When childhood trauma finally makes sense

I’d describe myself as one of life’s thinkers; a bit of an intellectual as well (without trying to sound too ego or snooty). By this I mean that a huge part of my life is about being curious and critical. I love exploring complex or abstract concepts, and getting into healthy debate about things that grab my interest. Unsurprisingly, I also love psychology and anything to do with what makes us humans tick.

But I’m also a massive over-thinker with Olympic-level rumination tendencies.

Being gifted a smart and curious brain is one thing (and I’m super grateful for what nature has given me). Knowing when— and how— to switch it off is quite another. There is no damn off switch, that’s the problem here.

While overthinking and rumination are close-cousins, they’re also subtly different; overthinking tends to be about the future; what might go wrong or how to make the “right” choice. Rumination lasers in on the past. It’s about replaying mistakes or obsessing over regrets and painful experiences in an attempt to understand them.

Both patterns of thinking involve repetitive, intrusive thoughts that feel difficult to control. They share a tendency to trap our mind in loops of worry or self-analysis, often leading to increased anxiety, stress, and indecision which can leave you mentally exhausted and, crucially, disconnected from the present.

Oh god…welcome to my brain!

Of course, everyone overthinks and/or ruminates from time to time. That’s just part of being human. What I didn’t realise was being stuck almost constantly in this state of hyper-active and/or looped thinking is not normal. It was only when the popular conversation started to emerge around ADHD that a lightbulb went off in my head. (Except that, me being me, it was more than just one lightbulb; it was a whole damn light show of multi-colour, flashing garishness that would eclipse the very best of the Las Vegas Strip!)

Ah! I thought – that’s me. I must have ADHD!

Now, pretty much everyone who knows me would probably agree, and yes, I do come from a very ‘neurospicy’ family. But, as quick as I was to latch onto the idea, now that I’ve lived with this amateur self-diagnosis for several years, I’m not so sure.

Since I’m not a psychiatrist, this is just my intuitive feel for what’s going on inside my messy head.

I’ve always felt ‘different’, ever since I was very small. Always been aware of a ‘them’ and ‘me’ type narrative. I’m now 55, so you can imagine what a lifetime of feeling like you’re living on the periphery has snowballed into. You’d never know any of this by the way. I was a cracking little academic at school and university, have always had a good circle of friends, and am often the life and soul of the party.

But that hasn’t stopped the voice in my head telling me ‘yes, but you’re not really included. You’re different. They don’t really like you, they just put up with you’ and other such nonsense. I say ‘nonsense’, but trust me, it can feel very real indeed, especially at 3am when my brain starts reminding me that I said ‘nice to meet you’ instead of ‘how are you?’ to a client I’ve meet about 100 times before. The shame cycle is brutal and relentless, even over something others would forget in minutes, or not even consider an issue.

There’s something that often affects the ADHD brain called RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria); an intense emotional reaction to perceived or actual rejection, criticism, or failure. RSD isn’t an official clinical diagnosis and won’t be found in the DSM-5, but many ADHD specialists and also those with ADHD recognise it as a very real emotional pattern linked to nervous system sensitivity and emotional regulation challenges. Essentially, RSD magnifies social or personal setbacks, making them feel catastrophic rather than (as they often are in reality) – trivial and unconsequential.

I frequently suffer from RSD, and along with the non-stop chatter in my brain, it’s what steered me firstly towards a self-diagnosis of ADHD, and later confirmed by an expert. But that’s not the end of the story.

What made me question my ADHD diagnosis?

It was a conversation I had with my very lovely business buddy (who is also an ADHD coach). We were talking about money, and how I could stop undercharging in my freelance business. What started in the coffee shop, ended with me doing a whole hyper-focused deep-dive into why I’m undercharging and am skint as a result. I’ll spare you the hours and hours of going round in circles, and just say this; it all comes down to a lack of self-esteem. At the root of this is that I don’t think I’m good enough to charge what I need to charge, and so I don’t. The result is I don’t make enough money to live the life I want to live and pay the bills, and so the cycle loops and loops. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point. Negative thinking can also be a strong characteristic of ADHDers. It can also stem from a lot of other things. My gut feel was my own low self-esteem stemmed from a fear of rejection and abandonment. Not really that much of a stretch for someone who spent time in foster care as a baby. Read more on my story about that here

But here’s where all this overthinking got me a positive result for once; I love to feel like I’ve got to the very bottom of an issue – the root cause – and I won’t rest until I feel like I’ve hounded every possible option to absolute exhaustion. My intuition helps me out a lot here. If I feel like I’ve hit upon the right avenue of enquiry, I’ll feel it in the middle of my chest. It’s a very visceral thing.

More rabbit holes than Watership Down

So down another rabbit hole I went, and it didn’t take me very long to find an overlap in numerous areas between some symptoms of ADHD and those of the post-traumatic stress spectrum of disorders (PTSD/C-PTSD (complexPTSD/DTD (developmental trauma disorder).

Two very well known and highly respected figures in the area of childhood trauma research are Bessel van der Kolk and Gabor Maté. They take slightly different stances, but share a deep belief that childhood trauma (and, boy, did I have a bucket load of that!) plays a profound role in the development of both ADHD and PTSD.

