Childhood Trauma and Self-Defeating Behavior

I’ll always remember the moment I learned there was an actual label for the confusing feelings, odd actions, and repeated mistakes that had shadowed me for years. That label is complex PTSD — the form that grows out of prolonged, intense stress, most often from childhood experiences. It can also arise in adulthood, but my focus here is the damage done when those wounds were inflicted early on. Everything shifted for me when I discovered the term for the central feature of this condition: neurological dysregulation. For most of my life I lived in a dysregulated state, convinced it was simply who I was. I would become disoriented, go numb, or swing into extreme intensity, and my coordination would fail—I’d stumble, drop things, feel clumsy. Learning about complex PTSD and dysregulation, and learning techniques to bring my nervous system back into balance, made me feel transformed. For a while I believed I had finally closed the door on further damage.
Yet even after learning to re-regulate, I kept slipping into patterns that dragged me out of equilibrium. Those were the self-defeating behaviors I’m about to describe—the habits that reactivated once my nervous system went off-kilter. When dysregulated, these behaviors become much harder to restrain; they spill out, magnify, and take over. I had to master re-regulation and also confront, with brutal honesty, how I was undermining my own recovery. As terrible as my childhood experiences were, I was perpetuating their impact through repeated self-sabotage. In effect, I was retraumatizing myself.
At first I wasn’t fully aware of what I was doing, and I certainly didn’t have a clear plan to stop. The initial, crucial step is simply naming the behaviors. Make a list of the ones that ring true for you, choose a couple to work on, and start there. Not every item will apply to everyone; some are relatively minor, others can utterly destroy a life. Almost all begin as seemingly harmless attempts to escape pain. But if you keep relying on those escape tactics, the pain only intensifies. Left unchecked, these patterns breed more suffering, more complications, and a prolonged inability to heal. That’s the painful truth: much of what harms you today may no longer be caused by your parents or events from the past. Instead, your own choices may be perpetuating the damage. The more severe the early wounds, the likelier it is that you’ve developed ongoing self-inflicted harm. It isn’t your fault that you were hurt, but changing these behaviors will demand every ounce of courage you have, because many of them only you can change.
Self-defeating behaviors show up everywhere: in who you let into your life, how you care for your body, the relationships and jobs you choose, your financial decisions, the people you idolize, the things you say, and how you behave. It’s easy to spot these habits in others, yet much harder to see them in ourselves; we lie to ourselves, rationalize, and insist we have no choice. We tell ourselves we’re merely self-medicating. But self-defeating behaviors don’t solve the problem—they undermine you. Changing your actions is what brings real improvement. For me, confronting these behaviors was the toughest part of healing. The childhood abuse I endured was real and wrong, but ultimately it was the ongoing harmful choices—the bad relationships, chain smoking, lashing out—that dragged my life down and blocked my recovery. I spent years not getting better because I kept placing myself in damaging situations. Eventually I changed, not perfectly, not instantly—progress is a process—but I moved out of those patterns. If you feel stuck, know this: it’s possible to find another way.
If you’re ready to examine some common self-defeating patterns and decide what you no longer want to tolerate, read on. You won’t identify with every item, and the severity will vary, but seeing them is the beginning of choosing differently.
Number one, black-and-white thinking. People with trauma are often pulled toward extremes—rigid opinions, idolizing authoritarian leaders, or joining movements centered on a single charismatic figure. You might find yourself repeatedly outraged about current events—news is engineered to provoke that—and indulging in outrage feeds dysregulation. That anger can feel like a quick fix when you’re depressed, but it’s the weakest form of self-medication. If your opinions start determining who you can remain friends with, or if you’re cutting people off because they don’t share your views, or if you’re publicly attacking others and trying to rally agreement against them, you may be trapped in black-and-white thinking. That rigidity becomes self-defeating when it narrows your world and damages relationships.
Number two, neglecting your body. Sometimes this shows up as shabby clothing, poor hygiene, lack of exercise, or avoidance of medical and dental care—even when you can afford it. For people wounded in childhood, the body often becomes a place of disregard. At its worst, this neglect crosses into self-harm and overtly sabotages health, making it a clear self-defeating behavior.
