The Fundamentals of Complex Trauma in Adults: My Journey​

The Fundamental of Complex Trauma in Adults: My Personal Journey Becoming a mother changes you in profound ways. But for me, it wasn’t the glowing transformation of joy that social media likes to portray. When I gave birth to my twins, I experienced what felt like a complete unravelling of everything I thought I knew about myself.  It wasn’t just the sleepless nights or the overwhelming responsibility of caring for two new lives. Rather, I felt as if every unresolved part of my past came rushing to the surface all at once. Every hurt, every defense mechanism, and every suppressed feeling began demanding my attention.  It was terrifying, disorienting, and left me spiralling into a 14-month depression—a depression I didn’t even recognize until I began clawing my way out of it. But my breaking point also became my turning point.  Through a lot of hard, messy work, I’ve come to understand that I wasn’t broken or defective. What I was experiencing was the aftermath of complex trauma, and I now know that it’s not only possible to heal from it, but that the process of healing can lead to a richer, more authentic life.  In this post, I want to share the fundamentals of complex trauma in adults—what it is, how it manifests, and why it’s so often overlooked. And for those in the thick of it, I want to reassure you that you’re not alone and that healing is absolutely possible. Let’s go! What is Complex Trauma? It wouldn’t be a “fundamentals of complex trauma in adults” if I didn’t try to give some sort of definition of complex trauma. Complex trauma isn’t about a single, catastrophic event.  Instead, it arises from prolonged exposure to emotionally or psychologically harmful environments, often during formative years. It’s rooted in relationships, particularly those where trust and safety should exist but don’t.  Unlike the “big T” Traumas, such as one-off natural disasters or violent assaults, complex trauma is cumulative and insidious, often involving neglect, emotional invalidation, or manipulation.  Here’s how I like to think about it:  Big T events are things that happen to you when they shouldn’t. Little T traumas often involve things that don’t happen when they should—like the absence of love, respect, attention, security, reliability, or safety.  Sometimes, complex trauma can be a combination of both big T and little T trauma. (Yikes!)   Over time, these repeated absences can have the same or even greater effects as big T trauma. This is because they are subtle, hard to detect, and often invalidated or overlooked by others. For many of us, it’s easy to downplay our experiences. My childhood, for instance, seemed perfectly adequate on the surface. I was well provided for materially, and from the outside, my family appeared stable.  But beneath that veneer were years of emotional neglect and dysfunction—parents who could be invalidating, neglectful, and emotionally absent. These experiences taught me to people-please, to fear confrontation, and to internalise a sense of unworthiness. I was super confused, for years, around why I just couldn’t get my sh*t together. Characteristics & Fundamentals of Complex Trauma in Adults Educating yourself about the characteristics of complex trauma is often the first step to healing.  Understanding how these traits may have developed as responses to certain elements in your formative years can help alleviate the confusion, self-blame, and anger you might feel.  My Complex Trauma Bible is Tim Fletcher’s “60 Characteristics of Complex Trauma“, which provides a comprehensive framework for understanding how it impacts adults. He has a series on YouTube as well. It’s changed my life! Here, I’ll highlight some key ways it showed up in my life and how it might manifest for others: 1. Emotional Dysregulation For years, I felt like my emotions controlled me rather than the other way around. Either that, or I’m completely shut down – robot style.  I’d swing between anxiety, sadness, and determination in a short period. Small frustrations, like a rude comment or an unexpected change in plans, could leave me spiralling for hours or days.  This emotional volatility is the one thing that bonds all of us complex trauma people together. We just don’t know how to regulate our emotions! How could we? We were never taught (but it’s not too late).  2. People-Pleasing and Fear of Conflict Growing up, there was only room for my father’s anger and demands in the house. So, I learned that avoiding conflict was safer than asserting my needs.  As an adult, this translated into people-pleasing behaviours: Saying “yes” when I wanted to say “no.” Changing my character, accent, and entire personality depending on the person. Bending over backwards to avoid upsetting others (which sometimes involved manipulation!).    The very thought of confrontation could leave me paralysed with fear. 3. Hypervigilance Are you an Empath/ Highly Sensitive Person? Well, you might have complex trauma! Complex trauma keeps you on high alert, constantly scanning for potential threats. It’s a body’s nervous system trying to figure out fight-flight-freeze-fawn responses. So, I’d replay conversations in my head, analysing every word for hidden meanings or signs of disapproval. And eventually, I became a “highly sensitive person” or “empath“.  Not someone who would cry at the drop of the hat (this was not allowed in my childhood home). But rather someone who could infer how a person felt from a simple look or micro-expression.  People admired this about me. “Wow, you’re so perceptive!” But damn, what a price to pay for being observant.  This hyper-awareness is exhausting and makes it very difficult to relax. 4. Sense of Inferiority No matter how many external achievements I racked up—from academic successes to professional milestones—I couldn’t shake the belief that I was fundamentally “less than.”  Whether I based it on my race and ethnicity, or my gender, or my nationality – you name it, I was feeling less than. Sure, there’s a component of social hierarchies, structural racism, and actual discrimination going on.  But because I didn’t have a strong enough sense of self, I

