Neuroplasticity, Hypervigilance, and the RASamataz Plot Twist

One of the concepts we explore in our Reconnect & Regulate programme (starting Monday 29th June) is neuroplasticity – the brain’s remarkable ability to change, adapt, and form new neural pathways throughout our lives.

The image below captures an important truth, although I’d add a little nuance.

Our brains don’t simply create “more good” because we think positively. Rather, they strengthen the pathways we use most often.

If we repeatedly focus on danger, criticism, rejection, mistakes, or what might go wrong, those neural pathways become stronger. Equally, when we intentionally practise noticing strengths, opportunities, connection, gratitude, kindness, and moments of safety, those pathways become stronger too.

This is where the Reticular Activating System (RAS) enters the story.

In our workshops, I often jokingly call it “RASamataz” — the plot twist that most people don’t see coming.

The RAS acts like a filter, constantly deciding what information reaches our conscious awareness. When someone has experienced trauma, adversity, loss, violence, or prolonged stress, that filter often becomes highly skilled at detecting danger. Hypervigilance is not a flaw or weakness; it is an intelligent survival response.

The brain learns to ask:

“What’s wrong?”
“What’s unsafe?”
“What do I need to watch out for?”

And for many people, that system becomes exceptionally good at its job.

But here’s the RASamataz plot twist…

The same system that learned to scan for danger can be retrained to notice opportunities.

The same brain that became organised around survival can learn to recognise safety, connection, possibility, kindness, strengths, and growth.

Not by denying reality.

Not by forcing positivity.

Not by pretending life is perfect.

But by helping the brain notice that danger is not the whole story.

One of the exercises I often use with counselling clients is called Mia Vita – Latin for My Life.

Clients are given a shoebox with the words:

“Everything in this box is…”

Throughout the week, they add notes, memories, achievements, moments of gratitude, acts of kindness, strengths, opportunities, successes, connections, or anything else they would like their brain to notice more often.

This year, we’re bringing Mia Vita into our Reconnect & Regulate workshop as a collective exercise.

Over the eight weeks, participants will contribute to a shared box together. Each week they will add positive experiences, strengths, achievements, moments of courage, learning, connection, hope, and possibility.

In doing so, we are intentionally directing our attention.

Not because life is easy.

But because what we repeatedly look for, we become more likely to see.

What fascinates me is that participants are not only learning from their own experiences — they are borrowing hope from one another. Someone else’s moment of courage may remind us of our own. Someone else’s achievement may help us recognise possibilities we had previously filtered out.

And that is neuroplasticity in action.

New pathways are strengthened through repetition.

Attention begins to shift.

The brain starts noticing different things.

Perhaps that’s one of the reasons the Law of Attraction resonates with so many people. Not because the universe suddenly starts delivering things to us, but because our attention changes.

We begin noticing opportunities that were always there.

We recognise strengths that had previously been overlooked.

We become aware of connections, solutions, and possibilities that our hypervigilant brain may have filtered out.

In other words, a traumatised brain trains the RAS to ask:

“What’s dangerous?”

A healing brain begins teaching it to also ask:

“What’s possible?”

That’s the RASamataz plot twist.

Sometimes the biggest plot twist in healing is discovering that your brain is still capable of change.

Reconnect & Regulate – 8 Week Programme
📅 Starts Monday 29th June
🕕 6pm–8pm
📍 A Positive Start CIC, Harestanes Tower, Jedburgh

To learn more or book your place:
https://apositivestart.org.uk/reconnect-regulate-program/

#Neuroplasticity #ReconnectAndRegulate #TraumaInformed #PolyvagalTheory #MentalHealth #Healing #PersonalGrowth #ReticularActivatingSystem #RASamataz #CommunityHealing #APositiveStartCIC #ScottishBorders


The POT of Perception: How Awareness Brings Clarity

“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.”
— Anaïs Nin

This simple sentence captures one of the most important truths about being human.

Our experience of the world is shaped not only by what is happening around us, but by what is happening within us.

Recently, I came across an image comparing how humans, pigeons, butterflies and mantis shrimp perceive the world. It highlighted something fascinating: what we see is only a tiny fraction of what is actually there.

Humans have three colour receptors (cones) and can distinguish around one million colours. Pigeons have five cones and can see ultraviolet light. Butterflies perceive colours and patterns invisible to us. Mantis shrimp possess one of the most complex visual systems in the animal kingdom.

The image concluded with a powerful statement:

“Every other animal is looking at a different world.”

As I looked at it, I couldn’t help but think:

Humans are too.

Not because our eyes are different, but because our perception is.

This is what I call the POT of Perception – our Personal Opinion Translator.

It is the lens through which we interpret ourselves, other people and the world around us.

And no two POTs are exactly the same.

What Makes Up Our POT?

From the moment we are born, our POT begins to form.

It is shaped by:

• Our family experiences
• Our culture and community
• Our education
• Our relationships
• Our successes and failures
• Our beliefs and values
• Our hopes and fears
• Our memories
• Our nervous system
• Our life experiences

Every interaction we have contributes to how we interpret future experiences.

Over time, our POT becomes so familiar that we stop noticing it.

We assume everyone sees the world as we do.

We assume our interpretation is reality.

But perception and reality are not always the same thing.

The Nervous System Lens

What many people do not realise is that our nervous system is constantly filtering information long before our conscious mind has had a chance to make sense of it.

Every second, our brains receive far more information than we could ever consciously process.

So the brain filters.

It decides what is important.

What deserves our attention.

What can safely be ignored.

Our Reticular Activating System (RAS) acts like a search engine, scanning the environment and bringing certain information to our awareness.

If you are thinking about buying a red car, suddenly red cars appear everywhere.

They were always there.

Your awareness simply changed.

The same thing happens emotionally.

If we believe people are trustworthy, we tend to notice signs of trust.

If we believe people are dangerous, we tend to notice signs of danger.

Our nervous system influences what makes it through the filter.

The Polyvagal Lens

Dr Stephen Porges’ Polyvagal Theory offers another way of understanding why our perception of the world can change so dramatically.

According to Polyvagal Theory, our nervous system is constantly asking one fundamental question:

“Am I safe?”

The answer to that question shapes how we experience ourselves, other people and the world around us.

What is fascinating is that the same situation can feel completely different depending on which nervous system state we are experiencing.

Through a Ventral Vagal Lens – Safety, Connection and Belonging

When we feel safe and connected, we experience the world through our social engagement system.

In this state we are more likely to experience:

• Joy
• Curiosity
• Compassion
• Creativity
• Confidence
• Connection
• Playfulness

A busy community event feels exciting.

A room full of strangers feels full of opportunity.

A challenge feels manageable.

We can access our natural resilience, connect with others and enjoy the present moment.

The world feels safer.

People feel safer.

We feel safer.

Through a Sympathetic Lens – Protection and Survival

When our nervous system detects danger, it shifts into mobilisation.

This is commonly experienced as:

• Anxiety
• Panic
• Hypervigilance
• Irritability
• Anger
• Restlessness
• Overthinking

Now the exact same community event may feel overwhelming.

The room full of strangers may feel threatening.

The challenge may feel impossible.

The nervous system begins scanning constantly for signs of danger.

We become highly aware of facial expressions, tone of voice, criticism, rejection and uncertainty.

The world can feel chaotic, stressful and unpredictable.

Through a Dorsal Vagal Lens – Shutdown and Conservation

When the nervous system determines that fighting or escaping is not possible, it may move into a state of shutdown and withdrawal.

This can be experienced as:

• Hopelessness
• Isolation
• Numbness
• Disconnection
• Exhaustion
• Withdrawal
• Depression

Once again, the situation itself has not changed.

But our perception of it has.

The community event may now feel pointless.

The room full of people may feel lonely.

The challenge may feel hopeless.

The future may appear bleak.

The world can feel empty and disconnected.

The Event Hasn’t Changed – The Lens Has

Imagine three people attending the same gathering.

One person arrives feeling regulated and connected. They leave inspired and energised.

Another arrives feeling anxious and hypervigilant. They leave exhausted and overwhelmed.

A third arrives in a state of shutdown and leaves feeling even more disconnected.

The event was the same.

The people were the same.

The environment was the same.

But each person’s nervous system created a very different experience.

And just as importantly, the same person can experience very different nervous system states from one day to the next. One day we may feel calm, connected, confident, and safe in the world around us; the next, we may feel low, disconnected, overwhelmed, or on edge. These shifts are not random. Learning to recognise what influences and triggers these changes is just as important as understanding the nervous system itself. Often, these reactions can be linked to past experiences that remain unresolved, with the body responding to present-day situations through the lens of earlier hurt, fear, or threat. When we begin to understand these patterns, we can respond with greater curiosity and self-compassion rather than self-judgement.

This is why understanding our nervous system matters.

What we perceive is not always an objective reflection of reality.

Often, it is a reflection of the state of our nervous system in that moment.

 

How Trauma Changes Perception

This is where trauma becomes particularly important.

One of the biggest misunderstandings about trauma is the belief that the impact appears during the traumatic event itself.

Often, it doesn’t.

During overwhelming experiences, our minds and bodies focus on survival.

