When “Victim Complex” Is A Thinly Veiled Attempt to Shut Me Up

Whether someone identifies as a “victim” or a “survivor,” they have the right to speak about their trauma.

I lived with the pain and humiliation of my childhood and early adult trauma for well over a decade of my adult life. I smiled in public, I maintained frosty relationships with my abusers, I played the role, and I dutifully kept my mouth shut.

Inside, I rotted.

The pain and anguish of my lost childhood, my destroyed innocence, of so much that I missed out on — permanently and irrevocably — ate at me. It colored how I parented. It colored the type of relationships I chose to enter and maintain. It colored how I moved in the world and how I allowed myself to be treated.

It was a lead anchor weighing me down.

Not until finally going to therapy, letting down this load with a stranger and watching her face as she received piece after piece of my trauma, literally watching her come to tears at some points, did I fully comprehend the enormity of what I had endured. That it was by no means “normal” or “average”: it was, in fact, horrifically abusive and severely traumatic.

That I was not “playing the victim” or “manipulating” when I cried out for help; it was a perfectly normal human response to being seriously traumatized.

The word “victim” took on a whole different identity to me, and one that would change even after, through the years of therapy and self-discovery, and would come to be used as a barb against me, long after I thought society was far more “woke” than that.

By what measure do we judge trauma?

To approach the discussion of “victimhood” is to inherently discuss what makes a “victim.” This frequently devolves into a pissing contest of my-trauma-is-worse-than-yours, when trauma itself, and what constitutes trauma, is entirely subjective and unique to each individual.

A child in a relatively happy, “normal” family would consider the news of his parents divorcing a major trauma in his life. He will face massive upheaval as his daily life is altered greatly. One of his parents will be moving out, or the entire family will be moving into separate households.

A child whose parents were separated at his birth and who never knew his father as a part of his daily life or household would consider the legal divorce fairly insignificant as he never had a memory of them together. His world will continue largely uninterrupted while the first child will have major changes in his daily life. There may be events later on in his childhood that he considers bigger traumas than his parents’ divorce.

Both kids went through the divorce of their parents, but one may consider it the biggest trauma of his life while the other considers it a minor trauma, or may not think of it as a trauma at all.

Everyone has something, or things, from their childhood that they would describe as traumatic; something they’ve had to deal with or come to grips with in their adult life.

Does talking about those traumas inherently make them have a ‘victim complex’ or ‘victim mentality’? I doubt anyone would blindly agree with that statement.

And yet, when survivors of childhood abuse, domestic abuse, or trauma speak at any length about said trauma, they are frequently shamed with phrases like, ‘You have such a victim complex,’ or ‘This is such victim mentality. We’ve all been through stuff… get over it.’

I find this is a most despicable form of gaslighting.

Who wants to hear about your shit??

I, for one, am so glad that Maya Angelou wrote and created art out of the deep wounds of her trauma.

I, for one, am so glad James Baldwin, David Sedaris, Anne Lamott, Betty Smith (A Tree Grows in Brooklyn), Frank McCourt (Angela’s Ashes), Oprah Winfrey, and every other artist, musician, writer, blogger, and podcaster who experienced trauma has shared that experience through their art.

Why?

Because it advances us as a species. It generates emotional and mental societal evolution.

Initially, hearing about the triumphant rise of a survivor from the gutter of neglect and abuse, someone who defied all odds and statistics to become someone, to make a name for themselves, is inspiring.

Behind that is the gut-wrenching awareness of what someone else went through and what horrors lay behind the doors of some households, some even in your own nation, state, city, or neighborhood. A humbling realization that your life perhaps wasn’t so bad after all. A newfound gratitude that you never had to deal with abuse or neglect. A sharpened resolve to stand against those abuses happening to other children.

When we put our societal ills out in the light, we can purge them and become better people. We can only do this if we know what horrors are out there and how to prevent them from continuing to happen.

If a reader only wants to read saccharine human interest pieces, those are certainly out there. If someone wants to turn away from any unpleasant accountings of human life, it’s quite easy to filter and sort for stories, movies, and music that are all bubble-gum and pop. So why then do certain readers find their way to the heartfelt accounts of trauma, told by the survivor, and then tell them to stop what they’re doing, stop talking, stop writing, stop creating, and stop playing the victim?

If you don’t want to read my stories, don’t. No one is forcing you.

But I won’t be silenced any longer by insecure, immature people who accuse me of having a “victim complex” or “victim mentality” for being justifiably angry at my own mistreatment and abuse.

What’s a victim complex, anyway?

Let’s look at a more clinical definition: “In clinical psychology, a “victim complex” or “victim mentality” describes a personality trait of persons who believe they are constantly the victims of the harmful actions of others, even when made aware of evidence to the contrary.”