What It Feels Like To Be Black

What It Feels Like To Be Black Have you ever wondered what it feels like to be black? Well, it can be pretty “normal” (being code for “same as white”) for quite a chunk of the time. Racism isn’t always being thrown in your face.  But here’s the difference. You go through life with a heavy emotional lode that can be triggered by ‘mundane’ events.  For me, this baggage came into sharp focus one Friday — I call it Black Friday because I’m funny — when an ‘ordinary’ day unexpectedly turned into a repeated reminder of my place in the social hierarchy.  And no, this isn’t a post about me experiencing racism in Portugal. I haven’t. (Yet?). But it’s a reflection of what it feels like to be black and to go through life with certain sensitivities. Up for a little snapshot of the lived black (African) experience (in Europe)? Read on 🙂  **Disclaimer: There is not one lived black experience common to everyone. Experiences also vary depending on individual circumstances. There are many black folk experiencing better and worth mental health outcomes related to their blackness in the world. Black Friday: Bureaucracy, Government Officials, and a 3-Year-Olds Comment Fellow Africans who have left Africa: how painful was your visa/ residency experience? For me, it’s a personal paint point.  There is not one country that I have lived in that has not given me Kafkaesque bureaucratic trauma. Heck, even travelling can be a headache sometimes. Portugal, while being the best of my terrible experiences, was still not an exception. I had to sort out some bureaucratic issues with my residence visa, which had been mailed to an old address because there was no way to contact authorities to update my address.  What does this have to do with racism?  Surprisingly – a lot! The Dehumanisation of African Immigrants Yeah, the Portuguese immigration process is backed up like city traffic. I applied for my residency in January and received it in November. But it’s like that for most people. So, why did I take it personally? Because every travel and emigration process has been fraught with hoops and proofs. Most times I wanted to go abroad and have a good time, I’ve had to prove everything about my existence. (Most) white people just need their passports. And in Portugal, when we changed address, I was the one penalised.  But, it didn’t stop there.  The woman at the post office that day was cold, dismissive, and impatient. She didn’t seem to care at all that I was trying to resolve an important matter. It was a big, unspoken “not my problem.” Now, I’m not saying this woman was deliberately racist — after all, she wasn’t overtly hostile.  But the sharpness in her tone, the lack of empathy, and the way she barely looked at me all made me feel like an outsider. Like someone whose presence in the space was an inconvenience.  I’ve experienced this sort of behaviour before — the casual indifference that isn’t quite racist to be called out. But still feels like a brush-off because of your hierarchy in society.  The Little Girl at My Daughter’s Kindergarten Later that day, I went to pick up my daughters from kindergarten.  A classmate (3 years old) pointed at me and said, “Tens uma cara preta” — “You have a black face” — in Portuguese.  “Huh?” The comment wasn’t meant to be cruel, and the girl probably didn’t even understand the gravity of what she was saying. But still, it stung. Because in a way, the child’s words felt like an innocent, unfiltered reflection of how some people see me in the world.  As I stood there, trying to gather my thoughts, I was faced with the reality that being black is something others can’t help but notice — sometimes without thinking, sometimes with full awareness.  But no matter how well-meaning or innocent the comment might have been, it had a sharpness to it that struck deep of what it means to be a black woman in a predominantly white space.   The Psychological Baggage of Blackness At this point, I couldn’t help but reflect on my complex relationship with my blackness.  Growing up in South Africa, race was always on the table — not just in direct ways, but in the invisible rules that governed how we interacted.  It was in the way certain people looked at you, how certain spaces felt like they weren’t meant for you, and how you were constantly aware of your difference, whether others acknowledged it or not. And whether you grow up in a highly racialised society like South Africa or not, black people will know exactly what I’m talking about. Growing up black Growing up in South Africa, the simplest interactions could often be loaded with tension.  Whether it was the dismissive stares, the condescending attitudes, or the invisible walls that seemed to rise up around me in certain spaces, I learned early on that being black means constantly navigating microaggressions.  These subtle moments (which are tough to stand up against without looking unreasonable) accumulate over time. And that’s the baggage we carry around as black people.  And on my particular black Friday, I felt the weight of it all. What made that day so uniquely loaded for me wasn’t the action or words of the other people. It was the cumulative effect of a lifetime of experiences — from growing up in post-apartheid South Africa to navigating racial dynamics in Portugal.  How Small Moments Become Big Triggers What might seem like a minor inconvenience — such as dealing with bureaucratic nonsense or hearing an innocent comment — can light a black person’s fuse.  Why?  Because it taps into the historical, social, and psychological context of being black.  The day’s events weren’t inherently racist. I don’t believe they were. But it alerted me to my heavy emotional baggage.  It’s the weight of history, of having to perform emotional labour in spaces where you are constantly scrutinised. Where you are gaslighted

