From Big T to small t trauma: what is trauma?

In my e-book, I write that a striking number of people with chronic illness or autoimmune disease have experienced some form of trauma in their childhood or youth. Not everyone, of course — but many recognize themselves in this pattern.

For a long time, I believed that once I had processed the major events from my early childhood, I would finally recover — both mentally and physically. That I would be able to talk about them without shame, that I wouldn’t be triggered anymore by something small — a scent, a sentence, a memory, an emotion — that pulled me back into the past. That my body would finally find peace, free from pain.

And to some extent, it worked. Becoming aware helped. Finding the words helped. My physical pain became lighter. That was me processing my trauma with a capital T — the clear, visible wounds of the past.

But it wasn’t until I started looking at the small t traumas that the real transformation began.

When you ask someone, “Do you have trauma?”, most people will instinctively say, “No, not really.”

And that’s understandable. We still tend to think of trauma as something big — something that really happened — an accident, abuse, loss. That’s what we call trauma with a capital T.

But trauma isn’t the event itself. Trauma is what happens inside of you — in your body, in your mind. It’s the wound that remains, not the fact that the knife was ever there.

And it doesn’t have to be one big moment.
Sometimes it’s something that builds slowly — growing up for years in an environment where you didn’t feel safe, where there was no room to truly be yourself. That’s what we call trauma with a small t.

It’s about what didn’t happen, but should have. The absence of love. Not being seen or heard. Having to hide your emotions because they were “too much.” Your needs never really being met.

People with this kind of small t trauma often feel profoundly alone in the world.
And the nervous system doesn’t know the difference — it reacts just as strongly as it would to a big T trauma.
As a child, you couldn’t fight or flee — you were too small, too dependent. So you did the only thing you could: you retreated inward. You learned to please, to adapt, to wear masks. You became who others wanted you to be — just to receive love, and to survive, because as a child, your survival literally depended on those people.

What small t’s look like in childhood

Small t traumas often happen in ordinary families.
There’s no disaster, no crisis — and yet they leave deep marks.
Parents usually mean well, but what a child feels can be very different from what the parent intends.

Sometimes it’s not about what happened, but about what was missing.

A child who cries and is told, “Don’t be so dramatic.”
A child who only gets attention when performing well.
A child who quietly grows up next to parents who are emotionally absent.
A child who swallows their feelings just to keep the peace.

These are small t’s.
Not loud blows, but silent absences.

Maybe you grew up with parents who loved you deeply, but never learned how to show that love.
Or with parents who demanded so much of themselves that there was little space left to truly see what you needed.
Maybe you became the good child — the one who adapted, who kept the peace, who unconsciously learned:
“If I’m sweet, if I achieve, if I look pretty enough, if I share Dad’s hobbies, if I fit in… then I’ll be loved.”

The child learns to survive by adapting.
It learns to please, to care, to stay silent, to numb.
And it worked — back then.
But later, as an adult, you realize those same strategies no longer serve you.
You say yes too often. You ignore your boundaries. You feel drained, empty, or angry — without fully understanding why.

Those are the echoes of small t’s.
They whisper softly, but their resonance lasts a lifetime.

Those survival strategies once kept you safe.
They helped you belong.
But as an adult, they often become your traps.
You keep pleasing, controlling, avoiding — not out of malice, but out of habit.
And that hurts. Not only you, but also the people around you.

That’s how complex trauma shows itself — sometimes only thirty or forty years later.

Whether it’s a Big T or a small t, trauma exists on a spectrum.
And in the end, it all leads to the same place:
a nervous system on high alert,
a body living in fight, flight, freeze, or fawn,
and a human being longing for safety, connection, and healing.

How trauma affects the brain and body

Trauma doesn’t just live in memories — it lives in your body, your nervous system, and your brain.
When we experience danger, our stress system activates. The brain releases cortisol, which in turn triggers adrenaline. That surge gives your body the energy to fight or flee.
In a healthy situation, this system is active only briefly: there’s danger, you respond, and then you return to safety. The elevated cortisol is temporary.

