Secrecy and Stability: The Super Enablers at My Father’s Memorial

At my father’s memorial in 2019, the family dynamics were easy to see. Most people did not want to talk to me. They showed it through distance, short answers, or simply not engaging. My sister’s behavior was openly hostile. Her daughter was manipulative.

Three other people approached me in a completely different way. Two of them were my cousins’ wives. The third was a cousin’s daughter, my second cousin. They were upbeat, friendly, and attentive. They went out of their way to engage me in conversation when most of the room was avoiding me. At the time, it felt strange. Something about the interaction did not match the larger social atmosphere in the room. Later, the pattern became clearer.

In families that carry a legacy of abuse, some people play the role of enablers. They minimize, ignore, or redirect attention away from the abuse. A smaller group operates more actively. I call them super enablers. In systems language, they function as secondary enablers or system-maintaining allies. They engage directly with the person who has spoken about the abuse. They are often the ones who approach the survivor first. Their behavior appears supportive on the surface, but it serves a stabilizing function for the family system.

The pattern works through relational management. When someone in a family signals the reality of abuse, the social field becomes unstable. People feel threatened because disclosure of the open family secret can expose long-standing dynamics and redistribute responsibility. Some family members withdraw. Others move toward the person who has spoken. The super enablers create friendly interaction that keeps the survivor occupied. Conversation becomes light, chatty, and pleasant. The interaction regulates the moment. It reduces the likelihood that the survivor will confront abusers or speak directly about the abuse in that setting.

This is not always deliberate. People regulate themselves and each other through social behavior. When maintaining family cohesion depends on silence about abuse, certain roles develop. The super enablers become the ones who manage proximity to the survivor. Their friendliness stabilizes the environment and protects the larger structure of relationships. The system remains intact because the underlying issue never reaches open discussion.

The difference becomes visible when someone interacts without that system-protective role. At the memorial, the only person who spoke with me in a direct and grounded way was another second cousin, who had talked with me about the family dynamics over time. That interaction did not revolve around smoothing over the atmosphere. It allowed the reality of the situation to be acknowledged.

Many people who speak about family abuse recognize this pattern immediately. Some relatives avoid them completely. Others approach with intense friendliness that does not include acknowledgment of what has been said. The friendliness functions as social management. It keeps conversation in safe territory and maintains the existing hierarchy and loyalties.

Spotting super enablers requires watching patterns across situations. Notice who approaches quickly when others withdraw. Notice who keeps interaction upbeat while steering away from the subject that destabilizes the family. Notice who maintains close engagement with the survivor while continuing to protect the people responsible for harm. Those patterns reveal how the family system organizes itself around secrecy and stability.

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Cues of Safety: Why Connection is Non-Negotiable in Healthcare

Cues of safety are signals we give each other that tell our nervous systems we are safe with one another. When we feel pro-social and safe enough to be authentic and truly connect, we naturally give off these cues, which include how we smile, our tone of voice, how fast we talk, what we discuss, and where we focus our attention.

We generally know these things intuitively. For most people with a typical brain and a normal family experience, we learn these cues through lived experience starting in childhood. These signals are vital information coming into our body about what another person’s intention is and whether they are safe for us.

The Essential Role of Connection

Safety is not only the absence of threat, but the presence of connection. This presence is critical because the lack of connection is what makes space for othering, discounting, and contempt and cruelty. We simply do not have the capacity to be cruel or contemptuous toward someone to whom we feel connected. When we receive these signs of safety, we can be pretty sure it is safe to relax, be authentic, express our emotions, be vulnerable, and have meaningful and deep conversations.

Empathy in the Context of Chronic Conditions

I have been examining this concept closely through the lens of being a patient with chronic conditions. For me, understanding that empathy is not optional—it is something I must have—has been vital. My nervous system has been begging for this. The core issue often comes down to this: not enough empathy, and too much cruelty and contempt.

Because of this, finding providers who can genuinely offer empathy is especially important to me.

The Healing Connection

I will never forget the day I met one of my pain specialists. When he entered the room, it was like the sunshine came in; there were so many cues of safety. I immediately felt comfortable and that I could trust him, and I still do, over three years later. He is wonderful; he pays such attention to what is going on with me and responds to it out of goodness.

