with the healing process and living their lives. For the record, as I write this, I have in mind sexual and physical abuse survivors.
Too often sexual abuse survivors were marinated in the dysfunction of others because their personal boundaries were crossed at an extreme level. Because of this, survivors knowing they are responsible for is not clear. Often by the time they are adults, they have been emotionally abused, psychologically manipulated, shamed, judged, guilt-tripped, discredited, demeaned, etc., to the point that they doubt themselves, who they are and usually, their own truth of what happened. Questioning their very Self is painful and for some… it can lead to the desire to unlive.
Healing involves learning to believe in your Self – trusting in your instincts, the unshakable knowledge of what happened to you, and naming it so that you know what you’re not responsible for. In doing so, you learn to trust yourself; you learn to credit yourself.
Clarity in trauma recovery can never be over-rated. This is especially so if you find yourself around people who discredit, criticize, and gaslight you. Learn to ignore these people and trust the healing process. Learn to trust You.
Childhood trauma causes medical and mental health issues. It is not something that can be ignored long term. That’s why working with a trauma-educated mental health professional who validates, listens, believes, encourages and does what they can to hold a safe, calm, yet brave space for those deeply wounded by the abuse is necessary.
We heal in a safe community.
