Complex trauma leaves invisible imprints that can quietly shape how we see ourselves, others, and the world. One of the most powerful — and painful — ways this shows up is through self-fulfilling prophecies.

Rejection

Take rejection, for example. A simple, everyday situation like sending a text to a friend can trigger an entire spiral.

At first, the person waits patiently, refreshing their phone every few moments to check if the message has been read. When no reply comes, the internal dialogue starts:

“They’re ignoring me. I must have said something wrong. They don’t like me anymore.”

The mind races to scan previous conversations, searching for proof of where it all went wrong. Anxiety grows. A hidden “deadline” is set — a certain amount of time the friend has to respond before it confirms the fear of rejection.

The friend, of course, has no idea this deadline even exists.

If the reply doesn’t come, the spiral intensifies. In an attempt to take control of the rejection, the person with complex trauma may block the friend or cut contact first. From their perspective, this feels protective: “If you’re going to hurt me, I’ll end it on my terms.”

But to the unsuspecting friend — who may simply be at work, busy with children, or out of phone signal — this sudden reaction feels confusing and hurtful. They are accused, punished, or shut out without ever knowing a problem existed.

On the surface, the person with trauma may offer justifications: “I was worried when you didn’t reply… I thought something bad had happened.” Yet beneath this, the real driver is not concern for the other, but unresolved fears of rejection, betrayal, and abandonment.

And here’s the paradox: even if the original fear wasn’t true, the reaction makes it so. By blocking, ending the friendship, or pushing the other away, the feared outcome — rejection and loss of connection — becomes inevitable.

This cycle feeds the core beliefs shaped by trauma:

  • Nobody loves me.
  • Everyone rejects me.
  • I’m not good enough.

Round and round it goes, reinforcing the very pain the person is trying to avoid.

Betrayal

Another common cycle is betrayal. Someone carrying the wounds of past betrayals may find themselves constantly scanning for evidence of it happening again.

This might look like secretly checking a partner’s clothing for lipstick marks or unfamiliar odours, going through pockets, scrolling through their phone, or dissecting every detail of a story for inconsistencies.

The brain, primed by past hurt, interprets what it sees through a lens of suspicion. Even something harmless — a text from a colleague, a receipt in a pocket, or a shift in tone — can be seen as “proof.” If you look hard enough, you’ll always find something that confirms your fears, because your mind will bend the evidence to fit the narrative.

But here’s the truth: if you are doubting someone to the point of needing to check, the relationship is already broken. Trust is gone.

If old wounds from previous betrayals remain unhealed, they get carried into every new connection. What begins as self-protection quickly becomes self-sabotage, pushing away the very safety and intimacy that is longed for.

The responsibility here isn’t about policing a partner. It’s about healing. You owe it to yourself — and to anyone you’re in a relationship with — to address the pain of betrayal before starting again. Otherwise, the past keeps dictating the future.

Self-Blame Is Not Self-Awareness

It’s important to note that constantly blaming ourselves is not the same as being self-aware.

We might say things like:

“Oh, I know it’s me. I’m really sorry, but it’s happened before and I was scared it would happen again.”

That isn’t true self-awareness — it’s a way of justifying behaviour that was unjust towards someone else. Words like this may sound accountable, but they often function as excuses that mask the deeper issue.

The impact we have on others matters. Carrying a diagnosis such as CPTSR, BPD, or any other label, is never a valid excuse for treating people badly or abusing others. Too often these words are used to hand away responsibility:

  • “It’s my disorder that makes me volatile, it’s not me.”
  • “I can’t help it, it’s my trauma response.”

But here’s the truth: we can all choose not to hurt the people who love us. Diagnosis can help us understand ourselves, but it should never be used as a shield to justify harmful behaviour.

We are all responsible for the impact of our words and actions. And with that responsibility comes a duty — to ourselves and to others — to do the work of healing.

No one is suggesting this work is easy. Trauma recovery is complex, layered, and often exhausting. But neuroplasticity means change is possible. The brain can rewire. New patterns can be formed. Which means we all have a choice.

True self-awareness is the first step. It doesn’t look like self-blame or excuse-making. It looks like recognising when our fears and reactions are spilling over onto others, and making a conscious commitment to break the cycle.

The Role of Self-Compassion

Personal accountability is vital, but we cannot reach it through shame or harshness. Without compassion, the inner barriers slam shut and survival mode takes over, making real learning and healing impossible.

Self-compassion allows us to face the truth of our patterns without being consumed by guilt or self-hatred. It creates the space to say:

“Yes, this is what I’m doing… and I can choose differently.”

Equally important are safe spaces — relationships, therapy, and communities where honesty is met with kindness rather than judgment. When someone feels safe enough to explore their reactions without fear of attack, their nervous system can soften, and change becomes possible.

Accountability without compassion risks retraumatising. Compassion without accountability risks enabling. True healing needs both.

It’s also important to acknowledge the impact on those who care. People who are empathetic will often go to great lengths to understand behaviours they don’t comprehend, simply because they care deeply or because they are committed to being a better friend, partner, or family member.

They may keep giving reassurance, keep offering chances, and keep moving the goalposts. They justify the behaviour to themselves, and to others who only see the harm being caused.

But the truth is, reassurance, understanding, and support have a shelf life if the person with trauma keeps repeating the same cycles without making any effort to change. Healing is a two-way street. Yes, we need compassion and safe support — but it cannot be given endlessly without some commitment from us in return.

Real change is not about masking, avoiding, or making excuses. It is about doing the work so the results become clear in our words, behaviours, and relationships.

Relationships are rarely unconditional. They require effort from both sides. If we want to keep the people who love us, then we must take responsibility and do the work.

 

Breaking the Cycle

Noticing when the spiral starts — whether it’s checking your phone every few minutes or rifling through someone’s belongings — is an opportunity to pause. The intensity of the reaction isn’t really about the other person. It’s about old wounds that still ache.

Supportive therapy, nervous system regulation, and learning to sit with the discomfort rather than act on it are powerful ways to begin breaking the pattern. Healing comes when we stop looking outward for proof of rejection or betrayal and start tending to what lives inside.

Complex trauma doesn’t have to dictate our relationships. With compassion, accountability, and awareness, the cycle can be interrupted, and connection — the very thing we long for — can finally become safe and sustainable.