Deborah J Crozier

17 Years of A Positive Start: From Rock Bottom to Rising Strong

Seventeen years ago today, I began a journey that I called A Positive Start.

At the time, I’d been working on myself for a while, trying to make sense of why I kept ending up back at square one. The thing about dysregulation and survival mode is that while you’re living in it, you don’t see it — not in yourself and not really in others. But once you do see it, you can’t unsee it, and you begin to notice it everywhere.

I was living in West Cumbria then, once again unemployed and feeling like I’d gone full circle. I’d already been labelled by the DWP as “farthest from the labour market,” and despite my determination never to end up there again, there I was — back in that same place, feeling defeated and desperate.

So I decided to start again, but differently this time. I’d tried every road and they all led me back to where I began. This time, I took a new route — a positive one. Not “positive” in the toxic sense of pretending everything was fine, but in the sense of becoming positive about myself. I chose to stop hating myself for every mistake and blaming myself for everything that had happened.

Instead, I began to look within — with compassion — and ask myself,

“What is it about me? What part am I playing in my own life? What am I responsible for, and what am I not?”

Each day I went to the library in Cleator Moor to read, write, and learn. Slowly, from that place of curiosity and self-reflection, A Positive Start was born.

In those early days, I had no money. I couldn’t even afford the bus fare, so I walked to youth centres to deliver free sessions. I held teatime discussions with young people and their friends, asking what issues they faced and how they thought change could happen. They taught me more than I could ever have imagined.

Then one day, things started to shift. I applied for a job as a project manager for a charity that wanted someone to build a new project from the ground up — to recruit, train, and support people. Initially, I was told I was unsuccessful. But the night before the interviews, they called to say someone had dropped out and asked if I’d like to attend.

I arrived prepared — not with a PowerPoint presentation, but with a strip of old wallpaper covered in images I’d stuck on the back. I shared my vision straight from the heart. The room went silent. I was asked to step outside for a moment. When they called me back in, they told me that all four board members had decided unanimously: the job was mine.

That moment changed everything.

I began recruiting people from the job centre — people who, like me, had once been considered “farthest from the labour market.” Many were survivors of trauma and abuse. Within nine months, our project was awarded the SUSE Gold Award for Equality and Inclusion, and the job centre reported major improvements in clients’ wellbeing, health, and ability to work.

But after that award, things changed.

The charity that had originally supported me to deliver A Positive Start — giving me total autonomy and repeatedly stating they had no interest in the training side — suddenly saw a new opportunity for funding. Once the award and results of our collaboration were public, they approached me, offering to renew my contract for another year and give me a small pay rise, but on one condition: that I hand A Positive Start over to them so they could run it as their own.

I refused.

I agreed to collaborate with them and let them access funding to provide placements, but A Positive Start would remain my copyright — my life’s work, born from lived experience.

That decision changed everything. The chair stopped speaking to me. When I returned from annual leave, members of my team quietly told me that two board members had come in and demanded they download all of my training materials. Soon after, the job centre manager requested a private meeting and disclosed that those same board members had visited her too — asking if the DWP would continue the training without me. She had been instructed not to tell me.

I was devastated. The illusion of charity equals honesty and integrity was shattered. My trust was broken.

I served my notice and left. It was one of the hardest but most defining choices of my life. From that point forward, I continued A Positive Start on my own, working part-time jobs to keep it alive.

After leaving, I faced the fallout that situations like this so often bring. Despite doing an excellent job, I couldn’t get a reference. That alone creates enormous barriers — not just professionally, but emotionally.

You find yourself trying not to mention the truth to potential employers because you don’t believe they’ll understand. You don’t want to sound bitter, but silence becomes another weight you have to carry. It chips away at your confidence and can make you doubt your own worth all over again.

For a while, I was out of work and homeless — sofa surfing with family and friends, feeling lost, exhausted, and unsure how to rebuild. It does nothing for your self-worth. It’s a lonely kind of pain — the kind that forces you to dig deep and find strength you didn’t know you had.

A few months after I’d left, tragedy struck. One of my former colleagues accidentally ended their life — overdosing on prescription medication and alcohol. It was devastating for everyone who knew them. I supported their family through the inquest, and I will never forget the pain of that time.

During that period, I also received vile, hurtful messages from people within the organisation, blaming me for the death — accusing me of giving them hope and then abandoning them out of selfishness. It broke my heart. None of it was true — I knew that absolutely — but the cruelty of someone placing that weight on another human being was beyond comprehension. Their death was an accidental tragedy, more than twelve months after I’d left, and I had remained in contact with them. The organisation, however, had not.

It was a dark and painful time that tested everything I believed about humanity, forgiveness, and purpose.

The charity that had betrayed my trust was closed down 12 months later under a cloud, after other questionable activities came to light.

I carried on.

Because that’s what survivors do — we carry on. We rise, rebuild, and keep moving forward, even when the ground beneath us has shifted.

All the while, I continued my own healing journey. It wasn’t easy — it was hard, messy, and humbling. I went to university as a mature student, studying Applied Psychology, Counselling, Spiritual Counselling, and Trauma. I kept growing, developing, and evolving.

In 2014, supporting other survivors, I wrote STAND – Parents as Protectors, a free program designed to help parents recognise grooming and protect children from abuse. Progress was slow and obstacles were many — funding barriers, and self-doubt among them. But I persevered. After all, I am a survivor in name and in nature.

In 2017, I moved to Scotland after a year of delivering A Positive Start as a trauma-informed workshop in partnership with the local job centre. Those sessions took place in the basement of a Shelter shop — humble beginnings that would eventually lead to establishing A Positive Start CIC, a social enterprise dedicated to supporting community mental health and delivering trauma-informed training.

It would take another five years before we received any funding, but we kept going — facing many ups and downs along the way.

Now, in 2025, A Positive Start celebrates 17 years since its first seed was planted — an idea, a thought, a passion for change born from lived experience and a deep belief that healing and understanding can change lives.

Looking back, what stands out most isn’t the awards or recognition — it’s the people, the small breakthroughs, the courage it takes to keep walking forward even when the path isn’t clear.

