Tag: Coping

Trauma-informed coping strategies for emotional overwhelm and life transitions. Creating new skills to cope during flashbacks, grieving, and more.

  • What is Complex PTSD?

    What is Complex PTSD?

    A Guide to CPTSD Symptoms, Causes, and Healing 

    Living with CPTSD means my nervous system doesn’t always recognize safety, even when I do. It shapes how I move, connect, create, and rest. Every day is a negotiation between survival instincts and self-trust.

    It can feel like a rollercoaster, swinging from excitement for the plans I have, to being filled with suicidal thoughts. It isn’t always that extreme, but it has been and probably will be again.

    It feels like my body has been hijacked: these aren’t my feelings, these aren’t my reactions, these aren’t my thoughts. I pride myself on my kindness and gentle nature. So, when I ‘wake up’ from an emotional flashback, it’s disorienting. Depending on what I did or said, it can be deeply shame-inducing.    

    Understanding Complex PTSD 

    CPTSD vs. PTSD: A Key Difference 

    Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD) is a mental health condition that can develop after prolonged, repeated trauma; especially trauma that occurs in relational or inescapable contexts. Unlike PTSD, which is often linked to a single traumatic event, CPTSD arises from chronic exposure to harm, such as childhood abuse, domestic violence, or captivity [1].  

    Core Symptoms and How They Show Up 

    According to Cleveland Clinic, CPTSD includes core symptoms of PTSD—flashbacks, avoidance, and hypervigilance. But adds three additional symptoms: 

    Affective Dysregulation: intense emotional reactivity or numbness 

    Negative Self-Concept: persistent shame, guilt, or feelings of worthlessness 

    Interpersonal Difficulties: chronic mistrust, isolation, or fear of relationships 

    The World Health Organization officially recognized Complex PTSD in the ICD-11, distinguishing it from PTSD and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) [1][2]. However, the American Psychiatric Association’s DSM-5 still does not list CPTSD as a separate diagnosis, contributing to confusion and inconsistent care [1][3]

    Why Complex PTSD is Often Undiagnosed or Misdiagnosed 

    The Challenge of Finding Trauma Informed Care 

    Despite its prevalence, Complex PTSD is frequently overlooked or misdiagnosed, especially in marginalized communities. For example, research indicates that minority groups, particularly Black individuals, face higher rates of misdiagnosis for mental health conditions due to racial bias and a lack of culturally competent care [8][9]. Several factors contribute to this: 

    Gaps in Trauma-Informed Care 

    • Many clinicians lack training in complex trauma, especially in primary care settings [4].  
    • Survivors may not have access to specialists who recognize relational trauma patterns. 

    Low Public Awareness 

    • CPTSD is still emerging in mainstream mental health discourse. 
    • Survivors often internalize their symptoms as personal failings rather than trauma responses.  

    Stigma and Misdiagnosis 

    • Complex PTSD is commonly misdiagnosed as Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), especially in women and survivors of childhood abuse [4][5][2]
    • Research shows that while BPD and CPTSD share overlapping symptoms (e.g. emotional dysregulation, relationship struggles), they differ in origin and presentation. CPTSD stems from chronic trauma and includes a distorted self-concept rooted in shame, whereas BPD is characterized by unstable identity and fear of abandonment [5][2].

    For a deeper dive, check out Complex Trauma Resources’ breakdown of CPTSD vs. BPD or the CPTSD Foundation’s article on misdiagnosis.  

    The Root Causes of CPTSD: Beyond a Single Event 

    Complex PTSD doesn’t arise from a single traumatic event—it’s the result of prolonged exposure to harm, especially in relationships or systems where escape feels impossible. While chronic childhood abuse and neglect are among the most common causes [1], CPTSD can also develop in adulthood through repeated emotional, physical, or psychological violations. 

    Relational Trauma in Adulthood 

    Abusive relationships, spiritual exploitation, and medical gaslighting are all valid contributors to CPTSD. Long-term exposure to controlling or manipulative dynamics, especially those involving cheating, domestic violence, financial abuse, or sexual coercion, can destabilize the nervous system.

