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Hi Boatsetsailrose!

Wow, I've been in that same position. I know it's so frustrating to try and to not feel like you're making any headway. I've worked with my T on this intensively lately, and her recommendation to me was to start reaching out to people when the going is tough-- not just when we're going to spend a fun afternoon together. There are a couple of people who really get what I've had to deal with and who also struggle with similar issues, at least tangentially, who offer really great listening ears.

The Outer Critic is really harsh and really difficult to manage, and I don't want to minimize that at all. Usually a real friendship for me starts with hearing the other person's story. Before that, it's just an acquaintance. Encouraging them to be vulnerable with me reminds me that the people who are around me don't HAVE to be perfect to be good enough. I can start to trust them because (and I'm not entirely proud of this) I have a little bit of leverage. Our relationship becomes mutual and cruelty on their end will result in them being in a tough spot.

If you find that people are too loud and too opinionated, maybe find another group or try to get the people you know into a different environment which requires quietness and listening on their part. You'd be surprised how much an environment affects people.

I know my advice isn't perfect and I wish I had more wisdom, but my tiny breakthroughs have been very recent and I haven't really sat down and thought about them so much yet. I hope you have the best of luck in finding a few people who you feel you can be vulnerable with. It really makes all the difference.

There's no trigger warnings on this, except there will probably be a lot of cussing, which is ordinarily unlike me but I'm FURIOUS and that's very much unlike me, too.

I've never really had too much of a problem with my Inner Critic. My other symptoms make up for this problem by a thousandfold, but the Inner Critic hasn't been my issue so much as the Outer Critic (They're going to abandon me, they're going to hurt me, I have to stay safe, I have to bunker down and hide from them), but I've been making huge strides on this lately. I've been learning to trust people and start to make connections and reach out for help when I need it, and it's done wonders to bring me out of my shell. I'm starting to really like myself, rather than just feeling like I have to protect myself constantly. I'm bubbly and friendly and helpful. I'm kind and supportive and creative and really great at making people feel safe and calm and at home around me.

I also have an amazing sense of humor.

And as I begin to realize that, I remember my brother and my mother laughing at me for having no sense of humor-- for being frigid and clueless (I'm LGBTQ+: Specifically Asexual, so innuendos and anatomical references go right over my head. I can't help that-- it's just that my brain isn't wired to jump straight to sex because I've never experienced sexual attraction, despite having felt plenty of romantic attraction). They'd pat me on the head and make me the butt of their jokes, amping up the number of innuendos they'd use around me so that they'd have the pleasure of seeing me, someone who's very intelligent and often dishing out random trivia to anyone who will listen, look like an confused idiot. My friends even caught on to this behavior and would give me pitying looks whenever I needed a joke explained or would just try not to be funny around me. They'd catch themselves making a joke and shoot themselves down so that I wouldn't feel excluded just because I "couldn't understand humor." My M, on the other hand, would tease me mercilessly and cruelly for not understanding jokes. Over time, it was just something I accepted about myself, and I would chuckle a little anytime someone would insult my sense of humor. This happened as early as the second or third grade.

But here's the catch. I'm * hilarious.

Now that I'm in a healthy situation, I'm laughing constantly, and making people laugh alongside me. I joke about all sorts of things, and my sarcasm rarely makes anyone but public figures the butt of a joke. My therapy sessions are a series of jokes to deal with my trauma. I'm always making jokes and making people laugh. Always! I don't understand how someone could say I'm not funny. I don't use innuendos and I don't deal in cruelty. I do make up strange codes to use from across the room. I do use Shakespearean insults against inanimate objects. I do behave strangely and take sarcastic notes. At work, someone is always laughing when I crack a joke-- and not just a chuckle, but a clench-your-gut kind of laugh. For example, I work at a college and am an English major. One of my coworkers and I were talking about the prospects for an English major-- Journalist, Teacher, the works. He asked me if I wanted to be a journalist, and I scrunched my nose up and shook my head.

"No," I told him. "I'm not a fan of Journalism."

"What don't you like about it?" he asked me, tilting his head.

I, with a perfectly smooth expression and an honest tone, told him, "The job description."

The belly-aching laugh I got out of him was so much bigger than I expected. The entire office started laughing as he relayed the joke to several other people, and he still chuckles when I talk about Journalism and smile a little at him.

