I don’t know exactly how to explain this. I don’t mean this in a context of hyper vigilance or feeling unsafe. I mean I feel like I’m losing myself when I have a busy day (just studying all day by myself) or if I’m just out and about going from one class/event to another or constantly socializing. Because I’m not constantly thinking of my thoughts, feelings, inner world, etc like I do on most normal days and that’s what I have done most days for years of my life now. Anything other than that makes me feel like I’m losing myself and feels so weird even if I’ve had a somewhat happy and fulfilling day. It’s like I need to be all alone most of the time, doing nothing and be extremely self aware of my existence and constantly observing myself to feel like myself and have a sense of self.

It leaves me in this weird place where I’m not fully happy isolating (because I feel somewhat empty despite feeling like myself), but I’m also extremely reluctant to change it because it’s so comfortable and familiar and any change feels disorienting and akin to losing myself. Why does this happen? Perhaps it’s me trying to validate my own existence and my mirror my own thoughts, feelings, and existence because no one else ever did. Perhaps that’s why it feels so existential and so instrumental to my existence and sense of self.

Does anyone else experience this? Any theories on why it happens or your reasons/experiences?

Another part of my notes on CPTSD pt 1

I think a major issue with CPTSD treatment, is a lack of understanding of what exactly is being treated.

Let's define trauma as a distressing event that causes cognitive, emotional, and physiological responses. Typically these responses will be associated with feelings of fear, helplessness, dissociation etc. By itself, these responses are normal and adaptive: if I run into danger, some fear and adrenaline are probably useful to get me moving to safety.

This traumatic event can cause a disorder if these responses are lasting after the danger has gone, or in situations that are inappropriate. That is, the responses that were adaptive and helpful, have become maladaptive and unhelpful. We can say a person is "traumatized" or "has trauma" if they have these maladaptive responses. We might also call the maladaptive response itself "trauma".

So trauma is when an distressing event causes a long-lasting, maladaptive cognitive, emotional, and physiological responses.

Of course, there's another name for the process of developing a long-lasting response -- learning.

Fear un/learning as a theoretical basis for understanding CPTSD

CPTSD can be understood as a form of associative learning (think Pavlov's dog's) and more specifically fear conditioning.

In this simplified model, the traumatic event is the conditioning stimulus (CS), the responses to trauma are unconditioned responses (UR) and other stimuli present at the time can become conditioned stimulus (CS). These CSs can re-activate the trauma memory and generalize to other CSs. We can refer to these CSs as "triggers".

We can then consider a "flashback" a situation where a CS or trigger causes the unconditioned responses (UR). We can think of these URs as the set of somatic, emotional, and cognitive pathways that activate automatically.

If CPTSD is caused by fear learning then recovering from CPTSD is fear UN-learning. There are two primary mechanisms of unlearning: extinction and reconsolidation.

Despite its name, memory extinction is about forming NEW pathways in response to triggers. If we think of fear responses to a trigger as a set of nervous systems pathway that activate automatically, memory extinction means that we teach ourselves a new set of responses. Then instead of the trigger activating the old pathways, the new pathways activate instead. Over time, the old responses will slowly fade. However because this is a form of active learning, these new pathways are also subject to problems of forgetting. And since the old pathways are still there (we're just learning new ones), they can re-activate. Unfortunately one issues with CPTSD is that there's an additional deficit in extinction learning.

The second form of unlearning is called memory reconsolidation. When long-term memories are recalled, they become malleable for a period of time. By adding new, or contradictory information to the old learning while it's still in a malleable state, we can directly change the old pathways. This is considered by some "faster" than memory extinction since it doesn't require new learning.

Any effective recovery modality then should incorporate one of these two unlearning methods: extinction or reconsolidation.

There's also an implicit learning involved as well -- extinction means learning a NEW set of pathways to activate, and reconsolidation usually requires new or contradictory information to the old pathways. I typically refer to these new learnings as "cultivating positive qualities".

Other pathways implicated in CPTSD

There are other neurological pathways that are also impaired in those with CPTSD, threat salience, emotional regulation, context updating. Issues with threat salience means that typically attention is biased towards perceived threats (amygdala, dorsal anterior cingular cortex, insular cortex, PFC). Emotion regulation (medial PFC, dorsolateral PFC). Context updating refers to the brain updating mental models as new information arrives, and information about safety. The inability to recognize or update new safety information results in hypervigilence (Medial PFC, thalamus, hippocampus).

TW: Eating disorders / disordered eating / food

Hey everyone,

Wasn't sure where to put this, but I've often found solace in this subreddit so thought I'd put it here - I hope it's in line with the rules.

