The Battle Within

There’s a certain kind of silence that follows incest—the kind that doesn’t just live in the room, but inside the body. It’s the silence of confusion, of betrayal, of unspeakable pain. It’s not just that something horrific happened—it’s that it happened where love was supposed to live. That confusion is more than emotional; it becomes neurological, physiological, and behavioral.

And that’s why emotional regulation—something the world says we should just “get better at”—feels like trying to build a house in the middle of an earthquake.

For incest survivors, the struggle with emotional regulation is not a matter of willpower. It is a matter of survival. Our nervous systems were never taught how to feel safe. Our bodies were trained to brace, to freeze, to fawn, to run. And even long after the danger is gone, we are still holding our breath, waiting for the next blow.

If you are a survivor and emotional regulation feels like a foreign language, this isn’t because you’re broken. It’s because you were betrayed during the years you were supposed to be learning how to feel.

Let’s talk about why.

Chronic Survival Mode: Living in a Body That Doesn’t Feel Safe

Incest is the ultimate betrayal. It doesn’t come from the outside world—it comes from someone who was supposed to protect you, nurture you, love you. When that trust is shattered in childhood, the body responds by activating survival mode.

• Fight.
• Flight.
• Freeze.
• Fawn.

These responses become hardwired into your nervous system. When you’re stuck in survival, emotional regulation isn’t just difficult—it feels impossible. You’re not choosing to overreact. Your body is responding as if it’s in danger… because to your nervous system, it is.

You might find yourself going numb or exploding in rage, not because you want to, but because your body has never learned how to move between emotional states safely. You’re trying to regulate your emotions from inside a burning building.

Developmental Disruption: When Emotions Weren’t Safe to Have

Children are supposed to learn how to feel by watching safe adults model it. But what happens when the people who should be teaching you emotional safety are the ones harming you?

In incestuous environments, emotions are often:

• Ignored (“Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”)
• Punished (“Don’t you dare be angry.”)
• Manipulated (“You liked it, remember?”)

So, what do you do as a child? You learn to suppress your feelings. You hide your truth. You perform the version of yourself that might survive the day.

There was no room to explore emotions like fear, anger, sadness, or even joy without risk. The world didn’t feel safe, so your emotions couldn’t feel safe either. That’s not a failure—that’s adaptation.

Emotional Invalidation & Gaslighting: Learning That Feelings Are Dangerous

So many incest survivors were told their reality wasn’t real:

• “That never happened.”
• “You’re being dramatic.”
• “You’re making it up.”

When your feelings are met with denial or punishment, you begin to question your own emotional compass. You learn that your body’s signals can’t be trusted. You stop crying when you need to cry. You stop speaking when you’re scared. You stop feeling altogether.

This disconnection from your internal world is a trauma response.

But here’s the thing: when you numb the pain, you also numb the joy. And when your body finally does feel something, it can feel like a tsunami. That’s why emotional regulation swings between extremes—numbness and overwhelm, silence and explosion.

Internalized Shame and Self-Blame: “If I Feel This, I Must Be Bad”

Survivors are masters at blaming themselves. That’s how we coped. It was safer to believe we were the problem than to accept that someone who was supposed to love us hurt us.

This internalized shame wraps itself around every emotion. You feel sad, then ashamed for being sad. You feel angry, then disgusted with yourself for being angry. Even joy can trigger shame—because joy feels unsafe, unfamiliar, or undeserved.

So now, your emotions aren’t just emotions—they’re landmines. Each one feels like a risk. And so, regulation becomes an impossible task because every feeling carries a weight of self-loathing that buries it before it can even be expressed.

Unprocessed Grief and Rage: Emotions That Were Never Allowed

We were never allowed to grieve the loss of our childhood. We were never allowed to rage at the betrayal. We were never held while we cried for the protection we never had.

So those feelings didn’t disappear. They went underground. They got stuck in the body, in the chest, in the stomach, in the throat.

And then, one day, they rise. Maybe it’s in therapy. Maybe it’s in a relationship. Maybe it’s in the middle of a quiet moment when you finally let yourself feel. Suddenly, the grief and rage explode—and because they were never welcomed in the past, they feel foreign, terrifying, uncontrollable now.

This isn’t dysfunction. This is grief finally having room to breathe.

Relational Trauma: When Love Feels Like a Trigger

When love and abuse were interwoven, intimacy feels like confusion. The very thing we long for—connection—can also feel like a trap.

So in relationships, we find ourselves dysregulated. We might:

• Shut down emotionally when someone gets too close.
• Have explosive reactions to minor triggers.
• Panic when someone expresses love.
• Disappear emotionally or physically when things feel too good.

We’re not trying to sabotage. Our nervous system is trying to protect us from a kind of pain we still haven’t fully understood.

Love meant danger. Closeness meant risk. No wonder regulation fails when connection feels like a threat.

Trauma Changes the Brain: This Isn’t Just Emotional—It’s Neurological

Trauma doesn’t just feel overwhelming—it rewires the brain.

In survivors of childhood sexual abuse:

• The amygdala (the brain’s alarm system) becomes overactive, constantly scanning for danger.
• The prefrontal cortex (the part responsible for self-regulation and rational thinking) becomes underdeveloped or dysregulated.
• The hippocampus (which helps process memories) often stores trauma in fragmented, confusing pieces.

This means even if you want to calm down, your brain may not cooperate. Emotional regulation isn’t a matter of logic—it’s a matter of safety. And your brain has been trying to protect you in the only ways it knows how.

So… What Now? Is Healing Even Possible?

Yes. A thousand times yes.

But it won’t come through forcing yourself to “stay calm” or “just breathe.” It will come through learning how to feel safe.

Here’s what that might look like:

• Nervous system healing: Learning to notice your body’s cues without judgment. Moving out of survival mode slowly, gently, and with compassion.
• Trauma-informed therapy: Working with someone who understands how incest rewires the brain and body, and who won’t gaslight your experience.
• Reparenting yourself: Becoming the safe, nurturing presence you didn’t have. Letting your inner child feel what they couldn’t feel before—and knowing you won’t punish them for it.
• Safe relationships: Surrounding yourself with people who respect your emotional process. People who don’t demand perfection but offer presence. Who don’t require you to “regulate” before you’re ready, but sit with you in the chaos without trying to fix it.

Final Thoughts: You Are Not Broken—You Were Betrayed

Emotional dysregulation is not a personal failure. It is a normal response to abnormal circumstances. When safety was stolen from you, your body did everything it could to survive. And it did—you’re here.

But now, survival is not the only option. Now, you get to learn what safety feels like. You get to teach your nervous system that it’s okay to rest, okay to feel, okay to exist.

You get to unlearn the belief that your emotions are dangerous. You get to reclaim the truth that your feelings are valid. You get to learn how to stay with yourself, even when it hurts.

And no, it won’t be easy. But it will be worth it.

You are not too much. You are not too sensitive. You are not “crazy.” You are a survivor learning how to live.

And you are not alone.