But what happens when a child is never truly safe?
Then that stress system stays switched on. The brain is flooded with a constant stream of cortisol — and that leaves its mark.

One key area affected by this prolonged exposure to cortisol is the corpus callosum — the bridge between the left and right hemispheres of the brain.
The left hemisphere stores facts and details; the right holds emotions, images, and feelings.
The corpus callosum connects these two worlds. It ensures that an emotion is linked to the right memory — and that a memory evokes the right emotion.

When that bridge is disrupted by long-term stress or a lack of safety, it can lead to very different outcomes.
Some people experience emotional flashbacks — they suddenly feel deep sadness or panic but have no idea why. The emotion is there, but the memory is gone.
Others can clearly describe what happened to them, yet feel nothing at all. The memory remains, but the emotion is missing.

The good news?
When your body begins to feel safe again, that connection can heal.
The brain is plastic — it has the capacity to repair and rewire itself.

Living from a Limbic Brain

Complex trauma keeps a child trapped in the limbic system, the part of the brain that regulates emotions and survival.
From that place, everything is guided by one question: What will give me satisfaction right now?
It thinks in the short term, constantly seeking comfort or safety.

And this doesn’t automatically stop when you become an adult.
Even thirty or forty years later, that same survival system can still be in control.
Decisions are made from emotion, fear, or the need for validation — not from calmness or adult awareness.

The Unconscious Beliefs That Develop

A child enters the world with healthy instincts.
It wants to connect, to be loved, and to be able to be authentic.

But if a child grows up in an environment where authenticity causes pain — where being honest leads to rejection, punishment, or shame — it learns something very different.
It learns that being itself is unsafe.
It learns that love must be earned.
And that vulnerability is dangerous.

These beliefs become programs in the brain, unconsciously guiding your choices:

“I am not good enough.”
“I have to achieve something to earn love.”
“If I show my needs, I will lose the other person.”

They are lies, yet they become your truth. And they shape how you love, work, and live.

 

Relationships as Mental Prisons

Fear of Abandonment

A child who is repeatedly rejected or left feeling alone learns: connection hurts.
Later, as an adult, they want to connect, but the fear runs deep.
They fall in love, yet start to control, test, and doubt: “Will they still like me if I do this?” “What if I do that?”
At the slightest criticism, panic or anger erupts.
In this way, the person creates exactly what they fear most: being abandoned.

Hope That Hurts

A child who never received what they needed keeps trying: to be better, kinder, more helpful, even erasing their own interests — for example, taking on their father’s hobbies, spontaneously doing household chores to please their mother.
They hope their efforts will eventually earn love.
But they learn that no matter how hard they try or work, their needs remain unmet.

As an adult, you meet someone who is emotionally available and mentally healthy.
Everything seems to be going well, and one day you feel it rising — hope.
Hope that this might finally be a real, safe, meaningful relationship.

But that’s exactly when your brain starts to whisper:

“No… don’t hope. You know what happens. Hope leads to pain.”

Because deep down, your system remembers: every time you felt hope as a child, it ended in disappointment.
So even before anything goes wrong, you go into self-protection.
You withdraw. You push the other person away. You look for mistakes. You sabotage.

Not because you want to, but because your brain is trying to prevent old pain from happening again.

Self-Sacrifice as a Survival Strategy

Some children learn very early that their own needs are too much.
That there’s no room for their feelings, their desires, their truth.
They notice that they are only seen or valued when they adapt, when they are kind, when they care for others.

So they develop an unconscious belief:

“My needs will only be met if I make them smaller.”
“If I give without asking, they will love me.”

The child learns to tune completely into the other — their feelings, expectations, and needs — while gradually denying themselves.
Self-sacrifice becomes a way to survive, a way to earn love.

This creates relationships with a power imbalance: a superior and an inferior role.
The child (and later the adult) instinctively takes the inferior position, because it feels safer.
Love becomes confused with submission, with adapting, with disappearing.

