When Love and Empathy Are Misunderstood
Too Soft? Too Compassionate? Good.
When Love and Empathy Are Misunderstood – A Call for Something REAL
There’s a particular kind of pain that comes with seeing someone in trauma—whether a child, a parent, or a student—when no one else seems to see it.
They see a troublemaker, a problem, a drain.
You see a child frozen in shame, or flailing in fear.
You see connection-seeking—not attention-seeking.
You recognise the signs. The nervous system shutdowns. The survivor strategies. The dorsal vagal collapse hiding behind the outbursts or silences.
And when you name it?
You’re dismissed.
“You’re too soft.”
“You’re enabling them.”
“You’re being manipulated.”
“Stop mollycoddling them.”
When you’ve lived through trauma, you understand these patterns. You don’t just know them intellectually—you feel them. And it’s that felt sense that guides how you show up: with compassion, with care, and sometimes with a quiet rage when you’re forced to watch harm unfold and can do nothing to stop it.
The Moral Injury of Being Trauma-Informed in a System That Isn’t
The term moral injury describes the psychological and emotional toll of witnessing (or participating in) something that violates your deepest values. It’s not burnout. It’s not compassion fatigue. It’s the soul-splintering ache of knowing better and being unable to do better because the system won’t allow it.
I experienced this deeply in my role as a school counsellor—a position I loved. I cared for the children, saw their stories behind their behaviour, and held hope for their healing. But I also saw how the system responded: punishment instead of curiosity, control instead of connection.
Over time, it kept me awake at night.
Eventually, I had to walk away—not from the children, but from a system I could no longer stomach. I chose to support from outside, because staying meant betraying myself. And what use is a trauma-informed counsellor if she’s constantly overriding her own nervous system just to survive the working day?
Some days, the grief still visits.
Other days, I wonder: When these systems finally catch up… what then?
What happens when people realise how many children were harmed unnecessarily? How many were labelled instead of loved? Punished instead of protected?
Will we see litigation ads in 10 years—“If you or your child were harmed by a punitive education or care system, you may be entitled to compensation…”?
It sounds absurd now, but so did asbestos claims. So did tobacco lawsuits. So did the idea that trauma lived in the body. And now, here we are.
A Vision for the Future
I dream of a world where kindness, compassion, and trauma-informed care are not just tolerated but expected. Where the TRUST and philosophy frameworks are common knowledge—not quirky ideas from a fringe outsider like me.
Where systems put people before profit, and survival responses are met with understanding—not control.
Where we stop asking, “What’s wrong with you?” and start asking, “What happened to you?”
And most importantly, where those who care deeply are no longer labelled as soft or weak—but recognised as essential.
Let’s Build Something REAL
In response to this growing disconnect, I’ve created a space called REAL:
A WhatsApp community for trauma-informed professionals and practitioners who have experienced moral injury, dismissal, and the isolation that comes with seeing what others won’t see.
REAL stands for:
🔹 Regulated
🔹 Ethical
🔹 Accessible
🔹 Lived experience-led
No egos. No selling. No pretense. Just genuine connection, shared experiences, and support for those of us who feel like we’re shouting into a void—or have walked away because we just couldn’t take it anymore.
If this resonates, you’re not alone. And you’re not the problem.
You’re the future.
Here’s the link if you’d like to join the REAL group—or just want to talk
https://chat.whatsapp.com/B4tqnF62qpf8F8ZDrSxnlJ?mode=ac_t
#TraumaInformed #MoralInjury #CompassionIsStrength #EducationReform #PeopleBeforeProfit #LivedExperience #REALSupport #EmpathyMatters #PositiveChange
The Cost of Incongruence in Trauma-Informed Practice
It’s easy to say the right things.
“Inclusive.”
“Person-centred.”
“Trauma-informed.”
These words are everywhere—in training manuals, policies, funding bids, and introductory slides.
But saying the right thing isn’t the same as living it.
When someone raises a concern, gives feedback, or reaches out with lived experience, the responses often sound like this:
“We’re really busy.”
“We’re doing our best.”
“You misunderstood.”
“You should have followed up.”
“You could have done more.”
That last one is particularly revealing.
It subtly shifts the responsibility back onto the person who had already made the effort. It reframes a lack of response as a lack of effort—on their part.
But when you claim to be inclusive or trauma-informed, the burden doesn’t fall on the most vulnerable to keep pushing for your attention.
Inclusion doesn’t mean “chase me.” It means “we see you.”
