I bumped into the kitchen table last Tuesday and said, “Sorry, table.” Not a big deal, right? Except I do it all the time. I apologize to doorframes, to chairs I trip over, to my car when I stall at a light. I’m 42 years old, and I treat furniture like it has feelings. Then, last week, a friend sent me an article about the “fawn response.” I read it. I put my phone down. I stared at the wall. And I thought: wait, what? That’s me. That’s my whole personality. So here I am, sifting through what childhood trauma actually means, not in a textbook way, but in the everyday, quiet ways it seeps into who we become.
Quick Take: Understanding Childhood Trauma
If you’re wondering whether your past is still affecting you, start here:
- Notice when you apologize for things that aren’t your fault.
- Ask yourself: Did I learn early that keeping the peace was my job?
- Reflect on whether you trust people easily or keep everyone at arm’s length.
- Pay attention to your automatic “I’m fine” reflex, even when you’re not.
- Remember that trauma isn’t always one big event; sometimes it’s a thousand tiny cuts.
Why Do I Apologise to Inanimate Objects? The Roots of a People-Pleasing Reflex
I used to think it was just politeness. My mother always told me to be courteous. But here’s the thing: a chair doesn’t care if you bump into it. So why the rush to say sorry? Somewhere along the line, I learned that taking blame was safer than risking someone else’s anger. If I could preempt the yelling, the disappointment, the cold silence, then maybe I’d survive the day a little more intact. That’s what childhood trauma can do. It’s not always the big, headline-making events. Sometimes it’s the daily atmosphere. A parent who sighed heavily every time I made a noise. A caregiver who snapped at small mistakes. I became a tiny diplomat, constantly scanning the room for emotional landmines and defusing them with apologies.
I didn’t realize it until I was well into my 30s. A coworker teased me after I said sorry for the printer jamming. “You didn’t break it, Sarah,” she said, laughing. I laughed too, but something cracked inside. A tiny fissure. That night I lay in bed and thought back to my childhood. My dad’s silences could last for days if I did something wrong. My mom would say, “Look what you made him do,” even when I’d done nothing at all. I was five when I first remember feeling like my very existence was an inconvenience. That’s a cause, right there. Not a single event, but a pattern. A low-grade training in self-erasure.
Why Did I Become So Independent? When Trust Was Broken Early
For years I wore my self-sufficiency like a badge of honor. I never asked for help. I moved apartments alone, assembled furniture without calling anyone, and once walked to the hospital with a broken wrist because I didn’t want to bother a friend. I thought this made me strong. Then I read a line in a book: “Extreme independence is a trauma response.” I closed the book. My breath caught. I realized that I’d built a fortress around myself because, as a child, I couldn’t rely on the people who were supposed to protect me. My parents weren’t monsters. They were just… inconsistent. Sometimes they were there. Often they weren’t. Promises were broken. Tears were met with impatience. So I learned the only person I could trust was me. That adaptation kept me safe then. But as an adult, it left me lonely, unable to let anyone truly in.
What causes that kind of wound? Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, author of The Body Keeps the Score, might point to attachment disruption. But I’m not a doctor. I just know that when your primary caregivers are emotionally unreliable, you wire yourself for hyper-independence. You stop asking because asking meant disappointment. You stop needing because needing was dangerous. And one day, at 40, you look around at your life and realize you’ve pushed everyone away, and you don’t know how to stop.
A Simple Practice for Unlearning Old Patterns
I needed something concrete to do with all this awareness. So I started using a little practice I think of as a “look again” moment. It’s simple. When I notice myself acting out an old trauma response—apologizing to an object, shutting down when I’m upset, insisting I can handle everything alone—I pause. I literally say to myself, “Look again.” Then I ask: What’s really happening here? What am I afraid of? This isn’t therapy. It’s just a moment of gentle curiosity. Sometimes I scrawl the answer in a notebook. “Scared he’ll be annoyed if I ask for help.” Sometimes I just breathe and let the feeling pass. Over time, this tiny practice has helped me see my 5-year-old self still running the show. And seeing it, I can start to choose a different response.