Are Hair Extensions Harmful? New Shocking Research

Are Hair Extensions Harmful? New Shocking Research Despite growing up in South Africa, where hair extensions are almost universally worn by black girls and women, I only really tried hair extensions well into adulthood. As someone with an Ethiopian family, it just wasn’t our zeitgeist.  But once the mood to experiment with colour and length without dyeing or cutting my hair struck me, there was only really one option.  So, I became part of the growing number of Black women who have embraced synthetic hair extensions. I loved how I looked with them. They gave me a break from the time-consuming upkeep of my natural hair and allowed me to switch up my style whenever I wanted.  But one day, as I was packing our things to move homes, I noticed a silky-haired wig at the back of my closet.  And a question occurred to me: “Are hair extensions harmful?” I wondered.  And then many more: “Does the weight of the extensions damage my roots? Do they hurt my scalp? Why are they so itchy sometimes?” Here are my findings from that Google rabbit hole… Are Hair Extensions Harmful to My Hair? Have you ever experienced that dull, persistent headache after getting a fresh install? The tight pulling at your scalp as your hair is braided, often tighter than necessary to “make it last”? It’s not just discomfort—it’s your body telling you something is wrong. Traction alopecia, a condition where hair is pulled from the root, is no joke. It’s common among women who wear their hair in tight styles like braids, weaves, or even buns for extended periods of time.  When hair is pulled repeatedly, especially with the added weight of synthetic extensions, it can lead to permanent hair loss. Most black women I know opt for the tightly pulled look because it lasts long (4-6 weeks) and is a whole lot neater than a looser braid.  Personally, I have a very low threshold for discomfort. I always did my extensions myself, and redid them when they felt a bit tight. But the trade-off is that mine didn’t last nearly as long.  But there are plenty of older black women with little patches of thinning hair at their temples and a receding hairline, likely from tightly pulling hairstyles.  So, it turns out that what we’ve called “protective styles” often leads to damaging our hair. Are Hair Extensions Harmful to My Health? Whether you had a tight braid or a looser variety, extensions make it hard to sleep. But it’s worse if it’s tight. I’m sure many of you can relate—tossing and turning with a tight, uncomfortable scalp, trying to find a way to rest without pulling on your hair. Even once the pain reduces, there is still the matter of trying to sleep with this massive volume of hair on the back of your head. Whether you tie a top knot or tie it downwards, it still affects how you can sleep, both by its positioning and the weight it carries. Discomfort, lack of sleep, and the stress of maintaining extensions add up. And there wasn’t an easy solution. Not wearing extensions (and all the maintenance that comes with that) caused me as much anxiety as wearing them did. But in the world of the black woman, it’s often a case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t. New Research: The Hidden Chemicals in Synthetic Hair Extensions (!!!) But I knew all that.  This is what made my chuck our all my extensions and wigs. New research has begun to reveal how synthetic hair extensions are often treated with chemicals that may be harmful to our health.  Recent studies have found that many of these extensions contain chemicals like  phthalates (a reproductive disrupter),  volatile organic compounds (VOCs) (damages the central nervous system),  acrylonitrile (skin and respiratory issues), and  vinyl chloride (carcinogen: linked to liver cancer).    These wonderful chemicals are found in most synthetic fibers like Kanekalon. and are often absorbed through the scalp, especially when heat is applied during styling, or when the extensions are worn for long periods. Moreover, synthetic extensions release extra VOCs during heat styling, potentially aggravating respiratory conditions like asthma, especially in black communities already vulnerable to health disparities.  These findings point to an urgent need for better consumer protection and more research on the long-term effects of synthetic hair extensions. The lack of regulation allows these toxins to continue being used despite their risks.  (We’ll come back to regulation and trusting the government on health matters later). Cultural Mistrust of Research: Why We Have to Do Our Own Homework As Black women, we’ve often been the last to benefit from scientific research, and sometimes, we’ve been unwilling participants. From the ‘doctor’, now named ‘the father of gynaecology’, who purchased black slave women to experiment on to Henrietta Lacks, whose cervical cancer cells was taken without consent by Johns Hopkins, there’s a long history of Black people, particularly Black women, being mistreated or entirely ignored by the research community. This historical exploitation leads many of us to mistrust medical professionals and researchers—and honestly, with good reason. When was the last time you saw a major beauty brand release information specifically about the long-term health effects of the products we use daily, especially those marketed to Black women? We’re left to do our own research, trying to decipher ingredient lists that are confusing at best and intentionally misleading at worst. It’s an added burden that falls disproportionately on us.  We’re responsible for keeping ourselves informed, asking the hard questions about what we’re putting on our heads—and by extension, what’s seeping into our bodies. That’s why I decided to stop using synthetic hair extensions altogether.  It was a hard choice.  Like many of you, I love the versatility, the ease, and the beauty of the styles I could achieve with extensions. But once I knew the risks, I couldn’t justify continuing.  For me, the potential damage to my health—and the health of my loved ones—just wasn’t worth it. The Pressure to Have “Good