Incongruence Is a Safety Issue
For trauma survivors, inconsistency between words and actions isn’t just disappointing—it can be deeply destabilising.
It mirrors earlier experiences where people said all the right things but failed to follow through. Where safety was promised but not delivered. Where connection was conditional, performative, or superficial.
This kind of relational rupture—especially from services or professionals claiming to be trauma-informed—can reinforce beliefs like:
- “People don’t mean what they say.”
- “I was right not to trust.”
- “It’s not safe to ask for help.”
These aren’t just thoughts. They are nervous system responses. They shape the way people relate to others—and to themselves.
It’s pointless doing the worksheet, if the learning isn’t applied!
Being trauma-informed isn’t about printing posters, doing a one-off CPD session, or including buzzwords in reports.
It’s about:
- Reflection: How does what I do impact those I support?
- Responsiveness: Am I open to feedback, or am I defending my image?
- Repair: When something goes wrong, do I show up or shut down?
If your trauma-informed practice begins and ends with paperwork, it isn’t trauma-informed. It’s performance.
Calling out the mismatch between words and actions is never easy—especially for those with lived experience of trauma. It takes courage to speak up when something doesn’t feel aligned.
But instead of responding with reflection, the default is often defence.
Rather than examine the gap, the system closes ranks.
And the person who spoke up becomes the problem.
“She’s difficult.”
“She’s too intense.”
“She’s being unprofessional.”
“She’s arrogant.”
“She’s always got an issue with something.”
These aren’t objective reflections—they’re projections.
They come from discomfort. From a need to protect image over integrity. From an inability—or unwillingness—to sit with the truth that something might need to change.
This is a subtle form of victim blaming.
It puts the emotional cost back on the person holding up the mirror.
And when that person is a trauma survivor, it reinforces every old story about being “too much,” “not worth it,” or “hard to love.”
The irony is painful: the very practices that claim to protect people end up pathologising them when they speak truth to power.
Doing the worksheet and putting it back in the drawer isn’t enough.
If you’re not adapting, developing, and growing—it’s just lip service.
Say What You Mean. Mean What You Say!.
Being person-centred means responding to the person—not just their file.
Being inclusive means making space even when it’s uncomfortable.
Being trauma-informed means being willing to look inward, not just outward.
It’s not about perfection. It’s about congruence.
Because when actions don’t match words, it doesn’t just erode trust—it can deepen harm.
So in a world full of statements, be someone of substance.
Say what you mean. Mean what you say.
And if you fall short—repair, don’t retreat.
‘We Borrow Health from Tomorrow’ – Exercise, Diet & Trauma Recovery in Midlife
When we’re young, we rarely think twice about what we eat, how much we move, or whether we’re getting enough rest. Our bodies seem to just get on with it. Late nights, takeaways, skipping meals, or grabbing sugar and caffeine to keep going—somehow, we bounce back.
But what we don’t realise is that in those younger years, we’re borrowing health from tomorrow.
And eventually, tomorrow comes.
As we move into midlife—often around the same time trauma and unresolved emotional patterns begin to show themselves more vividly—we start to feel the consequences. The body keeps the score, as Bessel van der Kolk reminds us, and it also sends the bill.
What Starts to Show Up
And for women, menopause adds another layer. Hormonal shifts during perimenopause and menopause can amplify the effects of poor diet and stress.
Trauma & the Nervous System
For those of us with trauma histories—especially complex or developmental trauma—the nervous system has often been running on survival mode for decades. This means our bodies have been prioritising immediate safety over long-term health. Digestion, immune function, hormone balance, and rest become secondary when we’re stuck in a sympathetic (fight/flight) or dorsal vagal (shutdown) state.
The Hidden Cost of Stress & Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs)
Stress—especially chronic stress rooted in unresolved trauma or adverse childhood experiences (ACEs)—has a profound effect on the body. The nervous system, designed to keep us safe, can become stuck in survival states, constantly scanning for danger. Over time, this prolonged state of hypervigilance impacts digestion, hormone regulation, immune function, and sleep quality. It’s no wonder many of us feel exhausted, inflamed, and overwhelmed by midlife.
In the absence of safety, food often becomes a coping mechanism. We reach for sugar to self-soothe, caffeine to stay alert, and carbohydrates to feel comforted. Emotional eating is not a character flaw—it’s a survival strategy. But while it may bring short-term relief, it often leads to long-term imbalance. Recognising this pattern with compassion is the first step toward healing. Nourishing the body with steady, grounding meals can help restore a sense of safety and support emotional regulation.