Fight.

Flight.

Freeze.

Fawn.

Adapt.

Survive.

The responses that many people refer to as “symptoms” often emerge later, once the immediate danger has passed and the nervous system begins attempting to process what happened.

In many ways, these responses can be understood as evidence that the mind and body finally feel safe enough to begin dealing with what could not be processed at the time.

This is when people may begin experiencing:

• Hypervigilance
• Anxiety
• Panic attacks
• Sleep difficulties
• Emotional overwhelm
• Intrusive thoughts
• Heightened startle responses

The nervous system has learned something important:

The world can be dangerous.

Its job then becomes ensuring that the same thing never happens again.

To do this, it begins scanning continuously for signs of threat.

Hypervigilance is not weakness.

It is not attention-seeking.

It is not a character flaw.

It is not a ‘disorder’.

It is an intelligent survival response developed by a nervous system attempting to protect us.

The difficulty is that a nervous system trained by danger can begin detecting danger even when no immediate threat exists.

A raised voice can feel unsafe.

A delayed text message can feel like rejection.

A disagreement can feel overwhelming.

A crowded room can feel threatening.

The world may not have changed.

But the lens through which we are viewing it has.

What we notice changes.

What we focus on changes.

What we expect changes.

And ultimately, our experience of reality changes.

Trauma does not simply affect what happened to us.

It affects the lens through which we interpret what is happening now.

Language, Congruence and the Nervous System

One area that I believe deserves greater discussion within trauma-informed practice is language.

Language is not simply a collection of words.

It is often an expression of our internal experience.

The words we choose are frequently connected to our nervous system state, our emotions and our lived reality.

When I am experiencing joy, connection and safety, my language naturally reflects that experience.

When I am feeling calm, regulated and connected through my ventral vagal system, my words are likely to sound hopeful, curious, compassionate and engaged.

When I am frightened, overwhelmed or experiencing panic through a sympathetic state, my language may reflect fear, urgency, frustration or danger.

When I am experiencing a dorsal state of withdrawal, exhaustion or hopelessness, my language may become flatter, heavier or more disconnected.

This is not because I am choosing to be negative.

It is because my words are attempting to communicate something real about my internal experience.

This is where I sometimes find myself questioning approaches that focus heavily on correcting or managing the language people use.

Whilst I understand the intention may be to encourage hope, safety or empowerment, I believe there is a risk that we inadvertently move away from curiosity and towards control.

A person experiencing a dorsal state may describe feeling hopeless, empty, detached or defeated.

A person experiencing a sympathetic state may use language that reflects fear, anger, chaos or danger.

These words are not necessarily problems to be corrected.

They may simply be accurate descriptions of that person’s present experience.

From a person-centred perspective, I am sure it is not my role to decide whether someone else’s language is acceptable if it authentically reflects their internal world.

If somebody is experiencing terror, asking them to speak as though they are experiencing safety may create incongruence.

If somebody feels hopeless, asking them to describe themselves as hopeful may create distance from their truth.

If somebody has survived violence, asking them to soften or alter the language that best describes their experience may feel minimising rather than empowering.

When language is disconnected from lived experience, people often do not feel understood.

They feel managed.

For many people who have experienced trauma, being told which words are acceptable can feel remarkably similar to earlier experiences of having their reality questioned, dismissed or redefined by others.

The nervous system rarely interprets this as safety.

More often, it experiences it as judgment and control.

For me, being trauma-informed is not about teaching people which words they should use.

It is about becoming curious about why those words have emerged.

What is the nervous system trying to communicate?

What experience sits beneath those words?

What happened that makes this language feel true for this person?

Only when we understand the meaning beneath the language can genuine connection occur.

Congruence matters.

Authenticity matters.

Feeling heard matters.

Sometimes the most trauma-informed response is not to correct a person’s language at all.

It is to listen carefully enough to understand what their words are trying to tell us.

Perhaps this too is part of the POT of Perception.

When we insist that others use language that feels comfortable to us, we may be viewing their experience through our own lens rather than seeking to understand theirs.

Why Two People Experience the Same Event Differently

This is why two people can sit in the same meeting, hear the same conversation and leave with completely different experiences.

One feels encouraged.

Another feels criticised.

One feels welcomed.

Another feels excluded.

One sees opportunity.

Another sees danger.

Neither person is necessarily right or wrong.

They are simply viewing the experience through different POTs.

Different histories.

Different beliefs.

Different nervous systems.

Different expectations.

Different realities.

Awareness Brings Clarity

The goal is not to get rid of our POT.

That would be impossible.

The goal is to become aware of it.

Awareness creates choice.

When we understand our own filters, we become less reactive and more curious.

Instead of automatically believing every thought, feeling or interpretation, we can pause and ask:

• What am I noticing?
• Why am I noticing it?
• Is this happening now, or does it remind me of something from before?
• What nervous system state am I viewing this through?
• What else could be true?

This is where growth begins.

Not by denying our experiences.

Not by dismissing our feelings.

But by becoming aware of the lens through which we are viewing them.

A Different World

The image reminded me that a butterfly, a pigeon, a mantis shrimp and a human can all occupy the same space while experiencing completely different realities.

The same is true for people.

No two individuals share exactly the same experiences.

No two nervous systems develop in exactly the same way.

No two people perceive the world through the same lens.

Perhaps that is why curiosity, empathy and compassion matter so much.

Because the person standing in front of us may be seeing a completely different world than the one we see.

As Anaïs Nin observed:

“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.”

Perhaps that is the heart of the POT of Perception.

The goal is not to eliminate our lens, but to become aware of it.

Because awareness brings clarity.

And clarity creates the possibility for understanding, connection and change.

The world has not changed.

The lens has.

Awareness brings clarity.


When Does Persuasion Become Manipulation?

As many of you know, one of the topics I explore in our STAND – Parents as Protectors workshops is manipulation.

Not always the obvious kind.

Not the dramatic, easy-to-spot kind.

The subtle kind.

The kind that influences perception before we have even realised it is happening.

Recently, I found myself on the receiving end of an experience that perfectly illustrates why understanding manipulation matters.

For almost ten years, A Positive Start CIC has used the same internet provider. Whilst I have watched prices rise over the years, the service has been reliable and I intended to continue with them when we moved to our new premises.

The move itself created challenges. The property was not listed on the Postal Address File (PAF), meaning I had to go through the process of registering the address before services could be transferred. I made numerous calls, completed paperwork, paid the relevant fees and repeatedly contacted my provider trying to arrange installation.

I was assured someone would call me back.

Eventually, the call came.

The person introducing themselves stated they were calling in relation to my existing account.

Relieved that somebody had finally responded after weeks of chasing, I engaged in the conversation believing I was speaking with a representative connected to the company I had been dealing with for almost a decade.

The conversation focused on a package specifically aimed at small businesses and not-for-profit organisations. I was told I could save money and receive a better deal than the one I currently had.

Naturally, I was pleased.

As the founder of a community interest company supporting mental health and wellbeing, any opportunity to reduce costs means more resources can be directed towards supporting people.

I agreed to proceed.

The following day, I received information from a company I had never heard of.

Initially, I assumed it must be a subsidiary or partner organisation. After all, the conversation had begun with a reference to my existing account. However, a quick search revealed there was no connection between the two companies whatsoever.

When I contacted the company to query this, I was informed that their representative had mentioned the company name several times during the call.

Perhaps she had.

But that wasn’t really the issue.

The issue was perception.

I was expecting a call from one organisation.

The conversation began by referencing that organisation.

Everything that followed was interpreted through that lens.

What happened next concerned me even more.

Once I realised I was dealing with a company I had never knowingly chosen to engage with, I requested cancellation.

No service had been installed.

Nothing had been delivered.

I had signed nothing.

Yet I was informed that, as a business customer, I was not entitled to a cooling-off period and that cancellation could result in financial penalties.

At that moment, my concern shifted from confusion to discomfort.

Whether something is legally permissible and whether it feels fair are not necessarily the same thing.

The experience reminded me of something we discuss regularly in trauma-informed work.

People do not simply respond to words.

They respond to meaning.

Meaning is shaped by context, expectation, previous experience, emotional state, trust and timing.

This is why manipulation can be so difficult to identify.

Many people assume manipulation requires outright lies.

In reality, manipulation often relies upon implication, assumption and carefully managed perception.

If I say just enough for you to reach a particular conclusion without explicitly stating it, have I lied?

Legally, perhaps not.

Ethically, the answer may be more complicated.

This principle extends far beyond sales.

We see it in relationships.

We see it in families.

We see it in safeguarding.

We see it in politics.

We see it in media.

We see it wherever information is presented in ways that shape what people believe to be true.

The question is not always whether the facts were technically stated.

Sometimes the more important question is:

What understanding was intentionally created?

In my STAND workshops, we encourage people to pause and examine situations more carefully.

To ask questions.

To seek clarity.

To trust their instincts when something feels uncomfortable.

And most importantly, to recognise that informed consent requires genuine understanding.

Transparency is not simply saying what you are legally required to say.

Transparency is ensuring people understand what they are agreeing to.