A few weeks ago my partner sat me down and told me they thought I had some disordered eating habits, and it worried them. I have never thought about this myself, and never noticed it - but now they've pointed it out, I think I agree with them. Cooking food stresses me out so much I just don't do it, can't do it. I always thought it was because I was inherently lazy or that it was just something I hated doing, but after this conversation with my partner I feel like I've realised I've been in emotional flashback mode whenever I cook. It makes me feel anxious, and upset, and confused. I'm also so anxious to make sure everything I eat is healthy, I obsessively check labels to make sure what I'm eating isn't processed or all sugar or whatever which, though I don't think is inherently a bad thing, the amount of stress it causes me is probably not worth it.

Anyway - now this has been pointed out to me, I realised it's because food was a BIG stress when I was a kid. My mom couldn't cook at all, we got takeaways all the time, and I used to beg her to buy veggies. It really embarrassed me and the food always felt icky to me. Completely forgot about this until now. Life is strange!

It has been a while since I wrote my last post here. Complex trauma recovery is a funny-not-funny thing. I guess it comes with unexpected chaos and calmness. I’ve hated both.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how difficult it is to build a life around living rather than surviving.

With complex trauma, we don’t really have a prologue. I’ve been reading stories about people who survived tragedies, and something struck me. Many of them have a past to look back on. They remember what life was like before things went wrong. They have something to compare their present to. They know what feeling safe once meant.

But what happens when you don’t have that? When you’ve been exposed to trauma since childhood, even before you were old enough to understand what was happening?

As I recover, I’ve begun to realize the cruelty I had to endure and the cruelty I had to witness. Life was never fun. I had to protect myself from my parents and from the world. My parents neglected me, and somehow, I still needed them to survive. They hurt me, lied to me, taught me unhealthy habits, controlled me, and created an unhealthy codependent relationship with me.

I didn’t choose to come into this world. I didn’t choose them as parents. But the funny thing is, they wanted to bring me into this world. And yet they raised me in fear. Under extreme religious beliefs, they taught me to be afraid of them, of the world, and even of my own thoughts. They made me believe there was an entire entity called God watching everything we did.

As I grew older, something wasn’t adding up. Somehow, my body seemed to have a stronger will to live than my mind was able to understand. I was 22 when I took a plane across the ocean to get away from them. I didn’t fully understand what I was doing back then. I just knew I needed to leave.

But leaving physically wasn’t the same as leaving emotionally. I was still trapped in that toxic codependent relationship with them. And the world outside wasn’t necessarily a safe place either. I had to deal with bullying, unhealthy work environments, and people who took advantage of my vulnerability. In some ways, I spent my entire life trying to understand other people’s reactions, anticipating what could go wrong, and figuring out how to protect myself.

Years later, I met my future husband, and something strange happened. I began to relax. I guess, for the first time, I was experiencing what it meant to be loved unconditionally. And that’s when the trauma symptoms started to emerge. I had to take a break from life, and slowly, my mind began catching up with what my body had already tried to do when I was 22.

Eventually, I found the strength to cut off my parents and the rest of my family completely. And I felt so cruel. It’s strange how protecting yourself from people who hurt you can make you feel like you’re the one doing something wrong.

But recovery also brought something else. I began to regain my agency. I wanted to do something better with my life. I started taking steps forward, finished my studies, continued learning, and began expanding my professional possibilities. Somewhere along the way, I realized they were wrong. Completely wrong. About me, about the world, and about what life was supposed to be.

Now I feel like I’m approaching another stage of recovery, and it’s surprisingly difficult to understand. For most of my life, my relationship with myself and with the world revolved around survival. Everything had a purpose. I had to understand people to protect myself. I had to anticipate reactions, analyze situations, prepare for what might go wrong. Even my abilities, curiosity, and interests developed in a world where I constantly needed to protect myself.

And now I wonder who I am when I no longer need to survive. Do I love writing because I genuinely love writing, or did I learn to write because it helped me survive? Do I enjoy analyzing things because I’m naturally curious, or because understanding everything around me once made me feel safer? Perhaps these things don’t necessarily have to be one or the other. But I don’t really know how to experience them outside of survival.

And perhaps the strangest question I’m facing now is: How do you live when there’s nothing left you need to escape from?

I don’t mean this in a depressing way. I’ve actually built a pretty good life for myself, and I’m aware that I’m writing this from a relatively privileged position. I have a stable job, a safe home, and the possibility of taking vacations and visiting beautiful places. I’ve accomplished things I’m proud of. I’m reconnecting with my creativity, picking up writing projects again, and discovering interests that don’t necessarily have anything to do with survival. And I genuinely appreciate these things.

