Welcome to Trauma Demystified. I’m Natalie Jovanic, your host on this journey. I’m a trauma counsellor and coach, and I also bring my own lived experience to healing relational trauma.
Today’s episode is Healing Relational Trauma: What No One Tells You. But before we dive in, I want to honour someone who was an essential part of my trauma recovery journey.
A dear colleague and friend — someone who died by suicide a few years ago — continues to inspire me every day. I want to honour not just her life, but also her death. To hold space for the fullness of her journey, with all its joys, struggles, and pain. That kind of holding reminds me of how complex healing is and why respect and humility matter so much — both for ourselves and others.
We were immigrants living in Spain, searching for belonging and healing. I always admired her amazing gift for social connection — she was a true social butterfly, a skill I don’t have.
Her passing was difficult — and it might resonate with you too — because suicide is often connected to the heavy burden of unresolved trauma and excruciating pain. I feel fortunate to be where I am today, but her story reminds me that everyone’s healing journey is different. Not all of us have the same resources, outcomes, or luck. Even with all the research and knowledge we have today, some things still remain a mystery.
Every year, I’m reminded why we need to talk about the messy, complicated parts of trauma recovery — why these gentle, honest conversations matter so much. This episode is my way of continuing that conversation — for her and anyone who has ever felt alone with their pain.
If you or someone you love is struggling with thoughts of suicide, please reach out for support. I’ll include some resources in the episode description. They focus on Canada and may not be accessible outside of Canada, but I encourage you to find what’s available wherever you live. You deserve the care and help you need.
Trauma recovery isn’t about everything in your life magically working out. And this episode isn’t about quick fixes or simple answers. It’s about the real, complicated, sometimes messy truth of healing relational trauma.
I’ll share from my journey and the stories I’ve witnessed along the way. This isn’t a surface-level chat. It’s an invitation to hold space for the complexity of healing — with honesty, gentleness, and respect. As always, take what resonates and leave the rest.
So, let’s get started.
Healing relational trauma is about what’s within your control
If you’ve experienced relational trauma, you might have parts of yourself that are always looking outward—taking responsibility for things that were never really yours to carry. One of the hardest truths I’ve learned during trauma recovery is this: healing doesn’t mean others will always treat you with respect or fairness. You can’t control how other people behave or respond to you.
Healing from relational trauma or childhood abuse often means letting go of control over others and turning your attention to what is within your control. That might look different depending on where you are in life. It includes your actions, your emotional responses, and the boundaries you choose to set. But it doesn’t mean you’ll always get what you want or deserve.
For example, you might heal a belief like, “I don’t matter.” And trauma recovery means that belief no longer has power over your feelings. But healing doesn’t mean no one will ever again treat you like you don’t matter — unfortunately, that’s outside your control. What changes is how those moments affect you. You learn to respond with grounded strength — whether setting boundaries, speaking up, or walking away.
Healing won’t stop someone from ghosting you, ignoring your boundaries, or breaking their promises. It won’t prevent people from being hurtful or abusive.
But trauma recovery does change your relationship to those experiences. It teaches you that you have agency. It invites you to trust yourself — especially the parts of you that notice red flags or feel uneasy. It empowers you to protect your well-being. And over time, it reshapes how you relate to others’ behaviour.
Healing reminds you that other people’s actions say more about them than you. You might still feel hurt or disappointed. But those moments won’t pull you down like before. You won’t spiral into shame or helplessness the same way.
Trauma recovery isn’t a shield against pain or a promise for a fairytale life. It’s a way to move through life with more clarity and strength.
Well, as some of you may know, I’m non-binary. I live in Canada now, and while I believe that it is safer here, the rise of the anti-trans movement is becoming more visible. It’s not just in the U.S. anymore. It’s here too. And yeah… part of me is scared. Part of me is hurt by the hatred my community is targeted by.
And part of me knows — I can’t control any of this.
That’s not just a thought. It’s something I sit with almost every day.
I’ve learned that part of healing — especially when you’ve lived through relational trauma, childhood abuse, or systemic oppression — is learning to focus on what’s within your control, even if it’s just one small thing.
Sometimes it’s how I care for my nervous system.
Sometimes it’s setting a boundary.