For me, the experience became a powerful reminder of why these conversations matter.

Manipulation doesn’t always require deception.

Sometimes it only requires carefully shaping what another person believes to be true.


When Survival Becomes a Way of Life

Earlier this week, I had the privilege of being invited by Florence Koenderink to join a conversation about her work, Beyond the Trauma Wall.

I’ve found myself reflecting on that conversation ever since.

As a trauma-informed practitioner, and as someone with lived experience of trauma, Florence’s concept of the Trauma Wall resonates deeply with me.

When we talk about trauma, we often focus on what happened.

What we talk about less is what happens afterwards.

And by trauma, I mean an event—or series of events—that felt life-threatening, whether the danger was real, perceived, physical, emotional, or psychological.

No one told me what to expect after trauma.

No one explained why I suddenly felt on edge all the time.

Why I couldn’t relax.

Why I struggled to trust.

Why I became hypervigilant.

No one told me why I kept running.

Running from people.

Running from difficult conversations.

Running from feelings.

Running from memories.

Running from situations that reminded me of what had happened.

Sometimes physically.

Often emotionally.

No one explained that running had become a survival strategy.

No one told me why ordinary situations felt threatening.

Why I felt disconnected from myself and from other people.

Why my confidence disappeared.

Why I doubted myself.

Why I felt exhausted from constantly scanning for danger.

Why my nervous system seemed to react before my mind had time to think.

Looking back, I realise I spent years running.

Not because I was weak.

Not because I lacked resilience.

Not because I didn’t want to heal.

I was running because my nervous system believed I was still in danger.

The threat had passed.

But my body hadn’t yet received the message.

Looking back, I can see another layer to my own story.

After the initial attack, there was a second attack around ten weeks later.

Following that incident, the police supported a decision to move my children and me out of the area because, in their words, they believed he wanted to kill me and they could not guarantee our safety.

Looking back, I realise the lesson my nervous system learned was not that I was safe.

It learned that danger was real.

It learned that danger could return.

It learned that survival meant staying alert and keeping moving.

So I did.

I kept moving.

Not because I was restless.

Not because I couldn’t settle.

But because my nervous system had learned that movement was what kept my children and me safe.

Years later, I began to understand that although the threat had passed, my body was still following the rules it had learned during that time.

It was still doing exactly what it had been taught to do.

Stay alert.

Keep moving.

Survive.

What I know now is that these were not signs that I was broken.

They were signs that my body was trying to protect me.

Over time, I began to think of this as a protective barrier.

Florence calls it the Trauma Wall.

A wall built not because people want to keep others out, but because somewhere along the way, their nervous system learned that the world was not safe.

The wall says:

“Stay alert.”

“Don’t trust too easily.”

“Protect yourself.”

“Don’t get hurt again.”

From the outside, this can look like withdrawal, anger, defensiveness, people-pleasing, control, avoidance, isolation, or resistance to help.

But underneath those behaviours is often a nervous system trying its very best to survive.

This understanding sits at the heart of my own work.

The question is not:

“What’s wrong with this person?”

The question is:

“What happened to this person, and what is their nervous system trying to protect them from?”

This is where my STAND and TRUST frameworks fit.

STAND (Stop, Think, Act, Never Doubt) helps create a pause between trigger and reaction. It helps us notice when survival responses are taking over and gives us an opportunity to respond rather than react.

Instead of:

Trigger → Reaction

STAND creates:

Trigger → Awareness → Choice → Response

It helps us recognise:

“This feels dangerous.”

rather than automatically assuming:

“This is dangerous.”

Then TRUST comes in.

Because insight alone doesn’t lower a trauma wall.

Safety does.

TRUST (Trigger Recognition, Reassurance, Understanding, Safety and Truth) helps create the conditions that allow the wall to lower.

Where trauma created fear, TRUST creates safety.

Where trauma created isolation, TRUST creates connection.

Where trauma created confusion, TRUST creates understanding.

Where trauma created self-doubt, TRUST creates reassurance.

Where trauma distorted reality through the lens of past hurt, TRUST helps separate past danger from present truth.

The result is not that the wall is torn down.

The result is that it becomes less necessary.

The person slowly moves from protection to participation.

From survival to connection.

From hypervigilance to safety.

From isolation to belonging.

From fear to growth.

Healing does not happen when we force our way through the wall.

Healing happens when enough safety exists that the wall is no longer needed.

The wall was never the problem.

The wall was protection.

The real work is helping people feel safe enough to put down the protection they once needed to survive.

Thank you, Florence, for creating a model that helps people understand not only the impact of trauma, but also the path beyond it. Your work has prompted me to reflect more deeply on my own experience and on the trauma-informed approaches that have helped me, and many others, find a way forward.

#TraumaInformed #BeyondTheTraumaWall #FlorenceKoenderink #TraumaRecovery #Healing #PsychologicalSafety #Neuroception #PersonCentred #TRUST #STAND #APositiveStartCIC


Leaving Dorsal

There was a time in my life when I was considered “farthest from the labour market.”

At that point, I struggled to look people in the eye. Shame sat heavily in my body. Fear kept me small, quiet, and disconnected from my own potential.

It wasn’t just anxiety.

Whenever I had to stand up in front of people, my body would completely overwhelm me. I fainted repeatedly from the stress of it — vasovagal syncope linked to fear, pressure, and previous experiences of humiliation. My nervous system learned to associate being seen with danger.

So when I say I never imagined myself speaking publicly, delivering presentations, facilitating workshops, or studying at Master’s level — I mean that truthfully.

For those who have never experienced dorsal collapse, it can be difficult to explain what it feels like.

It isn’t simply “feeling low” or having a bad day.

It feels like falling through the cracks in the pavement without warning — one moment you are functioning, the next you are somewhere dark, cold, damp, and terrifying.

A place that feels hollow and bottomless.
A place of isolation, hopelessness, shame, and worthlessness.

Like being trapped in a round room with no doors.
No obvious way out.
No light switch.
No map.
Just silence, fear, exhaustion, and the unbearable weight of existing.

It feels ancient somehow.
Like cobwebs, shadows, damp walls, horror, abandonment, and despair.
Like your nervous system has decided the safest thing to do is disappear.

People can look directly at you and still not truly see you.

They look through you.
Beyond you.
Past you.

You’re physically present, but somehow absent at the same time.

Your voice feels far away, like it can’t quite reach the outside world properly. Words become difficult to find, difficult to hold onto, difficult to explain. Sometimes you stop trying altogether because the exhaustion of translating your inner world feels too great.

You’re trapped inside yourself.
Alone in a darkness other people cannot see.

One of the hardest parts is that from the outside, people may think you’re quiet, withdrawn, lazy, distant, rude, or “not trying” — when inside, your nervous system is fighting desperately for survival.

Dorsal collapse can feel like disappearing while still being alive.
Like becoming invisible to the world — and eventually to yourself.

Over time, I became so familiar with that place that I learned to recognise others who were there too.

We see each other.

Not always through words — but through the eyes, the posture, the exhaustion, the silence, the nervous system itself.

And slowly, I began learning where the exits were for me.

I realised there is no single doorway out of dorsal.
Each person’s escape route is different.

For some, it begins with therapy.
For others, nature, movement, music, connection, creativity, faith, learning, safety, compassion, animals, purpose, or being truly seen for the first time.

Leaving dorsal rarely happens all at once.

It happens through tiny moments.

A safe conversation.
A kind glance.
Someone believing you.
One step outside.
One breath.
One decision to keep going.

Until one day, almost without noticing, you realise:
you are no longer completely trapped in the dark.

Recently, I met with my dissertation supervisor to discuss my MSc research. We talked about ethics approval, timelines, and the next stage of the process.

Afterwards, something quietly hit me.

Not the pressure of the work ahead — but the distance I have already travelled.

I haven’t quite completed my MSc yet — but I’m confident I will, and honestly, that in itself feels like an incredible achievement.

From not being able to stay…
To staying the distance.

Who would have thunk it!

There was a time when surviving the day was enough.

And yet somehow, step by step, my world slowly became bigger.

From surviving trauma…
To understanding trauma.

From fainting at the thought of being seen…
To standing in front of groups and speaking openly.

From hiding…
To helping create spaces where other people feel safe enough to stop hiding too.

I am a survivor.

A survivor of trauma.
A survivor of domestic abuse.
A survivor of shame, fear, self-doubt, and survival responses that once completely controlled my life.

And truthfully, I felt proud.

That’s not a feeling I’ve been overly familiar with. But I’m learning that pride doesn’t have to mean arrogance. Sometimes it simply means acknowledging the courage it took to keep going despite everything your body and mind had been through.

It’s okay to acknowledge your journey.
Your past.
Your mistakes.
Your limitations.

It’s okay to be 56 and still learning, still growing, still progressing.

It’s not over until it’s over.

Keep going.
Keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn’t get here alone.

I got here because of the people I met along the way.
Some taught me.
Some supported me.
Some challenged me.
Some believed in me before I believed in myself.

For all of it — I’m grateful.

Healing isn’t linear.
Growth isn’t instant.
And nervous systems don’t transform through force or shame.

