Recent posts
#1
Recovery Journals / Re: Dalloway´s Recovery Journa...
Last post by Marcine - Today at 01:19:29 AM
Dalloway = courageous, determined, forged in fire, honest, hurting, compassionate, beautiful!
#2
Recovery Journals / Re: Living As All of Me
Last post by HannahOne - January 06, 2026, 11:03:13 PMWell, today I tried for social connection. After agonizing over the invite, I went to lunch with an old friend from my former religion. My goal was to try to "be myself," and observe myself if that wasn't happening to try to figure out why.
If you have religious trauma, TW, probably don't read this post. Be well.
My friend is one I knew from the religion I have left. She doesn't quite know how far I've left. I haven't attended the church in three years. But I haven't told her I no longer believe in God. So how was I going to navigate this, as "the real me"? As "All of Me"?
It started with the clothes. What am I gonna wear to this thing? Our religion didn't allow women to wear pants. Was I gonna put on a long skirt? Little bit of a flashback looking at my old long skirts, I've tossed most of them. How about the long skirt I wore to my daughter's violin recital? Too much tulle, not modest to draw attention like that. How about the long satin skirt I got this Christmas? Too clingy, not modest enough. I decided to wear a long loose navy blue paisley thing, so modest, so unfashionable! but skipped the requisite virginal ballet flats and put on pointy toed boots with it. Maybe, unconsciously, so I could kick any wayward priest in the behind if needed. Added a "lady jacket" with it, a la Chanel, very mindful, very demure. But underneath the lady jacket, black lace. Haha. And a bracelet from my childhood, to remind me where I came from. I've come a long way, baby!
Thus attired, I proceeded to step right into it and upon greeting her I said "Oh my God I love your coat!" And of course in our religion we would never say "Oh my God." That is a sin. Oh God. Why did I say "Oh my God?" Poop! Dang! ARGH!
From then on I was beginning to dissociate. I had planned out what to order, because it's a fasting time, so I would need to eat vegan. With each concession, the skirt, the fasting food, the self-censoring of my speech, I disintegrated more. Smiling, nodding. She talked pretty much nonstop. Wild things I can't believe I ever entertained, about monks knowing her future, moving across the world to become a nun after she's widowed, superstitions about viruses, complaints about the decadent West (And she's a born and bred American just like me).... No judgement---well, ok, some judgement, but I respect her beliefs--I respect her right to have them. It was just incredibly alienating to try to wedge myself into them. And I felt I had no other choice. That's the part of me I need to work with. How could I give myself the choice next time? We don't even share common context, she doesn't read pop books, or watch TV, or listen to music except religious music.... there was nothing I could say that would make sense in her world. Jane Eyre, I could talk about Jane Eyre... but I never read Jane Erye... I'm reading a book about a Korean woman who lost her mother to cancer. But my friend wouldn't read a book by anyone who wasn't the religion. What to talk about, drawing a blank, another blank....
I spent the rest of the meal somewhere above my head. She gifted me a prayerbook and a beautiful icon. I still paint icons, but am conflicted about it. I don't know if I'll continue. This one was painted on a piece of petrified wood. Lovely. And yet.
Upon leaving she wants to meet up again. I don't think it's good for me. It's too triggering. I am disappointed that I couldn't stay more authentic to who I really am now, that I couldn't update her as to where I am. But like my parents, there's no room in her world for someone like me. It would cause her distress to know my real thoughts. She would be baffled or irritated or unsettled. And I don't want to baffle, irritate, or upset. I guess, if I'm honest, I didn't want to deal with her feelings about who I am. Am I being unfair, am I assuming? I don't think so in this case, she's such a true believer it's her whole identity. But at the end, it's me, I don't want to embody my identity if anyone is going to have a feeling about it.
I think I joined this religion in part to make it my whole identity, because I hated my identity. It was a repetition, I repeated my own trauma to myself. I was raised in a brutal, insane form of Christianity, complete with speaking in tongues, laying on of many, many heavy hands, exorcisms (oh yes, even of sad nine year old girls), and so. many. rules. Superstitions. Devils around every corner. Satan in my lunchbox. 88 reasons why the rapture must come in 1988. As a child being abused every which way, purity culture was agony nd the exorcisms never stopped the abuse, no matter how many hands, how many tongues or how much I prayed. So much trauma. I left at 18 and never went back.
In midlife I fell into icon painting, and from there the religion. At first there were no triggers, all the chanting a different language, the service the opposite of chaos, everything written down and planned. But eventually the rules got to me, so many rules, and I was never doing it quite right. I realized I wouldn't raise my kids in it. So much superstition. The skirts, annoying. Can't keep track of fasting days. Confess, try again, fail. Confess, try again....fail. Lost my faith. Left.