I'm so frustrated that these people told me I wasn't funny. I was. I was absolutely funny. They were just trying to hide me away in the back rooms of our house, to be seen when asked for and never, ever heard. And the jokes that went over my head would have gone over any kid's head, and they would have gone over any asexual's head. It was their way of making me feel terrible for being who I was. I didn't deserve that at all. Why would I have? I was a funny kid, and whip-smart, too. I could take any of my peers at a game of chess, despite having been taught the wrong rules by my F so that he could own me on the chess board and make himself feel better.

Ugh. I deserved better than these people. And on clear days like today, on good days, I can see that so clearly. I wish I could see it every day.

Thank you, Beingme.

I understand how you can want and not want help and support at the same time, I don't even know how to accept help and when some one does something kind for me without reward I cry as I do not know how to respond to the kindness.

I resonate with this so immensely it hurts. It's like waking up in a whole new world without a map, except this world is so much better than the last. I'm usually left mumbling and blushing at genuine compliments (when I can discern them and my Inner Critic stays quiet), and I get overwhelmed and disconnect when someone does something powerfully kind for me. I don't even always recognize it because I'm so caught up in responding the "right" way. It's so hard to adapt when it feels so powerful, but through loved ones, a little exposure therapy to acts of kindness might teach me how to respond both genuinely and appropriately.

I wish you all the best, and more acts of kindness to come. I'm in that same boat with you.

-DandelionCrown

Hi!

As an English major and a lover of books of all kinds, I have a few recommendations. If you like poetry, the poetry collection "How Lovely the Ruins" is an amazing book for trauma and difficult times. It's my absolute favorite. "The Princess Saves herself in this one" is also great feminist poetry, if you're into that.

The Percy Jackson series is fun especially for when I want to build a blanket fort and hide out for days. (I've done that, it's great). A Dog's Purpose is one of my favorite books to cry over because it's about a good dog and his human and that always has me gushing tears. I also like the Clockwork Series by Cassandra Clare more so than I do her Mortal Instruments series, and found that I really enjoyed that. I've been meaning to revisit the Harry Potter series as well. These books satisfy my inner child's need for fantasy and adventure, and tend to be the safer stories that I've had on my shelves for eons and eons. These are definitely my build-a-blanket-fort stories.

Of course, there's also cheesy romantic comedies, and my brand happens to be LGBTQ romance, so I have to recommend the Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller, Sometime after Midnight by L Phillips, Running with Lions by Julian Winters, Riding with Brighton by Haven Francis, Symptoms of Being Human by Jeff Garvin, and Openly Straight by Bill Konigsberg. (You can probably tell that this is one of my favorite genres to unwind to). I personally find the formula and pattern of romance novels soothing. These tend to be more my taste than my inner child's, though, so I tend to go for these when not in flashback.

1. I'm dedicated-- I work hard and I don't give up.
2. I'm a good listener
3. I've had the strength to make it this far and set myself up for success.
4. I've written 4 full length manuscripts, and I'm not even 20 years old.
5. I'm a good leader and teacher.

Dear BeHea1thy,

I have extended family who I'm going with to court, but I'm nervous even for that because they often make me feel boxed in. I tend to try to withdraw from people when I feel triggered, so I'm hoping they'll just take me home and let me sleep afterwords, and won't try to talk over my head. I'm torn between wanting people to love and help and support me, and just wanting everyone to go away so I can have some space.

Thank you for responding. I appreciate you taking the time to read my story.
----

Thank you to everyone who read my post. It's good to know that I'm not suffering in silence or secret anymore.

-DandelionCrown

Libby183-
I would challenge you on your use of the word "just." You were physically and emotionally abused-- there's nothing "just" about it. Your trauma is equally as valid as anyone else's, especially mine.

I hope you're able to find some support here and in other areas of your life. I know what it's like to feel alone, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

All the best to you as well.

-----
Blueberry-

I'm such a practical person that I like the word "should" and "need to"-- I deeply crave a solution to my issues, and it often frustrates me that so much of my recovery requires emotional work, because it feels structureless. I just often tend to turn around and blame myself when the solutions I've been given don't work for me (Thanks, M). Making peace with my inner child is just so hard when I'm trying to cultivate a one-sided relationship and offer unconditional love for someone I don't even like.