They heal through safety, compassion, understanding, repetition, and experiences that slowly teach the body:
“You are safe now.”

Slowly, piece by piece, I mapped my own journey homeward.
The journey back to self.

And eventually…

I called it A Positive Start CIC.


Seeing the Person, Not the Problem

It’s been a tough week.

A week of study and learning.
My own MSc reading.
Supporting others with theirs.
Noticing how theory is learned… & then how it translates into real lives.

Later in the week, I read case studies, medical & session notes from across clinical professions — GPs, counsellors, psychiatrists, psychotherapists, students, to consultants.

I felt sadness.

Not because theory was absent — it wasn’t.
Carl Rogers was cited.
The person-centred approach was named.
The language of practice was present.

But something essential was often missing.

When all that is seen is behaviour & “presenting problems”, the human beneath can remain unseen & unheard.

Across different disciplines, I noticed patterns — adaptations being labelled, survival responses being pathologised, & meaning being assigned without fully understanding the lived experience beneath the behaviour.

I read how ambition in someone living in very difficult circumstances was described as delusional — even grandiose.

And I wondered… when did hope become pathology?

From a lived-experience & trauma-informed perspective, I see something different.

I see survival.
I see adaptation.
I see nervous systems shaped by what has happened, not who someone is.

As trauma research continues to show — including the work of Bessel van der Kolk — behaviour often reflects stored experience, not personal defect.

And I return, again and again, to Rogers’ core conditions:
• Congruence
• Unconditional Positive Regard
• Empathic Understanding

These are not simply concepts to reference.
They are ways of being with another human.

If we truly hold unconditional positive regard, we do not reduce a person to their current circumstances.

If we practice empathic understanding, we ask:
What has happened to you?
Not:
What is wrong with you?

Neuroplasticity tells us change is possible.
Trauma recovery research tells us safety, hope, & relational presence support healing.
Hope is not delusion — it is often the first sign that someone still believes life could be different.

It’s been a tough week for humanity.
And especially for victims & survivors of abuse.

Because when a survivor dares to imagine a different future & that hope is reframed as pathology, we risk repeating the silencing they have already lived through.

We can do better.

In our teaching.
In our supervision.
In our practice.

We must teach students & practitioners not only to recognise problems — but to see people.

To look beneath behaviour.
To understand adaptation.
To honour hope.
To remember that sometimes what appears “grandiose” is simply a human being who has survived — and still dares to dream.

The human must always come before the label.

Always.


Supporting Nervous System Regulation During Trauma Work:

Learning to care for the helper as well as the person being helped

Working with trauma survivors is deeply meaningful, but it can also touch the helper’s nervous system in powerful ways. Regulation is not something we arrive with fully formed — it is a practice we learn over time, often through experience, reflection, and self-understanding.

In my early days of this work, I remember coming home after listening to a survivor’s story of abuse and feeling utterly depleted. There was a heavy dread in my body and head that I could not shift. My mind kept returning to the injustice and the horror of what they had endured. I found myself imagining what if that had been me. The weight of it made me physically and emotionally unwell. I cried over the following days and even questioned whether I was the right person for this work.

As tends to be the case for me, I learned the hard way. I became curious about why I had been impacted so deeply. What had happened to them was undeniably horrific — but it was not my trauma, so why did I feel so broken by it?

This question led me to research the nervous system, vicarious trauma, and emotional regulation. Dan Siegel covers it in his Interpersonal Neurobiology (IPNB) course, which I highly recommend for anyone working with trauma survivors. Over time, I developed ways to protect my nervous system without disconnecting from the human suffering in front of me — and without losing the empathy and care that matter so much in this work.

One of the most important shifts I made was choosing compassion over emotional absorption.

Empathy allows us to feel with another person — but when unregulated, it can place us in their shoes. The body can begin to respond as though the experience is happening to us. Over time, this can lead to emotional exhaustion, heaviness, and burnout.

Compassion is different.

Compassion allows us to remain present with another human being in their pain without becoming engulfed by it. We witness, we care, we support — but we remain anchored in ourselves. Compassion says: I see your suffering, and I am here with you, rather than I am inside your suffering. This subtle shift protects the nervous system while preserving genuine human connection.

Through practice, I also learned that when we listen to trauma, our attention can narrow and the body can move into a quiet survival response — tightening, bracing, holding. If we do not notice and gently regulate, we can begin to carry what we hear. Broadening awareness, orienting to the present, and reconnecting with the body help restore balance and remind the nervous system that we are safe, here, now.

Regulation is not about becoming unaffected. It is about developing the capacity to stay steady, present, and compassionate — without being pulled into the depth of another’s trauma.

If you are beginning this work and find yourself feeling heavy, tired, or emotionally stirred, please know: this does not mean you are unsuited to the work. It means you are human. With time, awareness, and gentle practice, you can learn to care for your nervous system as you care for others.

Compassion with regulation sustains the helper.
And sustained helpers can continue to walk alongside those who need them most.

Why Regulation Matters

When we listen to trauma stories, our attention can narrow and the nervous system may move into a subtle survival state (tightening, vigilance, emotional contraction). Over time, this can contribute to vicarious trauma or emotional depletion.
Broadening awareness helps the nervous system recognise present-moment safety, allowing the body to soften and return to balance. This supports:
Emotional steadiness
Clear thinking and presence
Compassion without absorption
Reduced accumulation of stress
Protection against vicarious trauma
These exercises are not about “switching off” empathy. They help us stay connected without becoming overwhelmed.

Simple Regulation Practices

You may wish to use these between sessions, after difficult work, or whenever you notice tension building.

1. Broadening Awareness (Open Focus)
Gently widen your attention beyond one point of focus.
Notice your body sitting
Become aware of the space around you
Notice sounds in the room or distance
Allow your gaze and attention to soften
Remind yourself: “I am here, and this moment is safe.”
This helps release nervous system contraction and restore ease.

2. The Wheel of Awareness (Dr. Dan Siegel)
This guided practice gently moves attention through:
The senses
The body
The mind
Awareness itself
It supports integration, grounding, and returning to the observing self rather than becoming absorbed in emotional material.

Link to Guided Meditation Video 

3. “In Space” Awareness Morning Meditation (Dr. Joe Dispenza / Open Focus style)
Instead of concentrating on sensations, allow awareness to include space and openness.
Notice sensations in the body
Then notice the space around the body
Let attention expand rather than focus narrowly
Allow thoughts and sensations to exist without holding them tightly
This often reduces emotional load and restores calm.

Link to Guided Meditation Video

4. Orienting Back to Self (Quick Reset)
After emotionally intense work:
Feel your feet on the ground
Notice your breath
Feel the weight of your body in the chair
Look around the room slowly
Remind yourself: “I am here, now.”
This helps the nervous system separate yourself from the material you have heard.

Gentle Reminder
Regulation is not about doing it perfectly.
It is about noticing, returning, and caring for your nervous system as you care for others.
Compassion with regulation protects both the helper and the person being supported.

Take good care of yourselves
Debs x


Is It Possible There Can Be Two Selves?

I was recently asked a question that landed quietly but powerfully:

“Is it possible there can be two selves?”

My answer came without hesitation:

Absolutely.”

What follows is not theory offered from a distance, but reflection shaped through lived experience, me search, we search, research — alongside trauma-informed understanding and spiritual insight. This is not something I have only studied; it is something my own nervous system lived through, and did what it needed to do to protect life when life was under threat.

Because depending on where you stand — psychology, spirituality, trauma, neuroscience, lived experience — the idea of “two selves” is not strange at all. In fact, it is deeply human.

The Simple View: The Thinker and the Observer

At the most basic level, many of us recognise this:

There is the voice in our head that worries, plans, criticises, imagines.

And there is the part of us that notices that voice.

As Eckhart Tolle writes in A New Earth:

“What a liberation to realize that the ‘voice in my head’ is not who I am. Who am I then? The one who sees that.”

— Eckhart Tolle

Eckhart Tolle describes this beautifully in A New Earth. He speaks of the difference between:

  • The chattering ego-mind
  • And the observer, the part that watches the thoughts without becoming them

The moment you notice “I’m stuck in a loop of anxious thinking”, you are no longer just the thinker — you are also the one who sees the thinking.

As Tolle also teaches:

“The moment you realize you are not present, you are present. Whenever you are able to observe your mind, you are no longer trapped in it.”

— Eckhart Tolle

That alone already suggests more than one self at play:

  • The one who experiences
  • And the one who observes

Internal Family Systems: The Inner Child, the Protector, and the Self

From an Internal Family Systems (IFS) perspective, developed by Dr. Richard Schwartz, the idea of “two selves” expands into something even richer. IFS does not see us as one fixed identity, but as a system of parts, all organised around survival, protection, and the longing for safety.

In this model:

  • The inner child is often understood as an exile — a part that once felt terrified, helpless, unseen, or unsafe and now carries that original fear, pain, or shame.
  • The protectors are the parts that stepped in to manage threat, danger, and overwhelming emotion when that child part had no other way to survive.
  • And beneath it all is the core Self — the calm, compassionate, grounded presence that Dr. Schwartz describes as the natural leader of the internal system when enough safety is present.

