So here’s the thing: Carole Jean and I had plans. We were going to cover all twenty signs of unrecognized trauma in one tidy podcast episode. But then we started talking… and, well, if you’ve ever listened to Things That Really Matter, you know how that goes.
We made it through the first ten signs, shared some very real laughs, maybe a few subtle cringes, and realized there was a lot to unpack. So we decided to split it up. That meant the final ten signs would get their own spotlight; not rushed, not skimmed over, but explored with the attention they (and we) deserve.
This article is my follow-up. My personal, reflective take on signs 11 through 20 of “Twenty+ Subtle Signs You May Be Living With Unrecognized Trauma.” Because unrecognized trauma doesn’t usually come crashing through the front door, it creeps in quietly and reshapes the way we move through the world.
- Trouble asking for help
Somewhere along the line, I equated asking for help with being a burden. Like needing support meant I’d failed some invisible test of independence…an awful myth of a concept. I’ve learned that needing others isn’t a weakness at all. It’s part of being human. And accepting help isn’t just brave, it’s healing and it makes life a little less di. - Feeling responsible for others’ feelings
This one used to rule my days. If someone around me was upset, I’d immediately scan my own behavior, convinced I’d caused it somehow. It took me a long time to realize I wasn’t responsible for every emotion in the room. That I could stop performing for other people’s comfort, and the world would still keep turning. - Constant inner dialogue of self-criticism
That internal voice that questions your every move, that picks apart your best efforts, that whispers “not good enough”? For years, I mistook that voice for motivation. Believed its words to be the truth. Now I know it was just the echo of impossible expectations and past invalidations. Rewriting that voice is very slow work, and the most powerful thing that I have ever done for myself.. - Struggling to identify your own needs
This one caught me by surprise. I was so good at tuning in to what others needed that I forgot how to ask myself what I needed. I started by checking in with myself like I would a close friend, and then giving myself permission to want things that serve me, too. - Fluctuating between overachieving and complete burnout
I wore “high functioning” like a badge…until I crashed. Repeatedly. The rollercoaster ride from overdrive to collapse wasn’t sustainable, but it felt normal, and worse, I thought everyone did it. Now I know: chronic burnout isn’t a productivity problem. It’s a trauma response. Rest isn’t a reward, it’s a right. - Avoiding eye contact, vulnerability, or closeness
I used to think distance was protection. If I kept a safe buffer between myself and others, emotionally, physically, I couldn’t get hurt. So I built myself a wall to buffer it all out. But that buffer also blocked connections. Letting people see the real me still takes effort and courage, but it’s one of the most worthwhile things I’ve ever done. - Over-researching or over-preparing
Perfectionism wrapped in a productivity cloak. I told myself I was just being thorough, but really, I was trying to eliminate any chance of being judged, rejected, or caught off guard. Learning to stop just short of exhausting myself is still a work in progress. - Feeling like you always have to be “useful”
For most of my life, I confused being loved with being needed. If I wasn’t helping, fixing, or doing, I didn’t know where I fit. I needed a “job” or role to play in every social scenario. Unlearning that kind of conditional worthiness takes time, but it’s worth every moment of rest I now allow myself without guilt. - Experiencing emotional flashbacks
It’s that sudden surge of shame or fear that doesn’t quite match the moment. It feels out of place because it is; a fragment from the past surfacing in the now. I’ve learned to pause and ask, “What is this really about?” That small act of curiosity can change everything. - Masking pain with humor, charm, or competence
I used to think being “the strong one” was the goal. That if I could perform okay-ness well enough, I could avoid scrutiny and keep people comfortable. But masking pain doesn’t make it go away; it just isolates you. Letting people see me as I am, not just as I perform, has been a radical kind of freedom.
But my signs of trauma don’t end with this list…
I’ve been praised for being “easygoing” more times than I can count. At first, I took it as a compliment. Only later did I realize it often meant, “You’re really good at pretending your needs don’t exist.” Oof.
And as for childhood memory gaps? Yep. There are whole years I can’t piece together, especially the emotional bits. Not remembering doesn’t make the trauma any less real; it just makes the healing more layered.
My final thoughts? You don’t need a dramatic origin story to validate your experience. Sometimes trauma is quiet. Sometimes it looks like resilience. Sometimes it wears your face and voice and convinces you everything’s fine. But when you start seeing the signs of trauma and naming them for what they are, you can start reclaiming yourself.
If that’s where you are now, welcome. You’re not alone, and you’re not too much.
You’re just finally safe enough to notice.
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Check out the full episode of Things That REALLY Matter here
And the Free Download we used to create the episode here.
And check out Carole Jean’s article here.
#AutisticBurnout #SelfDiscovery #AutisticWomen #AutisticWellBeing #ThingsThatReallyMatter