Understanding trauma bonds, mixed memories, and why it’s okay to stop pretending it was all okay

One of the hardest truths I’ve learned while healing from trauma is this:
Pain doesn’t always look like pain. And abuse doesn’t always look like evil.

Sometimes the same person or place that hurt you is also where you laughed the hardest. Sometimes the most toxic relationships are laced with your most beautiful memories. And sometimes the places that broke you open also offered temporary relief that made you second-guess your own suffering.

But here’s what I want you to know:
Just because something wasn’t all bad doesn’t mean it wasn’t deeply harmful.
And just because you remember some good moments doesn’t mean the bad ones didn’t matter.

Because healing doesn’t happen all at once — it happens in moments.

Sometimes, healing looks selfish.
That’s how it feels for many of us survivors, at least.

In therapy, we’re told:

• “Rest when your body needs it.”

• “Do things that bring you joy.”

• “Take time for yourself.”

But when you’ve lived in survival mode — in chaos, in codependency, in homes or relationships where your needs were never a priority — these suggestions don’t feel simple.

What they don’t tell you about motherhood — especially when you’re also navigating trauma, healing, grief, or the aftershocks of a toxic past — is that burnout becomes the baseline. And the expectation to give more, smile more, do more, be more… becomes unbearable.

But here’s what I’m learning (slowly, painfully, beautifully): 

You Survived: Now What?

You left the toxic patterns. You ended the relationship, walked away from the pain, and stepped into the unknown. You faced systems that weren’t built for your safety and made it through circumstances most people never see. The people around you say, “You’re so strong.”

You hear: Be fine.
And maybe you want to be fine—but inside, it feels more like frozen.

That’s not failure. That’s part two of healing.

For the ones who’ve left but are still haunted. I see you.

There are stories I’ve never said out loud.
Not because they aren’t true.
But because the truth still terrifies me.

Even now — after walking away, choosing peace, and beginning again — there’s a voice in the back of my mind that whispers:
“What if they find out you’re speaking?”
“What will they do if you tell the truth?”
“What if no one believes you?”

That’s the thing about surviving abuse:
It doesn’t always end when the relationship does.
Sometimes, the unraveling begins after you leave.