A Safe Space for Black Women | Chai & Sunshine

When starting Chai & Sunshine, I looked up many successful blogs for inspiration. Cup of Jo and The Blonde Abroad were of particular interest for the aesthetic and the engagement.  But I subconsciously imbibed something else from my blogging research.  That to be successful, I should keep things light.  To be successful, I should keep things white. My blog should be about design and style, with curated images and clever, non-threatening humour.  But as I work through my own unlearning – including internalised racism and misogyny – I realise that what I want to talk about and create is not just another “white woman blog”.  I do not want to be a minor character in my own creation.  What I want to create is a safe space for authenticity, starting with myself. I want to create a safe space for black women, which means a safe space for all women, which means a safe space for everyone. I want to create space for us to exist as our whole selves. And I want to do this intentionally. Not when it’s convenient. Not as a “nice to have”.  So, I’m going to be redoing the categories on this blog to better reflect me my actual values.  And it will be unapologetic. Say it unapologetically What I feel x My values = Say it unapologetically I came across this equation today and fell in love.  As part of the childhood trauma club, it’s been a long journey to figuring out how I actually feel about things. Historically, I have only concerned myself with how others feel and how I was supposed to feel in reaction to that to avoid conflict.  When I started on the journey of authenticity, it would take me a couple of weeks before I could identify what that twinge in my tummy meant. I’ve gotten that down to a few minutes now.  Not knowing what I truly felt about things meant that I also didn’t know what my values were. I certainly could not tell you whether I valued myself. But there were clear indications that I did not value myself very highly.  Understanding how I truly feel about things, and working through questions around my intrinsic value as a human being have helped me grow immensely in confidence.  A year ago, I would have not had the confidence to unapologetically say:  I am created a safe space for black women on my blog.  And I don’t care about being everything to everybody anymore.  Don’t try to be everything to everybody Are you a people-pleaser?  Well, name 3 people who are pleased with you.  As a veteran people-pleaser, I have a duty to inform the active-duty people-pleasers that it is a senseless quest you embark on. My blog so far has been trying to cater to the feelings of everyone. Mainly women.  But not saying anything about my experience as a black, African, woman, that may make anyone else feel excluded or uncomfortable.  But in censoring such integral parts of myself, I wasn’t being authentic.  And we aren’t about that anymore.  So, while everyone is and always will be welcome, I will also be specifically expressing my experiences as a black woman.  Final Thoughts My journey through to finally allowing myself to take up space is sweet and beautiful.  It’s like I can finally see myself – the core of personality beneath all the trauma responses I had adopted to survive.  Join me on this ride into realness, y’all. 