If there’s one message I’d like to leave with anyone reading this, it’s this:

When you’re going through hell, keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward. Keep believing in yourself.

If your passion doesn’t fade — you’re on the right path.

Here’s to 17 years of A Positive Start — and to everyone still finding the courage to begin again

by Deborah J Crozier

From Dysregulation to Evil: When Fear Becomes Power and Systems Lose Humanity

Understanding How Disconnection Shapes Behaviour, Narcissism, and Harm

When we begin to recognise dysregulation in ourselves, we start to see it everywhere — in others, in relationships, in workplaces, and within the very systems that shape society.

What begins as an individual survival response — a nervous system doing its best to stay safe — can, without awareness, evolve into something far more destructive when fear and disconnection are left unhealed.

This is the pathway from dysregulation to narcissism, and, at its extreme, to evil — the absence of empathy and the enjoyment of another’s suffering.

From Safety to Survival: How Fear Changes Us

In my last blog, Through the Windows of the Nervous System, I explored how our inner state shapes how we see the world:

• Ventral (Harmony) — the state of connection, safety, and compassion.
• Survival (Chaos) — the state of fear, control, and self-protection.
• Dorsal (Collapse) — the state of hopelessness, shutdown, and despair.

Most people move between these states throughout life — dysregulated, yet still capable of care.

But when fear becomes a person’s foundation — when safety is never known — the nervous system hardens. Empathy fades. Control replaces connection. Power becomes protection.

What begins as survival can grow into a need for dominance.

And this is where narcissistic energy begins to form.

The Push-Pull of Narcissistic Supply

Narcissistic dynamics are fuelled by control and dependency — the constant pull for validation and power.

Those trapped in this state feed on emotional energy — positive or negative. Attention equals existence.

When connection is only experienced through control, others are not seen as people, but as suppliers of self-worth.

The push-pull dynamic emerges:

• Idealise → Devalue → Discard → Repeat.
• Love bomb → Withdraw → Manipulate → Punish.

This cycle gives the narcissistic system the illusion of control and superiority. Yet beneath it lies the same truth as any trauma response — a terrified, disconnected self, incapable of true intimacy.

At the extreme end of this spectrum lies sadism — the enjoyment of pain, humiliation, or suffering in others.

This is evil in its purest form: the inversion of empathy.

Where compassion once protected connection, cruelty now protects power.

The Neurobiology of Disconnection

According to Dr Stephen Porges’ Polyvagal Theory, when safety is lost, the body moves from connection (ventral) into defence (sympathetic) or collapse (dorsal).

If this remains unresolved, the nervous system rewires itself for control, not compassion.

Dr Daniel Siegel’s Interpersonal Neurobiology reminds us that healthy human minds integrate empathy, emotion, and reason.

When integration breaks down — whether through trauma, neglect, or abuse — the result is fragmentation.

This fragmentation explains why narcissistic and psychopathic individuals can appear calm and logical while inflicting harm. They are disconnected from their own pain — and therefore disconnected from the pain of others.

Their nervous system no longer signals “this is wrong.”

Their power becomes their regulation.

Control becomes their calm.

When Systems Mirror Trauma

When unhealed individuals build and run systems, the systems themselves become dysregulated.

Fear-based leadership mirrors the fight response — controlling, punishing, dominating.

Collapse-based systems mirror dorsal shutdown — ignoring, neglecting, and abandoning.

And narcissistic systems mirror both — manipulative, image-obsessed, self-serving, and detached from truth.

These systems gaslight, silence, and scapegoat.

They defend reputation, not people.

They reward compliance over conscience.

They are addicted to power — and power, to them, is survival.

This is how institutions — created to protect — end up perpetuating the very trauma they were designed to prevent.

The Descent from Dysregulation to Evil

When fear turns to control, and control to cruelty, humanity is lost.

The descent can be traced as:

1. Survival: Fear, scarcity, defensiveness, self-focus.
2. Narcissism: Control, manipulation, lack of empathy, self-inflation.
3. Psychosis: Detachment from reality, projection, delusion.
4. Evil: Conscious or unconscious delight in another’s pain.

Evil is not simply the absence of good — it is the perversion of connection.

It is when pain becomes entertainment.

When lies become strategy.

When suffering becomes acceptable.

And when systems are run by those in these states, the harm spreads — cascading through society, breaking hearts, spirits, and lives.

The Role of Truth and Boundaries

The antidote to evil is not hatred — it’s truth.

Truth anchors us in reality. It ends the gaslight. It exposes manipulation.

Boundaries are how we protect that truth.

They are not punishments — they are protection from further harm.

When we hold boundaries rooted in compassion and clarity, we stop participating in the energy exchange that fuels narcissistic systems.

We stop being supply.

We step out of fear.

We return to truth.

Truth brings light.

Boundaries hold it steady.

A Call to Awareness

We are living through a time where dysregulation has become normalised — in politics, leadership, media, and relationships.

We see fear disguised as power, manipulation masquerading as authority, and cruelty justified as control.

But humanity was never meant to operate in survival mode.

We were built for connection, truth, and love.

Evil only thrives when people stop feeling, stop thinking, and stop questioning.

Healing begins when we dare to see what’s really driving behaviour — fear, pain, and profound disconnection.

The deepest evidence of humanity lost is found in the abuse and exploitation of children. When adults harm or neglect a child — physically, emotionally, or systemically — they have lost touch with their own humanity. It is the ultimate manifestation of evil: the powerful preying on the powerless, feeding off innocence instead of protecting it. This is not strength. It is disconnection so profound that empathy no longer exists. Healing our world begins with protecting our children and confronting the systems and individuals that fail to do so.

When we no longer value life, we lose ourselves. When we stop respecting or upholding the rights and choices of others, the very essence of humanity begins to erode. When the miracle of life is dismissed as a burden, when greed replaces gratitude, and when morality is traded for convenience or power, we step into darkness. When people become collateral damage — replaceable, disposable, dehumanised — it is time for the world to stop and take a long, honest look at itself.

We are here, right now. Living in a moment where our collective nervous system mirrors the chaos and disconnection we see around us. This is our opportunity — perhaps our last — to remember what it means to be human.