Schwartz’s work is grounded in decades of clinical practice and shows that these parts are not signs of pathology, but signs of adaptation and intelligence. Exiles are not frozen because something is wrong with a person — they are held because the nervous system once learned that full awareness of their pain was too much to carry alone. Protectors are not problems to eliminate — they are guardians that formed with one purpose: to keep the system alive.

When someone says,

“Part of me is scared, and part of me knows I’m safe now,”

they are describing this internal system in action — the exile and the Self, with protectors often standing quietly in between.

The parts that step in to manage life, danger, and emotion are known as protectors. Some protect by staying hyper-alert, controlling, pleasing, rescuing, or fighting. Others protect by pulling awareness away — through numbness, withdrawal, dissociation, or watching from a distance.

From this perspective, the part of me that went inside and looked out at the world can be understood as a protector creating distance to shield the exile from further harm. And the inner voice that later summoned me back into full presence when it was time to protect my children was also a protector — not a different self, but the same survival intelligence responding to a changing level of threat.

None of these parts are bad.

None are broken.

Each formed in service of survival.

Trauma, Splitting, and the Two Selves of Survival

From a trauma-informed lens, the experience of “two selves” often begins in childhood.

When a child faces:

  • Overwhelming fear
  • Violence
  • Emotional abandonment
  • Or situations they cannot escape

the nervous system must adapt.

If fight and flight are not possible, the system may:

  • Freeze
  • Or dissociate

This is where splitting of awareness can occur:

  • The inner child remains frozen in terror
  • A watching self steps back to survive
  • A protector takes over to keep life functioning

This is not breakdown.

This is adaptation under unbearable conditions.

Watching the World From a Safe Place Inside My Mind

For me, this wasn’t a theory. It was lived reality.

In the days that followed the violent attack, I was withdrawn and not functioning properly. I was inside myself, but behind something — observing others from a distance yet unable to engage. It felt as though I was inside the screen of a television set, looking out at the world, rather than standing in it.

I was numb.

And I was content to stay there — because it felt safe. It felt like an actual place inside my mind where nothing could reach me. Life was happening out there, and I was protected in here.

From a trauma lens, this is shock and dissociation.

From a human lens, it felt like sanctuary.

Then something else happened.

Another part of me raised its voice.

It told me it was time to return.

It reminded me that I had children.

That I had responsibilities.

That I needed to wake up again — not just for myself, but to protect them and to protect myself from the consequences of other people’s decisions.

I wrote about this in my book When I’m Gone.

People sometimes imagine this state as temporary madness.

I see it as brilliant ancient wisdom.

My parents, doing what they believed was right, took me to the GP. The doctor spoke about me to my parents — not to me. He recognised that I was legally an adult, but also that I was not fully present. He named shock. His professional opinion was Prozac.

And then that same inner voice — the one that rose not only in my mind but echoed through my whole body — protested.

It warned me not to take anything.

It summoned me to wake up.

To get up.

To stay alert.

It told me, very clearly:

“You will not survive if you are not awake and aware.”

And it was right.

Only days later, my attacker broke into my home with a lump hammer.

If I hadn’t been fully functioning — if I had still been sealed behind that inner screen — I may not be here today. That is my belief.

This inner voice is not new to me.

It is the same voice that:

  • Kept me going when I was running the 400 metres at school
  • Guided me through a crowd of young people who were teasing me
  • Reasoned and steadied me during interviews and moments of pressure

It is my internal ally — the part of me that has been with me for as long as I can remember. The part that keeps my inner critic in check. The part that knows when to hide — and when to rise.

From a trauma perspective, this is the protector activating.

From a nervous system perspective, this is survival mobilisation.

From a spiritual perspective, this is inner guidance.

From my lived experience, it is all of these at once.

The Nervous System Was Not Broken — It Was Brilliant

In trauma-informed language:

  • My ventral vagal system (safety and connection) was offline
  • My system shifted between:
    • Sympathetic survival (hypervigilance)
    • Dorsal vagal shutdown (numbness, dissociation)
  • The inner child was overwhelmed
  • The observer and protector stepped in

This is not something going wrong.

This is the body saying:

“I will keep you alive, even if I have to split awareness to do it.”

The Spiritual Perspective: The Witness That Never Left

Across spiritual traditions, the witness consciousness appears again and again

As Eckhart Tolle reminds us:

“The mind is a superb instrument if used rightly. Used wrongly, however, it becomes very destructive.”

— Eckhart Tolle

  • The soul watching the human experience
  • The higher Self guiding the frightened parts
  • The inner presence that remains intact even when the outer world collapses

Even when we:

  • Speak to ourselves in our head
  • Pray for guidance
  • Ask internally for strength

we are already in dialogue between selves — often between a frightened inner child and something wiser, steadier, and more loving.

A Metaphysical View: Consciousness Beyond the Body

From a metaphysical perspective, the idea of “two selves” is not unusual at all. In fact, many metaphysical traditions suggest that consciousness itself is not confined to the physical body or brain, but uses the body as a vehicle for experience.

In this view, there is:

  • The human self — shaped by memory, emotion, trauma, learning, and survival
  • And the conscious awareness that witnesses that human experience

This awareness is not created by fear or trauma — it pre-exists it.

From this lens, when I describe being:

  • Inside the screen, looking out at the world
  • Watching life happen from a protected internal place

That can be understood not only as a nervous-system response, but as consciousness withdrawing its full immersion from physical experience when the experience becomes overwhelming.

Not as escape — but as preservation.

Metaphysics does not see this as “disorder.”

It sees it as conscious intelligence responding to threat.

From trauma science, the observer can be understood as:

  • A protector
  • A dissociative response
  • A survival adaptation

From metaphysics, the observer is also:

  • The seat of awareness
  • The witness to experience
  • The part of us that is not broken by what happens

This helps explain something many people notice intuitively:

Even when the body is frozen…

Even when the child is terrified…

Even when the protector is exhausted…

There is still something inside that knows.

Knows danger.

Knows timing.

Knows when to hide.

And knows when to rise.

This is exactly the voice I described — the one that summoned me back when it was time to protect my children and myself. Trauma-informed language calls that a protector. Metaphysical language calls it inner intelligence or conscious awareness. I hold room for both.

Metaphysics helps bridge a question many people quietly carry:

“If part of me was so terrified…

And part of me was watching…

And part of me was guiding…

Then who am I really?”

From a metaphysical lens, the answer can be:

You are the awareness that has held all of it.

  • The inner child experienced
  • The protector mobilised
  • The observer watched
  • But consciousness remained intact throughout

This does not diminish the reality of trauma.

It reframes identity so a person is not defined solely by what happened to them.

I don’t see trauma science and metaphysics as opposing forces. I see them as two languages describing the same protective intelligence.

  • Neuroscience says: The nervous system adapts to survive.
  • Metaphysics says: Consciousness withdraws to preserve itself.

Both are describing the same act of protection, from different angles.

One speaks in biology.

The other speaks in awareness.

Neither says the person is broken.

This matters because when people only receive a medical or diagnostic explanation, they may walk away believing:

  • Their mind failed them
  • Their system malfunctioned
  • Their dissociation was a defect

Metaphysics adds another truth:

Something within you was wise enough to protect your life when life was under threat.

That matters.

It restores dignity.

It restores meaning.

It restores agency.

Why I Do Not See This as Disorder

Here is where I hold a clear personal truth:

We have taken natural human survival responses and labelled them as:

  • Maladaptive
  • Faulty
  • Disordered

But what if:

  • The terrified inner child disappeared in order to survive?
  • The observer stepped back to prevent collapse?
  • The protector mobilised to keep life going?

To frame these responses as inherently “wrong” is, in my view, deeply harmful to humans.

The nervous system did not betray us.

It saved us.

Integration: When the Adult Self Goes Back for the Child

Healing is not about erasing the observer or silencing the protector.

Healing is about building enough safety in the present so the adult Self can gently return to the child who once had to hide.

Over time, with:

  • Regulation
  • Compassion
  • Choice
  • Relationship

the inner child no longer has to live behind the screen.

The protector no longer has to live on red alert.

And the observer no longer has to stand watch alone.

A Gentle, Hopeful Truth

Yes — there can be two selves.

There can be many.

And none of them are wrong.

There is:

  • The terrified child
  • The protector
  • The observer
  • And the Self that can now hold them all

They were never signs of brokenness.

They were signs of a system that refused to let life end.

And when safety returns, something beautiful happens:

The child no longer has to freeze.

The observer no longer has to hide.

The protector can finally rest.

And the self — slowly, gently — begins to feel whole again.

 


When “Discipline” Becomes Harm: Understanding Cruelty Disguised as Parenting

When “Discipline” Becomes Harm: Understanding Cruelty Disguised as Parenting

There is a kind of harm in childhood that many people never talk about.

It doesn’t leave bruises.

It doesn’t always involve shouting.

Often, it was normalised.

And one of the main reasons people stay silent is simple:

Many don’t want to hurt the ones they love.

They protect others from the truth, even when those truths shaped their entire childhood.

This blog is not about exposing individuals or assigning blame.