Would you say that describes Maya Angelou? Or David Sedaris? Or… me?

When I write about my childhood and young adulthood abuse and trauma, it’s just facts. It happened to me and I want to draw awareness to it because it’s far from being just me: it’s systemic throughout both the foster and adoption communities and the Christian community. I want to draw awareness to it so changes can be made in those communities to protect vulnerable children from being potentially victimized in similar ways in the future.

I don’t believe someone is always “out to get me.”

I’m well aware I’m to blame for some of my life issues.

And I certainly don’t need, nor want, anyone’s pity.

Writing is cathartic to me and to countless other survivors. Just take a wander around the bookshelves, real or virtual, of our modern libraries, magazine stands, blogs, even TikTok, and you’ll see millions of people shedding their weight by sharing their stories. Does each of them have a “victim complex,” or are we finally finding the space and venue to offload this weight and are no longer carrying the weight of someone else’s secrets?

When you brush off a survivor’s feelings and expression of those feelings by accusing them of having a “victim complex,” you’re engaging in some of the lowest, most base kind of gaslighting that exists: the intentional silencing of a traumatized person for your comfort.

The stories we share are uncomfortable. We know it. We lived it. It’s far less uncomfortable to read about it than to live it, I can promise you that.

Deeply personal wounds

One of the most painful interactions I’ve had in recent years was after a ‘friend’ ghosted me and refused all attempts at discussion, and as I was progressing through the stages of grief over the abrupt ending to the relationship, threw a final communication with the pointed barb of “Oh, you have such a victim complex.” I was absolutely stunned at that specific phrase because she and I had shared a great deal of similar childhood trauma and (I thought, perhaps mistakenly so) we had bonded over that.

Wouldn’t I having this ‘victim complex’ also mean that.. she had that as well?

I discussed this with my therapist, who pointed out that she was lashing out from a place of hurt, a place I would, unfortunately, never truly understand as she chose to ghost instead of explaining whatever it was that I had done to upset her to the degree of abruptly ending the relationship. She also pointed out that this may have been a phrase used on my friend to effectively shut her up from talking about her trauma. So the last words I had from this ‘friend’ were accusing me of having a victim complex.

Ouch, right?

It made me do a lot of digging and introspection about the ways in which I speak about my trauma, and over the years, I’ve gotten pretty open and comfortable speaking about it to just about anyone. I have long since shed any feelings of shame, so yes, I speak about it.

I want men to think about the way they treat women, speak to women, and engage with women, so I talk about it.

I want prospective parents to think about the way they’re approaching fostering and adoption, so I talk about it.

I want men in the military to think about the way they treat their female coworkers and counterparts, so I talk about it.

I don’t think anything healthy hides behind closed doors; festering wounds cause rot, decay, sepsis, and death.

Survivors who carry their traumas hidden for the comfort of those around them? They frequently rot, decay, and die. Addiction, self-harm, depression, and suicide are alarmingly frequent among survivors of childhood abuse.

If you’ve carried the weight of someone else’s secrets, someone else’s violence or harm towards you, especially in your childhood, you can release it, in whatever way you want. Write it down and burn it. Write it down and publish it. Paint it out. Sculpt it out. Sing it out. Dance it out.

Release it and don’t ever let anyone tell you that the expression of your pain is a ‘victim complex.’ Don’t ever let someone shame you for sharing your truth.

At the root of it is this: when the truth starts to come spilling out, the abusers lose their power. As James Baldwin himself said, “The victim who is able to articulate the situation of the victim has ceased to be a victim: he or she has become a threat.”

Our voices are threatening to people who want to keep the status quo. That is, and I cannot stress this enough, not our problem.

Abusers being uncomfortable is not our problem. Abusers not wanting to see their dirty deeds aired out in public? Not our problem. Abusers hiding in shame for the rotten, creepy, outright horrific things they did to others? Not our problem.

We are not victims for speaking out, we’re warriors, back from the shadowy past to avenge what is ours: our peace, our strength, our honor, and our dignity.

You speak and you speak loud, you speak until the rafters shake and the ground trembles if you want because you have every right to tell your story.

I choose to call myself a survivor, not a victim, but that’s a personal decision for everyone. Speaking out and sharing my truth doesn’t make me any more or less a victim because the truth is, what happened to me, happened to me, whatever words or labels you want to slap on it.

I am a victim, and I survived it. Ergo, the entire decision on when and where and how to share my story? That’s all mine. No complex necessary.

My name is Melissa Corrigan, and I’m a freelance writer/thought sharer/philosopher in coastal Virginia. I am a mom, a wife, a veteran, and so much more. I deeply enjoy sharing my thoughts and receiving feedback that sparks genuine, respectful conversation.

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