And now what. I want to be social. I want to have friends. I'd like to be part of a community the believes in something good. But not at the cost of all of me, the me who wanted God, the me who doesn't. The me who thinks the Mother of God is a beautiful idea and the me who thinks the idea is absurd on its face. The me who liked wearing long skirts that make me the shape of a bell with little ballerina flat feet, and the me who wants to wear camo pants and high tops. The me who was abused and the me who grew up and left. The me who had no choice and the me who does....
I don't know how to bring all of this together, or how to begin to communicate it with another person. Today was certainly quite an epic fail. But maybe I just need a person who is not so locked down herself. My poor friend. May she find happiness, safety, peace, joy. And my God, her coat! May she wear it with just a little bit of pride. No one has to know! Although she'd have to confess it....
Tomorrow, I will put on cropped jeans, tall boots, a striped button down and a big fuzzy sweater and I'll stomp around the doctors office, slump over to the cafe. We'll see how that feels, and who I might make eye contact with and meet, what context we might share, and who they will say that I am.
If you have religious trauma, TW, probably don't read this post. Be well.
My friend is one I knew from the religion I have left. She doesn't quite know how far I've left. I haven't attended the church in three years. But I haven't told her I no longer believe in God. So how was I going to navigate this, as "the real me"? As "All of Me"?
It started with the clothes. What am I gonna wear to this thing? Our religion didn't allow women to wear pants. Was I gonna put on a long skirt? Little bit of a flashback looking at my old long skirts, I've tossed most of them. How about the long skirt I wore to my daughter's violin recital? Too much tulle, not modest to draw attention like that. How about the long satin skirt I got this Christmas? Too clingy, not modest enough. I decided to wear a long loose navy blue paisley thing, so modest, so unfashionable! but skipped the requisite virginal ballet flats and put on pointy toed boots with it. Maybe, unconsciously, so I could kick any wayward priest in the behind if needed. Added a "lady jacket" with it, a la Chanel, very mindful, very demure. But underneath the lady jacket, black lace. Haha. And a bracelet from my childhood, to remind me where I came from. I've come a long way, baby!
Thus attired, I proceeded to step right into it and upon greeting her I said "Oh my God I love your coat!" And of course in our religion we would never say "Oh my God." That is a sin. Oh God. Why did I say "Oh my God?" Poop! Dang! ARGH!
From then on I was beginning to dissociate. I had planned out what to order, because it's a fasting time, so I would need to eat vegan. With each concession, the skirt, the fasting food, the self-censoring of my speech, I disintegrated more. Smiling, nodding. She talked pretty much nonstop. Wild things I can't believe I ever entertained, about monks knowing her future, moving across the world to become a nun after she's widowed, superstitions about viruses, complaints about the decadent West (And she's a born and bred American just like me).... No judgement---well, ok, some judgement, but I respect her beliefs--I respect her right to have them. It was just incredibly alienating to try to wedge myself into them. And I felt I had no other choice. That's the part of me I need to work with. How could I give myself the choice next time? We don't even share common context, she doesn't read pop books, or watch TV, or listen to music except religious music.... there was nothing I could say that would make sense in her world. Jane Eyre, I could talk about Jane Eyre... but I never read Jane Erye... I'm reading a book about a Korean woman who lost her mother to cancer. But my friend wouldn't read a book by anyone who wasn't the religion. What to talk about, drawing a blank, another blank....
I spent the rest of the meal somewhere above my head. She gifted me a prayerbook and a beautiful icon. I still paint icons, but am conflicted about it. I don't know if I'll continue. This one was painted on a piece of petrified wood. Lovely. And yet.
Upon leaving she wants to meet up again. I don't think it's good for me. It's too triggering. I am disappointed that I couldn't stay more authentic to who I really am now, that I couldn't update her as to where I am. But like my parents, there's no room in her world for someone like me. It would cause her distress to know my real thoughts. She would be baffled or irritated or unsettled. And I don't want to baffle, irritate, or upset. I guess, if I'm honest, I didn't want to deal with her feelings about who I am. Am I being unfair, am I assuming? I don't think so in this case, she's such a true believer it's her whole identity. But at the end, it's me, I don't want to embody my identity if anyone is going to have a feeling about it.
I think I joined this religion in part to make it my whole identity, because I hated my identity. It was a repetition, I repeated my own trauma to myself. I was raised in a brutal, insane form of Christianity, complete with speaking in tongues, laying on of many, many heavy hands, exorcisms (oh yes, even of sad nine year old girls), and so. many. rules. Superstitions. Devils around every corner. Satan in my lunchbox. 88 reasons why the rapture must come in 1988. As a child being abused every which way, purity culture was agony nd the exorcisms never stopped the abuse, no matter how many hands, how many tongues or how much I prayed. So much trauma. I left at 18 and never went back.
