the hidden face of self-destruction

There is a form of self-destruction that doesn’t look dramatic.
It doesn’t announce itself loudly.
And because of that, it often goes unnoticed, even by the person living it.

After trauma or deep grief, something changes at a very subtle level. When a human being experiences a traumatic event, the impact doesn’t end when the event is over. What remains is ongoing trauma, the imprints left behind in the nervous system, the body, and the subconscious mind.

These imprints are not just psychological. They live in the body, in the nervous system, in cellular memory, in the ways we brace, avoid, or disconnect. Trauma doesn’t simply belong to the past; it continues to shape how safe or unsafe the present feels. I would even argue that it reaches as deep as our DNA as a form of embodied memory that continues to respond long after the event itself has passed.

There is a part of us that remembers.

When these memories are held in the body without being integrated, an internal conflict begins. One part of us is trying to live, move forward, and function. Another part is holding pain, grief, and a sense that something is deeply wrong. Over time, this creates a quiet but persistent battle within ourselves.

And this is where self-destruction can begin.

Not because we want to harm ourselves but because we are trying, often unconsciously, to escape the part of us that hurts so deeply.

In attempting to get rid of that pain, we end up turning against ourselves.

The tragedy is this: the part of us that carries grief and trauma is also part of us. When we try to destroy it, suppress it, or outrun it, we slowly erode our own essence. That is where trauma truly lives, not only in memory, but in the ongoing fracture within.

Sometimes self-destruction is obvious. One of the clearest expressions of this is addiction. Whether it involves substances, behaviours, or patterns that slowly take over, addiction is often misunderstood as a lack of willpower. In reality, it is frequently an attempt to numb, regulate, or escape pain that the body and nervous system have not yet been able to process.

We also see self-destruction in severe depression, in withdrawal from life, and in people reaching a point where they feel they cannot continue living in the world as it is.

But very often, self-destruction is far more subtle.

It looks like knowing what would support us, and not doing it.
It looks like chronic self-neglect.
It looks like self-abandonment dressed up as busyness, aging, or “just life.”

It may show up as:

• consistently eating in ways that don’t nourish us

• drinking “not too much,” but in ways that quietly harm the body

• avoiding medical care we know we need

• neglecting rest, movement, or self-care

• ignoring protection, boundaries, or basic needs

On the surface, these choices seem ordinary. Understandable. Rational.

What often goes unseen is that these patterns may not be choices at all, but adaptations shaped by a system that learned, at some point, that survival mattered more than care.

We often tell ourselves we’ll do better tomorrow.
We recommit.
We fall off.
The cycle repeats.

And with each cycle, the inner conflict deepens.

It becomes two sides of the same coin, locked in opposition. Both trying to protect us. Both causing harm. There is no winner in this battle, because both sides are us.

This is heavy to name.

I’m writing this because it arrived clearly and needed to be shared. Because someone reading this may suddenly recognize themselves and realize they are not broken, lazy, or failing. They are carrying something that has never been fully held.

If this resonates, please know this: you are not alone. And there is a way out of this cycle — not through force, discipline, or self-judgment, but through understanding, compassion, and integration.

In my work, I hold space for exactly this. There is no right or wrong. No fixing. No pushing. I simply walk alongside you, so you can reconnect with yourself and decide where you want to land.

If this brings something up for you, I welcome your thoughts. And if you feel called to reach out, know that you don’t have to navigate this alone.