Self-Hatred and Shame: Damaging Effects of Internalised Racism

What does it mean to be black in a country birthed from a hateful combination of racial segregation and violence?  How does one reconcile the pride of one’s heritage with the deep-seated wounds inflicted by a society openly built on racial hierarchy? And what does one do with the mountains of self-hatred and shame in one’s heart, when they are a constant, suffocating presence? Look away now, if you must.  This post will be deeply personal.    Understanding Internalised Racism When discussing racism in nations with a complex history of racial oppression, such as the US, the UK, South Africa, or Australia, the focus tends to be on societal-level issues.  Productive conversations often revolve around policy-based solutions, like, “What policies can address inequality in [specific area]?” or debates on affirmative action.  But, when these discussions become contentious, some of the same questions arise over and over again.  Questions about why individuals cannot simply “move on” from the past.  Internalised Racism: A Definition Internalised racism is a silent epidemic, a psychological virus that thrives in the shadows of systemic oppression.  As a black person born and raised in post-apartheid South Africa, I have borne witness to its insidious effects not only on myself but on countless others. But internalised racism just like externalised racism can mean different things to different people.  But broadly speaking, this is what I mean by internalised racism: Internalised racism is the unconscious acceptance of negative stereotypes about one’s own racial group.  It is a form of mental colonisation that can lead to a variety of negative thoughts, feelings, and (self-sabotaging) behaviours.  When we internalise racism, we begin to believe the negative messages society sends us about our race.  This can lead to feelings of inferiority, self-hatred, and shame.  How Self-Hatred and Shame Manifests, with Examples Low self-esteem: We may constantly compare ourselves to others from different racial backgrounds and feel like we will never measure up.  Examples: Often/ always finding a way to insert your credentials or experiences that make you sound “more white”. This could include education credentials, business success, or travel experiences. Being racist with white people against your own race or other people of colour. Self-doubt: We may question our abilities and accomplishments, believing that our success is due to luck rather than our own talent or hard work.  Examples: Believing that you are lazy, ill-disciplined, or other negative “black” labels when things go wrong. Trouble believing you’re capable of success (career, business, family, etc.) because of your race, or feeling hypervigilant in the face of setbacks or failure. Difficulty forming healthy relationships: We may struggle to trust others or feel like we don’t deserve love and acceptance.  Examples: Self-sabotaging behaviours in relationships. Deep jealousy or fear, particularly when men/ women of another race are concerned. Feeling the need to be overly doting/ subservient to a white partner.  Preference for whiteness: We may unconsciously favour white people and white culture over our own. Here’s a test to measure your implicit bias.  Examples: Only dating white people. Skin bleaching. Chemical hair straightening. Being racist with white people against your own race or other people of colour. My Results of the Implicit Bias Test “What are you?” – My experience of otherness in South Africa Growing up the wrong kind of black in post-apartheid South Africa was a complex and often painful experience.  As a foreign African, I felt a profound sense of alienation from both the white and black communities. Often, the latter was worse. (It’s important to acknowledge that the Black community often carries deep-seated trauma from the era of apartheid, which can manifest as aggression, internalised and outward racism.) Arriving in South Africa at the age of 3, I was plunged into a world hyper-conscious of race. (For context, Ethiopia, my country of origin, was never colonised. Race was not a big deal there). When we arrived, my initial experience at a predominantly white kindergarten was so traumatic that my mother considered returning to Ethiopia.  While I eventually found a more inclusive environment, the undercurrent of racism was pervasive throughout my 19 years living there.  A very common question I still face whenever I go is, “What are you?”  This constant categorisation reinforced my sense of otherness. Within the black community, I encountered another form of discrimination: tribalism.  The emphasis on ethnic affiliation often excluded those, like myself, who didn’t fit neatly into a particular group.  This, coupled with the pervasive colourism (“yellow bones” were the Mercedes Benz’ of the black community) contributed to feelings of inadequacy.  The legacy of apartheid continues to cast a long shadow over South Africa.  As a nation, it struggles to reconcile its past with its present. (Understandable, the country was only born in 1994). Even today, racial tensions remain palpable.  It was only upon leaving the country and finding refuge in a more racially harmonious society like Portugal that I realised the extent to which I had been impacted by South Africa’s racialised environment. Breaking free: How to heal the self-hatred and shame from internalised racism Overcoming internalized racism is a complex and ongoing journey. I’m still navigating this path myself, and I understand the challenges firsthand. But the first step is always the most important: acknowledging its presence within oneself.  This recognition can be deeply dysregulating, but it’s essential for progress.  And if that’s too hard, you can also try recognising the signs of internalised racism, self-hatred and shame in others, whether it’s in politicians, celebrities, or in everyday interactions. (You don’t necessarily have to confront anyone with your theories, but building that radar can help your case). By questioning the behaviours and attitudes of others, we can begin to question our own.  Other strategies for healing Building a Supportive Community: Surround yourself with people who uplift and validate your experiences. Connecting with others who share similar backgrounds can provide a sense of belonging and shared understanding. You’d be surprised how many of us suffer with this in silence. Engaging in Self-Care: Prioritize activities that promote well-being,