The Way Back to Humanity

Every act of truth-telling, every healthy boundary, every moment of co-regulation and compassion — these are how we reclaim humanity.

The world changes when people become conscious of the states they live and lead from.

When they recognise that empathy is not weakness — it’s power.

And that love — not domination — is the highest form of strength.

Because a regulated world will not need to control, destroy, or dehumanise.

It will simply understand.

Humanity heals when we remember that love is not weakness, and truth is not attack. When we meet fear with compassion, and greed with grace, we begin to rise. We do not need to agree to come together — we only need to care. The world changes the moment we choose connection over control, kindness over cruelty, and courage over silence.

by Deborah J Crozier

Through the Windows of the Nervous System

How Our Inner State Shapes the Way We See the World

In the same room, three people stand side by side — yet each looks out of a different window.

One sees harmony.

Another sees chaos.

The third sees hell.

These three windows represent how we experience life through our nervous system.

Each window filters the world through the lens of our past experiences — shaping not just what we see, but how we feel and respond to what’s in front of us.

What’s often misunderstood is that it’s almost impossible to truly comprehend the views from the other windows when you’re looking through your own. From the ventral window, it’s difficult to grasp the sheer pain or panic seen through the survival or dorsal lenses. From dorsal, harmony is visible only in others — a distant concept that feels unreachable. You may know joy exists, yet you cannot feel it. When you are disconnected or in despair, hope belongs to someone else’s world, not yours. Each state carries its own reality — and until safety returns, that reality feels absolute.

Window One: Ventral (Harmony)

When our nervous system feels safe, we experience the world through the ventral lens — a state of connection, calm, and presence.

From this window, life feels balanced. We can love, laugh, learn, and grow. We can think clearly and trust others.

Secure attachment, consistent care, belonging, respect, purpose, and emotional safety form the foundation of this view. Our inner sense of safety is mirrored in our outer world. Relationships feel stable. We have space for empathy and curiosity. We can see possibility.

This is where self-worth, compassion, and authentic connection thrive.

Window Two: Survival (Chaos)

When early life or ongoing stressors threaten safety — whether through wilful or unintentional neglect — our nervous system shifts into survival mode.

Parents working long hours, bullying, poverty, frightening experiences, discrimination, war, or abuse — all can disrupt the sense of safety needed for secure attachment. Even well-meaning disconnection leaves a child vulnerable and alone with feelings too big to manage.

Through the survival window, the world looks dangerous and unpredictable.

Our body prepares to fight or flee.

Emotions run high.

We feel anxious, reactive, and on edge.

The body doesn’t trust stillness — it confuses calm with risk.

Survival mode serves a purpose — it’s the body’s way of saying I need to stay alive. But living here long-term exhausts us. We can’t rest, we can’t feel safe, and we can’t connect — because safety feels foreign.

Window Three: Dorsal (Collapse)

When fear, terror, and abandonment become too much to bear, the nervous system shuts down to survive.

This is the dorsal state — a barren, hell-like landscape where life feels empty and hopeless.

It’s a form of self-protection through disconnection.

People here often describe feeling numb, detached, or invisible.

It’s not weakness — it’s the body’s last attempt to save itself.

For some, this shutdown can become so deep that the desire to disappear or thoughts of not wanting to exist emerge. These thoughts often reflect the body’s wish for the pain to stop, not a genuine desire for death. It’s a profound expression of hopelessness — a survival response to unbearable fear, loneliness, or despair.

This is the realm often associated with addiction, depression, self-abandonment, and despair. When life has always been unsafe, the nervous system moves between survival and dorsal — never reaching ventral safety.

It’s crucial that society begins to understand this. Assisted suicide bills should never see the light of day without first acknowledging and understanding the dorsal state. Many people who lose hope are not making a conscious choice to die — they are trapped in a physiological state where life feels impossible.

With safety, compassion, and connection, even those deep in dorsal collapse can recover.

Life can and does improve when the nervous system begins to experience safety again.

The Beliefs That Shape Our Biology

We are not born with limiting beliefs — we learn them.

Our earliest experiences teach us who we are and whether the world is safe.

When a child’s emotional needs go unmet, the brain searches for meaning. To preserve the attachment with a caregiver — even one who causes harm — the child’s developing mind concludes:

“It can’t be them… it must be me.”

And so, deep below conscious awareness, beliefs take root:

I’m not good enough.

I don’t belong.

I’m too much.

I’m unlovable.

It’s my fault.

These beliefs aren’t truths — they are protective adaptations. They form in an attempt to make sense of emotional pain and to stay connected to those we depend on.

But over time, these beliefs shape our neurobiology — influencing how our nervous system responds to the world.

When we believe we are unworthy of love, the body braces for rejection.

When we believe the world is unsafe, the nervous system stays hyper-alert.

When we believe we don’t matter, we unconsciously move toward collapse.

These internalised stories become filters through which we interpret every word, gesture, and silence. They influence our relationships, our choices, and even how we perceive facial expressions and tone of voice.

Generationally, these beliefs — and the survival responses they create — are passed down. A parent who has never known safety cannot easily teach it. A nervous system shaped by fear raises another nervous system shaped by vigilance.

This is how trauma becomes woven through families and societies — not because of weakness, but because of adaptation.

Society, too, carries its own inherited beliefs — passed down through generations as unspoken rules of survival. When people were taught that expressing feelings was a sign of weakness, that message served a purpose once — to help communities stay strong and functional during hard times. The same applies to beliefs like “Don’t expect too much” or “Be grateful for what you’ve got.” During wartime or periods of scarcity, such beliefs offered protection and control in chaos. Yet, when those conditions no longer exist, these old rules continue to shape behaviour — stifling emotional expression, limiting self-worth, and keeping humanity collectively restrained by the echoes of survival.

The pioneering work of Dr. Stephen Porges and his Polyvagal Theory helps us understand how these adaptations live within the nervous system — shaping our perception of safety, danger, and connection. Similarly, Dr. Daniel Siegel’s research in Interpersonal Neurobiology illuminates how our brains and relationships are intertwined; how safety and attuned connection literally rewire the brain. Together, their work shows that healing doesn’t happen in isolation — it happens through safe relationships, connection, and understanding the body’s intelligent design to protect us.

