In recent years, the phrase “trauma-informed” has become widespread across services—from schools to healthcare to local authorities. On paper, this is a welcome shift. It signals a growing awareness that trauma shapes behaviour, that safety matters, and that healing requires more than just surface-level support.
But for those of us with lived experience of trauma—especially those working in grassroots, community-based organisations—the reality often tells a different story.
Behind closed doors, beneath the polished language, many of us encounter something we don’t talk about enough: exclusion by stealth.
It rarely looks like open hostility. It’s more subtle than that. A non-response to a genuine offer of support. A delay that quietly becomes a dead-end. A vague deferral to someone higher up. An event ignored. A training opportunity dismissed—not on merit, but on the assumption that grassroots must mean lesser.
What sits underneath this pattern is something we know well from trauma itself: power and control.
When institutions hold power, they often expect grassroots organisations to seek their approval. Even when the work is impactful, life-changing, or beautifully person-centred—if it hasn’t passed through the right hierarchy, it is often minimised or dismissed. This isn’t just disappointing. It’s damaging.
What’s most concerning is that these same organisations frequently brand themselves as trauma-informed.
But here’s the truth: You cannot be trauma-informed and still ignore, belittle, or exclude people doing this work from a place of lived experience and heart.
You cannot claim to value relational safety while practising selective inclusion.
You cannot promote emotional wellbeing while perpetuating systems of silence, dismissal, and quiet judgment toward those who don’t fit the mould.
And you cannot truly serve people affected by trauma if you continue to replicate the very dynamics that caused the harm in the first place: gaslighting, blame-shifting, disconnection from impact.
Criticism disguised as concern. Collaboration refused without explanation. Feedback filtered only through formal structures. These are not neutral actions. They are indicators—signs that something is out of alignment, no matter how well-branded the service may be.
From the lens of trauma, they speak volumes.
Lived experience teaches us to listen beyond words. To sense when safety is performative, when empathy is selective, when partnerships are conditional. This isn’t bitterness—it’s discernment.
And it’s time we named it.
Because being trauma-informed is not about a course completed or a policy drafted. It is about how people feel in your presence. It is about humility. Curiosity. Willingness to share space and power. And it is about recognising that those closest to the pain are often also closest to the solutions.
Grassroots organisations are not asking for special treatment. They’re asking to be treated with the same dignity, respect, and openness that trauma-informed services promise to extend to the people they serve.
To those who claim trauma-informed values while gatekeeping lived experience and excluding community efforts—we invite reflection. Not defensiveness. Not justification. But reflection.
Because if your trauma-informed approach does not include the voices, work, and wisdom of those walking the path with survivors every day—then something vital is missing.
A truly trauma-informed response isn’t about doing more than you can manage. It’s not about stretching your capacity or saying yes to everything. It’s about being honest, respectful, and clear. When someone offers training, collaboration, or extends an invitation—what matters most isn’t whether you say yes, but how you say no. Not replying at all, ignoring RSVPs, or disappearing into silence may feel like the path of least resistance, but for those with trauma histories, it echoes something familiar: being disregarded, invalidated, or avoided.
Trauma-informed practice craves truth. It thrives on transparency, even if the message is “I’m too busy,” “It’s not the right fit,” or even “We’re not interested at this time.” That’s okay. Clarity is not cruelty. But avoidance? That’s often where harm begins.
In the trauma-informed world, we teach that it’s not about perfection—it’s about presence. And sometimes the most compassionate thing a professional can do is respond with integrity, even when the answer is no.
Because in the end, it’s not the survivor who fears the truth—it’s often the system.
This isn’t a new observation. We’ve been speaking about it for a while now—and we know we’re not alone.
Other grassroots organisations have shared the same experience: being overlooked, dismissed, or quietly copied by larger charities and commissioned services. Original ideas are lifted, rebranded, and re-released without so much as a nod of acknowledgement. Meanwhile, those of us on the ground—often running on passion, purpose, and very little funding—are told we don’t have the “track record” to access support or scale our work.
It’s a disheartening cycle: grassroots organisations are excluded because they’re not funded, and they’re not funded because they’re excluded.
But every now and then, something feels different. Working with My Body is My Body (MBIMB) has been just that. A refreshing reminder that collaboration can be equal, respectful, and joyful. There’s no sense of hierarchy, no guardedness or gatekeeping—just genuine partnership rooted in shared values and mutual respect.
The difference is palpable. And it’s proof that safe, trauma-informed relationships are possible when ego is set aside and hearts lead the way.
This is exactly why My Body is My Body is a global initiative—because it puts people first.
It’s led with heart, rooted in equality, and carried by those who understand the difference between performative inclusion and real connection. It models what trauma-informed practice should feel like: safe, respectful, empowering, and true.
This kind of heart-led collaboration is the future. It’s what genuinely trauma-informed systems should look and feel like—equal, respectful, and rooted in shared purpose. We welcome it, we celebrate it, and we’re committed to creating more of it.