Why Self-Isolation with CPTSD Isn’t “Avoidance”—It’s Biology and Boundaries
How trauma rewires the nervous system—and why solitude can be both survival and sanctuary.
You’ve heard it before.
“You isolate too much.”
“You should get out more.”
“You’re avoiding life.”
But what looks like avoidance from the outside is often something very different on the inside. If you’ve lived through chronic trauma, your nervous system has been rewired for survival. And survival doesn’t always look social. Sometimes it looks like shutting the door, silencing the phone, and retreating into your sanctuary—because that’s the only place your body finally exhales.
Defining CPTSD
Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD) is a mental health condition that develops after exposure to prolonged or repeated trauma, often in environments where escape feels impossible.
Unlike PTSD, which is usually tied to a single event, CPTSD arises from ongoing situations such as childhood abuse or neglect, long-term domestic violence, toxic workplace environments, systemic oppression, or institutional betrayal.
Survivors may experience the core symptoms of PTSD—flashbacks, nightmares, hypervigilance—along with additional challenges like difficulty regulating emotions, distorted self-perception, and struggles in relationships.
The “complex” part reflects not only the duration of the trauma, but also the way it rewires the nervous system and identity over time (WHO, ICD-11; Herman, Trauma and Recovery; Cloitre et al., Journal of Traumatic Stress).
The Biology of Isolation
When you live with CPTSD, your body isn’t just remembering the past—it’s predicting danger before it even happens.
Amygdala: on high alert, scanning for threats
Stress hormones: elevated longer than they should be
Nervous system: ping-pongs between hypervigilance (fight/flight) and collapse (freeze/shutdown)
Isolation becomes less of a “choice” and more of a biological response. You withdraw not because you’re weak, but because your body is begging for safety.
Why Isolation Feels Safer Than People
People can be unpredictable. And unpredictability is a landmine for a trauma-wired brain.
You’ve learned that closeness can mean betrayal.
You’ve seen how quickly trust can turn to harm.
You know the exhaustion of always reading the room, managing reactions, masking your truth.
So you pull back. Not because you hate people—even if that’s the story you tell yourself out loud. But because your body has learned that distance = control = safety.
Animals, Sanctuaries, and Psychological Family
For some of us, the safest bonds aren’t with people at all. They’re with animals—the dog who co-regulates with your heartbeat, the goats in the field, the cat who curls against your nervous system like a weighted blanket.
Animals don’t gaslight you. They don’t weaponize your past. They don’t cross boundaries you’ve clearly set. They simply exist alongside you, reminding you what unconditional safety feels like. And you can protect, nurture, and love them which is so fulfilling.
That’s why many survivors build sanctuaries—literal or metaphorical. Spaces where you decide who enters, who stays, and who leaves. These spaces and the people and animals become your psychological family and home: not always the one you were born into, but the one you choose.
When Boundaries Heal—and When They Trap
Isolation can be both medicine and poison.
Healthy boundary: choosing solitude to recharge and regulate
Protective instinct: saying “no” to people who consistently cross your lines
Cage: when every connection feels unsafe, and the loneliness becomes its own form of pain
The key isn’t to stop isolating. The key is to make it a choice. To turn withdrawal into a boundary, not a permanent exile.
Moving Forward (Without Forcing Connection)
Healing doesn’t mean throwing yourself into unsafe crowds or abandoning the sanctuary you’ve built. It means:
Letting solitude be valid—without shame
Taking micro-steps toward safe connection when your body says it’s ready
Remembering that boundaries are filters, not walls
Redefining family on your own terms—human, animal, chosen, or all of the above
So no—self-isolation with CPTSD isn’t avoidance.
It’s biology. It’s boundaries.
And sometimes, it’s the wisest act of self-preservation you can make.
Because healing isn’t about proving you can be everywhere, with everyone. It’s about reclaiming choice—where, when, and with whom you feel safe enough to stay.
Author’s Note
I’m writing this as I learn it too. I’ve been hurt enough times that I notice myself keeping to myself much more these days. And being alcohol-free plays a role here, too, socially speaking. Isolation has become part of my healing language, and I’m still learning how to let it be both boundary and bridge. I am so grateful for the community here and the safe space for learning and connection.
xo Jen




What you have written is very wise, and I wish more people would talk about the value of "isolation" -- or productive aloneness, as I tend to call it. Part of the problem is a lot of mental health clinicians are compulsively gregarious individuals that like to romanticize community. So they tend to see any kind of social withdrawal as concerning.
I'm more than capable of having a wild social life -- and I have -- but it was only when I embraced aloneness and finally faced myself that I really started to become authentic.
There's a great book I've read -- more than once -- called "Party of One: The Loners' Manifesto" by Anneli Rufus. She's brilliant. She talks about how loners are constantly pathologised by professionals. When the police are hunting for a rapist or murderer, some psychologist is often by their side muttering darkly that this deviant they're pursuing is most likely a "loner" -- that aberrant, fearful thing.
I do feel empathy though for highly tribalistic, extroverted people: despite the value of time spent alone, they don't require much solitude before they start getting serious cabin fever and start climbing the walls. Covid demonstrated that for very social individuals too much alone time is a recipe for mental illness.
I've never had CPTSD -- I'm not sure how I managed that one as I've certainly experienced the ingredients for that condition. Mind you, I've encountered other negative sequelae resulting from classic CPTSD precursors.
So whatever it is that ails you, and if you have the sort of temperament that will benefit from it, "isolation" is very healthy and productive. The other great fringe benefit of not having people in your face all the time is that when you do spend time in the streets and catch up with people you feel a real love and appreciation of humanity, just the bizarre miracle of the human project.
It's so true, even if they're having an attitude or being a little weirdo, animals are just so honest and good.
Even if they steal a chip off your plate, they do it honestly! 🤣