Author of The Body Keeps the Score, Bessel van der Kolk’s main ideas are that trauma changes the structure of the brain, and this is especially true of childhood experiences. Areas of the brain that regulate emotion, attention, and self-control are impacted. He maintains that ADHD-like symptoms may sometimes actually be a manifestation of hypervigilance or dissociation caused by trauma. In other words, a child constantly scanning for danger might appear distracted, restless, or impulsive. Bessel van der Kolk also believes that our bodies ‘remember’ even if our minds do not. The result is a body that continues to react as though the threat is still there.

Author of Scattered Minds ,Gabor Maté surmises that ADHD is an adaptive response to stress. He argues that ADHD is not primarily a genetic disorder but a developmental coping mechanism. When a child grows up in an environment of stress, emotional disconnection, or lack of attunement, their nervous system adapts by tuning out — a form of psychological self-protection that later gets labelled as ADHD. He emphasises relational trauma — the subtle, chronic absence of emotional safety or connection — as equally impactful as overt abuse or neglect.

It seems that PTSD and ADHD symptoms can overlap as both involve dysregulation of the stress response system and impaired emotional self-regulation. While Van der Kolk sees PTSD as the body’s unprocessed survival response that must be physically released and integrated, Maté sees PTSD as the mind and body’s adaptive disconnection from unbearable pain.

Still with me?

Ok. So armed with all this new information, and still not entirely convinced of my ADHD-ness, I then stumbled upon a YouTube video by Anna Runkle, aka The Crappy Childhood Fairy. Her work bridges neuroscience, psychology, and real-world lived experience rather than academic theory of Van der Kolk and Maté.

Runkle believes that childhood trauma — especially chronic neglect, rejection, or unpredictable parenting — disrupts the nervous system’s ability to regulate stress.
This dysregulation shows up as:

• Emotional volatility (anger, anxiety, or numbness)
• Overreaction to small triggers
• Difficulty focusing or following through
• Shame, self-sabotage, or “collapse” after stress

Errrr… tick, tick, tick and…. tick!

Like van der Kolk and Maté, Runkle teaches that trauma changes how the brain and body function. She explains that many people with complex PTSD (CPTSD) have learned automatic survival responses — fight, flight, freeze, or fawn — which once protected them but now keep them stuck.

Her key point is:

“You’re not broken — your nervous system is dysregulated. And it can be healed.”

Great news! I’m not broken after all. Yay!

Anna has a book as well, called Re-Regulated: Set Your Life Free from Childhood PTSD and the Trauma-Driven Behaviors That Keep You Stuck. Her focus is onadult symptoms of Childhood PTSD — especially the lingering effects of abuse, neglect, or emotional instability in childhood. She argues that for many trauma survivors, standard treatments (talking therapy, or medication alone) often don’t reach the root problem.

I’ve tried both, and I would agree. Therapy felt like going round in circles, picking at old wounds and constantly re-opening them for yet more infection. Medication (SSRIs) just numbed me out so I didn’t care that I had issues, because I felt so spaced out and disconnected from them.

Here was someone with a different approach; one that seemed to align with my preferences of 1) not to have to keep constantly talking about the trauma (aka therapy) 2) writing about it instead. Absolutely perfect, of course, for a writer!

Being the action-orientated person I am, I’ve jumped in with both feet, absorbing her book in one day, and getting on with implementing the advice right away.

So what is her advice? You’ll need to read the book to find out (and no, I’m not affiliated). But in short, I’m writing down my fears and resentments every day, twice a day, so that I can release them from my overburdened and noisy brain, and maybe actually get some clear focus to move my life forwards. This writing exercise is always followed closely by 20 minutes’ meditation. I’ll admit, as soon as I saw the word I thought, no way! I can’t sit with my own brain for that long. What if I can’t control the thoughts coming in and out. Silence just makes rumination worse for me.

I needn’t have worried, because the intention is actually just to sit in comfort. Not even laying down. Just still and quiet. If I feel my brain getting busy, I repeat “I’m OK” to myself. No need to worry about controlling anything, or focusing on breath.

I like it! And I feel kind of cleansed and peaceful when I’m done. I’ve even managed to carry on sitting in the stillness when the dog was losing her mind barking at passers-by. If you’ve ever heard my dog and her high-pitched, ear-shattering bark, you’ll understand this is no mean feat.

It’s very early days, but after only 2 days sticking to the letter of the instructions, I already feel like space in my noggin is being carved out of the black hole of my constantly churning thoughts. And I feel lighter and calmer too. Imagine what a week could achieve? Or even the rest of my life… but let’s not jump ahead. This is an experiment in more ways than one. I’d love to see if I can stick to something for more than five minutes (I have evidence that I can; my marathon running and published fiction novel – hah!)

But most of all, I love Anna’s analogy of our cluttered, traumatised brains being like leaves on a car windscreen – you can’t drive if you can’t see where you’re going.

Next week I’ll update on my progress, so do come back for more of my amateur self-healing insights, and I wish you well if you are experiencing any of the things I’ve described here.

Love,

Sara

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