Behaviours Are Expressions of State

Our behaviours are not random. They’re outer expressions of inner experiences.

When we understand nervous system states, we understand people.

To someone anchored in ventral safety, the world feels stable and trustworthy. Boundaries make sense. Reasoning feels natural. But to someone in survival or dorsal, the same restriction can feel like a threat to existence.

For those in survival, restrictions trigger panic — they fight to stay free because safety has always meant control or danger.

For those in dorsal, restrictions confirm hopelessness — they give up, seeing no way out.

This is why the same situation evokes vastly different reactions.

We see through the window we’re standing at.

Understanding the Nervous System is Understanding Humanity

When we meet people through the lens of judgement rather than curiosity, we miss the truth of their pain.

When we impose rather than co-regulate, we deepen the disconnection.

Safety, truth, and compassion are the foundations for healing — not control, fear, or manipulation.

Untruths, gaslighting, and emotional deceit destabilise the nervous system. They unanchor us, creating confusion and mistrust.

We’ve seen this globally — from governments, media, and systems that promised protection yet caused harm. The result? Collective dysregulation. A world in chaos.

Co-Regulation Before Self-Regulation

No one learns self-regulation in isolation.

Co-regulation — being soothed and held in the safety of another’s calm presence — must come first.

Only then can the nervous system internalise what safety feels like and begin to self-regulate.

We need one another. Healing begins in relationship.

The World as a Mirror of Our State

The outer world reflects our collective inner state.

During the pandemic, we saw survival mode on full display — people fighting over supplies, hoarding, taking more than they needed.

It wasn’t just greed. It was fear.

Survival mode is, by definition, selfish — it’s the body’s instinct to save itself.

But survival of the fittest isn’t the same as preservation of humanity.

When we abandon empathy, we abandon ourselves.

If you recognise yourself in the words above, please know this: the state you’re in is not who you are — it’s where your nervous system is. Healing is always possible. Even when it feels hopeless, the body and brain can find their way back to life, connection, and safety.

If you are struggling with thoughts of ending your life or feeling that you can’t go on, please reach out for support. You are not alone. You are not broken. You are a human being doing your best to survive — and there is always a way back to safety.

🌍 Wherever you are, there is help available:

• UK: Call Samaritans at 116 123, or text SHOUT to 85258 for free, confidential help.
• USA: Call or text 988 to reach the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline.
• Canada: Call or text 988 for the Suicide Crisis Helpline.
• Australia: Call Lifeline at 13 11 14 or text 0477 13 11 14.
• If you are outside these regions: Visit findahelpline.com for a global directory of local and international crisis helplines in your country.

The Way Forward

The solution is presence.

Anchoring in truth.

Returning to the body, the breath, the moment.

From here, mind, body, and soul can reconnect.

When we learn to recognise which window we’re looking through — and extend compassion to those looking through another — we begin to heal not only individually, but collectively.

Truth and safety restore trust.

Trust restores connection.

Connection restores humanity.

And that’s where we’ll find our way home — together, through the window of harmony.

May we all learn to see one another through the window of compassion — remembering that every person is viewing life through their own story of survival, strength, and hope. When we return to love, truth, and presence, we return to humanity itself — and from there, healing begins.

Written by

Deborah J Crozier

Person-Centred, Trauma-Informed Practitioner

Chartered Fellow (ACCPH)

Human Observer — Rooted in Love and Truth - Faith in Humanity.

by Deborah J Crozier

What It Really Means to Be Trauma-Informed and Person-Centred

The terms trauma-informed and person-centred are often used in today’s conversations about wellbeing, education, and social care — but rarely do they capture the depth of what these approaches truly mean.

Being trauma-informed is not about excusing poor behaviour or avoiding accountability.

It’s not about being “soft” or turning everyone into snowflakes.

And being person-centred is not about pleasing everyone or offering endless comfort.

Both are about authentic human connection — meeting people with empathy, fairness, and honesty, while maintaining healthy boundaries and encouraging personal responsibility.

Understanding Without Excusing

A trauma-informed approach recognises that pain often drives behaviour — but that pain never justifies harm.

When someone acts from a place of fear, anger, or control, their nervous system is attempting to protect them. Punishment and humiliation don’t teach regulation — they teach fear.

And fear has never worked as a sustainable motivator for change.

It drives behaviour underground, fuels shame, and causes further dysregulation — in both the person receiving it and the person delivering it.

Healing, accountability, and genuine change come from understanding, not punishment.

What Happens in Survival Mode

When someone is triggered, their body instantly shifts into survival mode.

This is not a conscious choice — it’s an automatic response from the nervous system.

The brain detects threat, whether real or perceived, and the amygdala (the brain’s alarm system) takes over.

At that moment, logic, reasoning, and calm communication become temporarily unavailable because the prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain responsible for rational thought — goes offline.

The nervous system activates one of four main survival responses:

• Fight – becoming defensive, argumentative, angry, or controlling.
• Flight – avoiding, escaping, or withdrawing emotionally or physically.
• Freeze – feeling stuck, numb, or unable to speak or act.
• Fawn – appeasing, people-pleasing, or over-accommodating to stay safe.

Each of these is an intelligent, protective response that once kept the person alive.

But when triggered in everyday life, these reactions can create misunderstanding, conflict, or shame — especially when the person themselves doesn’t realise they’re in survival mode.

When Fear Meets Fear

When someone in survival mode meets another person who is also triggered — whether a parent, teacher, partner, colleague, or professional — fear meets fear.

Both nervous systems signal threat.

Both bodies respond with heightened energy, tension, or defensiveness.

No one feels safe enough to listen or connect.

A raised voice, a sharp look, or a judgmental comment can reinforce the sense of danger — even if the intention was to help.

Fear adds to fear, and both people move further away from understanding.

This is where self-awareness and regulation become essential.

When one person pauses, breathes, and grounds themselves, they send a message of safety to the other nervous system.

That’s co-regulation — the healing power of calm presence.