It’s about naming the patterns that were common in certain generations — patterns many adults now look back on and quietly carry alone.

By talking about the behaviours rather than the people, we create space for understanding, accountability, and breaking generational cycles.

This is a conversation about what happened, not who did it or what contributed to the why - because countless families shared these dynamics behind closed doors.

The Hidden Forms of Cruelty Many Children Experienced

The “Seen and Not Heard” Era

A whole generation was raised with the belief that children were:

  • to be quiet
  • to stay out of the way
  • to do as they were told
  • to absorb adult tension
  • to perform chores, not emotions
  • to expect little, ask for nothing, and need even less

Love was inconsistent.

Warmth depended on mood.

And emotional expression was often treated as defiance.

Behind closed doors, many children became:

  • emotional shock absorbers
  • scapegoats
  • housemaids
  • the regulators of adult distress

Meanwhile, the same adults often presented as kind, helpful, charming, or community-minded in public.

This dual identity — tender outside, volatile or dismissive inside — left many children confused, unseen, and unheard.

Behaviours That Often Went Unrecognised as Harm

Saying “yes,” then denying it and humiliating the child

A child is told they can visit a friend, only for the adult to later insist they “never said that.”

The child is labelled a liar in front of others, left embarrassed and confused.

This is gaslighting, even if unintentional.

Setting children up to fail

Some adults created “tests” that were designed to expose, not teach:

  • marking drinks to check if a child had sipped
  • adding food colouring to sweets
  • leaving temptation out deliberately

When the child behaved like a child, they were punished or shamed.

These tactics teach secrecy and shame — not honesty.

Spiritual or moral intimidation

Statements like:

  • “God is watching.”
  • “You’ll go to hell.”
  • “The angels are disappointed in you.”

These may sound harmless to adults, but to a child, they are terrifying.

Children take every word literally.

Belittling, mocking, or ignoring the child

Children internalise words such as:

  • stupid
  • ugly
  • lazy
  • liar
  • unwanted

Sometimes no words were spoken at all — they were ignored, which can be equally damaging.

Discrediting People the Child Loves & Weaponising Comparisons

Another subtle but deeply damaging behaviour is when adults discredit, insult, or undermine the people a child loves or looks up to.

This often sounds like:

  • “You’re just like your dad.”
  • “You’re turning into your mother.”
  • “You’re exactly like that side of the family.”

…and then the adult immediately badmouths or criticises the person they’ve compared the child to.

To the child, this is more than just an insult. It becomes:

  • an attack on their identity
  • a rejection of half of who they are
  • a warning not to love or resemble someone important to them
  • emotional triangulation
  • psychological splitting: “good side” vs “bad side”

Children absorb the message:

  • “Part of me is unacceptable.”
  • “Loving this person is wrong.”
  • “I have inherited something flawed.”
  • “I will be treated differently depending on who I’m compared to.”

This dynamic also forces the child to carry emotional loyalty conflicts they never asked for.

And when adults insult someone a child loves — especially a parent, grandparent, or sibling — the child feels:

  • torn
  • confused
  • defensive
  • guilty
  • responsible for mediating tension

This is not discipline, and it is not parenting.

It is emotional manipulation disguised as comparison.

Adults Finding a Child’s Fear or Distress “Funny”

Another common but rarely acknowledged behaviour is adults enjoying a child’s distress — finding their fear, shock, or upset reaction humorous or “cute.”

This often looked like:

  • teasing a child until they cried
  • pretending something frightening was happening
  • taking pleasure in the child’s startled facial expression
  • laughing at a child’s trembling lip, fear, or confusion
  • provoking an emotional reaction purely for amusement

At first, adults framed it as:

  • “funny”
  • “harmless”
  • “cute”
  • “just a joke”

But when the child became too distressed or overwhelmed, the adult often switched to irritation or blame, labelling the child as:

  • “mardy”
  • “over-sensitive”
  • “dramatic”
  • “spoilt”
  • “in need of a lesson”

This pattern teaches the child:

  • my emotions are entertainment
  • my fear is amusing to others
  • my hurt doesn’t matter until it inconveniences someone
  • I am responsible for managing adults’ reactions to the pain they caused

The truth is simple:

It is not funny to enjoy a child’s fear.

It is not cute to provoke distress.

It is cruelty framed as humour.

And many adults still fail to recognise it for what it was — emotional harm disguised as “play.”

We see these same dynamics in workplaces today — the nervous-system triggers, the power imbalances, the “jokes,” the minimising, the discomfort used as entertainment. It’s bullying by any other name.

When a Child’s Distress Becomes Entertainment

Another overlooked form of emotional harm is when adults treat a child’s distress as entertainment.

This can look like:

  • continuing to tickle a child long after they say “stop,”
    until they cry, panic, or even lose bladder control
  • laughing when the child becomes overwhelmed or frightened
  • mocking a child for showing emotion during a TV show, film, or advert
    (“You’re getting upset over that?” “Oh, look who’s crying again!”)

Adults often insist it is:

  • harmless fun
  • just play
  • funny
  • cute
  • “kids being dramatic”

But for the child:

  • their “stop” is ignored
  • their body boundaries are violated
  • their emotions are dismissed
  • their fear or overwhelm becomes a joke
  • their vulnerability becomes a performance

The message the child absorbs is:

  • “My limits don’t matter.”
  • “My distress is amusing.”
  • “I will be mocked for my emotions.”
  • “People laugh at me when I’m overwhelmed.”

Tickling is especially confusing, because the body laughs even when the mind is in panic — and many adults use that as permission to continue.

Mocking emotional reactions to TV or stories teaches a child that emotion is shameful and empathy is something to hide.

This is not sensitivity — it is a child being emotionally exposed instead of emotionally protected.

Public humiliation & body/sexual “jokes”

Many children experienced humiliation in front of peers — sometimes involving sexualised or body-shaming “jokes” about their developing bodies. These incidents left deep embarrassment and confusion.

When an adult comments on a child’s changing body, weight, puberty, or clothing in a mocking or sexual way, it violates their sense of safety and dignity.

The child learns:

  • “My body is something to be mocked.”
  • “Adults can use my embarrassment for entertainment.”
  • “My changes are not safe from scrutiny.”

This wound often lasts decades, affecting confidence, boundaries, and body image.

Shaking or physically overwhelming the child

Shaking may not leave bruises, but it creates profound fear. A child learns they are physically unsafe in the presence of adult anger or loss of control.

Their nervous system records the experience as threat, not discipline.

Withholding freedom after false promises

“Do your chores and then you can go out.”

But once the work is done, the adult denies ever making the agreement.

This teaches the child that fairness doesn’t exist and adults can’t be trusted.

Children are often blamed for things that had nothing to do with them:

  • “I’m late because she wouldn’t get ready.”
  • “He stressed me out this morning.”

This scapegoating teaches the child they are responsible for adult moods, mistakes, and choices — something no child should carry.

Publicly labelling the child

Children were sometimes described as liars, thieves, or troublemakers — often based on situations engineered against them or misunderstandings never repaired.

These labels become lifelong identities.

Blaming the child for adult arguments or unhappiness

Statements like:

  • “We never argued until you came along.”
  • “You’re the reason we’re unhappy.”
  • “If you behaved better, everything would be fine.”

These messages teach a child to internalise adult conflict as their fault.

It shapes deep patterns of guilt, people-pleasing, and chronic responsibility.

Withholding essentials

Denying sanitary products, toiletries, or other basic needs is not discipline.

It’s a deep violation of safety and dignity.

Denying illness or pain

Many adults from previous generations dismissed illness as:

  • attention-seeking
  • exaggeration
  • “making a fuss”

Some children were left vomiting, dehydrated, or in severe pain before anyone intervened.

This teaches:

  • “My needs are inconvenient.”
  • “My pain is not believable.”
  • “Asking for help is risky.”

These lessons follow people into adulthood.

Threatening to Send the Child Away

Many children grew up genuinely believing they were about to be abandoned. Some adults escalated threats by packing a child’s belongings, putting them in the car, and driving to an unfamiliar location.

Phrases like:

  • “We’re taking you to the naughty children’s home.”
  • “They’ll look after you now because we can’t.”

…were not “lessons” or “jokes.” They were moments of absolute terror.

Children remember:

  • the bags
  • the drive
  • the building
  • the pleading
  • the panic in their bodies

Even after returning home, the child remains flooded with fear and confusion.

This teaches:

  • “My place in this family is conditional.”
  • “Love can be withdrawn at any moment.”
  • “If I behave wrong, I will be taken away.”

These threats burrow deep into the nervous system and can shape fear of rejection, people-pleasing, and abandonment for decades.

Using Monsters or “Boogie Man” Threats

Some adults didn’t simply mention the boogie man — they created him.

This often included:

  • making noises at night
  • hiding under the bed
  • scratching at doors
  • whispering threats
  • creating fear-based rituals

To a child, this isn’t imagination.

It is real.

The child’s nervous system responds as though danger is present.

This teaches:

  • “The world is unsafe.”
  • “Fear is unpredictable.”
  • “Adults will amplify my terror instead of soothing it.”