When this person, as an adult, finally tries to express their own needs — setting a boundary, asking for something, showing vulnerability — they are often told:

“You’re being selfish.” “You don’t understand.”
“You’re overreacting.” “You’re too sensitive.”

For someone with this pattern, these words feel like confirmation of an old belief:
“I cannot show my needs, or I will lose love.”

This is the lie that originated in an unsafe childhood — a lie that still feels like truth today.

As a result, these people often attract relationships where they give too much, or even experience emotional, energetic, or physical abuse.
Not because they want it, but because their system recognizes that pattern as “safe.”
The brain chooses what is familiar, not necessarily what is good.

In this way, they unconsciously build one mental prison after another — constructed from the beliefs that once helped them survive.

Some become perfectionists: setting unrealistically high standards, driving themselves relentlessly, always seeking validation. Their inner critic is merciless.
Others become exhausted, burned out, or depressed, because they never feel enough.

A child who grows up with a parent who is always working can unconsciously draw the conclusion:

“Work is more important than me.”
“I’m not worth making time for.”

And that’s how complex trauma often begins — not with a single blow, but with a repeated absence.

Okay, so I might have trauma — now what?

You can’t heal trauma if you’re not around safe people. Seek them out.
This is especially hard for people with complex trauma, because showing vulnerability feels impossible — yet it’s an essential step for recovery.
In my e-book, I share my first, embarrassingly childish visit to a psychologist — and hopefully it inspires you. The e-book is free!

 Learn about trauma and how it affects your brain. The better you understand what’s happening in your mind and body, the gentler you can be with yourself. Understanding brings kindness — and kindness is essential for healing.
When your limbic system is in overdrive, it doesn’t help to just “think about it.” First, your body needs to know it’s safe. You do this through body-based methods: breathing, yoga, tapping, creativity, movement, sound, touch — anything that releases tension and calms your nervous system. Only then can you engage a calmer, wiser brain — one that can listen, learn, and connect again.

And if you’re thinking, “Save your breathing techniques or meditation for someone else, Els!” — ask yourself why that feels so hard.
“No, I don’t think about myself. Just keep going and push harder, that’s my motto.”

I rest my case…

Bessel van der Kolk wrote The Body Keeps the Score, a book about trauma and its effects on the body.

 You have to heal trauma mostly yourself. Speak to yourself the things you missed as a child — and truly believe and feel them. Therapy can help, but so can meditation exercises, whether visual or auditory. Once you master this, you can rely on yourself for feeling well throughout your life. This doesn’t mean you won’t need other people, but your inner child will show up again and again, throughout your whole life, so it’s useful to have your own tools — a kind of “emergency kit.” More on meditation later!

 Connection heals. Meet people through volunteering, join a hobby group, or find activities where you encounter like-minded individuals. Stop sitting on the couch watching Netflix, hoping you’ll get better. Change requires action — if nothing changes, nothing changes.

All those survival patterns — pleasing, self-neglect, constantly being on guard — take their toll: they keep the nervous system chronically activated, weaken the body’s resilience, and make you vulnerable to pain, exhaustion, and even chronic or autoimmune illnesses. Authenticity works the other way around: by gradually daring to show yourself, feeling your boundaries, and speaking up about what you need, you give your body permission to relax, begin healing, and form relationships that are truly nourishing. It’s not a dramatic trick; it’s small, courageous repetition — more truth, more safety, more healing.

It was only when I truly began to live from my own authenticity that I noticed my pain slowly receding into the background. It was a process: I first had to recognize my patterns, see where they still held me back, and then break them step by step. By practicing again and again and experiencing that it really works, I discovered that my body and mind could relax. Today, after years of conscious work, I am free from that old pain — and the best part is that I can now live a life that truly fits me, pain-free.

 

 

Sources: 

-Mentorshow; Understanding trauma's impact on the brain, Rewiring your mind for healing,  by Tim Fletcher.  

                   - E-book: De Pijnpuzzel