Number three, addictive eating. Food can be a sedative—overeating, bingeing on refined carbs and sugar, or swinging into extreme weight gain or restrictive eating patterns are common ways to numb. Those behaviors may soothe in the short term but ultimately worsen dysregulation, destabilize energy and attention, and sabotage well-being.
Number four, compulsive media and entertainment use. If TV, endless scrolling, gaming, or online habits interfere with sleep, meals, family life, job performance, study, or bills, then these distractions have become self-defeating. They can hollow out responsibilities and relationships.
Number five, dishonesty. Exaggeration, concealment of key truths, outright lying, theft, infidelity, illegal schemes like tax evasion—these sever your connection to integrity and all that’s wholesome. Lying erodes your inner source and should be stopped immediately.
Number six, work-related problems. This includes staying stuck in dead-end jobs because change feels overwhelming; chronic under-earning due to fear of asking for fair pay or taking on more demanding responsibilities; avoiding work altogether; frequent conflicts with employers; or acting in ways that intimidate or undermine colleagues. All of these undermine stability and growth. Similarly, turning disputes into legal battles or making accusations the central theme of one’s life are self-defeating patterns that alienate others.
Number seven, procrastination. This is often rooted in the nervous system’s freeze response and is very common in complex PTSD. It starts as a trauma reaction beyond immediate control, but it’s workable. The simplest immediate remedy is movement—get your body moving and outside. From there, time-management techniques and other strategies can help. But remember: procrastination has real consequences—missed deadlines, unpaid bills, broken commitments, and a persistent exhaustion that stands between you and forward momentum.
Number eight, clutter. Accumulating possessions or allowing living spaces to degrade into unsanitary, unusable chaos is both a symptom of trauma and a retraumatizer. Clutter can mean physical mess that prevents using rooms or entertaining guests, and it can be emotional clutter—unresolved problems piled up so high you can’t begin to address them. It can also be a schedule that fills all free time to avoid solitude, so you never rest. Clutter drains mental energy and defeats you.
Number nine, blame. A refusal to see your part in problems, persistent victim thinking, bitterness, and casually spreading damaging rumors are all forms of blame. Believing that every difficulty stems from a single external cause—political opponents, systemic issues, certain foods, or medical conditions—can blind you to aspects you can influence. When that belief prevents you from taking responsibility for change, it’s self-defeating.
Number ten, numbing with substances. Alcohol and drugs blunt pain temporarily but undermine healing. Substance misuse often becomes the top priority to address because it prevents progress across the board.
Number eleven, irritability and explosive anger. Frequent angry outbursts—road rage, online rants, confrontations—can escalate into rage attacks or violence, which cause rapid and severe damage to relationships and life circumstances. This is a critical pattern to stop.
Number twelve, attraction to troubled partners and friends. People raised with abuse or neglect are often drawn to others who are themselves damaged—people with chronic drama, legal or financial troubles, or persistent crises. If that feels like “home,” your life will likely be dominated by problems you didn’t need to create.
Number thirteen, staying in unfulfilling romantic relationships. Some avoid dating and then find years have passed. Others remain in relationships devoid of intimacy or rife with abuse because leaving feels too painful. Childhood abandonment wounds can make the cost of separation feel unbearable, but with support, it is possible to leave unhealthy relationships.
Number fourteen, misuse of sexuality. This can include inappropriate sexualized presentation or behavior that makes others uncomfortable, poor boundaries, or being unable to gauge what’s suitable in a given situation. Early sexual trauma distorts messages about sex and boundaries, making this hard to recognize and correct.
Number fifteen, fantasy. Escaping into daydreams—romantic obsession, limerence, imagining a wildly successful future without realistic steps—can be a form of avoidance. When fantasy dominates your identity and prevents practical effort, it becomes self-defeating and can even spill into stalking or delusions when taken to extremes.
Number sixteen, avoidance. This shows up as withdrawing from people, responsibilities, or groups where you might belong. In some cases it manifests as social, sexual, or emotional “anorexia,” depriving yourself of needed connection and convincing yourself that isolation is virtuous. While temporary withdrawal can be restorative, chronic avoidance becomes a self-defeating trap.