In midlife I fell into icon painting, and from there the religion. At first there were no triggers, all the chanting a different language, the service the opposite of chaos, everything written down and planned. But eventually the rules got to me, so many rules, and I was never doing it quite right. I realized I wouldn't raise my kids in it. So much superstition. The skirts, annoying. Can't keep track of fasting days. Confess, try again, fail. Confess, try again....fail. Lost my faith. Left.
And now what. I want to be social. I want to have friends. I'd like to be part of a community the believes in something good. But not at the cost of all of me, the me who wanted God, the me who doesn't. The me who thinks the Mother of God is a beautiful idea and the me who thinks the idea is absurd on its face. The me who liked wearing long skirts that make me the shape of a bell with little ballerina flat feet, and the me who wants to wear camo pants and high tops. The me who was abused and the me who grew up and left. The me who had no choice and the me who does....
I don't know how to bring all of this together, or how to begin to communicate it with another person. Today was certainly quite an epic fail. But maybe I just need a person who is not so locked down herself. My poor friend. May she find happiness, safety, peace, joy. And my God, her coat! May she wear it with just a little bit of pride. No one has to know! Although she'd have to confess it....
Tomorrow, I will put on cropped jeans, tall boots, a striped button down and a big fuzzy sweater and I'll stomp around the doctors office, slump over to the cafe. We'll see how that feels, and who I might make eye contact with and meet, what context we might share, and who they will say that I am.
#3
Recovery Journals / Re: The tipping point…
Last post by HannahOne - January 06, 2026, 10:23:26 PMHey Chart.
How profound to see your tears as lenses, as acceptance. That's a beautiful image, and true.
I can relate to the physical toll all this takes. The pain is real. I'm glad you are noticing the pain and trying to take care of yourself, even as you sling tiles!
"Every single time I write on the Forum, I feel a little voice in me that tells me I'm wrong, bad, egotistical and selfish. It's incredible. It's there every time." I feel this too. I feel more fear, that if I say what I think, I'll be mashed. Or paranoia that my parents will read it and be enraged. It's weird. I think it's an emotional flashback. I don't do social media for this reason, haven't published my personal work despite being a professional writer for years for other people. I think this is part of CPTSD, too. I'm glad you can overcome it and assert yourself anyway, say what's true for you today, feel what you feel, know what you know in the way that you know it.
Personally I benefit enormously from reading other people's journals. More even than writing my own is reading others. So, FWIW, I find it selfless that you take time to write here. But the emotional flashback is very real, and it makes sense to me that you would feel wrong and bad, that's how we were trained to feel from a very young age. We can all be bad and wrong and selfish together, writing about our experience of trauma!
How profound to see your tears as lenses, as acceptance. That's a beautiful image, and true.
I can relate to the physical toll all this takes. The pain is real. I'm glad you are noticing the pain and trying to take care of yourself, even as you sling tiles!
"Every single time I write on the Forum, I feel a little voice in me that tells me I'm wrong, bad, egotistical and selfish. It's incredible. It's there every time." I feel this too. I feel more fear, that if I say what I think, I'll be mashed. Or paranoia that my parents will read it and be enraged. It's weird. I think it's an emotional flashback. I don't do social media for this reason, haven't published my personal work despite being a professional writer for years for other people. I think this is part of CPTSD, too. I'm glad you can overcome it and assert yourself anyway, say what's true for you today, feel what you feel, know what you know in the way that you know it.
Personally I benefit enormously from reading other people's journals. More even than writing my own is reading others. So, FWIW, I find it selfless that you take time to write here. But the emotional flashback is very real, and it makes sense to me that you would feel wrong and bad, that's how we were trained to feel from a very young age. We can all be bad and wrong and selfish together, writing about our experience of trauma!
#4
Recovery Journals / Re: The tipping point…
Last post by Chart - January 06, 2026, 09:13:45 PMThank you HannahOne, Marcine, Armee...
And so I let them roll now. I've searched my entire life for these memories. I've begged god for them as only an unbeliever can beg a usesless god of whom he's never bought into. I revel in the stories that now float into my left brain... and boy are they coming. Not in mass, but more the subtle waftings of piano heard through an open window. But my ear is trained and I listen and pick up on it straight. I remember what was said, and more importantly, what was not said. I remember his tone of voice, and now understand why certain men have terrified me all my life, why I've never liked the actor Jack Nicholson, why ignorance coupled with insensitivity brings forth often severe anger.