I’ve tried this with small things first. Last week, I asked my husband to fix the wobbly drawer instead of silently struggling with it for an hour. He said, “Sure, no problem.” I almost cried. It felt like a revolution.
The Loud Traumas vs. The Quiet Traumas
We tend to think of childhood trauma as something dramatic: abuse, violence, disaster. Those are obviously devastating. But there’s a quieter category that’s just as real. Emotional neglect. Chronic criticism. A parent who was physically present but emotionally absent. This second type often goes unrecognized because the child had food, shelter, and no bruises. They might even think, “I had a good childhood.” Yet something inside feels wrong. The effects show up decades later, in the way you flinch at conflict, or the way you never let anyone see you cry. Both loud and quiet traumas can change the architecture of a developing brain. Both deserve to be acknowledged.
When the Glass Finally Shatters
For me, the big moment came at 41. I was in a work meeting, and my boss said something slightly critical. My heart started racing. I felt my face flush. I had to fight the urge to quit my job on the spot. Later, I sat in my car and sobbed. Why was this tiny feedback so cataclysmic? And then it hit me: I was reacting to my father’s voice, thirty-five years ago. That was the glass-shattering moment. The understanding that my present-day panic wasn’t about the boss. It was about a little girl who was never allowed to make mistakes without shame. That realization didn’t fix everything, but it gave me a map. I could finally see the thread connecting past to present.
Breaking the Cycle for the Next Generation
Now, as a parent, I watch my own kids with a strange blend of hope and vigilance. I try to catch myself before I sigh heavily when they spill something. I say, “It’s okay, mistakes happen,” even when I’m tired. I apologize to them when I mess up. Not to furniture. To them. Because I want them to know they’re not responsible for my emotions. It’s clumsy, imperfect work. But it matters. The causes of trauma often live in these tiny interactions. So I try to be more intentional. More present. And when I slip, I use my “look again” practice. I’m not aiming for perfect. I’m aiming for just a little better than what I got.
FAQ: What Causes Childhood Trauma?
Q: Can childhood trauma really be caused by seemingly small events?
A: Yes. Often it’s not a single dramatic event but an ongoing pattern of emotional neglect or criticism. These small, repeated experiences can shape a child’s sense of safety and self-worth just as profoundly as major incidents.
Q: What are some signs that I might have unresolved childhood trauma?
A: You might find yourself apologizing excessively, being fiercely independent, struggling to trust people, or having intense reactions to small stressors. Other signs include a constant feeling of being on edge or a deep sense of shame that doesn’t fit the situation.
Q: Is it possible to heal from childhood trauma without therapy?
A: Healing looks different for everyone. Some people benefit greatly from therapy, but personal reflection, supportive relationships, and conscious self-work can also lead to meaningful change. The key is recognizing the patterns and gradually choosing new responses.
Q: How do I know if my extreme independence is from trauma or just my personality?
A: Ask yourself: Does asking for help feel physically uncomfortable or terrifying? Do you avoid relying on others even when it would make your life easier? If so, it may be a learned protective response rather than just a natural preference.
Q: Can I pass my childhood trauma on to my children even if I try hard not to?
A: It’s possible to unintentionally repeat some patterns, but awareness is the first step to breaking the cycle. By noticing your triggers and doing your own healing work, you can create a different emotional environment for your children.
Q: What causes childhood trauma to surface years later?
A: Stress, a new life phase, or even a random comment can suddenly unlock old memories. This often happens in midlife when you have the emotional bandwidth to process what you couldn’t as a child. It’s not a breakdown; it’s a long-delayed signal asking to be heard.
One Last Thing
Last week I bumped into that same kitchen table. Before I could stop myself, I said, “Sorry, table.” Then I laughed. Laughed at myself, at my tiny sentient furniture universe, at the absurd tenderness of it. I still catch my 5-year-old self running the show. But now, sometimes, I just smile at her. I don’t send her away. I thank her for keeping me safe all those years. And then I gently show her a different way.
References
- Van der Kolk, B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking.
- Walker, P. (2013). Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving: A Guide and Map for Recovering from Childhood Trauma. Azure Coyote.
- Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2023). Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs). Retrieved from https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/aces/index.html