Healing from trauma is deeply connected to how we care for the body. It’s not just about therapy—it’s about nourishment, movement, hydration, sleep, and compassion.
You Can’t Put an Old Head on Young Shoulders…
It’s true. Until something becomes real, personal, and felt in the body, it’s hard to act. We don’t know what we don’t know. But if we want the next generation to avoid the pain and confusion many of us face in midlife, we must educate early and lead by example—not with fear, but with knowledge, curiosity, and compassion.
What Does a Healthy, Balanced Diet Look Like?
A balanced diet isn’t about perfection or punishment. It’s about giving the body what it truly needs to function well and heal.
It’s Never Too Late to Begin
Making changes in midlife can feel overwhelming, especially when trauma has made food a source of comfort or control. But this is also a powerful time. With the right support, you can begin to restore the relationship between your body, your choices, and your healing.
Start small. Walk daily. Add one more vegetable to your plate. Drink water when you feel foggy. Swap out sugary snacks for protein-rich alternatives. Pause before pouring another coffee.
Every small choice is a signal to your body: I’m listening now.
Let’s Break the Cycle for the Next Generation!
We didn’t know what we didn’t know. But we do now. Let’s use that wisdom to break generational patterns. Let’s show our children that nourishment is an act of self-respect, not restriction. That movement is medicine, not punishment. That healing includes the body as much as the mind.
Because a positive start… starts with us!
Systemic Exclusion
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reviewing counselling job listings — often alongside students I support — and I’ve noticed something deeply concerning:
Nearly every role demands the same thing: “Applicants MUST be registered with BACP, BABCP or NCS — full or provisional.”
Some roles go further, insisting practitioners have their own private therapy rooms. While that isn’t universal, the pattern is clear: these jobs are closing the door on skilled, ethical, trauma-informed professionals who have simply chosen not to align with one of these institutions.
As someone with years of experience supporting individuals through trauma and emotional distress, I find this both discriminatory and damaging — not just for practitioners like me, but for the clients who lose access to diverse, deeply attuned support.
When Paper Trumps People
Take this current 0-hours contract listing, offering £38 per hour:
“Applicants MUST have British Association of Counselling and Psychotherapy OR Behavioural and Cognitive Psychotherapies (BABCP/BACP) OR NCS registration — full or provisional.”
“Applicants MUST have their own therapy premise to provide face-to-face counselling.”
Despite being self-employed, on a zero-hours basis, and offering no job security, the requirements are inflexible and exclusionary. The job asks for a minimum Level 4 Diploma — yet prioritises BACP/BABCP/NCS affiliation over everything else. It excludes highly capable, trauma-informed practitioners who may have advanced qualifications, years of experience, and live community credibility but choose not to register with one of these three bodies.
The listing continues:
“Applicants must have a commitment to safeguarding, managing risk including suicide and self-harm. Must be able to engage using evidence-based theoretical interventions, including CBT and counselling skills. Must demonstrate empathy and communicate sensitively.”
And yet — somehow — none of these qualities can count unless you’re a member of BACP, BABCP, or NCS.
This is where the contradiction lies.
If empathy, sensitivity, safeguarding, and ethical communication are truly valued, then the framework for who gets hired should reflect that — not reduce competence to a subscription.
Let’s ask an important question:
What actually makes a good therapist?
Is it BACP registration?
Or is it care, compassion, lived insight, ethical presence, congruence, and the ability to truly see and hold another human being?
Because I’ve seen newly qualified therapists, fresh from academic training, gain automatic credibility based purely on affiliation — despite limited client experience and minimal exposure to trauma. Meanwhile, seasoned practitioners with embodied wisdom and thousands of hours of service are overlooked simply because they don’t wear the “right” badge.
This isn’t about ego or hierarchy. It’s about recognising that healing is relational, and relationships aren’t built with certificates — they’re built with presence.
The Problem With Current Regulation
BACP, BABCP, and NCS may serve a purpose — but they are not the only route to ethical, effective practice.
Requiring registration with only these bodies creates:
- A financial barrier for those from marginalised backgrounds
- A philosophical mismatch for trauma-informed or somatic practitioners
- An exclusion of lived experience as valid professional grounding
- A loss of innovation in therapeutic models that go beyond talking therapy
- A rigid, monocultural lens on what “qualified” means
This is especially harmful when coupled with requirements like having a private therapy space — further privileging those with financial resources and excluding community-based or mobile models of care.