Sometimes it’s speaking up.
Sometimes it’s just saying to myself, “This feels overwhelming — and I’m allowed to feel that.”
If you’re cis, meaning your gender identity aligns with the biological sex you were assigned at birth, this particular fear might not influence your daily life in the same way. And that’s okay.
But I also want to share this: in working with many cis clients over the years, I’ve noticed a common theme — navigating toxic social or work environments or climate change and trying to figure out how to respond in ways that feel empowering and respectful of oneself.
So I’m curious…
What feels out of your control right now?
And what’s one small thing — one breath, one step, one truth — that is within your reach?
Even if our experiences are different, we all need to return to what is in our hands — that’s something many of us share.
So if you’re facing a challenging situation right now, I invite you to pause and ask yourself:
What is within my control at this moment?
What’s one small step I could take to feel more empowered?
You don’t have to have all the answers. You have to start somewhere.
Why healing relational trauma doesn’t always lead to love (But is still worth it)
Well, when I was younger, I went to therapy with this quiet hope — that if I just healed enough, I’d finally find a loving relationship.
I still remember a moment with one of my therapists. She told me about another client: “The night she left therapy, she met her life partner in a bar. They’re still together.”
I clung to that story like a promise.
If I did enough work, processed enough pain, transformed enough patterns… my reward would be a stable, fulfilling partnership.
A year later, I sat heartbroken again — after a partner, and former friend, ghosted me.
I had worked hard on myself. I had grown.
But it didn’t lead to love.
And that same story that once gave me hope?
It suddenly made me feel like a failure.
A part of me wondered — silently — what’s wrong with me?
I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a story like that. One that was meant to be inspiring but somehow backfired.
Maybe you’ve had a counsellor or coach say something that stuck with you — but not in a helpful way.
I wonder if anything’s coming up for you right now?
Looking back now, I can see more clearly:
Healing only changes what’s within our control.
It helps us grow — emotionally, relationally, spiritually.
It builds self-awareness.
We start to notice patterns sooner. We can set better boundaries. We might choose more aligned partners and leave unhealthy dynamics earlier.
But… it doesn’t control the outcome.
Because outcomes often depend on things outside of us — timing, other people’s choices, systemic injustices or just plain luck.
A relationship is a dance of two. You’re responsible for your steps, but you can’t lead the whole thing alone.
And trauma recovery can’t manufacture connection. It can’t make someone stay.
It can’t guarantee meeting someone who wants to dance with you when you want to.
Now, when I work with clients, I don’t tell stories like the one my therapist told me.
Because the truth is — some people do find love quickly.
Some take longer.
Some fall in love, lose it, and try again.
And they’re all amazing, brave, deeply worthy human beings. They are committed to their trauma recovery journey and becoming a healthier and better version of themselves.
Honestly? I don’t know why these differences exist.
And I try not to make up stories about them anymore.
Because what I do know is this: it’s not because someone isn’t “healed enough.”
That’s just not how life works.
Healing doesn’t guarantee smooth sailing.
It doesn’t promise perfect relationships or happy endings.
It helps us show up as better versions of ourselves — but it doesn’t control the whole story.
So if that’s your story too — if you’ve worked hard and still faced heartbreak —
Please know: it’s not your fault.
You didn’t fail.
Your pain is valid.
Take a breath.
Remember where you started.
Remember who you are now.
And honour how far you’ve come.
Because that — that’s the objective measure of healing relational trauma.
And if you feel up for it, I’d love to invite you to reflect on something:
What have you learned about love on your trauma recovery journey?
And how might you use that wisdom now… to nurture a deeper relationship with yourself and to create the relationships you want?
Healing doesn’t guarantee protection from new wounds
You know, we often talk about trauma like it’s something that happened in the past. Something that’s over. Like — here’s what happened to you, and now here’s how you heal, and everything will be okay. Have you noticed that too?
For many people — myself included — life does get better with trauma recovery. There are real, beautiful benefits. When our nervous system calms down, we feel safe and connected more often. As we get clearer about our boundaries, we can choose healthier, more supportive relationships. I wonder if you’ve noticed that in your trauma recovery journey.