Instead of learning comfort and protection, the child learns hypervigilance and dread.

The Impact on a Child’s Nervous System

When the adults responsible for safety behave unpredictably or dismissively, the child’s body adapts for survival:

Fight

Anger, frustration, challenging behaviour.

Flight

Withdrawing, hiding, avoiding conflict.

Freeze

Shutting down, dissociating, going numb.

Fawn

People-pleasing, over-apologising, trying to be “good enough.”

These are not personality traits — they are survival strategies.

Children raised this way often grow into adults who:

  • struggle to trust themselves
  • doubt their intuition
  • fear conflict
  • override their own needs
  • apologise for existing
  • avoid asking for help
  • don’t know what safety feels like

The body remembers what the environment taught.

How This Passed Through the Generations

Adults who were raised with “seen and not heard” expectations often took one of three paths:

1. Repeating the pattern

Not out of cruelty,

but because they believed:

  • “That’s just how you parent.”
  • “It didn’t do me any harm.”
  • “This is normal.”

The cycle continued unconsciously.

2. Becoming transactional

Some tried to avoid repeating the emotional harshness, but didn’t know how to offer safety or connection.

So they offered:

  • gifts
  • food
  • treats
  • trips

Love became expressed through possessions.

Children became outwardly cheerful while hiding deeper unmet needs.

3. Breaking the cycle completely

These are the cycle-breakers — the ones who felt the impact and made a deliberate decision:

“It ends with me.”

They:

  • healed
  • sought understanding
  • learned emotional regulation
  • practised compassion
  • created safety
  • broke patterns
  • raised children differently
  • supported others to heal

These are the people changing the world quietly but profoundly.

The Children Who Saw It Clearly

Some Children Knew It Was Wrong — Even Then

Not every child in these environments recognised the behaviour as harmful.

But some did.

Some children — even at four, five, six years old — saw the truth with startling clarity.

These children grew up with a sense of internal knowing that something was deeply wrong, even when every adult insisted:

  • “It’s just a joke.”
  • “Don’t be so sensitive.”
  • “You’re imagining it.”
  • “All children get treated this way.”

So why did some of us see it instantly?

Because our nervous systems were already attuned to danger and injustice.

We were operating from a heightened state of awareness — a kind of early neuroception that sensed:

  • emotional shifts
  • power imbalances
  • fear in others
  • unfairness
  • contradiction
  • dishonesty masquerading as humour
  • the difference between care and control

Some children develop this sensitivity because:

1. They were natural empaths

Highly attuned children feel the emotional temperature in a room instinctively.

Their bodies register distress — even when words say otherwise.

2. They had to protect others (often siblings)

When a younger sibling was frightened, crying, or confused, some children stepped into the protector role.

Their sense of justice became sharpened by necessity.

3. They were already in survival mode

Children who lived in unpredictable homes developed hyperawareness as a form of safety:

  • watching adult expressions
  • reading micro-shifts in tone
  • anticipating danger
  • detecting inconsistency
  • preparing for emotional storms

This wasn’t “sensitivity.”

It was survival intelligence.

4. They saw beyond performative kindness

Some adults were gentle in public but harsh in private.

Children who noticed this discrepancy quickly learned:

  • “Something is off.”
  • “People aren’t always who they pretend to be.”
  • “What adults say doesn’t match how they act.”

That mismatch is deeply informative to a perceptive child.

5. They had intact moral clarity

Some children simply knew — without being taught — that cruelty was wrong.

Their internal compass was strong, and no amount of denial could dull it.

This heightened awareness shaped who we became

The children who saw the truth often grew into:

  • protectors
  • cycle-breakers
  • advocates
  • helpers
  • counsellors
  • truth-tellers
  • deeply compassionate adults
  • people who feel injustice viscerally
  • people who sense dysregulation in others instantly

Because the nervous system remembers.

Seeing cruelty early doesn’t damage the moral compass — it refines it.

These children grew up with a kind of clarity that many people reach only after decades of healing.

They didn’t just survive the environment.

They understood it.

Even when no one else could.

Even when adults denied it.

Even when speaking the truth got them punished, dismissed, or called “too sensitive.”

But that clarity — that early awareness — is exactly why so many of them move into protective professions, in teaching, emotional support and safeguarding. It is exactly why I teach Social & Emotional Learning (SEL) — it’s not an add-on, it’s an essential life skill for a healthier nervous system, a healthier life, and ultimately a healthier world.

A Common Question People Ask

“If adults passed on these behaviours because they didn’t know any better… then how did I, as a child, know something was wrong when I wasn’t taught anything different?”

This is a powerful and important question.

Some children develop heightened moral clarity and internal truth-recognition precisely because of what they witness.

Their nervous systems become so attuned to fear, contradiction, and injustice that they instinctively sense when something is fundamentally wrong.

They didn’t learn it from adults.

They learned it through:

  • observing
  • feeling
  • surviving
  • tuning into emotional reality rather than words

It is not something taught.

It is something felt, deeply and unmistakably.

This intuitive clarity is a sign of a child whose empathy, intelligence, and moral grounding were already strong — despite the environment.

Those Children Are the Real Trauma-Informed Revolution

Real trauma-informed practice didn’t begin in training rooms or policy documents.

It began decades ago in the bodies and hearts of children who recognised harm before anyone explained it.

The ones who saw the truth early — are the real trauma-informed revolution.

Because they:

  • lived the impact firsthand
  • broke the cycle instinctively
  • became protectors and truth-tellers
  • developed deep emotional intelligence
  • learned to read dysregulation without words
  • understand safety because we lived without it
  • bring embodied wisdom, not tick-box knowledge
  • lead with compassion, not compliance

Trauma-informed isn’t a certificate.

It’s a way of being born from surviving — and transforming — what wasn’t okay.

They didn’t just endure the past.

They turned it into purpose.

Empathy Without Boundaries Is Not Compassion — It’s Self-Abandonment

Empathy is often celebrated, but rarely understood.

What most people don’t realise is this:

Empathy without boundaries is destructive.

Children who grew up scanning rooms, soothing adults, and absorbing distress often grow into deeply empathetic adults — but without the skills or safety to protect themselves.

Unhealed people who learned to manipulate, guilt, or emotionally pull on others will use that empathy against you.

They will drain your:

  • energy
  • time
  • sense of worth
  • emotional bandwidth
  • self-belief

Not because empathy is wrong — but because they have no boundaries, and therefore you don’t either.

This isn’t harshness.

It isn’t selfishness.

It isn’t “going cold.”

It is self-care, self-worth, and dignity.

Healthy empathy has boundaries.

It feels for others without abandoning self.

It supports connection without sacrificing safety.

Learning this is transformation — the moment empathy stops being a survival strategy and becomes a healthy, grounded, life-enhancing strength.

SEL Isn’t Just a Solution — It’s a Response to Generational Conditions

We talk about teaching Social & Emotional Learning (SEL) to parents, children, workplaces, and services — and it is essential.

SEL builds emotional regulation, empathy, boundaries, and safety in ways that transform lives.

But to truly understand why SEL is needed, we have to step back and ask:

Where did these harmful patterns begin?

What created them in the first place?

We can’t talk about protecting children without also being honest about the conditions that shaped the adults who raised us.

The emotional harm many children experienced didn’t appear in a vacuum.

It was shaped by forces far bigger than the family home:

  • War
    Generations returned home carrying trauma, dissociation, and shut-down feelings — emotional numbness mistaken for strength.
  • Poverty
    Chronic stress, uncertainty, and survival-mode parenting that leaves no room for emotional softness.
  • Injustice and inequality
    Communities living under pressure develop coping mechanisms, not emotional skills.
  • Systemic abuse
    Institutions that shamed, silenced, punished, and repressed children and parents alike.
  • Cultural norms
    “Children should be seen and not heard.”
    “Crying is weakness.”
    “Don’t answer back.”
    “Respect is obedience.”

These conditions created:

  • stressed adults
  • dysregulated nervous systems
  • emotional shutdown
  • generational trauma
  • harsh survival strategies
  • homes built on fear instead of safety
  • the belief that harshness = good parenting

And this is important:

To place the responsibility solely on parents is just more of the same thinking — another loop of the same cycle, another form of victim-blaming disguised as accountability.

Parents can only give what they were given.

Communities can only echo the conditions they were shaped by.

This is why SEL matters so deeply:

SEL didn’t emerge to “fix” people —

it emerged because generations were never given the conditions to emotionally grow.

SEL teaches the life skills many adults never received because their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were surviving systems, pressures, wars, expectations, and cultural norms that never allowed emotional safety to flourish.

Understanding this doesn’t excuse harm — but it gives us the compassion and context needed to break the cycle at its roots.

Not Everyone Is Ready to See This Through a Compassionate Lens — and That’s Okay

It’s important to acknowledge that not everyone who lived through these patterns is ready to view them compassionately.

And that is completely okay.

Healing is not linear.

It’s not tidy.

And it isn’t the same for everyone.

Some people are still in the stage where:

  • the memories feel raw
  • anger is necessary
  • the wounds are too deep
  • the nervous system is still protecting them
  • compassion feels like minimising what happened
  • understanding feels like betrayal
  • even reading about these dynamics brings up emotion

For many, compassion is the final chapter of healing, not the first.