The Detached Provider

In stark contrast, his boss, who owns the practice, does not offer cues of safety, but danger. When I saw him for a consult about a potential procedure, things went so badly that I decided I could never even let him touch a hangnail. He expressed only a highly fake cognitive empathy. That attempt seemed to be a strain for him, as his body moved into a strange, jerking contortion. He even tried to rip me off by upping the price of the procedure by 50% after he had already given the line item costs. He saw me as an object—a billing code, something to go in his pocket—which is very different from the doctor I work with and care about.

Subsequently, I saw a new provider, a functional neurologist at a “Brain Center.” He supposedly understands how the brain works and what we need for healing from PTSD. Unfortunately, there were no cues of safety from him or his staff. Everything was cold and clinical, focused on the protocol. Nobody even said my name once during the entire visit, which lasted about an hour. That experience convinced me not to go back. Even if I found the treatments themselves helpful, being in that kind of environment would not be adverse to my healing.

I am grateful that I understand this: connection is a must, especially with your healthcare provider. If they cannot provide that—if they cannot function well enough themselves to safely connect—I do not need them to be in my life, and they certainly cannot help to move my health forward, only cause more harm.

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Outsourcing to Angels: Faith as Deferral Instead of Action

Recently,  I met someone who told me that the political turmoil of today is okay according to the angels. They say it’s just cleaning out the bad stuff. She also said that angels don’t work on our timeline, so we can’t predict what will happen. We should trust the angels. I found this fascinating from a Relational Neuroscience perspective, of course.

It was easy to recognize this was her way of making uncertainty feel tolerable by placing control and meaning outside of human systems. It removes the need to recognize cause and effect in real time. That can feel stabilizing in the moment because it replaces unpredictability with a fixed narrative.

But it also bypasses observable reality. Political turmoil has direct, material effects on people’s safety, access to resources, and exposure to harm. When those are framed as part of a distant or unknowable plan, it interrupts the process of accurately registering what is happening. That means it’s impossible to respond appropriately or effectively.

From a nervous system standpoint, regulation depends on pattern recognition that is grounded in what can be seen, tracked, and acted on. Predictability comes from being able to say: this is happening, this is who is affected, this is what increases or reduces risk. If that layer is replaced with “trust the angels” and “we can’t know the timeline,” then there is no stable feedback loop. There is no way to orient, prepare, or adjust behavior based on conditions.

The angel idea also shifts responsibility. If harm is reframed as “cleaning out the bad,” then the focus moves away from the people and systems producing that harm. That weakens collective response. It reduces pressure on institutions and actors who make decisions that affect others.

We can see the difference in how each viewpoint organizes behavior. One approach leads to observation, documentation, boundary setting, and coordinated action with others who see the same patterns. The other leads to waiting, deferring, and tolerating conditions without intervening.

I choose to stay anchored in what is observable and what changes outcomes. That keeps my orientation tied to reality rather than to a system that asks me to suspend it. This focus gives me options for choices that support human well-being instead of blinding me to them and leading me into complacency or helplessness.

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Medical Metrics: Numbers that Mask Suffering and Protect Power

When the Social Security Disability judge made the final decision about my case, she noted that “there is nothing in the record that shows all that trauma affects your ability to work.” She insisted that I could work full-time in a hotel linen room and, therefore, denied my claim. I was near death, in bed 20 hours a day, barely able to drink water, eat some soup, and walk to the end of the driveway. Of course, I felt slammed, but she was right about the record. None of my “healthcare” practitioners had documented my trauma or its effects on my ability to function. 

Doctors keep tabs on the same tired list: height, weight, blood pressure, heart rate, and a periodic standard lab panel. These numbers are supposed to tell the story of my health, but they don’t. They overlook the daily reality of chronic pain, exhaustion, and the neurobiological toll of trauma. They fail to describe the challenges I face, the ones that shape my life every hour of every day.

When medicine relies only on these surface-level measurements, it doesn’t just fail me. It actively enables the pathocracy. Those “normal” metrics give institutions, employers, insurers, and even government agencies the excuse to overlook chronic conditions and claim people should be working, producing, and conforming. On paper, we look “fine.” In lived reality, we’re fighting to survive.

