Children are naturally egocentric, viewing events through the lens of everything is about me, so this happened because of me. This makes it easy for them to believe that someone else’s hurtful behavior is their fault, even when the truth lies elsewhere.
Trauma reinforces this distortion by undermining trust in others, belief in the world’s safety, and confidence in one’s own thoughts and perceptions. It skews the internal compass, making it harder to judge what is real, who is safe, and whether one’s own judgment can be trusted. Over time, this uncertainty can become the default setting, silently shaping how we interpret people, events, and even ourselves.
When that default sets in early, it can bleed into every corner of adult life. We may second-guess simple decisions, overanalyze others’ reactions, or assume blame in situations where we had no influence. Even moments of success can be tainted by the suspicion that they won’t last – or that we didn’t truly earn them. The result is a constant undercurrent of vigilance, scanning for the next disappointment, which ironically makes genuine safety and connection harder to feel.
If we grew up believing that we were never good enough to merit love and approval, or we were mistreated, held to unrealistic expectations, or forced to assume responsibilities that weren’t ours, shame becomes imprinted – the sense that we have failed or fallen short of our potential.
Unlike legitimate shame, which is a productive, self-correcting mechanism that says, I am less because of what I’ve done, this is toxic shame: I am less because of what was done to me. (A person’s feelings of self-worth may have been injured by various factors, including domestic volatility, academic struggles, social rejection, or chronic health issues.)
We may then spend our life needlessly thirsting for acceptance. Everything we do becomes an attempt to reach that end – but there is no end, because we’re trying to fix what was never broken. As adults, we often struggle to recognize that our worth is not tied to someone else’s acceptance, no matter who they are. The ego creates the false equation: How someone treats me – what I’m worth.
This is untrue. We are not less because someone cannot love us. People can only give love if they have it to give. If they don’t have it, then they can’t give it, no matter how desperately they may want to love and connect. How someone behaves toward us reflects their own feelings of self-worth and has nothing to do with our intrinsic value – unless our ego decides to make it about us.
Reframing the Past
Perspective gives us the natural ability to frame a difficult experience in a meaningful context before it becomes fused with our identity and part of a self-sustaining story that defines us. Yet when an ordeal occurs during our formative years – when our identity is shaped – it is difficult to break free, because the story is all-consuming. It is the only narrative we know. Despite our efforts to responsibly move our life forward, lingering embers of toxic shame may persistently whisper, I’m worthless, and are not easily silenced.
The purpose here is not to magically erase trauma or pretend that pain never occurred. Rather, it is to reframe it – so its meaning and its influence on our present self can shift. Because context gives birth to meaning, altering the context in which we hold a memory can transform its meaning entirely. Think of how a novel’s final chapter can change everything that came before. An unexpected twist can recast earlier scenes in a new light, revealing a story we never realized we were reading. The facts remain the same, but the understanding – and therefore the emotional weight – changes.
This is not an exercise in self-deception. We are not trying to convince ourselves that the past carried no meaning. Instead, we are opening the door to a possibility: that the meaning we assigned to certain events may not have been accurate in the first place. Our conclusions about ourselves – drawn from a damaged relationship, a rejection, or a traumatic event – might be based on an incomplete or distorted picture.
When we broaden our perspective, we make room for truths that were hidden by the narrow frame of pain. Pulling the lens back allows us to see not only the immediate hurt, but the entire landscape of our life, including the growth, resilience, and even hidden gifts that emerged from hardship. It invites us to place this life within the far greater context of our neshama, where no experience is wasted and no chapter is meaningless.
In the next installment, we’ll widen this lens even further, exploring how the broader spiritual context can completely transform the way we interpret our past and live our future.
To be continued.