    Survivors often find themselves walking on eggshells, bracing for the next incident. Over time, this hypervigilance and emotional dysregulation become embedded patterns, even after the relationship ends. 

    For many, Complex PTSD symptoms existed before the relationship—but the abuse intensified them. The longer the exposure, the deeper the imprint. 

    Medical Trauma and Gaslighting 

    Medical gaslighting—where a patient’s symptoms are dismissed, minimized, or misattributed—can be deeply traumatic, especially for those with chronic illnesses.

    Studies show that women, minorities, and disabled individuals are disproportionately affected by diagnostic dismissal and invalidation [1]. When your pain is ignored by the very systems meant to help, it reinforces the belief that your suffering is invisible or unworthy of care. 

    “I’ve experienced the gaps. I’ve sat in exam rooms while my pain was minimized, my symptoms brushed aside. It wasn’t just frustrating—it was retraumatizing.” 

    Ash Elizabeth, The Hard Peel
    Image of man sitting in waiting room reflecting medical trauma

    Systemic Oppression and Institutional Betrayal 

    CPTSD can also stem from systemic abuse—when institutions fail to protect, support, or acknowledge harm. This includes: 

    Racial and gender-based discrimination 

    Legal and financial exploitation 

    Medical neglect 

    Educational or workplace retaliation 

    Governmental abandonment 

    Institutional betrayal occurs when trusted systems—like healthcare, education, or law enforcement—fail to respond appropriately to trauma, or actively contribute to it [6][7].

    Research shows that survivors of interpersonal trauma who also experience institutional betrayal report more severe CPTSD symptoms, higher emotional dysregulation, and lower treatment completion rates [6]

    Being a female, from a traumatic childhood, with chronic illness, I’ve lived the betrayal. I’ve been gaslit by doctors, dismissed by systems, and left on edge by relationships that promised safety but delivered harm.

    The Cumulative Nature of CPTSD 

    It’s Not Just One Thing 

    CPTSD is more than just one traumatic event. It’s the accumulation of being unseen, unsafe, and silenced over time. It’s the slow erosion of trust; in others, in systems, and sometimes in yourself.

    For me, it was years of surviving in spaces that didn’t know how to hold me.

    My Journey with CPTSD: A Look at the Symptoms 

    Symptoms of CPTSD can vary in frequency, severity, and trigger for each person. It’s important to remember they are not personal failings. They’re survival adaptations. Many of these responses once protected us in unsafe environments. Some can even be gently reframed into tools for healing in the present.  

    Here are a few of the most common symptoms, along with how they show up in my life:  

    Graphic describing emotional flashback and PTSD flashback

    Emotional Flashbacks and the Younger Self 

    Sudden, intense emotional states, often without a clear trigger, that transport you to a past version of yourself. 

    I experience emotional flashbacks frequently. They’re not always dramatic, they can sneak in quietly. A tone, a look, a physical discomfort and suddenly, I’m not in the present anymore. I’m in the mind of a younger version of myself. A version that feels neglected, attacked, and alone.

    As a kid, my pain was dismissed, by my parents and doctors. So now, even a small ache or hormonal dip can send me spiraling. I get depressed, at times to the point of suicidal ideation. I feel unseen, disrespected, angry, and I isolate. 

    I don’t fight it anymore. I treat it as a signal for rest and compassion. I gather my comfort items, curl up on my couch or in bed, and let myself be cared for, by me. I journal, read or watch something familiar. It’s my way of saying: I see you. I believe you. You’re not being neglected anymore.  

    Google map image

    Hypervigilance: Protection, Not Paranoia 

    Constant scanning for danger, difficulty relaxing, and exaggerated startle responses.  

    Because of the abuse I experienced and witnessed in childhood, and the cheating and financial abuse I experienced in adult relationships, I’m nearly always scanning. Always calculating. Did his timeline add up? Was he on his phone more than usual?