No one should ever be rushed there.

Every emotional stage — anger, grief, distance, disbelief, clarity — is valid and part of the process.

The goal is not to force forgiveness or understanding.

The goal is to offer space, safety, and recognition so people can heal at their own pace.

When people feel safe enough, compassion often arises naturally — not towards the harm, but towards the human complexity behind it.

Why Adults Behaved This Way (A Compassionate Lens)

Many adults who used harmful behaviours:

  • were overwhelmed and unsupported
  • repeated what they experienced
  • struggled with shame or emotional immaturity
  • mistook control for safety
  • were never taught empathy
  • panicked internally and acted externally
  • appeared kind publicly but were exhausted privately
  • genuinely didn’t understand the impact

This doesn’t excuse harm.

But it helps explain it — and understanding is how cycles finally end.

Healing Is Real and Happening

Here is the hope:

We are the first generation able to talk openly about this.

We can see the patterns.

We can name them.

We can understand them through the lens of the nervous system.

And most importantly —

we can choose differently.

People are healing.

Parents are learning.

Children are safer.

Communities are becoming more trauma-informed.

Cycles are being broken every day.

Awareness with compassion is powerful.

Truth spoken gently is transformative.

And healing is a journey that many are walking — for themselves, for their families, and for the next generation.

We don’t change the future by blaming the past.

We change it by understanding, growing, and doing better.

And so many people are

What Does a Healthy Childhood Look Like?

After talking about so much of what went wrong for so many of us, it matters deeply to finish by naming what right looks like.

Not perfection.

Not faultless parents.

Just healthy, safe, emotionally attuned care — the kind every child deserves.

A healthy childhood includes:

1. Safety — emotional and physical

A child feels:

  • protected
  • comforted
  • soothed when afraid
  • held when hurt
  • safe to express any emotion

Safety is the foundation of thriving.

2. Consistency

Children grow strong when adults:

  • keep promises
  • follow through
  • remain predictable
  • repair when they get it wrong

Consistency creates trust, and trust creates connection.

3. Boundaries that teach, not punish

Healthy boundaries guide a child, not frighten them.

They sound like:

  • “Let’s take a breath.”
  • “I won’t let you hurt yourself.”
  • “Come sit with me until you feel calmer.”

Boundaries shape security—not fear.

4. Emotional presence

A child needs adults who:

  • listen
  • validate feelings
  • stay calm enough to help
  • model emotional regulation
  • apologise when needed

Presence teaches children they matter.

5. Freedom to express without shame

Healthy childhoods include:

  • laughter
  • curiosity
  • silliness
  • sadness
  • big feelings
  • questions
  • exploration

No child should be mocked or belittled for being human.

6. Encouragement, not comparison

Healthy adults say:

  • “I’m proud of you.”
  • “Look how hard you tried.”
  • “You’re learning.”
  • “You’re important.”

The focus is on growth, not perfection.

7. Repair, reconnection, and truth

Every parent gets it wrong sometimes.

Healthy childhoods include:

  • apologies
  • reconnection
  • honesty
  • making things right

Repair teaches children that love doesn’t vanish.

8. Space to be a child

A healthy childhood makes room for:

  • play
  • imagination
  • mistakes
  • rest
  • discovery
  • joy

Children should never carry the emotional load of adults.

Healthy childhoods create adults who feel:

  • grounded
  • secure
  • confident
  • connected
  • worthy
  • able to love and be loved
  • able to trust and be trusted

This is the vision we move toward when we talk about what went wrong.

Not blame.

Not guilt.

Not shame.

Clarity. Understanding. Healing.

And the commitment to give the next generation what so many of us needed

We are not seeking perfection — life will always bring challenges, obstacles, and moments where we get it wrong.

What we are seeking is kindness, balance, and belonging.

A sense of safety, so the world feels warm and compassionate, not cold and cruel.

And it is important to say this clearly:

It is not weak, soft, naïve, “snowflake,” or pathetic to be kind, gentle, or caring.

Only a dysregulated, defensive nervous system views compassion through that distorted lens.

Regulated adults see kindness for what it truly is:

strength, wisdom, maturity, and emotional leadership.

If we want the world to be a safer place for our children, we must be the ones who model it — in our homes, our communities, and our daily interactions.

Children learn what safety feels like by witnessing it, not by being told about it.

‘The world does not shape our focus. Our focus shapes the world.’ Dr. Joe Dispenza

And when our focus is safety, empathy, truth, and connection, the world transforms — one regulated nervous system at a time.


Your Body Is Wise: And How We Frame Our Responses Shapes Everything

There’s a line that has been echoing in me ever since I read it:

“Your body knows what to do. Your body is wise.” — Yuki Askew - a comment on one of my posts.

It spoke to a truth I have lived, witnessed, and now teach every day.

The Body Speaks Before the Mind Does

There were moments in my life when the dynamics in an environment shifted and, before I had words or conscious awareness, my body knew.

Every cell pulled me to run.

Not a thought.

Not a choice.

A full-body survival instinct.

Some call that a “disorder.”

I call it miraculous early intervention — my body sensing danger long before my mind could register it. That instinct has saved my life more than once. It can feel almost otherworldly, an ancient intelligence rising up to protect me.

And I see this same wisdom constantly in the clients I support.

When I offer grounding techniques, tapping sequences, or simply placing a hand on the heart, I often hear:

“Oh… I already do that naturally.”

“I didn’t realise why that helps me.”

People choose certain music or particular hertz frequencies without knowing the science behind it. They simply say:

“It soothes me.”

Their bodies chose what their minds didn’t yet understand.

Because the body is always trying to regulate, restore balance, and return to safety — often long before we have the language for it.

Where the Real Pain Begins: The Framing

The problem is not the body.

The problem is how people interpret what the body does.

In my own experience, that instinct to run — a profoundly intelligent protective response — was framed as pathology.

And when a survival instinct is labelled as something “wrong,” the person stops trusting themselves.

They shrink.

They hide.

They feel ashamed of the very thing that kept them alive.

It wasn’t the reaction that created the prolonged suffering.

It was the framing of the reaction.

And I see this in so many others:

  • A protective instinct becomes “avoidant.”
  • A freeze response becomes “lazy.”
  • A shutdown becomes “uncooperative.”
  • A fear response becomes “dramatic.”

Misunderstanding becomes the second wound — sometimes deeper than the first.

The Impact of Language: What Does “Disorder” Mean When You Already Fear You’re Failing?

This is where language matters more than we realise.

Think about the word “disorder.”

What does that mean to a human being who already fears they’re not coping?

Who already wonders if they’re failing at life?

Who already feels different, overwhelmed, or out of place?

A word like “disorder” can confirm someone’s deepest fear:

“There is something wrong with me.”

But what if the response isn’t disordered at all?

What if it is the exact order the body needed in that moment to survive?

When language frames a survival response as pathology, people internalise shame.

When language frames it as protection, people reclaim self-trust.

The meaning we assign determines the story we live.

Why We Cling to Labels

There’s another truth we rarely talk about:

People often accept labels quickly because they finally provide a reason for what they’ve been fighting alone.

A diagnosis can feel like relief when you’ve spent years being misunderstood — especially when the alternative has been judgment or dismissal.

But imagine if the initial framing had been compassionate and accurate.

Imagine if we already recognised these reactions as the body’s attempt to protect, communicate, and survive.

We wouldn’t need a label to “justify” behaviour.

There would be nothing to justify.

We would already understand.

Ancient Wisdom Modern Science Is Only Just Catching Up With

Long before neuroscience, cultures across the world understood the intelligence of the body:

  • Indigenous traditions used rhythm, song, movement, and drumming to create safety and connection.
  • African healing systems used call-and-response and communal rhythm to regulate the nervous system.
  • Ayurveda emphasised breath, prana, and the inseparable link between body and emotion.
  • Traditional Chinese Medicine treated emotions, breath, and organ health as one system.
  • Japanese forest bathing (Shinrin-yoku) is now shown to reduce cortisol and activate the parasympathetic nervous system.

Today, polyvagal theory, somatic trauma work, and neuroscience are validating what ancient wisdom always knew:

The body finds a way.

The body remembers.

The body protects.

The body leads.

Imagine If We Framed It Differently

What if our response to someone’s overwhelm wasn’t judgement but curiosity?

What if we said:

“Your body is signalling something important.”

“This reaction has a history.”

“Your nervous system is protecting you.”

“What did your body know before your mind caught up?”

Everything changes:

People stop hiding.

Self-trust begins to return.

Shame loses its grip.

And healing becomes possible — not through force, but through understanding.

When We Change the Framing, We Change the Outcome

My own journey would have looked very different if my earliest instincts had been seen as protection, not pathology.

And that’s why this work matters so deeply to me.

When we honour the wisdom of the body and choose language that reflects truth rather than judgement, we create conditions where healing becomes not only possible — but inevitable.

The body is not the problem.

The body is the guide.

And when we change the framing, we truly do change the outcome.

Positive outcomes begin with - A Positive Start


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