But I need to say something else. The understanding I have found in the past two years has cost me a great deal. I am EXTREMELY low energy. I have a hernia now. I can no longer tolerate many many foods. Sugar plunges me into depression. My body hurts. I no longer have full strength in either of my arms and am currently in a bad way because I threw tiles up on a roof for two days. My wrists are currently out of service.
Realizing the extent of my trauma has been incredibly debilitating. I'm managing to work, but it is just the minimum possible. And I do very little else besides work, take care of my kids, and do my nervous system exercises, emdr and write on the Forum. (Is that in order of priority? maybe...)
And now I'm pooped :-) And one more thing... Every single time I write on the Forum, I feel a little voice in me that tells me I'm wrong, bad, egotistical and selfish. It's incredible. It's there every time. I overcome it, but it's still there.
Healing is the path, not the goal...
I deeply truly madly love you all.
Quote from: Armee on January 05, 2026, 02:37:46 AMI'm in awe of your ability to cry and feel, Chart!I have always felt... Only recently have I begun to cry. But I find the word "cry" inappropriate. I don't believe that's what I'm actually doing. For all appearances it's crying, but I'm slowly slipping towards an understanding that the tears are not only water, they are truth-understanding coming and settling into their rightful place. I am a (mostly) Pre-verbal Trauma survivor. There are no personal memories. I have stories and the amazingly off-cuff memories of my mother... I also have an older sister (who probably went a long way to dramatically minimizing my trauma, but she couldn't be the parent I actually needed, and she was as terrorized by him as I was). No, tears are the lenses through which I see more and more clearly what actually happened.
And so I let them roll now. I've searched my entire life for these memories. I've begged god for them as only an unbeliever can beg a usesless god of whom he's never bought into. I revel in the stories that now float into my left brain... and boy are they coming. Not in mass, but more the subtle waftings of piano heard through an open window. But my ear is trained and I listen and pick up on it straight. I remember what was said, and more importantly, what was not said. I remember his tone of voice, and now understand why certain men have terrified me all my life, why I've never liked the actor Jack Nicholson, why ignorance coupled with insensitivity brings forth often severe anger.
But I need to say something else. The understanding I have found in the past two years has cost me a great deal. I am EXTREMELY low energy. I have a hernia now. I can no longer tolerate many many foods. Sugar plunges me into depression. My body hurts. I no longer have full strength in either of my arms and am currently in a bad way because I threw tiles up on a roof for two days. My wrists are currently out of service.
Realizing the extent of my trauma has been incredibly debilitating. I'm managing to work, but it is just the minimum possible. And I do very little else besides work, take care of my kids, and do my nervous system exercises, emdr and write on the Forum. (Is that in order of priority? maybe...)
And now I'm pooped :-) And one more thing... Every single time I write on the Forum, I feel a little voice in me that tells me I'm wrong, bad, egotistical and selfish. It's incredible. It's there every time. I overcome it, but it's still there.
Healing is the path, not the goal...
I deeply truly madly love you all.
#6
Other / Re: How Trauma Affects Memory
Last post by Chart - January 06, 2026, 08:34:36 PMQuote from: Blueberry on January 05, 2026, 05:35:00 AMI'm with you on the horrible memory Chart, and it being a handicap in professional and financial life
#7
Recovery Journals / Re: Dalloway´s Recovery Journa...
Last post by Chart - January 06, 2026, 08:29:05 PMDalloway, I so wish I could take your inner child in my arms and hug her... she deserves all the love and support and attention and caring... that she never got. It truly breaks my heart. My biological father made one single attempt at contact and that was to try and end my existence. There is no comprehension of this kind of behavior, of our parents and caregivers who did nothing parental nor giving of care... And so we have to hold ourselves, we have to hug ourselves, we have to care for ourselves. I refuse to let my father win. I have promised my inner child that he will have love and care and attention... from me. I see him for what he is. I see him for what he suffered. I know the injustice that nearly crushed out his life. And I've stated clearly and explicitly that all that was wrong. I tell him over and over and over. I hug him over and over and over. I think about him, talk to him, love him. "We" are working together now. It took us a long time, he was scared, he was hurt, he was jealous and confused... But slowly, ever so slowly, he has raised his little head and looked at me, and I felt his trust growing. It was not desperation, it was love through understanding. I understand what my child-self experienced. And now, he understands what I have to tell him. He's getting better. He still doesn't laugh. But he suffers less. He cries more, but now it is tears of release as opposed to anguish. We are holding each other. Nothing in the world could move me to let go of his being, his essence, that which is the best part of me. I love me, and will never stop. Our inner children deserve so much. I'm still learning, but the start is now behind me and I'll never stop. Love will have no end.