How the TRUST Framework Interrupts the Cycle

Our TRUST framework was created to help individuals and organisations interrupt the fear cycle and return to safety and connection.

T – Trigger Recognition

By recognising triggers — in ourselves first — we step out of reaction and into awareness. Naming the feeling or sensation immediately begins to lower the threat response.

R – Reassurance

Reassurance communicates safety: through tone, eye contact, or calm energy. It tells the other person’s nervous system, “You are not in danger.”

U – Understanding

Understanding dissolves judgment. It allows curiosity to replace criticism and restores compassion — both toward ourselves and others.

S – Safety

Safety rebuilds trust. Whether through environment, language, or consistency, safety enables people to reflect, learn, and grow.

T – Truth

Truth grounds everything. It’s not about being “nice”; it’s about being real.

Truth holds us accountable, builds integrity, and ultimately forms the foundation of trust.

When we practise TRUST, we respond from awareness, not instinct.

We move from reaction to reflection — from fear to presence.

From Awareness to Action – The RAPPORT Approach

The RAPPORT approach complements TRUST by guiding individuals through the inner journey of self-awareness and growth.

R – Recognition – Notice your internal state with honesty.

A – Acceptance – Allow what is present without denial or shame.

P – Process – Gently work through emotions, sensations, and thoughts.

P – Practice – Apply new skills through repetition and self-kindness.

O – Observe – Cultivate mindful awareness of patterns and triggers.

R – Reflect – Learn from each experience with compassion.

T – Transformation – The natural outcome of consistent awareness and understanding.

Together, TRUST and RAPPORT help us respond consciously, connect deeply, and evolve personally — the heart of trauma-informed, person-centred living.

Living the Core Conditions

Carl Rogers’ core conditions of the person-centred approach — Congruence, Unconditional Positive Regard, and Empathic Understanding — are not just counselling tools; they are principles to live by.

• Congruence invites honesty. It’s the alignment of our inner and outer worlds.
• Unconditional Positive Regard reminds us that worth is never earned; it’s inherent.
• Empathic Understanding allows us to walk beside another person without judgement or agenda.

When we embody these qualities, we nurture connection between mind, body, and soul.

We begin to experience life not from survival, but from presence.

This connection is a deeply spiritual experience — not defined by religion, but by relationship:

our relationship with ourselves, with others, and with something greater than fear.

It’s the quiet knowing that we are safe, seen, and significant — and that others are too.

From Theory to Real Life

The TRUST and RAPPORT approaches were developed through my work with others and through my own lived experience of trauma and healing. I saw — in therapy rooms, classrooms, families, and community settings — that fear-based responses don’t heal pain, they multiply it.

Our approaches were born from the need to bridge understanding between theory and real life. They help people make sense of what’s happening in the moment — inside themselves and in others — and give them a language for what they feel but can’t always explain.

In education, for example, children’s connection-seeking behaviour is too often misunderstood as attention-seeking.

This misunderstanding comes from a lack of awareness of the nervous system.

What looks like defiance or disruption is often a child’s way of saying, “I don’t feel safe.”

When teachers, parents, or carers can recognise this through a trauma-informed lens, everything changes.

Instead of escalating the behaviour, they meet the need.

Instead of punishment, there is connection — and from connection, learning and regulation can begin.

Language plays a crucial role here too. Words carry energy and meaning.

A single phrase, tone, or label can either calm or trigger the nervous system.

With the rise in neurodiversity, it’s even more important that we understand how language is received. Many people process words literally, drawing meaning from the exact phrasing rather than the intention behind it.

This is often the case in those who’ve experienced complex trauma, where perception is filtered through a lens of past pain and threat.

A simple comment meant lightly can feel deeply personal when heard through a traumatised or dysregulated nervous system.

That’s why awareness, empathy, and clarity of language are vital — they prevent misunderstanding and rebuild trust.

Being trauma-informed is not about walking on eggshells.

It’s about communicating with care and consciousness — aware that what we say and how we say it can either reinforce fear or restore safety.

A Culture of Compassion with Boundaries

A truly trauma-informed society is not one without conflict — it’s one where conflict can be navigated safely.

It’s a society that values compassion and accountability, empathy and boundaries, honesty and respect.

When we embody the principles of TRUST and RAPPORT, we create relationships — at home, in schools, workplaces, and communities — where people can be both seen and safe.

Where truth replaces fear.

And where healing becomes possible not through control, but through connection.

Because that’s what it really means to be trauma-informed and person-centred —

honest, compassionate, and grounded in truth.

About the Author

Deborah J Crozier is the Founder of A Positive Start CIC and a Trauma-Informed, Person-Centred Counsellor specialising in trauma, emotional regulation, and recovery. Through her lived experience and professional practice, Deborah leads community and professional programs that restore connection, build resilience, and create trauma-informed systems rooted in compassion, safety, and truth.

📍 A Positive Start CIC

8 Sandbed, Hawick, TD9 0HE

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by Deborah J Crozier

The Value of Life in a Culture of Convenience

I shouldn’t have to say this, but I will: this isn’t about looking left or right. Sadly, we’ve become so polarised as a society that not making that clear can create hostility and resentment for simply sharing thoughts and opinions. My intention here is not to argue politics, but to stand back, take a wider view, and ask: what is the true value of life?

From its very beginning in the womb to its final breath, life has always been sacred, precious, and worthy of reverence. Yet, in many ways, our modern culture has drifted from that understanding. We see it in how pregnancy is often spoken of as a burden rather than a gift, and in how we now debate assisted suicide as though life itself can be reduced to a choice of convenience.

Recently, I watched a college campus debate between Charlie Kirk and a young woman on the subject of abortion. The young woman asked:

“Are you suggesting I leave college to take care of a kid if I happened to get pregnant?”

Charlie replied:

“You don’t just ‘happen’ to get pregnant. It’s not like catching the flu or COVID. If you engage in coitus, there is always a chance of pregnancy. That requires responsibility.”

What struck me was how pregnancy was framed—as something casual, almost accidental, something to fear—rather than the creation of a child within her own body.

As a mother, that saddens me. Somewhere along the way, our culture shifted from viewing birth as a miracle to seeing it as a burden.