Also, thanks for the welcome!

-DandelionCrown

Hello! I've been quietly stalking these forums for about a week now, and I think I'm ready to actually introduce myself.

I was diagnosed with cPTSD after two years in therapy. I grew up with a pedophilic, misogynist father and a mother with her own severe case of cPTSD and Stolkholm Syndrome. I didn't really get a childhood. My mother tells me that the abuse started when I was two and a half and she was pregnant with my little brother, because that was the first time my father had come home from deployment. I was isolated and not allowed to bother my parents for any reason at all. My parents had strict regulations on food, and I was not allowed to have friends. I was to be a good housewife-in-training, as well as the smartest and prettiest girl in my class. I accomplished these things with moderate success, but any wavering from this perfection had terrible consequences.

At twelve years old, my father sexually abused me and I seriously contemplated rash, permanent action. The friendships I had managed to make and hide from my parents fell apart as I discovered my sexuality. I managed to patch myself together by the time I went to high school at 14, but I had had my first real bout of depression and I would never be the same.

My parents divorced a month before I turned 16, and a few months later, my father was arrested publicly. His face was plastered across local newspapers and I was barricaded in my house for a week. He'd gone from local hero to the fallen angel, and my family was crucified for it. I lost my leadership positions in the school marching band. My teachers looked on me with disgust. I was alone, save for the little brother who I had to cook for every night and ensure he got his homework done. My mother stopped coming home, save for a few hours each night to sleep. She was home after we went to bed, and she was gone before I got up in the morning. When I did see her, we would fight like cats and dogs, and she'd say horrible, nasty things to me.

Up until I moved out, I kept our house clean and my little brother on track. I graduated high school with a 4.4 GPA, but didn't apply for any colleges. Instead, I moved in with extended family and started going to a community college and going to therapy. I'm just starting to realize the extent of what happened, and how much it's impacted my life. I struggle to forgive myself for my own contribution to the toxic environment, and how it impacted my brother, who is most certainly the only good thing to come out of that household. I have multiple flashbacks every day and 3 out of 5 days of the week, it feels impossible to get out of bed. I can't go out in public without teetering on the edge of a panic attack, and I have court in a few days where I'm going to have to sit not five feet from my father and beg a judge to make him stay away from me, because he keeps sending me letters.

I have dreams and aspirations. There's so much I want to do and accomplish and achieve, but I feel like I got pushed off the docks with rocks in my shoes, mafia-style. I'm struggling to make my brain work the way it's supposed to work, before I have to actually be an adult and take on the full weight of that responsibility.

I shouldn't be so nervous to write this to you. After all, you're younger and smaller and have far fewer resources than I do. You can do nothing to hurt me.

At least, nothing more than you've already done.

All of the books I've read and the resources I've been given told me that I need to make peace with you. I need to coddle you and protect you and make you feel safe and loved.

I can feel you revolting even as I type this. You've always hated being coddled. You won't listen to me when I try to say nice things to you, and none of it will soothe you. You keep on kicking and screaming. And you know what? I don't like you, either. I don't think I ever have. I've run away from your juvenile tendencies and have been better off for it. You are a collection of all the things I've left behind and forced into the vault in the back of my brain.

Pete Walker's book suggested that I tell you all the ways that I would step in to defend you if I could go back in time. How I'd throw myself between you and her when she's screaming obscenities and threats at you. How I'd pick you up and carry you away when they'd force you to sit at the table for hours on end, telling you every one of your faults. How I'd steal food from the pantry and keep it somewhere you could eat it so that you wouldn't be starving all day, and then I'd hide the evidence so they wouldn't scream at you. But even as I type those things, I don't think they're true. I wouldn't do those things for you. Why would I? You're a whiny brat. You were cruel to everyone you met, with your expectations astronomically high. You make it ridiculously hard to like you. Why would I put myself in danger for someone who would just turn around and lash out at me?

I began to realize how much I hate you a few days ago, but every day that hate has grown. I've managed to mitigate the worst of your impulses now that I've grown up, but I know you're there, under the surface of everything. You insist on getting my attention every time I hear children playing or laughing, and send me into a flashback. You force me to buckle down in isolation at the slightest of provocations. I hate you. I can't stand you.

I can't stand that you'll grow up and be me.