Childhood trauma doesnât end
People think itâs something you outgrow,
like shoes that get too small,
like fears you leave under the bed.
Sits in your chest like a second heartbeat
Childhood trauma teaches you things
you were never meant to learn.
It teaches you to scan every room
before your body even enters it.
Teaches you to read danger
in the way someone breathes wrong.
It teaches you how to shrink
so other people can take up space.
It turns your nervous system
long after the flames are gone.
God, relationships become landmines.
and then cry when no one can get in.
You tell people youâre âfineâ
because thatâs the language trauma taught you:
Childhood trauma makes you grow up early,
but keeps part of you frozen
in the moment everything broke.
You become a walking contradiction:
Turns comfort into suspicion
and love into a battlefield
you never signed up to fight in.
But the thing they donât tell you
the thing they whisper only in recovery rooms
and late-night breakdowns
from parts we didnât choose.
We learn to parent the child
We learn to breathe again
even when our lungs shake.
with hands that only knew fear.
in a world that taught us
to always be ready to leave.
Childhood trauma leaves marks,
scars that ache in the rain,
memories that hit like flashbangs,
triggers you didnât build
but now have to navigate.
But it also creates people
even when everything in them
was designed to collapse.
Childhood trauma breaks you
That stubborn, relentless resilience?
the trauma never planned on