If we look at the nativity story, the circumstances were far from ideal. Mary’s pregnancy was unplanned in earthly terms and carried very real fears: her safety, her reputation, her future. In fact, it’s worth remembering that as recently as 60 years ago, single mothers in Western societies were often ostracised, shamed, and in many cases institutionalised simply for being pregnant outside of wedlock. No such treatment awaited the absent father. Against that backdrop, Mary’s situation would have been deeply precarious. Yet she gave birth in a stable, with none of the comforts we expect today. Still, the child’s arrival was celebrated—angels rejoiced, shepherds gathered, kings travelled with gifts. Joseph chose to stand by her. Despite hardship, Jesus’ birth was recognised as holy, joyful, and worthy of gratitude.

Now compare that with many modern experiences:

• Pregnancies are often met with stress, anxiety, or even shame.
• Fathers frequently walk away, leaving mothers to carry the weight alone.
• Economic pressures—housing, debt, insecure work—add to the burden.
• The miracle of new life is too often overshadowed by fear or despair.

So what changed?

In Western societies, the journey has been complex:

• Industrialisation & Urbanisation (1800s): Communities shifted from large extended families to more isolated city living, weakening natural support systems.
• The Sexual Revolution (1960s–70s): Freedom expanded, but responsibility was not always emphasised, as contraception and abortion became more available.
• Rising Individualism (late 20th century): Success and personal goals began to outweigh family and community life, with pregnancy seen as an interruption rather than a natural stage of it.
• Economic and Social Pressures (today): The high cost of living, unstable jobs, and reduced social cohesion have made many fear bringing children into the world.

From a faith perspective, children are always a gift and a calling, entrusted to us by God. Life itself is sacred, carrying immeasurable worth, even when circumstances feel overwhelming.

From a secular perspective, the decline of community, the breakdown of family structures, and rising economic insecurity have left many without the practical and emotional support needed to welcome new life with joy.

Alongside this, I cannot help but think about what is happening here in the UK with the assisted suicide bill, which has already reached the House of Lords. It reflects another step in how we as a society are redefining the value of life — this time at its end.

When we no longer celebrate birth as a miracle, and instead often see it as a burden, it’s perhaps no surprise that we also begin to see life’s later years as disposable, as something to end when it feels inconvenient, painful, or costly.

This trend — from how we view pregnancy to how we view old age or illness — reveals a consistent theme: a culture that increasingly measures life by convenience, productivity, and circumstance, rather than its inherent dignity and worth.

Both faith and history remind us that life, from its very beginning to its natural end, is sacred. When we lose sight of that, we risk losing not only reverence for others but also our own humanity.

Both lenses point to the same truth: we need to rebuild how we honour birth and support parents. Every child has the potential to bring light, love, and hope into the world—but only if we as a society choose to see them as a blessing rather than a burden.

I know this in my own life: my children made my life worth living despite hardship and pressures. In the midst of challenges, they gave me joy, purpose, and a reason to keep moving forward. They remain my greatest gifts.

So how do we return to valuing the gift of life? Perhaps it begins with shifting our perspective — from seeing life as something to manage or fear, to recognising it as sacred, even when it comes with hardship. It means supporting mothers and fathers, strengthening families and communities, and choosing compassion over judgment. It means teaching our children that their lives are not measured by convenience or productivity, but by their inherent worth. If we can reclaim reverence for life at its beginning and its end, perhaps we can begin to heal the spaces in between.

by Deborah J Crozier

When Humanity Loses Its Way

Recently, I witnessed people rejoicing in the death of a young father.
Equally as shocking was that a violent and disturbing video of his murder was shared and reshared online and witnessed by millions — including children.

To me, this notion is abhorrent. I cannot align myself with any ideology that seeks to justify the death of another human being. Whoever it is, whatever the circumstances, celebrating loss of life is wrong. It hurts my soul.

I don’t consider myself right or left. I hold a balanced view. I don’t agree with everything others think or feel, but that has never stopped me from being kind, respectful, or empathic. I know early on whether someone’s views differ from mine, and I don’t feel the need to change them. Our experiences are unique, and they shape our perceptions and beliefs. When I listen, I learn, and I come to understand their perspective. I may not agree with their view but I can respect their right to hold it.

Likewise, others do not have to agree with my views. Everyone is free to step away, and I will respect their right to do so. In the same way, I will exercise my right to speak my truth in a thoughtful manner.

It is also important to say this: not everyone who disagrees with an ideology is “far right” or “far left”.
Politicians and the media often use this label to dismiss those who simply see the world differently. But disagreement itself is not extremism. Many people disagree with each other on countless issues. To reduce every difference to “far right” or “far left” is a distortion that silences voices, shuts down dialogue, and prevents the possibility of repair. We cannot go on like this. It is destructive to humanity.

I have also been shocked by the number of people — and the positions they hold — who think it is acceptable to justify a person’s death. This shows just how desensitised people have become. But desensitisation is a trauma response. If we have any hope of saving ourselves, we need enough people to snap out of that disconnect in order to prevent disaster.

What troubles me most is how disconnection and dissociation have stripped us of empathy. When we cut ourselves off from our own emotions, we lose the capacity to feel for others. We are not meant to live as “heads on sticks” — separate from our bodies. Yet that is how so many exist: in their heads, disconnected, numbed.

Trauma lives in the body. We cannot outthink it. Healing requires bottom-up intervention, but instead people are offered medication that keeps them in a state of suspended animation, not healing, just surviving - or CBT online - that treats thoughts as the root cause but doesn’t address the trauma. Life is not only think > feel > act. It is also - feel > think > feel > act. CBT has its place, but it should not be the only alternative available.

What we are witnessing now is generational complex trauma unfolding in real time. Disconnected people believe that the feelings activated inside of them are caused by something or someone outside of them. Their egos and lack of understanding keeps them from asking: what is my part in this suffering? Why are these feelings here inside me? What are the messages I’m receiving? They react not to the present, but to the past carried within them. Disconnection breeds anger and rage, misalignment of self, and an unwillingness to take responsibility because responsibility is painful.

