Reclaiming joy in PTSD recovery

There are many things that survivors of childhood abuse and neglect excel at. Navigating chaos, staying calm in a crisis, and surviving what can only be described as a living nightmare. That’s because when a child grows up in an unsafe environment, they have to grow up fast. The developing brain does not have the luxury of time. It adapts at lightning speed just to make it through, to become anything resembling a functioning human being, or simply to stay alive. Some children see and hear things that other children never have to. They learn far too early that the world can be cruel, evil, and unforgiving. That it can be empty, scary, lonely, and frightening.

And so, to survive, they abandon what would otherwise be the normal developmental stage of being a child and move straight into something closer to adulthood. More often than not, they have not been taught how to do this by a safe, responsible adult.

Instead, they grow their own internal adult.

This internalised parent is often cold, callous, and highly critical. But it is an adult voice nonetheless. In many ways, it is “adulting” more than the actual adults in that child’s life ever did. It may scold, berate, or enforce a tightly controlled existence built on perfectionism and the avoidance of mistakes.

If we imagine this internalised parental figure, it is one that cracks a whip when the child shows vulnerability. When the child is upset, worried, or struggling, it startles them into silence. It says things like “deal with it yourself” or “get over it.”

As harsh as it is, this voice is an essential survival mechanism for a child who does not have a safe attachment figure to turn to in times of need.

The brain can do extraordinary things in order to survive.

As life goes on, and as that child grows into adulthood and begins to build a life of their own, there may be an attempt to heal from the past. Yet this internalised parent often remains firmly in place, operating as though it is still needed.

It continues to run on a relentless, 24/7 shift pattern.

It scolds, criticises, and shames, driving the individual towards extreme forms of perfectionism, just as it did all those years ago. It does not recognise that its role has changed. It does not yet know that its level of control is no longer necessary.

This internal “whip-cracker” is, at its core, fragile and frightened. It carries the belief that it must not rely on anyone else. It does not understand joy. It understands seriousness. And it is difficult to blame it for that.

Because if life had not been taken seriously, it could have meant greater vulnerability to harm. Living lightly, being carefree, or staying on the “bright side” could have increased risk. It must also be acknowledged that this internalised parent did something no other adult did at the time. It took responsibility. It kept the child safe.

One of the consequences of developing such a powerful internalised parent is the seeming inability to experience joy.

Not just to feel it, but to allow it. Allowing joy means living in the moment. It means lowering defences, even slightly. It means softening the armour that was once necessary for survival.

Often, it also means something even more difficult. It means sharing that moment of joy with another human being.

Joy is rarely a completely solitary experience. It often emerges through connection, through some form of reciprocal interaction. A shared moment, an exchange, a sense of being alongside another person.

And for someone who grew up in an unsafe environment, that can feel like a risk.

Because co-existing was not safe.Connection was not safe.

On top of that, joy can feel unfamiliar, even alien.

It can come with a quiet, unsettling reminder that it will not last. That it will end. That everything good eventually fades, disappears, or is taken away.

So even in moments of joy, there can be a holding back.

A hesitation.

A sense that it is safer not to fully lean into it.

This creates a painful paradox.

The very thing that brings connection, warmth, and aliveness can also feel threatening.

So allowing joy can feel counterintuitive.

It can feel wrong.

And yet, joy can also be understood as a form of reclaiming. For many survivors, joy was not consistently available. In some cases, it was taken, interrupted, or made unsafe. It may have been something that had to be earned, approached cautiously, or was even used against them.

Many survivors carry the belief that the emptiness they felt as a child is something they are destined to endure, again and again. That they are somehow meant to live without joy.

But that is not true.

Life is not as it was before.

They are no longer helpless children.

They have survived what they once had no control over.

And because of that, something else becomes possible.

Joy has a place in their lives.

It must be reclaimed.

And learning to reclaim it is an integral part of recovery.