What Regulation Should Look Like?
We do need regulation. But we need regulation that reflects the reality of therapeutic practice, not just institutional allegiance.
A better, more inclusive model would be competency-based and grounded in ethical accountability rather than membership status.
Imagine a framework where therapists demonstrate:
✅ Ethical understanding
With a clear practice statement outlining confidentiality, boundaries, consent, and safeguarding.
✅ Supervision
Regular, reflective supervision with a qualified or peer-reviewed supervisor.
✅ Insurance & accountability
Public liability insurance and a transparent client feedback or complaints process.
✅ Ongoing learning
Evidence of professional development — whether through courses, reflective writing, or lived experience integration.
✅ Lived experience & relational skill
A clear ability to use personal insight safely and ethically in service of the client’s growth.
✅ Client impact
Testimonials or feedback that reflect real-world trust and effectiveness.
This model values how you show up, not just what you’ve paid for.
What We Stand to Lose if We Don’t Change
If current practices continue to dominate, we risk losing:
- Therapists with cultural, somatic, or community-grounded wisdom
- Lived experience practitioners who offer unmatched empathy and attunement
- Innovators working outside medicalised models — using music, nature, movement, or story
- True diversity in therapeutic approaches, especially for those failed by traditional services
We’ll be left with a narrow field — full of box-tickers, but lacking the kind of deeply human support so many people truly need.
A Call for Change
To organisations, employers, and funders:
If your aim is to provide meaningful support — especially for communities impacted by trauma, addiction, or systemic injustice — ask yourself:
Would you rather hire someone BACP-registered, or someone trusted by the people you serve, supervised, insured, and deeply attuned to trauma and healing?
The answer should be: Why not both?
Let’s move toward regulation that recognises multiple valid pathways to practice. Let’s create space for lived wisdom, ethical independence, and diverse forms of healing.
Let’s stop letting paper trump people.
If You’re a Practitioner Feeling Shut Out…
You are not alone.
You are not lesser.
You are not unqualified just because you refuse to pay for permission to do what you’ve already been doing with integrity, compassion, and care.
There is space for your voice — and I’ll keep using mine to help make that space wider.
A Final Note
I refuse to be made to feel less than because I choose a different path.
I know my worth.
I trust my experience.
And I approve of myself.
Accreditation may open some doors — but integrity opens hearts.
And that’s where real healing begins.
From the River Room to the World: Teaching Emotional Regulation Through Song
Teaching emotional regulation to adults is not always easy.
In my work with A Positive Start CIC, I’ve often met adults who instinctively dismiss grounding techniques, breathwork, or vagus nerve activation as “woo woo” or “silly.” They weren’t taught about the nervous system, emotional regulation, or the power of somatic practices. For many, it's hard to see the value of these tools until crisis strikes — by which point, the thinking brain is offline and the tools feel inaccessible.
And then I started noticing something else: The same resistance I saw in adults often showed up in children. Children feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Not because they weren’t open, but because the adults around them weren’t modelling the practices, or didn’t yet know how to teach them in ways that felt natural and safe.
That’s when inspiration struck — at the MBIMB Safer Futures conference, where I was introduced to the incredible work of Chrissy Sykes and her My Body Is My Body campaign. Chrissy was teaching children across the globe about body safety and awareness using song, animation, and movement. It was simple. Joyful. Powerful. And, most of all — effective.
I remember thinking, whilst watching the MBIMB songs play on the screen in front of us and swaying along in time with the music : "This is fantastic, - Could we teach emotional regulation the same way? Could we plant seeds of safety, confidence, and connection through songs that make children feel seen, heard, and held?
That question led to a collaboration between A Positive Start CIC and Chrissy Sykes. Combining our trauma-informed approaches, and building on our River Room project — a safe, creative space where children can just be — we created The River Room Songbook: a growing collection of songs that teach regulation, self-worth, and connection through music, movement, and story.
Because here’s the thing: Waiting until you're in crisis to learn regulation tools is like trying to learn how to swim while drowning. Children — and adults — need to practice these tools before they need them. So that when overwhelm hits, the response is already wired in. That’s why we made the songs fun. Natural. Relatable. So the nervous system learns them through joy, not pressure.
Our Vision for the Future
We dream of a world where the River Room Songbook is taught in schools, nurseries, and communities across the globe — where every single child has access to these life-shaping techniques as and when they need them.
Where it becomes common practice — a natural, default go-to when life gets tough in adulthood.
