Trauma and identity are two words that, for many of us, are tangled together in ways we don’t even realize. When we go through something overwhelming — something that shakes the foundation of who we are — it doesn’t just leave a scar on the body or the mind. It can weave itself into the very fabric of how we see ourselves.
Trauma isn’t just about the event itself. As Dr. Gabor Maté explains, it’s about what happens inside of you as a result of what happened to you. It’s the wound that forms when your nervous system is pushed past what it can handle — when safety is ripped away and your body and mind do whatever they must to survive.
That survival instinct is powerful. It can make you fight, run, freeze, or even shut down completely. And in the moment, those responses save you. But over time, they can also become the stories you tell yourself about who you are. You start to believe you are the anxiety. You are the anger. You are the person who can’t trust, can’t feel, can’t love without fear.
Sometimes, trauma enters through the big moments — the kind that hit like a tidal wave: abuse, loss, violence, a devastating betrayal. Other times, it seeps in drop by drop, through years of neglect, criticism, or never quite being seen for who you really are. Psychologists call this “complex trauma” — not because it’s hard to understand, but because it builds slowly, layer upon layer, until it feels like the only reality you’ve ever known.
I want to tell you a story. Two boys — brothers — grew up in the same house. They were just 10 and 12 when their nights were filled with the sound of their father’s drunken rage. They ducked and dodged whatever he threw, sometimes words that cut deep, sometimes objects, sometimes fists. They carried the same memories, the same bruises, the same fear.
The older brother grew up to look a lot like the man they feared. He battled addiction, struggled with his temper, and treated his own family with the same sharp edges he had endured. When someone asked him why, he said, “Can you blame me? Look at the father I had to grow up with.”
The younger brother’s path was different. He became a gentle soul, a man who adored his family and poured himself into their lives. He never touched alcohol — not out of fear, but because he never wanted to pass on the same pain. And when asked why, he said the exact same words: “Can you blame me? Look at the father I had to grow up with.”
The truth is, we don’t get to choose what happens to us. But we do get to choose how we respond. Trauma can shape your identity, yes — but you can shape it back. You can decide whether you repeat the story or rewrite it.
Here’s the part we often miss: trauma is an experience, not an identity. What happened to you might explain why you learned to shut down, why you protect yourself, or why you see the world the way you do — but it is not the truth of who you are. The real you existed before the trauma, and that self is still there, even if you haven’t felt them in a long time.
As Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, author of The Body Keeps the Score, reminds us, “Trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body.” If trauma leaves an imprint, then healing can too — and healing leaves an imprint of strength, clarity, and self-trust.
The journey to separate your identity from your trauma isn’t about erasing what happened. It’s about integrating it into your story in a way that empowers you, instead of keeping you stuck. It’s about recognizing, yes, that happened. Yes, it affected me. But it does not define me.
If you’ve been carrying your trauma like it’s your name tag — wearing it into every room, every relationship, every dream you’ve been too afraid to chase — I want you to know this: you are allowed to put it down. You are allowed to see yourself as more than the worst thing you went through.
Your trauma may have shaped part of your identity, but it is not your destiny. You have the power to write new chapters, to redefine what your name means when you say it out loud, to decide who you are becoming.
So today, maybe the question isn’t “Who am I because of my trauma?” Maybe it’s “Who am I beyond my trauma?” And that… that’s a question worth living into.
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