    I’ve literally gotten in my car and retraced a partner’s steps to see if the timing made sense. That’s not just anxiety or trust issues, that’s CPTSD. It’s also in my body. I flinch when someone moves too fast. I brace myself when I make a mistake, like spilling coffee, because I’m expecting punishment.

    It’s exhausting. But I understand it now. It’s not paranoia, it’s protection.

    Dissociation: Running in a Dream 

    Feeling disconnected from your body, emotions, or surroundings; a sense of floating or unreality. 

    Some days, I feel like I’m floating above myself. Watching my body go through the motions while I’m somewhere else entirely. I used to think it was just depression, but it’s more than that. It’s like trying to run in a dream — where you feel stuck, held back, unable to reach what you’re chasing.

    When I’m in that space, joy disappears. My loved ones feel distant. I stop seeing them as people I’m connected to and start seeing them as obstacles or pawns. It’s painful to admit. But naming it helps.

    When I notice that shift, I try to stay honest — with myself and with them. I let them know what’s happening. That openness helps me move through it with less shame and more compassion. 

    Image of woman with hands covering eyes in shame

    The Filter of Shame 

    Persistent feelings of guilt, worthlessness, or self-blame. 

    Shame follows me everywhere. It’s not just a feeling, it’s a filter. It dictates what I can do, it tells me who I am, it shows up in my work and in my relationships.

    It’s loud when I write. It whispers when I show up to my support groups. It tells me I’m too much or not enough. That I should be further along. That I’m failing. Sometimes I can’t even name where it’s coming from — it just shows up.

    I’ve learned to recognize it a little better, and to talk back to it. I remind myself that shame is not the truth, it’s a wound. And wounds can be tended to.

    Image of male and female on couch where male is dismissing female reflecting avoidance in relationships

    CPTSD and Relationship Challenges 

    Difficulty trusting, fear of abandonment, and people-pleasing. 

    CPTSD doesn’t just affect how I feel, it affects how I relate. In my relationships, it shows up as trust issues, fear of abandonment, people-pleasing, and avoidance. If my partner says they’re working late, my mind doesn’t care about facts, it automatically assumes they’re lying.

    I’ve looked up the addresses they’re working at to see who lives there. I’ve bent over backwards to keep the peace, even when it cost me my own boundaries. I’ve pulled away when things felt too good, because it felt suspicious.

    These patterns aren’t about drama. They’re about survival. And when I can’t redirect or reframe, they lead me to act in ways that go against my own values. But I’m learning to pause. To name it and to focus on the facts and my present reality.

    A New Definition of Healing: Reclaiming What Was Taken 

    Healing isn’t a finish line to chase. It’s a daily decision; it has to be. Because no one works harder than mental illness. CPTSD shows up every day and we have to as well.

    Healing means forgiving yourself for the ways you’ve reacted from past wounds. It means choosing presence over protection, even when it’s hard. It’s about regulating your nervous system and creating safety from the inside out.

    Tools for Daily Regulation and Self-Care 

    There are tools that help. Not to fix us, but to support us in reclaiming our peace: 

    Journaling offers a safe space for your best and worst parts to speak. 

    Creative expression builds confidence and authenticity, reconnecting you to your identity.  

    Gentle movement creates safety in the body, helping you feel grounded and whole.  

    Self-compassion rituals remind you that you’re worthy of care—even when you’re struggling.  

    Check out our Wellness Tips for prompts, meditations, and ideas for creative expression.

    A Final Message of Hope 

    For me, healing looks like journaling, therapy, and support groups. But it also looks like days in bed or on the couch. It looks like listening to my needs and granting myself permission to care for myself; without guilt. I used to think I had to push through, hustle harder. But I realized hustling and guilt kept me stuck in the same cycle.

    Motivation to continue healing doesn’t exist for me. It’s a commitment, a determination to not let my past define my present. So much was taken from me, I’ll be damned if I’m going to give up any more. Healing has become less about fixing and more about honoring and reclaiming what was stolen—my authentic self. The trusting, kind, loving, joyous self whose spark was extinguished.  