Because the alternative? Ignoring, suppressing, masking, or avoiding unprocessed emotions — all of which can take a toll on our nervous system health. These unresolved patterns don’t just affect individuals; they ripple outward, impacting families, relationships, workplaces, and entire communities through unconscious, often harmful behaviours.
This approach is especially powerful in supporting children and families living with the effects of complex trauma. Unlike a single traumatic event, complex trauma often involves ongoing stress, relational harm, or instability that can deeply affect the developing nervous system. By integrating emotional regulation techniques early - through music, rhythm, and connection - we help children build safety from the inside out. This creates a foundation for lifelong nervous system balance, reducing the long-term effects of trauma and supporting more connected, compassionate communities.
When we give children the tools early, through joyful, embodied learning, we give them something far more powerful than temporary relief — we give them resilience, awareness, and self-trust.
You can access this free resource here - feel free to share it with family, friends and neighbours The River Room Songbook
From Limpopo to the World… a Song of Worth, Pride, and Healing
We are beyond thrilled to share this incredibly heart-warming moment from Limpopo, South Africa, where a group of extraordinary children are singing “I Am Special”, a brand-new song from The River Room Songbook.
Taught by the dedicated team of Pastor Rose Papola and Zama Buthelezi, through the Girls Empowerment programme (in partnership with My Body is My Body and supported by Rotary International), these children aren’t just learning a song — they’re learning to believe in themselves.
“I Am Special” is more than a melody — it’s an affirmation. It reminds every child: You matter. You are worthy. You are loved.
What began as a gentle, trauma-informed idea in a quiet River Room in Scotland and Yorkshire, has now become a global movement — with songs reaching children in schools, churches, and communities around the world.
In the second part of this video, the children share what they’ve learned — it’s moving, powerful, and a reminder of why we do this work.
This is what music for healing and empowerment looks like. This is how we plant seeds of worth that will grow for generations.
Explore The River Room Songbook here: https://apositivestart.org.uk/the-river-room-songbook/
With love and gratitude to all who are bringing these songs to life — and to every child singing loud and proud: You ARE special. And the world is brighter because of you.
In collaboration with: My Body is My Body Programme – MBIMB Foundation & A Positive Start CIC
https://vimeo.com/1102430621?share=copy
Mission
Our Mission
A Positive Start CIC is dedicated to fostering emotional safety, healing, connection, and growth through trauma-informed, person-centred approaches that recognise the impact of lived experience and the importance of belonging.
We provide counselling, psychotherapy, early-intervention programmes, psycho-education, and social-emotional learning in individual, group, school, and community settings across the Scottish Borders. We are committed to making support accessible while developing sustainable community-based pathways that allow services to remain available locally over the long term.
Our work supports people to:
- understand their nervous system responses
- strengthen emotional regulation and resilience
- rebuild trust in themselves and others
- develop confidence, connection, and self-worth
- access support earlier, before difficulties become more established
Alongside therapeutic support, we deliver preventative education programmes for children, parents, professionals, and communities — helping create environments where safety, understanding, and wellbeing can grow together.
Community connection sits at the heart of our approach. Our Reconnect and Regulate programme demonstrated the value of shared learning spaces in strengthening confidence, reducing isolation, and supporting emotional recovery across the Scottish Borders. Building on this experience, we are developing a restorative rural wellbeing community at Harestanes — a space where individuals, families, and professionals can come together to learn, reflect, and reconnect in safe and supportive ways.
We believe healing happens not only through therapy, but through relationships, understanding, creativity, and community.
As we often say at A Positive Start CIC:
Trauma separates us from ourselves and from others. Healing reunites us.
Through counselling, creative learning, safeguarding education, early-intervention pathways, and community initiatives, A Positive Start CIC contributes to healthier, more connected, trauma-informed futures.
Deborah J Crozier
Founder, A Positive Start CIC
We’re All on the Sliding Scale: People-Pleasing, Narcissistic Traits, and the Path to Congruence
It’s easy to label others as narcissistic or manipulative. But what if I told you we’re all on a sliding scale—between people-pleasing on one end and narcissistic traits on the other—and that both ends of this scale reflect incongruence?
They may look different, but they are often fuelled by the same thing: unresolved emotions stored in the body and shaped by survival. Whether we’re constantly trying to keep others happy or blaming everything outside of ourselves, we are not acting from truth—we are acting from protection.
At A Positive Start CIC, we support self-awareness and healing through our RAPPORT framework—a gentle, trauma-informed approach to self-discovery for recovery.