Instead, blame is projected outward. We see it everywhere — the culture of entitlement, the demand for free services without taking responsibility for self, the instant cancelling rather than rupture and repair, the shameless rejoicing in harm. Neural pathways shaped by trauma make it feel natural, but it is not humane.

Social media, and now AI, mirror and magnify this cycle. Dysregulation spreads through our governments, our services, our communities. It is global.

And yet, there is a solution.

Love, compassion, and empathy can save humanity and it begins with regulation, connection, and self-awareness.

The world — and my shoulders — are big enough to carry a wide range of opinions. But we must draw the line before reaching violence or celebrating murder.

Lord, hear our prayer.

by Deborah J Crozier

Self-Abandonment, Boundaries, and the Balance of Rights

Self-abandonment often begins quietly. It’s the small moments where we silence our truth to keep the peace, where we say “yes” when every part of us longs to say “no.” It can look like:

• Allowing others to decide for us, even when we feel uneasy.
• Walking away from relationships, not because they’re unsafe, but because we didn’t feel safe enough to speak up.
• Carrying resentment instead of voicing our needs.

At first, these choices may feel protective. But over time, they disconnect us from ourselves. Instead of guarding our wellbeing with clear boundaries, we protect others’ comfort at the expense of our own. This is self-abandonment.

The Cost of Being Out of Alignment

When we abandon ourselves — going against our values, wishes, or choices — we create an internal split. We may tell ourselves we are keeping the peace, but inside, a very different story unfolds.

Self-abandonment breeds dis-ease, resentment, and anger. Our nervous system feels the impact, shifting into dysregulation because we are living out of alignment with who we truly are.

What looks like compliance on the outside is conflict on the inside. And over time, this inner conflict erodes our health, our relationships, and our sense of self.

The Wound of Being Abandoned by Others

Self-abandonment isn’t the only wound we carry. There is also the pain of being abandoned by others — when those who should protect, respect, or stand with us instead turn away.

This can take the form of:

• Injustice, where systems fail to act fairly.
• Betrayal, when people we trust dismiss or minimise our truth.
• Exclusion, when our needs or rights are consistently overlooked.

Abandonment by others strikes deeply at our sense of safety and belonging. It tells our nervous system: you are not safe, you are not seen, you are not supported.

Just like self-abandonment, this can lead to dysregulation — cycles of fear, anger, and despair. Injustice is not just an external issue; it becomes an internal burden, one the body and mind must carry.

The Myth of “Either/Or” Rights

Many people grow up believing that for one person to have their rights, another must lose theirs.

• “If you set a boundary, you’re being controlling.”
• “If you disagree, you’re against me.”
• “If you say no, you’re rejecting me.”

This either/or thinking isn’t truth — it’s fear.

The reality is, rights are not finite. Your right to rest doesn’t erase my right to work. My right to say no doesn’t cancel your right to ask.

Healthy relating begins with recognising that both truths can coexist.

When Choice is Overridden

At the heart of abuse lies one simple dynamic: one person’s choice is overridden by another’s.

• Overriding a no is a violation.
• Demanding surrender for connection creates harm.
• Insisting that one person’s safety or comfort matters more undermines trust at its core.

When we believe our rights automatically outweigh someone else’s, we step into imbalance — and that imbalance corrodes relationship.

When Protection is One-Sided

Sometimes systems, families, or conversations tilt so that one person becomes protected while the other remains exposed.

• The loudest voice sets the tone while others fall silent.
• Organisations prioritise their image instead of those harmed.
• Families tiptoe around one member’s comfort while ignoring the pain of another.

In these moments, the unprotected person learns: your voice, your needs, your safety do not matter. This normalises self-abandonment and fuels cycles of harm.

Making Room Without Surrender

Boundaries are not walls; they are doorways with a lock.

They allow connection and safety. They let us stand in our truth without erasing someone else’s. They remind us that self-respect is not cruelty.

And when others will not — or cannot — respect our boundaries or our rights? We stand firm, with dignity. We remain grounded in our truth, even if it means stepping back.

Saying No is Not Cruelty

Saying no to someone does not make a person unkind or cruel. If someone senses another may be unsafe or harmful in any way, it is their right to put in a boundary and protect themselves.

And in that decision, their opinion matters most.

• Whether the other person believes they are safe does not outweigh someone’s felt sense of safety.
• Other people’s opinions about what they “should” tolerate are irrelevant.

Each of us has the right to decide what is safe for ourselves — because we are the ones who must rely on our own judgement and boundaries to safeguard our wellbeing.

When people lack boundaries themselves, they often struggle to respect the boundaries of others. They may imagine they can demand, harass, or threaten their way past them. But that behaviour is not evidence the boundary was unnecessary — it is proof that the boundary was essential.

Boundaries are not rejection. They are protection — of safety, dignity, and peace.

Protected Characteristics and Boundaries

Sometimes, when we stand our ground or put in a boundary, people may respond by pointing to “protected characteristics.” It can feel like we’re being accused of discrimination simply for saying no or honouring our own needs.

It’s important to understand what this really means.

What Protected Characteristics Are

In UK law (Equality Act 2010), protected characteristics are specific categories — such as age, disability, race, religion, sex, or sexual orientation — where it is unlawful to treat someone unfairly because of who they are. These protections are vital. They exist to ensure dignity, equality, and fairness.

What They Are Not

But having a protected characteristic does not override another person’s rights, boundaries, or choices.

• A boundary is not discrimination.
• Respecting yourself is not unfairness.
• Saying no does not mean denying someone else’s humanity.

Protected characteristics ensure equality — they are not a tool for erasing someone else’s autonomy.

Rights and Balance

My right to hold a boundary can exist alongside your right to dignity.

Your right to fairness does not mean I must abandon myself.

True respect makes room for both.
At its heart, this is about balance: creating a world where all people are protected, but no one is erased. Boundaries and rights are not enemies — they are companions. And the foundation of healthy connection is honouring both.

When Empathy Gets Weaponised

Empathy is a strength, but it can be misused. Too often, we are told that to be “good,” “kind,” or “compassionate,” we must tolerate harm, overlook red flags, or silence our own needs.