Number seventeen, going into debt. Financial hardship affects many, but overspending when you have the means, gambling, or chasing get-rich schemes is self-defeating. Traumatic upbringing can impair earning consistency and risk judgment; for those raised poor, the temptation to buy status items as a cure for insecurity can be especially strong. In extreme cases, debt leads to foreclosure, bankruptcy, or homelessness.
Number eighteen, repeating traumatic patterns. This is a neurological effect. How many times have you vowed not to repeat a mistake, only to find yourself doing it again? Trauma affects brain function—how stress, decision-making, and risk prediction are handled—so people can have blind spots for red flags and keep stepping into harm. That repetition can deepen symptoms and make healing harder, but it is something that can be changed with intentional work.
This list can feel overwhelming and may seem like blame. It isn’t your fault you were traumatized, but what you do next matters. You don’t have to tackle everything at once—pick one self-defeating behavior and begin to alter it. That first change will make subsequent shifts easier and will open the door to healing. Starting is what counts.
When parents tell a child they are worthless, those words plant a seed of self-sabotage. You might resist it or rebel, yet those seeds can quietly contaminate countless small decisions, accumulating until you forget who you are or who you were meant to be.
A letter arrived from a woman who called herself Margie: she grew up with two sisters in a household shaped by a classic alcoholic father and an anxious, codependent mother. They had money but didn’t take family vacations because the mother discouraged it—sometimes she refused to go even when it would have required nothing from the father. They attended a Catholic elementary school, and Margie recalls never having neat clothes or a tidy hairstyle. Her mother’s attention seemed focused on the father, herself, or sheer survival. Margie remembers nights when her mother waited up to confront the father after he came home drunk; she would cry and rail that he didn’t care, only to have him respond with cold indifference. That kind of family dynamic sets a pattern.
As a child Margie retreated into fantasy—riding her bike in the alley, inventing a make-believe self who had the life she wanted. That daydreaming continued through adolescence into her early twenties, an inner script of someone more capable and worthier than she had been told she was. Her father frequently berated her and her sisters, calling them stupid and foolish and using racial slurs; her mother never told Margie she was beautiful, saying instead that she didn’t want her to get a big head. By age 18 Margie had begun stripping at parties and then moved into escort work. She met the father of her children—Arman—through that work. Arman was gentle, patient, forgiving; what started as a plan to turn him into a “sugar daddy” so she could quit late nights evolved into a real romantic relationship. He’d never been honest about how he made money—he was involved in identity theft/fraud and was undocumented in the U.S.—and he had a young son in his home country whom he hadn’t brought over, keeping his romantic life secret. Margie didn’t confront him; instead she emotionally withdrew and even returned to sex work to punish him, hurting only herself in the process.
Two daughters later, Arman was incarcerated seven years ago and deported four years ago. Margie and her children keep in contact with him via FaceTime, but he provides no financial support and appears unemployed back home. She says she’ll wait for him because she feels she owes it to their kids and believes no one else could love her the way he did—he’d supported her through severe health problems like ulcerative colitis and hair loss, and he knew her past yet loved her anyway. She recognizes she’s shortchanging herself and wants a real, reciprocal love rather than manipulating partners. At 37 with two children and a history like hers, she worries a true romantic future may be faint. She now has a sugar daddy, “Mark,” who’s given her a monthly allowance since Arman’s arrest. She works part-time retail, which lets her spend time with her children; she feels overwhelmed at the thought of full-time work and believes without Mark’s money she couldn’t survive. She was once misdiagnosed with ADHD and asks for guidance, admitting she’s stuck in limerence for a crush at work and is ready to change.
The response to Margie’s story cuts through the shame and validates the pain. Her upbringing was cruel and neglectful; the father’s insults sank in and shaped her self-image. The response urges her that the man who left—Arman—doesn’t represent the best she could have, and that staying tethered to sex-for-income as a permanent plan is not the only path. Yes, sex work is sometimes framed as empowerment, but often it arises out of histories of sexual abuse and causes harm to everyone involved. Renouncing it and doing the work to reclaim autonomy and financial independence is recommended. The responder encourages Margie to pursue education and programs that support single mothers, to take steps toward earning a living with dignity—even if that means a temporary small apartment and less comfort—because modeling economic self-sufficiency will be a powerful gift for her daughters.