Incongruence at Both Ends
People-pleasing may appear kind or selfless, but when it comes from fear or avoidance, it’s not congruent. It’s a mask.
Narcissistic traits, meanwhile, project blame, deny responsibility, and manipulate through victimhood—another kind of mask.
Both patterns suppress truth, emotions, and responsibility. Both are strategies that often begin in childhood. And both are invitations to heal.
Unresolved Emotions Live in the Body!
We like to think other people “make us feel” certain things. Their behaviour. Their tone. Their choices. But emotional triggers are within us, not outside.
The discomfort lives in the nervous system.
Think of the moment when you mutter, “That stupid bag caught itself on the handle.” That little outburst is familiar for many of us—and it’s a clue. It’s not about the bag. It’s a flash of blame from an overwhelmed system.
Narcissistic traits do the same thing, only more deeply:
- “You made me act this way.”
- “You’re too sensitive.”
- “I’m the one who’s hurt, not you.”
This behaviour avoids internal responsibility. It reacts from pain, not presence. And the truth is: we are all capable of this until we start noticing.
Introducing RAPPORT: Self-Discovery for Recovery
Healing begins when we get curious—not critical—about our reactions. That’s why we use the RAPPORT framework. It’s not a quick fix. It’s a compassionate process of building inner safety, truth, and congruence.
R – Recognise
Notice the pattern. Are you people-pleasing? Are you blaming? Is this moment familiar? Recognition opens the door.
A – Accept
Allow what’s there without judgment. Accepting your emotional response doesn’t mean you agree with it—it means you stop fighting it.
P – Process
Let the feeling move. Breathe. Cry. Talk. Write. Movement. Stillness. Whatever your body needs, let it flow.
P – Practice
Start choosing new ways of responding. It takes time and repetition. Small, consistent shifts matter.
O – Observe
Watch yourself with kindness. Notice when old habits creep in. What helped? What didn’t?
R – Reflect
Ask deeper questions: What was really going on for me? What did I need in that moment? How does this connect to my past?
T – Transform
Transformation isn’t dramatic. It’s subtle, steady, and rooted in truth. It’s choosing congruence over protection, again and again.
The Path to Congruence
We can’t grow out of what we refuse to acknowledge. Blame keeps us stuck. People-pleasing erodes us. But when we start showing up with honesty, fairness, and emotional integrity—we begin to feel safe in our own skin.
No more masks. No more deflection. Just presence.
When we catch ourselves in a blame loop or avoidant pattern, we can pause and say:
“This is mine to feel. This is mine to heal.”
Congruence is the goal—not perfection. When we aim for balance, fairness, truth, and compassion, we know we’re on the right path.
Silence
Over the years, I’ve heard many people say something like this after trying therapy:
“They just sat there and stared at me. I didn’t know what to say. I felt exposed and uncomfortable.”
Often these are people who came for support but left feeling even more alone. And when that happens, something sacred—the trust between client and therapist—can break before it even begins.
This experience is far more common than it should be. And I want to talk about it—not to criticise other therapists, but to shed light on something important:
There’s a huge difference between therapeutic silence and feeling emotionally abandoned.
What is therapeutic silence supposed to do?
In some forms of therapy, especially traditional psychodynamic or psychoanalytic approaches, silence is intentional. The therapist steps back so that the client can access deeper layers of thought, feeling, or unconscious material without interference. The idea is that the space invites reflection or insight.
But this approach doesn’t work for everyone.
For those who carry trauma, relational wounds, or histories of emotional neglect, unattuned silence can feel like re-experiencing those very wounds. Instead of helping them go deeper, it can leave them frozen, hyperaware, or ashamed.
Silence without presence can feel Like absence. Silence itself isn’t the issue. It’s the quality of the silence that matters.
In person-centred therapy, the focus is always the client—not the therapist’s technique, theory, or internal process.
Carl Rogers taught us that the core conditions for healing are empathy, unconditional positive regard, and congruence. These are felt conditions. They’re not just concepts—they are lived, moment by moment, in the presence of another human being.
So when silence occurs in a session, it should serve the client. Not the therapist’s idea of what should happen. Not their discomfort with emotion. Not their silence as a strategy.
If a therapist is silent, it should be because they are deeply with the client—not because they’ve gone inside themselves or defaulted to a model.
The moment becomes about you - the client. Your experience. Your energy. Your pace.
That’s what person-centred work honours.
It doesn’t demand that you perform insight.
It offers you space that’s safe enough for insight to arrive in its own time.