But then… This overwhelming wave of systemic violence hit me. I wasn’t prepared for it. I couldn’t have imagined it. Looking back now, I see how much my whole idea of healing was shaped by those 15 years without trauma — and yes, a lot of luck. It was painful, but it taught me humility. It showed me how complex life is. And once again, I had to start a trauma recovery journey— from systemic trauma this time.
Now, I remind my clients when necessary that just because you’ve started healing relational trauma doesn’t mean challenges, losses, or even new trauma won’t show up. Sometimes, we’re not stuck in our recovery — sometimes, life just throws something new at us, and we need to work through it.
From my own experience, I’ve learned that healing past trauma doesn’t mean you’re safe from trauma in the future. Trauma recovery does build resilience. It makes us stronger, more self-aware, and better able to meet life’s challenges. But the risk of trauma? It’s never zero. Life is unpredictable. Sometimes we get blindsided by things we never expected. And it’s not because we did anything wrong. It’s just… life.
Healing gives us resilience; however, it doesn’t promise lasting peace or that we won’t suffer. Some people’s lives continue to unfold beautifully, easily. For others, there are unexpected losses, betrayals, or shocks that no amount of healing could have stopped. Systemic oppression adds another layer of complexity to this. Healing can’t prevent future trauma. Trauma recovery won’t stop oppression if you belong to a marginalized group. But it helps us face life as it is — not just the version we wish it were.
So, if any of this resonates with you, I invite you to pause for a moment and think:
What challenges have you faced on your trauma recovery journey? What have they taught you about life?
When healing relational trauma means letting go of others
Growing up with childhood abuse, I believed that if I just loved someone enough, I could help them change. That belief kept me tied to relationships that were hurting me — especially with my family of origin.
Many years ago, I worked hard to keep a connection with my sibling, even though their behaviour toward me was toxic. I clung to the hope that therapy might help us both heal. That our shared childhood trauma might be enough to reconnect us.
My therapist at the time never asked me about the context. She supported my wish for a healthy relationship with my sibling, but didn’t explore the dynamics between us or ask about our past. She didn’t ask the crucial questions:
How safe do you feel?
Are they taking responsibility?
Are you sacrificing your well-being for the sake of loyalty?
Because those questions never came up, I held on to my desired outcome: a healthy relationship with my sibling. Looking back, I see I ignored their toxic behaviour, need for control, angry outbursts, and lack of accountability. I only saw their pain and kept finding excuses for the constant blame they placed on me.
I didn’t dare say, “Stop treating me this way,” because I feared it would end the relationship.
Maybe you’ve noticed similar patterns within yourself, too?
Eventually, when my sibling wanted to become a parent, I couldn’t ignore the reality anymore. I witnessed harmful behaviours between them and their partner. For a year, they weren’t willing to take responsibility.
As an observer, it looked like they were repeating a similar cycle of violence we both experienced growing up. And while I could understand why, I also had to accept that I couldn’t change it for them. At this stage of their life, they weren’t willing to take responsibility for what was theirs.
I said, “If you seek help, I’ll stay. If not, I need to step away.”
We haven’t had contact since. I don’t know if they’ve changed. And I’ve come to accept that it’s not mine to manage.
It wasn’t easy. It broke my heart to end that relationship — and it slowly healed through gentleness.
But it was the most healing choice I could make. It taught me that sometimes, self-respect must come before love. Staying in that relationship would have meant abandoning myself. And I chose myself.
Today, I can see that I never fully understood my sibling. And I don’t need to. I can still respect that we each choose different paths.
Please don’t get me wrong — I’m aware that childhood abuse can lead to harmful behaviours. Relational trauma often shows up in how we relate. That’s not a flaw; it’s a survival pattern. But survival patterns aren’t an excuse to avoid responsibility. We begin to make a difference when we take ownership of our harmful behaviours and commit to change.
If we grew up in dysfunctional family dynamics, it’s common for some people to take responsibility — and for others not to, or only later on. In the end, you can only control what’s yours.
Maybe you’ve had to make a decision like that, too — one that cost you something but gave you back yourself.
Even in my professional role, I can’t force people to change — or heal them. It’s more complex than that. What I can do is create an environment that supports trauma recovery. I can offer tools, foster safety and trust, and hold space for people’s emotions. But in the end, they have to choose to heal themselves.