This isn’t an accident. A system built to serve profit and power is not interested in measuring the real indicators of suffering, because the cause points right back at it. Chronic illness, recurrent pain, and what’s called mental illness are the direct fallout of a world designed around exploitation, disconnection, and relentless stress. If it refuses to recognize the cause–the pathocracy itself–then we’re left trapped in its game, arguing over lab numbers that are not meant to capture our humanity. Our suffering is a feature, not a flaw, of the profit-driven machine it protects.

From a Relational Neuroscience perspective, real health isn’t measured by cholesterol counts or weight charts. It’s defined by regulation, safety, connection, and the nervous system’s ability to return to balance after stress. Without that, all the “normal” numbers in the world mean nothing. 

The pathocracy thrives on erasing invisible suffering and ignoring the conditions that create it. The only way forward is to stop playing by its rules. We must insist on new measures of health that recognize the lived body, nervous system, and the root causes of harm. Until then, every time a doctor tells me my labs look “good,” I hear the system speaking through them with, “Your suffering is a political inconvenience, and we have weaponized ‘objective data’ to ensure it doesn’t count.”

And that’s exactly why we have to keep telling the truth about it.

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Creating Safety in a Culture That Profits from Harm

For the eight years since my connections were severed by psychiatric and medical abuse, I have been building conditions that allow my nervous system to recover.

What it has needed is attunement, compassionate witnessing, empathy, validation of my lived experience, and people willing to help in a consistent way.

It also requires an understanding that there is not much I can give back in a relationship right now. My system has been so devastated that capacity is limited. That is not a personal failure, but resource allocation under prolonged strain.

It is excruciating to be in this state and to know what is needed and not be able to obtain it. It should not be this hard. But our culture, psychiatry, and medicine make it this challenging even for people who are well-resourced. For those who have been harmed repeatedly by caregivers, every step requires more effort.

So the work becomes building an environment that is safe enough. Reducing unnecessary demand where possible. Increasing access to attuned relationships. Doing it incrementally because that is what the system can take in after being overloaded for so long.

Understanding what is happening at the neurobiological level brings relief. It locates the pattern in the conditions rather than in personal failure. Applying these principles begins to shift things slowly over time as capacity builds and the system has more flexibility.

There is no quick fix. We need supportive environments. It is brutal work to do this in a culture so opposed. However, the more we do it, the more we share how we are doing it, and the more we talk about it, the easier it becomes individually and collectively.

This is what the Trauma Aware America community is for: actively supporting the core biological needs that the culture and mental health industry systematically ignore or exploit. Connection, attunement, consistent care, and validation are the foundations of rebuilding capacity. The space is a starting point for reclaiming safety, reducing unnecessary demands, and practicing care outside the systems designed to keep us strained and constrained. By sharing strategies, resources, empathy, and lived experience, we make it possible to recover collectively, even in a society that profits from our suffering.

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Science Over Slogans: What Daniel Amen Gets Wrong About Anxiety

In a video clip, Daniel G. Amen, M.D., shares what he calls “One of my favorite strategies to combat anxiousness” and refers to “killing” what he calls “ANTS,” his acronym for “Automatic Negative Thoughts that steal your happiness.”

Amen advises the listener that, “Whenever you feel anxious, sad, or mad, write down what you’re thinking to get it out of your head.” Seemingly borrowing from Byron Katie, he says you should “Then ask yourself: is it true, is it absolutely true, how do I feel when I think that thought, how would I feel without it, and finally, turn the thought into its opposite. Remember: you are not defined by every thought that crosses your mind.”

This approach treats thoughts as the primary problem and puts the burden on the individual to override them. That’s unhelpful, and it’s not even science.

From a Relational Neuroscience view, anxious activation is not driven by thoughts alone. It reflects a whole-body state shaped by prior experience, current conditions, and the level of safety available in the moment.

When the body is organized around threat, thoughts follow that state. They are not random intrusions that can be flipped into their opposite without consequence. Asking someone in that condition to challenge or replace thoughts can increase internal conflict. One part of the system is trying to signal danger while another part is being instructed to dismiss it. That mismatch can intensify activation rather than settle it.