    Healing asks us to be open. To stay curious. To believe that we’re not failures. We’re not broken. We’re worthy—of love, of rest, of joy, of peace.  

    How can you care for yourself today? What do you need to feel safe and secure? Do it. Go after it. Ask for it. 

    Be gentle. Go slow. Peel better. 🍊 


    Sources:

    1. https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/24881-cptsd-complex-ptsd 
    1. https://bpded.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s40479-021-00155-9 
    1. https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/322886 
    1. https://cptsdfoundation.org/2023/12/27/the-misdiagnosis-and-ignorance-of-complex-ptsd/ 
    1. https://www.complextrauma.org/new-research-differentiates-a-complex-trauma-diagnosis-for-adults-from-borderline-personality-disorder/ 
    1. https://istss.org/when-ptsd-treatment-falls-short/ 
    1. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/from-awareness-to-action/202401/when-institutions-add-to-the-harm-of-trauma 
    1. https://www.nami.org/your-journey/identity-and-cultural-dimensions/black-african-american/ 
    1. https://www.kff.org/racial-equity-and-health-policy/issue-brief/racial-and-ethnic-disparities-in-mental-health-care-findings-from-the-kff-survey-of-racism-discrimination-and-health/ 
  • Compound Grief

    Compound Grief

    Coping When Everything Feels Like a Loss

    Part 2 of a 4 part series on Grief, find more here.

    Over the past year, my world didn’t just crack, it shattered. It wasn’t just a single event, but a relentless culmination of losses. My identity, my stability, my core relationships, and future dreams faded away. And despite my best efforts, I wasn’t prepared for the emotional wreckage I would be left with. I found myself dazed and confused by all of the feelings. I didn’t recognize it at first, because it didn’t look like “grief” as I knew it. There was no funeral, no single marker, just a quiet unraveling of self. What I thought was consequences of a wrong decision, was something far more complicated. It was compound grief; the silent, overwhelming weight of grieving everything, all at once, without a clear end in sight.

    What is Compound Grief?

    Compound grief, sometimes called cumulative grief, isn’t the single shot to the heart we typically understand. It’s an emotional avalanche, triggered by multiple losses piling up. Often these losses happen in rapid succession or before you’ve had a chance to process the one before. Think divorce, job loss, relocation, the quiet death of friendships, or even shifts in identity and purpose.

    Unlike the focused sorrow after death, compound grief arrives subtly. It disguises itself as persistent burnout, irritability, and internal resistance. Or it shows up as physical symptoms like fatigue and insomnia. There’s no memorial, no sign, and no fruit basket declaring, “This is grief.”

    Instead, your nervous system gets completely overwhelmed, a familiar feeling to those from trauma. You feel paralyzed, disconnected, or you’re on high alert, anticipating the next loss. Each unprocessed layer of loss compounds the next. This makes it harder to heal, to breathe, and to simply be yourself.

    The ending of my marriage, loss of my home, long-held friendships, and the identity I built my strength around are the compounds of my grief. Add in the gnawing anticipatory grief for my father’s declining health and the intense unpacking of childhood trauma, it’s no surprise my soul feels heavy. None of these losses arrived with an obituary, but each one buried me deeper in the suffocating mix of shame, abandonment, sadness, and anger.

    How Compound Grief Shows Up

    This unnamed grief first manifested as intense burnout, not the kind a long weekend can cure. But a deep exhaustion seated in the soul, filling you with dread as you wake up. My job, once a passion, felt like a prison. I wasn’t lazy or ungrateful; my spirit was screaming for space to feel, and the whole world refused to pause.

    Then came an almost physical resistance to movement. My body rebelled against walks, stretches, anything that might stir the buried sorrow. It felt like a deep, internal injury, demanding stillness as a way to protect my wounds. “We’re wounded. Don’t move,” my soul commanded.