I know that self-respect is something many people with relational trauma are still learning. Some carry parts that have learned to abandon themselves to keep the peace. Others take on too much because it feels safer than being left behind.
These aren’t character flaws.
They’re responses to unmet needs — adaptive coping strategies shaped by violent or neglectful environments.
Back in Spain, my friend and I often asked: What is healthy love? How do we know when to let go of a relationship because we have outgrown it? She helped me tremendously to find my answers.
So here are some questions I often reflect on — and offer to others — when navigating painful relationships:
- What kind of relationships do you truly want in your life?
- Where do you feel out of alignment with those desires in your current relationships?
- How much can you give—or lower your standards—without losing sight of who you are?
- If you met this person today for the first time, would you choose to have a relationship with them?
So, I trust you find those answers within yourself. Let’s look at the next point:
The therapist may share their opinion, And you are allowed to agree to disagree
I once saw a therapist during a complicated relationship. The man I was dating had broken up with me three times and kept coming back. I was confused, hurt, and overwhelmed. Finally, I decided to end things.
When I brought it up in therapy, I was hoping for clarity… maybe even validation.
Instead, my therapist told me I was too complicated — and that I had to stay.
She didn’t know the context, and she didn’t ask—not about the relationship, not about the patterns, nothing.
I stayed longer than I should have. Not because of him — but because I began to doubt myself.
I thought the problem really was me. Perhaps if I were easier, less complex, more accommodating… Maybe then he would have stayed.
Her comment echoed louder than my inner knowing.
Looking back, I wish I’d spoken up in that session. I wish I’d said, “I don’t agree with you.”
But I didn’t have that voice yet. Now, I do. Healing taught me to trust my intuition.
Looking back, I know therapy isn’t about being told what to do. It’s a space to explore your truth and find your answers.
A counsellor might offer reflections or express concerns — sometimes they can see things you may not see in the moment. But the choice of what to do in a relationship? That’s always yours.
Trauma counselling should be a space where your boundaries are respected.
As a trauma counsellor and coach, I never assume I know someone’s life better than they do. They live in their bodies 24/7. I see them for an hour a week. I don’t have the answers, but I can help them find their own.
You’re allowed to disagree with your trauma counsellor. You’re also allowed to leave a counsellor who doesn’t honour your complexity.
So as you listen, I invite you to follow that same principle:
What’s something I shared in this episode that you disagreed with?
And what might that disagreement reveal about your story — or your truth?
Please know: I’m sharing from my best knowledge, shaped by both professional expertise and lived experience.
That doesn’t mean I know better than you.
You are the authority in your own life.
Self-trust comes before trusting others
Years ago, I dated someone I used to be friends with.
I respected and trusted him—he’d been a solid friend and colleague.
We’d known each other for years.
He was German. And I’m German-Croatian.
Here’s something I hadn’t shared back then:
I had made a quiet promise—never date a German man again.
Not a logical promise.
It wasn’t about hatred or anger.
It was an inner sense.
You see, I’d experienced small but cutting moments that reminded me I didn’t quite belong.
Microaggressions. Subtle signs of “otherness.”
And while they weren’t frequent, they were enough to plant a seed.
That promise wasn’t about all Germans.
It was about safety in intimate relationships.
It was my nervous system trying to protect me.
Early in that relationship, a protective part of me spoke up:
“Remember what you promised?”
And I heard it.
I noticed the tension in my body.
But I brushed it aside.
After all, my friends told me how great he was.
They were German too—so they didn’t carry the same inner signals I did.
Looking back, I’m not saying I shouldn’t have dated him.
But I wish I had trusted myself more and voiced my concerns—not to accuse him, but to honour myself.
Because the truth is: a part of me felt uneasy about his privilege, his status, and our cultural difference.
And that part was right.
If I’d given that voice more space—just enough to name what I felt—
maybe I would’ve seen things more clearly.
Perhaps I would’ve chosen differently.
Or more deliberately.
Healing doesn’t mean avoiding discomfort at all costs.
But it does mean listening to yourself.
It also means leaning into uncomfortable conversations
(actually, a great way to assess the health of a connection—if it’s safe enough).