In these moments, empathy is weaponised against us. It becomes a tool for manipulation, where our care for others is used to make us abandon ourselves.

But here’s the truth:

• Empathy without boundaries excuses harm.
• Boundaries without empathy create hardness.
• Together, empathy and boundaries create safety.

When we are accepting of ourselves, when we approve of who we are and what we need, we can stand tall and say no — and mean it. Not with cruelty, but with clarity. Not with fear, but with confidence.

And in that moment, guilt and shame lose their grip.

Empathy + Boundaries Coexist

A common fear is that if we set boundaries — or even choose to exclude someone from our lives — we must harden our hearts and switch off empathy. But that’s not true.

Empathy is our capacity to understand another person’s feelings or situation. Boundaries are how we protect our own. These are not opposites — they can live side by side.

• I can understand why you act the way you do… and still decide your behaviour is not safe for me.
• I can care about your struggle… and still say “no” when your actions hurt me.
• I can wish you well… and still step back if being close means abandoning myself.

Excluding someone from our life doesn’t mean we lose compassion. It means we’ve recognised that connection without safety is too costly.

The shift is this:

• We don’t need to stop feeling.
• We don’t need to abandon our empathy.
• What we do need is to stop abandoning ourselves.

True empathy includes ourselves in the circle of care.

The Invitation

We can make room for others without surrendering ourselves.

We can honour our rights while honouring theirs.

We can stay connected without abandoning our truth.

Because a healthy relationship is never built on erasure or surrender — it’s built on respect, dignity, and the space for both voices to stand.

by Deborah J Crozier

Compulsion, Relief, and the Possibility of Change

Lately I’ve been reflecting on the nature of compulsion — how the body can drive us toward destructive relief, even when the cost is high.

This post is not written as a statement of fact, nor as a denial of anyone’s lived experience. It is an exploration. I’m asking questions shaped by my own history of trauma and compulsion, and wondering whether neuroplasticity might hold insights that could ease suffering in conditions such as Body Integrity Dysphoria.

I don’t have BID, and I cannot know what it is like to live with it. What I do know is the torment of a compulsion so strong that it once cost me stability, relationships, and safety — until I began to understand what was happening in my nervous system.

This blog is an attempt to reflect, to wonder aloud, and to invite dialogue — perhaps even from neuroscientists, therapists or others who can bring further light to the questions I raise.

“Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”

That’s the only way I can describe the compulsion that once ruled my life. I could not stay where I was. Every cell in my body pulled me towards running, my mind ached with intensity, and the pain of trying to restrain myself became unbearable. Eventually, I always had to go.

It wasn’t adventure or choice. It was torment. I traded stability, relationships, and belonging for the fleeting relief of escape. Over time, this became my pattern: moving house after house, address after address, place to place — over 50 in total. Running felt like the only way to survive.

The Destructive Nature of Compulsion

Watching the BBC documentary Complete Obsession (2000), which looked at Body Integrity Dysphoria (BID), I recognised something hauntingly familiar. People spoke of the unbearable desire to remove a healthy limb — not as preference or fantasy, but as an inescapable compulsion.

I need to be clear here: I don’t have BID, and I don’t know what it means to live with that experience. I’m not claiming my story is the same. What I do know is what it felt like to live with my own destructive compulsion — and in hearing the voices of those in the documentary, I sensed an echo of that torment.

For them, the promise of amputation seemed to offer relief from a lifelong burden. For me, moving again and again offered relief from the rising agony in my nervous system.

In both cases, the pattern appears similar:

• Relief is found through self-destructive means.
• The pain of resisting is worse than the cost of giving in.
• Outsiders struggle to comprehend why someone would do this to themselves.

The question is why.

The Dilemma of Decision-Making Without Lived Experience

One of the things that troubles me most is how decisions are sometimes made about people without truly understanding what it feels like to be them.

• How can someone who has never felt their body drag them relentlessly toward destruction — every cell screaming, every thought consumed — know what it means to live with that kind of compulsion?
• How can anyone confidently label it a “disorder,” or decide that cutting away a healthy limb is the “solution,” without knowing the why behind it?

For me, the “why” was post-traumatic stress. My brain had misinterpreted everyday signals — a frown, a look, a disapproving sigh — as threats to life. That miswiring drove my entire body to run, no matter the cost.

Something has led to these compulsions in people with BID too. Until we understand what and how, we risk rushing to solutions that may quiet the symptom but miss the root.

My Why

For me, the answer was trauma. My nervous system had learned to interpret almost any sign of disapproval as a threat to life.

In those moments, my body reacted as though death was imminent. My heart raced, my muscles surged with energy, and my entire being screamed flee. This wasn’t drama. It was survival, as encoded by a traumatised brain.

Understanding this was key. Once I realised that my compulsion was not madness but a survival reflex, I could begin to work with it. By learning how my body held fear, and finding ways to calm and regulate it, I gradually built new neural connections.

It took time, patience, and repeated safe experience, but eventually the compulsion loosened its grip. I’ve now lived in the same place, in the same relationship for almost 10 years — something I once thought impossible.

The Hypothesis: Can Neuroplasticity Help?

This is where my story touches BID.

• If my brain could rewire its survival circuitry over time…
• Could the same be true for those whose brains misfire around body ownership?
• Could neuroplasticity — the brain’s lifelong ability to change — offer healthier options beyond the drastic relief of self-harm?

I don’t claim to know the answer. I don’t know if my experience is even comparable. What I am doing is asking the question.

Because my experience makes me wonder: if neuroplasticity could help a traumatised brain loosen the chains of compulsion, might it also help a brain that misrepresents its own body?

An Open Question

I ask this not to minimise or convert, but to explore. What’s happening in the minds, brains, and bodies of people with BID? Could understanding neuroplasticity one day open safer, more compassionate ways of easing their suffering?

For me, compulsion nearly destroyed my life. Learning about my nervous system gave me another option. Perhaps — just perhaps — the same principle could offer hope in places where relief currently comes only at great cost.

Reference: Horizon: Complete Obsession (BBC, 2000).
Body Integrity Dysphoria – Wikipedia overview

Watch the video here 👇
http://ok.ru/video/281953962725

by Deborah J Crozier