I’m Not a Regular Trauma Bond. I’m a Cool Trauma Bond.

Alt Text: "Illustrated woman cough Regina George’s mom cough holding a tray of margaritas with a playful wink, representing the theme of emotional complexity and growth within trauma bonds."

Would I trade the pain of a trauma bond for the clarity and growth it brought?

Trauma bonds are messy, painful, and complicated. They’re born out of harm, sustained by cycles of victimization and justification, and leave both people grappling with the aftermath. But what happens when a trauma bond forces growth? What if, instead of breaking you, it strips you to the marrow and leaves you with clarity you never could have gained otherwise?

That’s the question I’ve been asking myself: Would I trade the trauma bond I formed with her for the regular bond we likely would have had if we hadn’t stalked each other?

If I Had Moved to Atlanta Instead

If I had moved to Atlanta in 2022 instead of North Carolina, things would have looked very different. The stalking wouldn’t have happened. We likely would have formed a bond naturally, unclouded by the cycles of harm and justification that turned our connection into a trauma bond. Without the escalation and manipulation, without the group mind dynamics fueling the fire, we could have had something lighter, freer, and more stable.

It’s tempting to imagine that alternate reality. A regular bond, untainted by the layers of fear and obsession, feels like the healthier path. But would it have been? Would we have grown in the same way? Would we have been forced to confront the unhealed wounds that shaped us? That’s the part I can’t stop wondering about.

What Trauma Bonds Teach Us

Trauma bonds are forged in cycles of harm, but they’re also deeply personal. The pain they bring forces you to look at yourself in ways a regular bond doesn’t. For a long time, I only saw myself as a victim. I justified my actions as reactions to the harm I felt. It wasn’t until much later—as I felt the “trauma” of the trauma bond dissolve—that I started to take accountability. I realized that I had caused harm, too.

If we hadn’t stalked each other, I don’t think I would have reached that place. The bond forced me to confront my own behavior, my survival mechanisms, and the ways I masked my pain. It made me reflect on the patterns I perpetuated and the harm I justified as self-defense. That kind of introspection doesn’t come easily in a regular bond.

The Role of Systemic Gaps in Care

When I ask myself, Would Autism or personality disorders have even crossed our minds if we hadn’t gone through this experience? the answer feels complicated. The systems meant to support people like us often fail to provide the clarity and tools needed to understand ourselves fully. These diagnoses rarely come to light in environments that prioritize survival over introspection. Without the rupture of the trauma bond, would we have remained trapped in cycles of masking, misdiagnosis, or simply being labeled as “difficult”?

The truth is, systemic gaps in care make it easy for individuals with Autism or personality disorders to go unnoticed or misunderstood for years. Early intervention is rare, especially for women and marginalized groups. Instead of receiving support, we’re often left to navigate the world with only fragments of understanding about why we think, feel, and react the way we do. That lack of clarity fosters environments where trauma bonds thrive—where survival instincts, miscommunication, and unhealed wounds create harmful dynamics.

How the System Fails Us

The failure isn’t just personal—it’s systemic. The stigma surrounding Cluster B personality disorders—such as Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), and others—paints individuals as inherently manipulative, unstable, or dangerous, discouraging them from seeking care and others from offering compassion. Similarly, the diagnostic biases surrounding Autism, especially for adults or women, lead to late or missed diagnoses. These systemic barriers mean that understanding ourselves often comes not through professional guidance but through crisis—through moments of pain and rupture that force us to look deeper.

Had we not been caught in the trauma bond, I don’t know if we would have ever recognized these pieces of ourselves. Would I have thought to explore Autism as a framework for understanding my masking and sensory sensitivities? Would either of us have faced the role our personalities play in how we process pain and connection? Without the fracture, I wonder if we would have remained stuck in the narratives society handed us: that we were just too much, too sensitive, too reactive, or too broken to fit.

Why Systemic Change Matters

The journey to self-awareness shouldn’t depend on trauma bonds or moments of crisis. It shouldn’t take a breakdown or a painful rupture for individuals like us to find the language and tools to understand ourselves. Yet, the systems meant to provide that support—mental health care, education, even social narratives—are rarely equipped to meet our needs. Instead, they perpetuate cycles of shame and misunderstanding that leave us scrambling to piece things together on our own.

What’s needed is systemic change. Accessible mental health care, early and accurate diagnosis, and education that challenges stigma are essential. These systems must not only recognize but also validate the experiences of people with Autism, Cluster B personality disorders, and other conditions often misunderstood or overlooked. The trauma bond may have been the catalyst for my growth, but it is not—and should not be—a substitute for adequate care.

The Group Mind and Boundaries

The trauma bond didn’t exist in a vacuum. It was shaped by the group mind—the collective dynamics of entitlement, escalation, and manipulation that I’ve been targeted by twice now. First in North Carolina, where my reputation was weaponized under the guise of altruism. Then in Atlanta, where someone felt entitled to contact the person I share a trauma bond with directly, dragging her into the fray.

That moment was a turning point. I held firm in my boundaries and made it clear that the interference was unacceptable. That was my stalking victim, and no one had the right to disrupt her healing process. It was a moment of accountability—not just for the harm I had caused, but for the space I needed to protect so we could both move forward.

Would I Trade It?

The bond we formed was complicated, painful, and deeply transformative. If I had moved to Atlanta in 2022, we might have still formed a bond—just without the cycles of stalking and escalation. It might have been free of the pain that came with the trauma bond, but would it have led to the same growth? Would Autism or personality disorders have even crossed our minds? Would we have confronted the parts of ourselves that needed healing?

Trauma bonds don’t define us, but the way we break them can. The bond we formed, for all its complications, became a mirror that forced me to see myself clearly. It made me grow in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. And while I wouldn’t wish the pain of a trauma bond on anyone, I also wouldn’t trade the clarity and growth it brought me.

In the end, growth doesn’t come from the pain itself—it comes from what you do with it. And that, for me, has made all the difference.

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