The suggestion is to renounce the sugar-daddy arrangement and seek free support systems: a 12-step group like Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous, women’s meetings for fellowship, and available free courses and daily practices that gradually ease self-hatred and build new patterns. These free supports can help identify and change the self-defeating behaviors underpinning the surface problem. Also recommended is cleaning up any harms done to others through honest, humble amends—a practice many in recovery find liberating. Doing the work can restore dignity and open a new life path for Margie and her children.
Another letter came from “Cece,” who has done a lot of recovery work in 12-step programs but is wrestling with friendships formed before recovery. She’s working through Steps Eight and Nine: Step Eight is making a list of people harmed and becoming willing to make amends; Step Nine is making direct amends where appropriate. Cece worries that some friends who were toxic won’t be in recovery and might weaponize her efforts, blaming her instead of reciprocating responsibility. She fears being retraumatized by revisiting these relationships but also wonders if she’s avoiding growth by cutting people out rather than attempting repair from a more recovered place.
Here’s practical guidance: don’t rush into Step Nine without doing the preparatory work and consulting a sponsor who’s experienced with the steps. Step Nine is powerful and must be approached carefully. Many newcomers either skip it or jump into it prematurely. The point of making amends is not to resurrect old relationships, but to honestly acknowledge and repair the specific harms you caused, independent of the other person’s faults. When making amends, don’t relitigate or defend yourself by pointing to the other person’s bad behavior; a proper amends is concise: acknowledge what you did, show you understand how it affected them, apologize humbly, and leave the response up to them. You can restore your integrity without demanding reconciliation. If a past relationship is harmful now or involves an ex in a current relationship, don’t attempt amends that will create more harm. Use sponsors and trusted guides to shape the language and timing. When done well, this process is freeing—many people describe feeling unburdened and light after genuine amends. It’s not about making others change; it’s about cleaning up your side and moving forward without shame.
Finally, a letter from “Sabrina” illustrates the disorganized-attachment pattern: she grew up with a volatile, mentally ill sister and emotionally unavailable parents who forbade crying and shut down any talk of feelings. Expected to be the adult while still a child, she began drinking at eight or nine to escape. Ten years sober now, she longs for a healthy relationship but is haunted by a pattern of running whenever she feels triggered. She began an off-and-on long-distance relationship with “Bob” three years ago—choosing distant partners felt safer for her. Over and over she would push him away when frightened; later she’d try to commit and then he’d withdraw, creating a cycle of breakups and reunions. At times he didn’t show up for her in her son’s moment of grief, which deepened her hurt. After a period of no contact, he returned; they tried dating and therapy, yet the pattern persisted: when she chose to stay, he retreated; after repeated cycles, he stopped coming back as reliably. He now breaks up first sometimes; he’s been inconsistent about marriage plans and once walked out of therapy. Sabrina recognizes both partners share responsibility for dysfunction, but she wonders how to decide whether to keep trying or to let go, especially given the toll on her sleep, work, and parenting.
The advice is direct: this pattern is toxic and destructive for both people. Disorganized attachment produces a push-pull dynamic that often becomes emotionally abusive—ending a relationship repeatedly or keeping someone off-balance wounds the other person. Before re-entering another intimate partnership, it’s essential to do deep personal work, possibly through groups like Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous, targeted therapy, and focused recovery practices to understand and change the pattern. For the child’s sake, stability and healthier boundaries are vital; repeatedly tolerating drama is not beneficial modeling. In short: it’s time to disentangle, stop the cyclical abuse, and invest energy in personal healing before reengaging in romantic dynamics. Freeing the other person and yourself from a toxic cycle creates space for genuine growth and healthier connections down the road.
All of this comes back to one central truth: trauma leaves deep marks, but many of the wounds are kept alive by present behaviors. Naming those behaviors, choosing one to change, seeking support, doing the inner work, and making honest amends where necessary are how healing begins and continues. It’s a gradual, sometimes messy process, but it’s possible to reclaim dignity, build resilience, and craft a life that reflects who you truly are rather than the damage you endured.