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Childhood trauma doesn’t disappear; research shows it leaves lasting neurological and psychological imprints.

Healing isn't erasure—it's integration.

Acknowledging the past can be an act of self-compassion, not an excuse.

I was at a dinner party recently, doing what I do in social situations—making people laugh while quietly wondering if I’d said something strange 20 minutes earlier. If so, everyone else had likely already forgotten it. Not me. In the middle of that spiral, a thought landed: Gregg, you’re doing just fine. You weren’t raised in a way that makes social situations easy.

That's not an excuse or complaint. It's a fact. I grew up in a home where abuse was the norm and abandonment wasn’t a fear—it was something that actually happened. Even truth wasn’t stable. As I wrote in Weightless, food became my refuge—the one thing that didn't leave, didn't hit, didn't lie, didn't disappear. I eventually weighed over 450 pounds. I've done the work, built a life I genuinely love, and found my footing. But the past isn't gone—and I've made peace with the idea that it probably never will be.

The Myth of "Getting Over It"

We're drawn to clean healing narratives—the before-and-after, the triumphant conclusion, the sense that pain can be neatly resolved. But trauma research has been quietly challenging that idea for years.

It shows up in small, everyday ways. The conversation you replay long after it’s over, convinced you said the wrong thing. The hesitation before introducing yourself. The instinct to hold back, to stay quiet, to not take up too much space.

These moments are easy to label as personal shortcomings, but they’re often learned responses—patterns shaped long before we had the awareness or tools to question them. We can work to grow past them, but growth doesn’t require denying where they came from.

Psychotherapist Kaytee Gillis, LCSW, writes that trauma does not simply disappear with time or effort: The mind and body retain the imprint, and the purpose of healing is not to make it as if the events never happened, but to learn how to manage the feelings that arise in their aftermath. It's a reframe that, frankly, I find more honest—and more achievable—than the idea of a clean resolution.

Psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk, in The Body Keeps the Score, demonstrated that trauma can reshape the brain—particularly in areas responsible for memory, emotional regulation, and threat response. These patterns are not character flaws; they are adaptations. And they don't simply switch off because we've done therapy or reached a certain milestone.

Research published in Frontiers in Psychiatry further supports this, finding that childhood trauma can lead to long-term neurological and psychosocial changes that continue to influence relationships, self-concept, and daily functioning well into adulthood. The imprint remains, even as we grow around it.

So here’s where I’ve landed: I don’t carry my past as an open wound, and I’m not interested in being defined by it or using it as a free pass for questionable behavior. At the same time, I don’t pretend my past isn’t there—tucked into an overhead bin, ready to tumble out at the worst possible moment.

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I acknowledge it. Quietly, in the moments that call for it.

When I catch myself overthinking a perfectly normal interaction, I can recognize what’s underneath it and offer myself a little context instead of criticism. When I feel that sudden certainty that something good is about to be taken away, I can see it for what it is—a learned expectation, not a present reality.

That’s where a small shift can help: Pause and name what’s happening instead of immediately judging it. This is anxiety. This is a learned response. That bit of distance can interrupt the reflex to criticize yourself and replace it with something more useful—context. From there, you can ask a better question: not What’s wrong with me? but What might this be connected to?

This isn’t justification. It’s awareness. And that distinction matters.

Carrying It vs. Being Buried by It

The past is part of me, but it isn't all of me. It sits alongside everything else that makes up a life—humor, resilience, work ethic, and even the simple pleasure of a good meal. Those earlier experiences don't disappear, but they don't have to define the outcome.

Many people carry something similar—childhood trauma, loss, or relationships that altered how they move through the world. If that's you, it may be worth considering a different measure of healing. The fact that you still feel the impact of what happened doesn't mean you've failed. It may simply mean you're human—and that you adapted in order to survive.

That's not a wound. It's a track record.

Gillis, K. (2024). Do We Ever Fully Heal From Trauma? Psychology Today.

van der Kolk, B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking.

Cruz, D., Lichten, M., Berg, K., & George, P. (2022). Developmental trauma: Conceptual framework, associated risks and comorbidities, and evaluation and treatment. Frontiers in Psychiatry, 13, 800687.

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