It means noticing when something feels off
and being brave enough to stay with it.
You know that feeling, right?
When your body says “hmm” before your brain catches up?
It’s not about running away at the first red flag.
It’s about trusting yourself enough to ask questions.
To say, “Something feels off here, and I want to understand why.”
It also means noticing how the other person responds when you do speak up.
Do they get defensive? Dismiss you?
Or do they listen?
That relationship taught me something that stayed with me:
Self-trust comes first.
Friends mean well.
But they speak from their experience—not yours.
And sometimes, your inner wisdom whispers truths that others can’t see—
especially if you and your friends belong to different communities.
Healing relational trauma doesn’t make us more compliant with social norms.
(Frankly, some of those norms are pretty unhealthy.)
It makes us more attuned to who we are.
It invites us to move at our own pace.
So yeah — maybe you need more time to get to know someone.
Maybe sex after three dates doesn’t feel right in your body.
For many people who’ve experienced rape, it doesn’t.
And that’s okay.
There’s no rulebook.
No timeline.
Just your truth—and your body’s wisdom.
The more I healed, the more I realized:
Not everyone is trustworthy.
And that’s not cynical—it’s just real.
(And yes, this wisdom came a couple of years after I spent a coaching training
yelling the phrase “I trust men” at the beginning of my trauma recovery –
because I was so indoctrinated by the simplified idea that
if I just trusted men, suddenly they would all be trustworthy.
Truthfully, I don’t think that’s about gender.)
What changed wasn’t other people.
What changed was me.
Self-trust meant learning to listen to my body.
To say no without overexplaining.
To notice when something felt off and believe myself—
even if no one else did.
It also meant trusting my judgment about toxic dynamics—
even if others said, “Oh, I think you’re overreacting.”
It’s not a quick journey.
But it’s a powerful one.
Yes, relational trauma has a cost.
But it also brings wisdom.
Learning to trust your inner wisdom –
That’s part of living an empowered life.
It’s not selfish.
It’s not survival.
Honestly, it’s sacred.
So, take a moment, if it resonates with you:
Can you think of a time you trusted someone else’s opinion more than yours?
What made their voice feel more valid than yours?
And what might shift if you started trusting your inner knowing—just a little more?
You know, healing relational trauma isn’t linear. It’s not something you can predict or schedule. And honestly, it doesn’t come with any guarantees. I didn’t know that back then, but now I see how true it is.
Healing won’t promise you the perfect relationship, a pain-free life, or endless peace. I’ve learned that life is way messier than that.
What healing relational trauma does offer — at least in my experience — is something quieter, but deeper:
- A connection with yourself that feels more real.
- A bit more compassion for your past — even the parts you wish you could forget.
- Clarity in the middle of whatever’s happening right now.
- Holding space for complexity
- And a kind of strength that helps you face the future — even the scary parts.
Maybe you’ve noticed that too. Or perhaps you’re just starting to see it.
Healing helps you return to your whole, messy, beautiful self, and that, to me, is always worth it.
If this episode resonated with you, I invite you to subscribe so you don’t miss what’s next. Please consider sharing it with someone who might benefit from hearing this.
Also, I’d love to hear from you. If you have any questions, reflections, or stories to share, I will send them my way. Your voice matters here. I’ll leave my email in the description below.
Thanks for being with me today. Until next time, take care of yourself.
Sources & influences
This article is informed by my professional training, lived experience in trauma recovery, ongoing study, professional experience, and the works of trusted authors and organizations in mental health and social justice. The references below include the books, trainings, and evidence-based resources that shaped my understanding and approach, providing context and support for the ideas discussed here:
Anderson, F. (2025). Frank Anderson’s internal family systems trauma treatment. 4 months intensive [Online course]. PESI
Fisher, J. (2023). Janina Fisher’s Trauma treatment certification training (CCTP): The latest proven techniques to resolve deeply held trauma [Online course]. PESI
Haines, S. (2022). Safety, belonging, and dignity: Using the generative power of somatics to heal individual and systemic trauma. [Online professional training]. Academy of Therapy Wisdom
Jovanic, N (2014). A brave, true story: A memoir about healing relationships and family ties. Self-published.