But that’s also what makes this stage of recovery so strange. For most of my life, I was moving away from something. Away from my parents, away from fear, away from unhealthy relationships, away from situations where I didn’t feel safe. Even when I was building something good, there was often an underlying need to protect myself, to become independent, to make sure I would never have to depend on the people who hurt me again.

And now I don’t necessarily have to escape from anything. I can make choices simply because I want to. I can write because I enjoy writing. I can learn something because I’m curious. I can make plans without those plans having to serve some greater purpose of protecting myself. But after spending so much of my life surviving, that kind of freedom feels unfamiliar.

I think one of the hardest things about recovering from childhood trauma is that you don’t return to the person you were before, because there was no before. You don’t have a reference point. You have to discover what living means without having anything to compare it to.

For so long, everything revolved around the need to do something to protect myself, as though whatever happened next could potentially be dangerous and I needed to be prepared. But living doesn’t necessarily come with a reason. You don’t always need to anticipate something, understand something, fix something, or protect yourself from something. Sometimes you’re just living.

And I don’t know what to do with that yet.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy my life. It’s that I’m still learning how to relate to it. I spent so much of my life trying to reach a place where I could finally feel safe, and now that I’m beginning to experience it, I realize I don’t really know what comes afterward.

I guess this post is partly me venting, but also trying to put into words something I’ve been experiencing lately. I needed to get these thoughts out of my head, and I’m curious whether anyone else has experienced something similar.

Has anyone reached a point in complex trauma recovery where surviving no longer feels like the center of their life, but living still feels unfamiliar? When you’ve spent your whole life trying to get somewhere safe, what happens when you finally get there?

How do you learn to live when your life no longer needs to revolve around escaping?

Hugs

I firmly believe that for people like me, with lifelong cptsd, chronically feeling alone isolated unsafe and not understood, that a good friend or 2 in your corner would go such a long way towards healing. Just a good friend that you know supports you, cares, speaks well about you, and has good intentions.

But how can I make friends if I'm hypervigilant, wounded, lack confidence, have isolated so long I'm awkward socially, I'm stuck in fight or flight/survival mode and I don't even have real hobbies. But like i need friends when i'm broken and still mending too. When you grow up in survival mode there is little time to develop hobbies and learn about yourself much less safely explore the world around you?It always feels like people expect you to be healed and bubbly when you engage or try to make friends.

Even as an adult leaning into your interests and engaging in new hobbies is often looked at like you're strange for being so far behind the curve. For instance, learning how to game as a 39 year old woman, a mom, gets me so much judgement because everyone I meet has done it for years and I'm just starting and still suck. Or judgements for being an adult and a mom and what I'm supposed to do or not supposed to do. That's a minor example but I've found it to be true about alot of hobbyist communities I try to make friends in because supposedly it's best to try and connect when you have wholesome common ground.

And if I'm honest i never find more kind and understanding people then I do here and in the cptsd subreddit. I can post about my deepest thoughts or worst experiences and I'm always recieved and validated and offered advice and support. And this all from people society might shun and view as mentally ill or damaged and write off. I shared such a sentiment with my therapist and told her I only feel understood by other "damaged" people and she suggested that surrounding myself with people that have similar challenges as me can create a negative feedback loop.

And I see her point but what about the negative feedback loop of meeting "well adjusted, healthy" adults and being outcast? And even if i did find one that seems nice, what do i have to offer them? What makes me qualified to be THEIR friend? I usually can't keep pace with them, socializing all the time, group events, even the way they seem to always just want to small talk and still seriously have friends for 10 or more years having never gotten deeper then taking about surface topics. Please dont take that wrong, it's not to invalidate anyone, I understand that these differences in the way I think and experience others and friendship are why I'm lonely, but it's just so hard for me to navigate. I wish i could just be light and friendly and bubbly and just enjoy small talk and feel connected like them.

Or realizing that sometimes these "well adjusted, healthy" people only appear to be healthy because they never did any reflecting, self work, are not self aware and just live their best lives by being avoidant, lacking boundaries, or outright just being selfish and self serving?

I just feel like I connect with so many posts and stories and experiences here. I'm sometimes so tempted to make a post here or in cptsd looking for friends because sometimes you guys truly make me feel less alone, understood, and welcomed like the home i always wish I had. Like at least I know the people will be self aware to some extent, trying to learn, lots are in therapy and are really doing the work.

Is that weird? Had anyone ever posted in these communities for friends? How did it go? Would you do it again? Why/ why not?