Writing things down can help if it brings structure and slows things enough for awareness. But the effect depends on whether the person has enough stability to stay present while doing it. If not, it can pull attention deeper into the threat pattern.

Sustained change usually comes from shifting the conditions that organize the distressed state. That includes predictable environments, people who respond in a consistent and non-intrusive way, and enough room in the body to notice sensations without being pushed past tolerance. When those conditions are present, thoughts tend to become less rigid on their own. There is less need to force them into something else.

Framing thoughts as something to “kill” sets up an adversarial stance inside the system. Integration depends on reducing that internal opposition and allowing signals to be processed and updated in context. The focus shifts from correcting thoughts to building conditions where the body no longer has to generate them in the same way.

Science matters.

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The IPNB of Masking: How the Nervous System Prioritizes Belonging Over Authenticity

Masking behavior, or social camouflaging,, is the conscious or subconscious suppression of one’s natural personality, emotions, or neurodivergent traits to conform to social norms, fit in, or avoid judgment. It is commonly used by autistic individuals, those with ADHD, or people with mental health challenges to blend into neurotypical environments. While used as a coping mechanism for safety or acceptance, it often results in extreme emotional exhaustion, burnout, and a loss of personal identity.

Masking is an often subconscious protective survival tool, not a deception. It develops in relationships where it feels dangerous to be your authentic self.

It begins in childhood. A child quickly learns which of their natural expressions, needs, or feelings will earn connection and which will lead to rejection, like punishment, ridicule, or neglect.

Your body prioritizes belonging. Masking is your nervous system organizing itself to maintain closeness, even under threat, because being connected is a biological need. The cost is an internal split: how you act on the outside is different from what you experience on the inside.

The constant monitoring is exhausting. Always watching your tone, facial expression, reactions, and posture (constant self-surveillance) increases stress and consumes energy. This energy is spent detecting threats rather than forming mutual connections.

It is often praised in rigid settings. Compliance, emotional suppression, and performance are frequently rewarded in workplaces or unequal power structures, and are often mistaken for maturity or professionalism.

Unmasking requires real safety. Telling someone to “just be yourself” ignores the past experiences that made being authentic dangerous. Unmasking is only possible through repeated experiences of being accepted without cruelty, contempt, or being minimized.

When the mask is no longer necessary, energy is freed up. The effort you spent performing becomes available for creativity, rest, and intimacy. Anxiety and depression symptoms often lessen when you no longer have to constantly manage how others see you.

The goal is not to shame the mask, which kept you alive. The task is to build conditions in your life where you don’t need it anymore.

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Why I Don’t Go to Hospitals Anymore

I’m done with hospitals. I value care, but these environments reliably cause harm. I know this from numerous experiences that involve virtually every department.

Hospitals are built around speed, liability management, billing codes, and rigid hierarchies. Human regulation is not the priority. From a Relational Neuroscience lens, that matters. People working under constant pressure, surveillance, and fear lose access to listening and care. Defense becomes the default. Control replaces connection. Criminal behavior goes uncorrected.

Patients arrive stressed, in pain, or frightened. They are met by staff whose stress load is already high. The interaction predictably turns sharp with irritation, dismissal, and even provocation. Patients are treated as disruptions rather than people needing help. That interaction alone can push a struggling body further into distress.

The presence of hospital para-police is not incidental. Hospitals employ them because these environments routinely escalate people. When care spaces rely on enforcement to manage distress, it says everything about the conditions inside. Instead of reducing stress and supporting regulation, the system prepares for conflict and containment. That signals threat to everyone who enters, patients and staff alike.

The problem is not just a few rude clinicians, but a structure that exploits everyone. Practitioners are worked past their limits, stripped of autonomy, and punished for slowing down. Patients absorb the fallout. Signs warning against assault don’t appear in healthy environments. They appear where chronic dysregulation is built in.

I won’t put my body in places that reliably increase stress, erode trust, and worsen symptoms. Healing requires environments that support regulation, safety, and relational presence. Hospitals do the opposite.

Refusing to go into a hospital is self-protection in a “healthcare” system that refuses to protect anyone.