When a therapist is grounded, attuned, and emotionally available, silence can feel deeply held. It can be a moment where both people breathe, where something unspoken is honoured.
But when a therapist remains quiet without offering warmth, presence, or any felt sense of safety, the silence can feel like abandonment.
And the nervous system always knows the difference.
Holding space is not the same as saying nothing. Holding space is an active process. Even without speaking, the therapist is listening deeply—with their body, their intuition, and their heart. They’re noticing subtle cues: posture, breath, energy shifts. They’re connected to the moment.
In contrast, silence that comes from detachment, uncertainty, or theoretical rigidity doesn’t feel safe. It feels cold. Or judgmental. Or indifferent.
And for someone who’s spent a lifetime feeling unseen or misunderstood, this can do more harm than good.
If you’re a therapist, consider this a gentle check-in:
- Are you with the client in your silence?
- Do they know you’re there, emotionally and energetically?
- Can your stillness be felt as care—not as waiting for them to “perform” healing?
Attunement matters. Trauma-aware presence matters. Even in silence, the room should feel relational.
As the client, you deserve to feel safe.
If you’ve had a therapy experience that left you feeling exposed, judged, or abandoned, it wasn’t your fault.
Therapy should never feel like emotional abandonment. You deserve a space where silence feels like safety—not like being left alone with your pain.
Trust your body. If something felt off, it probably was. And there are therapists who will sit with you in a way that feels steady, kind, and present.
Healing happens in the presence of safety. Not forced silence. Not long stares. But felt, relational safety. That’s what good therapy—especially trauma-informed therapy—offers.
We must recognise that survival itself is an achievement.
When we strip everything back to the human, we are hardwired to prioritise survival above all else—that’s the job. The nervous system is not betraying us; it’s protecting us. Every freeze, every shutdown, every hyper-alert moment was your body’s way of keeping you alive, even when connection wasn’t safe.
Whether we speak or sit in silence, the real work is in how we hold one another.
And sometimes, just knowing you’re not alone in the quiet is the most powerful thing of all.
Final Thoughts - The Nervous System Doesn’t Lie!
Healing happens in the presence of safety. Not forced silence. Not long stares. But felt, relational safety. That’s what good therapy—especially trauma-informed therapy—offers.
Whether we speak or sit in silence, the real work is in how we hold one another. And sometimes, just knowing you’re not alone in the quiet is the most powerful thing of all.
Seeing the Same Screen, Reading Different Code
Sometimes the hardest part of communication is not the words themselves, but the way we interpret what we don’t understand.
A family friend once shared how, when trying to communicate with certain colleagues - they felt like their words left their mouth and fell through the floorboards — picking up dust and distortion before landing somewhere else entirely. What they meant and what the other person heard often felt worlds apart.
My son offered a powerful analogy that helped everything make sense - “It’s like you’re both looking at the same thing on a computer. You see graphics. they see text.”
It was a simple yet striking way to describe what happens in communication with someone who has aphasia. You might be sharing the same moment, looking at the same situation, but experiencing it in completely different ways.One person is taking in emotion, tone, and visual cues — like seeing the full graphic interface. The other is reading line by line, processing fragmented information like text that must be decoded.
This story illustrates a broader truth: we often misinterpret what we don’t understand.
When communication feels hard or confusing, we may assume someone isn’t listening, doesn’t care, or is being difficult — when in reality, their brain is simply processing language in a different way.
Aphasia changes how someone communicates, not what they know or who they are. It means the route to understanding looks different. It might require fewer words, more visual support, extended time, or just patience and presence.
When we stop forcing understanding through our own lens, and instead adapt to how someone else receives information, connection becomes possible again.
It’s not about saying less. It’s about saying it in a way that can be received.
Sometimes, the deepest understanding happens in the quiet spaces between words.
I regularly use Dr Dan Siegels Wheel of Awareness mindfulness exercise and have suggested it to others. But how may someone with Aphasia experience the Wheel of Awareness?
The Wheel of Awareness, developed by Dr. Dan Siegel, is a mindfulness tool that guides attention across different aspects of our experience — from our five senses, to bodily sensations, mental activities, and a sense of connection with others.
https://drdansiegel.com/wheel-of-awareness/
For someone with aphasia, engaging in this practice may feel different. While the guided words might not always land clearly or fully, the person can still sense and respond to what’s being felt in their body. The experience may be less verbal and more somatic or intuitive.