    Withdrawal followed. Hiding felt like a shield against future rejection, a way to deny the current wounds. Subconsciously, I feared that acknowledging these losses would turn me into a full-time victim. It’s tricky, embracing a victim mindset. It can offer temporary safety, a way to gain validation and be seen in suffering. Yet, it’s a deceptive comfort that can quickly become an addiction.

    Compound grief rarely presents with obvious tears. Instead, it weaponizes avoidance and self-sabotage, as seen in the ways we disconnect from ourselves and others. It is, quite simply, grief without a name tag. But finding that name is the critical first step toward reclaiming your power.

    Collage reflecting signs of compound grief

    Why This Type of Grief is So Hard to Name

    Grief is often misunderstood, especially when it doesn’t follow a death. Society tends to recognize grief only when it’s tied to funerals, obituaries, and memorials. But what about the losses of relationships, identity, stability, or even hope? These significant shifts can elicit a deep grief, yet without a tangible “event,” we struggle to validate it. 

    A WebMD survey highlights this disconnect, 88% of people who experienced grief due to a life event reported emotional symptoms. With sadness and depression being the most common. It further revealed those who lost friendships/relationships experienced depression, anger, and withdrawal at higher rates than those grieving the death of a loved one. Astonishingly, many don’t connect these symptoms to grief until they begin to disrupt daily life, or in my case, sense of self.

    My first clue wasn’t sorrow; it was the return of self-criticism. Suddenly, the voice in the mirror sneered, “You’re disgusting.” Mistakes began triggering an overwhelming shame. Destructive patterns I’d spent years in therapy dismantling resurfaced. This wasn’t burnout or simple lack of motivation; it was grief, deeply hidden, even from myself.  

    Unnamed grief becomes a silent master. It manifests as corrosive self-doubt, persistent shame, and a slow, agonizing disconnection from our bodies and worth. Because it defies the tidy boxes of “traditional” grief, we deny ourselves permission to feel it. And even if we acknowledge it, we rarely make the necessary space or time. After all, life demands we keep moving and producing, right?

    Journaling as a way of coping with compound grief

    What’s Helping Me Cope

    Naming the grief has changed things. The moment I understood my depression and crushing exhaustion were not personal failures, but symptoms of compound grief, the self-blame began to dissolve. My focus shifted from “fixing what’s wrong with me” to compassionately tending to myself.

    I’ve doubled down on my established coping mechanisms: consistent therapy, regular support groups, and dedicated journaling. This blog has also become a vital processing space where I feel seen and understood. The value of these five years of recovery work is now becoming clear; these tools are my anchors. The sheer relief of simply understanding why I feel this way has lifted an immense weight.

    It’s perplexing the way our brains shield us from the source of our suffering. It leads us to frantically search for solutions in our current environment when the pain originates from months, or even years, prior. I’ve realized, once again, that I am not broken. I am simply grieving—for the life I lost, the relationships that ended, the home that vanished, and the identity that evaporated.

    With this grief comes the inevitable question, “What will my life be now?” But coping isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about choosing to stay present with the questions, granting permission to feel, to rest, and to rebuild at my own pace. And for today, that is enough.  

    Mental Health Resources for coping with compound grief

    You’re Not Alone

    If you’re feeling low and can’t quite explain why, if your depression doesn’t seem to match your current circumstances, you’re not alone.  

    What we label “depression” is often unnamed grief; pain pushed aside because life, and society, demanded we keep going. There’s no prescribed adjustment period, no ritual, no societal recognition for the deep, cumulative losses.

    We’re expected to show up, be present, keep moving. And we do, until our bodies, minds, and spirits declare, “Enough.” But here’s the truth you need to internalize:

    Your grief is valid.

    Your healing requires no external permission.

    You never have to justify your pain to deserve boundless compassion.

    I’m still navigating this terrain, still healing, still learning to honor what’s been lost. All while gently making space for what comes next. If you’re grieving quietly, carrying this heavy, unnamed weight, I see you. You are not alone.