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The DSM Update: New Bells and Whistles on the Same Old Bunk

The American Psychiatric Association’s plan to revise its holy book, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM), shoves a bunch of cosmetic and structural bells and whistles onto the same old diagnostic framework. They’re going to reorganize criteria into domains, talk about biomarkers, add social and cultural factors, and make it a “living document” with ongoing updates. They even want to change the name to the “Diagnostic and Scientific Manual” to signal a more “holistic” approach.

That sounds like progress only if you believe the problem with the DSM has been a lack of prettier labels, more checkboxes, and the illusion of scientific precision.

Here’s why these revisions won’t fix what’s broken:

  • The DSM still fundamentally treats human nervous systems and distress responses as discrete pathologies to be boxed and labeled, rather than as patterns of survival adaptation in response to relational and environmental contexts. Giving clinicians “four domains” to check off doesn’t change that underlying logic. 
  • Adding biomarkers as a “domain” is mostly window dressing because there simply aren’t validated biomarkers that map reliably and specifically onto these categories. Science still hasn’t produced markers that tell us what a distressing state means for a person, and nearly everyone in rigorous research knows the evidence base for biomarkers is weak or speculative. 
  • Tacking on social determinants and cultural factors without changing the core structure still leaves diagnosis rooted in pathology. Doctors will still be trained to find a disorder rather than understand a person’s survival adaptations in context. The very thing critics object to – medicalization of human reactions to stress, loss, oppression, and trauma – is still embedded. 

The field has known for decades that the DSM’s categories overlap, lack validity, and risk diagnosing normal responses as illness. There are persistent calls from psychologists and other clinicians to stop relying on this symptom‑checklist model and adopt systems that account for context, function, and meaning, rather than just counting symptoms.

So what needs to happen instead of more tweaks?

  • Stop treating diagnosis like a medical inventory and start seeing distress through the lens of nervous system regulation and survival adaptation. A person’s distress is not a thing wrong with them to be slotted into a category. It is a signal of relational and systemic overwhelm.
  • Build frameworks that center on interpersonal and environmental context, not symptom clusters. Human systems falter under chronic threat and isolation. A valid diagnostic approach would acknowledge that human suffering is often a function of overloaded relational systems, not a biological defect.
  • Replace pathology categories with dimensional descriptions of experience, function, and adaptation over time. Instead of shoving people into fixed disorders, we’d see their reactions as understandable responses that change with safety and support.
  • Shift clinical training away from counting symptoms toward understanding nervous system states, relational histories, and social context.

The DSM’s glossy revisions may calm some critics, give researchers something new to cite, and make the manual look more “scientific,” but they do nothing to dismantle the core problem: the assumption that human suffering can be reduced to discrete disease categories divorced from relational context, survival adaptation, and the realities of how nervous systems get overloaded in actual lives. That’s the part that needs to die first.

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Fascism in a White Coat: The Authoritarian Regime of Mental Illness

If the mental illness industry were a government, it would resemble an authoritarian regime that maintains control through coercion, manipulation, and the suppression of dissent, while claiming to act in the people’s best interest. It enforces compliance through labels and drugs rather than laws, hospitals instead of prisons, and “treatment plans” instead of policies.

It operates like a technocracy merged with a theocracy: it worships its own doctrines, with “chemical imbalance,” “disorder,” and “evidence-based treatment” held as sacred truths, immune to challenge (even after the “brain chemical imbalance” theory of depression proved to be no more than a Big Pharma marketing ploy). Questioning those doctrines is treated as heresy, and those who do are pathologized or silenced. Its experts function like a ruling elite, deciding who is sane, who is disordered, and who must submit to intervention.

The mental illness industry is also deeply corporatized, so in practice it functions more like a corporate authoritarian state. Profit drives policy, the pharmaceutical industry plays the role of oligarchy, and human suffering becomes the natural resource being extracted and commodified. The propaganda arm is the public mental health narrative, which convinces citizens that obedience equals wellness and compliance equals recovery.

And, like all authoritarian systems, it sustains itself by undermining self-trust. It tells people their perceptions are unreliable, their distress is evidence of defect, and their longing for justice is a symptom. The mental illness industry is an empire of disempowerment that only pretends to care.

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