Rather than visualising thoughts or narrating sensations, someone with aphasia might:
- Tune into body signals like warmth, breath, or tension
- Experience rhythms in the guide's voice as soothing, even if not fully understood
- Respond more to tone, pauses, or repetition than to specific instructions
- Feel a general sense of safety or agitation based on how the practice is delivered
In this way, the Wheel of Awareness still holds value. It offers a structure for noticing and integrating experience — even if the 'spokes' of attention are accessed through sensation rather than words. For those living with aphasia, the practice may open space for calm presence, even when language is quiet or unclear.
What the Research Says
Research shows that aphasia is a language disorder caused by brain injury, most commonly from stroke, that affects speaking, understanding, reading, and writing—but not intelligence (Code & Herrmann, 2003). People with aphasia often retain full emotional and cognitive capacity, even when their ability to express themselves is disrupted.
In trauma-related cases, similar disruptions in language can occur. Studies show that childhood trauma can impair interoceptive awareness—the ability to sense internal bodily states—leading to body dissociation and emotional dysregulation (Barrett & Simmons, 2023). These disruptions are often linked to the insula, a brain region that helps integrate internal sensing with emotional and verbal processing (Craig, 2009).
The insula is also involved in coordinating speech. Damage to this region, whether from trauma or stroke, can result in speech production difficulties and a breakdown in awareness of bodily signals (Dronkers, 1996). This explains why some individuals with aphasia or trauma may struggle to connect language, emotion, and bodily experience, even when cognitively intact.
Mindfulness-based practices like Dr. Dan Siegel’s Wheel of Awareness may offer therapeutic benefits by gently restoring interoceptive awareness and supporting emotional regulation—even for those with language difficulties. Practices that emphasise tone, rhythm, and bodily sensation may be especially helpful.
References
When Strength Is a Shield
Hyper-independence is often mistaken for strength. It’s praised in society as self-reliance, competence, and resilience.
But underneath the polished surface lies a very different story — one of pain, protection, and deep survival.
What Is Hyper-Independence?
Hyper-independence is the compulsion to carry everything alone.
It’s the belief that asking for help is dangerous. That trusting others is a risk not worth taking.
It’s not a personality quirk — it’s a nervous system response formed in the fire of unmet needs, broken trust, and chronic invalidation.
While it can stem from childhood trauma — like emotional neglect, inconsistent care, or having to grow up too soon — it is just as often shaped by what happens when people reach out for support and are betrayed.
When Support Fails, Survival Steps In
Many who carry hyper-independence have tried to seek help before.
But instead of care, they were met with:
- Suspicion instead of safety
- Judgement instead of compassion
- Pathologising labels instead of understanding
- Questions that implied they were to blame
- Systems that protected the abuser and silenced the victim
This kind of betrayal cuts deep. It teaches the body and mind that asking for support only leads to further harm.
And so, the nervous system adapts.
It says:
- Don’t explain yourself — they don’t want to understand.
- Don’t ask for help — it won’t come.
- Don’t trust anyone — they’ll turn it against you.
And from that place, hyper-independence is born.
What It Looks Like in Daily Life..
- Struggling to collaborate or delegate
- Avoiding group projects due to misaligned energy
- Taking control to feel safe
- Reading people’s energy before they even speak
- Withdrawing at the first sign of judgement
- Feeling responsible for everything — and everyone
This behaviour isn’t arrogance. It’s protection.
It’s a response to a world that has, at times, punished vulnerability rather than honoured it.
There is a Hidden Cost
Hyper-independence isolates.
It creates a silent barrier between the self and true connection.
It turns working with others into working around them.
And most tragically — it cuts people off from the very thing that heals: relational safety.
Because underneath the control and competence is often someone carrying a deep belief:
“I am the only person I can trust.”
Healing Is Possible — But It Requires More Than Therapy
Healing hyper-independence isn’t about swinging to dependency — it’s about rediscovering interdependence.
It begins with creating spaces that feel safe enough to let the guard down.
Where people are believed.
Where stories aren’t twisted into diagnoses.
Where presence replaces judgement.
Where relationships are rooted in trust, truth, and mutuality.
It begins with choice.
Not forced compliance.
Not control masked as care.
But genuine, informed, trauma-aware choice.
My Final Thoughts…
If you recognise yourself here, know this:
Your hyper-independence was never weakness.
It was wisdom.
Your body, your mind, your instincts — they protected you.
And now, as safety slowly returns, you can begin to choose something different.
Not because you’re broken.
But because you are finally safe enough to stop carrying everything alone.