#8
Other / Re: Psychosis as a result of t...
Last post by Chart - January 06, 2026, 08:02:22 PMQuote from: Teddy bear on January 06, 2026, 01:39:56 AMBy the way, I've read about Rufus May's views on psychosis, and they seem very explanatory and assertive. It seems very natural that the content of psychotic episodes is deeply connected to the trauma. Unfortunately, he has experienced it himself.
This made me think of a supposed quote by John Briere:
"If Complex PTSD were ever given its due, the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) would shrink from its dictionary like size to the size of a thin pamphlet."
#9
Recovery Journals / Re: Dalloway´s Recovery Journa...
Last post by SenseOrgan - January 06, 2026, 07:11:40 PMI'm so sorry Dalloway. It breaks my heart you are suffering so much. This is torture.
Not all of you has accepted the abusive messages you got in various ways. There's a part of you who wrote this. You are voicing your excruciating experiences here because you care about you. The one who seems to be almost crushed under the weight she carries. I'm rooting for her. I'm rooting for you.
It's brave to share the rawness of it like you did. Your deserve other people to acknowledge your suffering. And you deserve to be free from all of it. The part that happens in silence, in utter loneliness, is the heaviest burden to carry. I don't know what it's like to be you. I can only ask you to consider the possibility that I recognize a lot of what you describe. And many others here too. I've spent most of my life there. This is why I feel great compassion for you.
Today I wrote an e-mail to a CPTSD support group I want to join. It's name is called "my voice". In the e-mail I said that to me, everyone with complex trauma is already complete and lovable, and that we need others to be able to experience that and embrace it ourselves. This is also how I see you. Our minds are like a bad neighborhood. We better not go there alone.
Your loneliness is calling you to become the person you already are deep down. Because you know that the shadow of youself you had to become to survive is nowhere near your potential. It hurts, because you care. And you care, because on some level you know you deserve much better than this. You're right.
Gabor opened my eyes to what self love actually means in the video below. I couldn't love myself at the time, but he planted a seed that has taken root.
Much love
Dr Gabor Maté 'value' 2nd Clue
Not all of you has accepted the abusive messages you got in various ways. There's a part of you who wrote this. You are voicing your excruciating experiences here because you care about you. The one who seems to be almost crushed under the weight she carries. I'm rooting for her. I'm rooting for you.
It's brave to share the rawness of it like you did. Your deserve other people to acknowledge your suffering. And you deserve to be free from all of it. The part that happens in silence, in utter loneliness, is the heaviest burden to carry. I don't know what it's like to be you. I can only ask you to consider the possibility that I recognize a lot of what you describe. And many others here too. I've spent most of my life there. This is why I feel great compassion for you.
Today I wrote an e-mail to a CPTSD support group I want to join. It's name is called "my voice". In the e-mail I said that to me, everyone with complex trauma is already complete and lovable, and that we need others to be able to experience that and embrace it ourselves. This is also how I see you. Our minds are like a bad neighborhood. We better not go there alone.
Your loneliness is calling you to become the person you already are deep down. Because you know that the shadow of youself you had to become to survive is nowhere near your potential. It hurts, because you care. And you care, because on some level you know you deserve much better than this. You're right.
Gabor opened my eyes to what self love actually means in the video below. I couldn't love myself at the time, but he planted a seed that has taken root.
Much love
Dr Gabor Maté 'value' 2nd Clue
#10
Please Introduce Yourself Here / Re: Hi, I'm mo and I'm new...
Last post by Blueberry - January 06, 2026, 07:09:24 PMHugs Highimpedance
I often lack the bandwidth myself to write much to others, but I do validation, because it is so important! I've needed it myself for years, still do at times. And I send when I know people are OK with that. For some people especially new members it could be overwhelming, so I'm careful that way.
This forum has been so so good for me, so supportive, a place I come almost daily, despite my mostly having therapy of some type. I hope it can be a great suppportive place for you too!
I don't understand some of your original post, like ESA and php, I probably don't live in the same country as you. No stress though, I'm sure most other people understand them.
I often lack the bandwidth myself to write much to others, but I do validation, because it is so important! I've needed it myself for years, still do at times. And I send
when I know people are OK with that. For some people especially new members it could be overwhelming, so I'm careful that way.This forum has been so so good for me, so supportive, a place I come almost daily, despite my mostly having therapy of some type. I hope it can be a great suppportive place for you too!
I don't understand some of your original post, like ESA and php, I probably don't live in the same country as you. No stress though, I'm sure most other people understand them.