Why Family Visits Can Feel So Dysregulating: A Trauma Therapist’s Personal Story

I want to share something personal today—because I know how common this experience is, especially for adults navigating complicated relationships with their parents.

Recently, I was working out. And I was really struggling.

Not with the workout itself.

My body felt strong. My breath was steady. I was doing everything “right.” And yet, in the middle of the workout, my mind suddenly filled with vivid scenarios of fighting with my mom.

Not memories.
Not anything that had actually happened.

But imagined arguments.

Rehearsals.

Internal preparations for conflict that hadn’t occurred yet.

I knew these scenarios weren’t real. I knew I wasn’t actually in danger. And still, my mind wouldn’t stop. The conversations kept looping—what I would say, what she might say back, how I would defend myself, how it would escalate.

It felt relentless.
It felt intrusive.
It felt like torture.

As my body kept moving, my mind kept fighting.

And I remember thinking:

Why does this always happen when I’m working out?
Why can’t I stop having these fake conversations in my head?
Why does my brain keep doing this to me?

For a moment, there was that familiar urge to judge myself—to wonder why, after all the therapy, all the training, all the insight, this was still happening.

But then something else clicked.

I have an upcoming trip to visit my mom.

And suddenly, the experience made sense.

My body wasn’t betraying me.
It was preparing me.

On some level—below logic, below language—my nervous system knew what was coming. The workout had lowered my usual mental defenses just enough for my body to say, “Pay attention. We need to get ready.”

So it rehearsed.

If you’ve ever noticed your anxiety spike during exercise, rest, or moments of calm—especially before visiting family—you’re not alone.

As a trauma therapist in Washington State, I see this pattern often. And as a human being with my own healing journey, I live it too.

What looks like “overthinking” is often a nervous system trying to protect you the only way it learned how.

“Jane” I-Chen Liu, LMHC. SEP™ is a trauma therapist in Washington state that specialize in using EMDR, IFS, and Somatic work to treat CPTSD.

Why the Nervous System Does This (Even When You “Know Better”)

What I understand now—both personally and professionally—is that these moments aren’t driven by logic. They’re driven by the nervous system.

When you grow up in an environment where you’re frequently criticized, emotionally burdened, or intruded upon, your body learns something very early:

Stay alert. Anticipate. Prepare.

Not because you’re dramatic—but because preparation once kept you safe.

During that workout, several layers of memory were activated at once.

There was procedural memory—the kind of memory that lives in the body, not the mind. It holds the sequence of how danger unfolds: the tension, the escalation, the moment you need to defend yourself.

There was relational memory—the memory of who you had to become around her. The version of yourself that stayed alert, guarded, small, or ready to fight back.

And there were protective parts of me rehearsing: How do I survive this again? What do I say? How do I not lose myself?

These memories don’t show up as clear narratives. They show up as looping thoughts, clenched jaws, shallow breath, tight shoulders, and mental simulations that feel impossible to turn off.

That’s not pathology.
That’s survival intelligence.

When the Past Is Still Living in the Body

Growing up, my relationship with my mom was marked by emotional overwhelm and repeated boundary violations.

She shared adult problems with me when I was a child. She criticized my body and appearance. She crossed emotional and physical boundaries again and again. Even now, being around her can feel intrusive.

She doesn’t yell anymore—but the looks of contempt still land in my body immediately.

And my nervous system remembers.

So when I move my body, when I let my guard down, when I enter a state of strength or openness, my system does something very intelligent.

It prepares.

During that workout, my body wasn’t “overreacting.”
It was anticipating danger based on lived experience.

This is very common in people who grew up with:

• emotional parentification

• chronic criticism of appearance

• boundary violations

• unpredictable anger or contempt

So when your body feels strong, activated, and exposed, your nervous system may say:

“She’s coming. Rehearse.”

That’s not anxiety.
That’s adaptation.

“But I’m an Adult Now…”

For a long time, I believed these mental loops meant something was wrong with me.

That I was anxious.
Or overreacting.
Or stuck in my head.

But what I was actually experiencing was the residue of chronic boundary violation and emotional harm.

Complaining to a child about a parent’s emotional affair is emotional dumping and parentification.
Criticizing weight and appearance creates shame-based attachment injuries.
Repeating these patterns with the next generation becomes intergenerational harm.
Touching belongings after being told not to is covert control.
And contempt—especially silent contempt—is often more destabilizing to a child’s nervous system than anger.

My body learned something very specific:

“I am not safe, even when nothing is being said.”

That look is an attack.
And my nervous system is right to react to it.

Adult-me knows:

• I’m capable

• I can leave

• I have boundaries

But younger parts remember:

• I’m trapped.

• She will invade me.

• I will disappear again.

Even something as small as luggage isn’t really about luggage.
It’s about bodily sovereignty.

Even my physical space does not belong to me.

That’s a deep wound.

Why Insight Alone Isn’t Enough

Here’s the part many people find frustrating.

You can understand where this comes from.
You can know you’re an adult now.
You can remind yourself that you’re safe.

And still—your body reacts.

That’s because healing doesn’t happen by convincing your nervous system with logic. It happens by offering it something it didn’t have before.

Protection.
Choice.
A way out.

That’s where things began to shift for me.

What Helped Me Heal (and What I Share With Clients)

I didn’t start by trying to stop the thoughts.

I started by slowing down.

Grounding. Soothing. Titrating.

Sometimes, right after a workout, I’ll pause and gently orient:

• Let my eyes land on something neutral or pleasant

• Notice where my body is supported

• Ask internally, “Which part of me is most activated right now?”—without answering with words

That pause alone creates space.

I also learned to reframe something essential:

I’m not “afraid of visiting my mom.”

I’m afraid of:

• losing myself

• being invaded

• watching my child be harmed

• being pulled back into a role I fought hard to outgrow

That fear isn’t weakness.
It’s protection.

And over time, healing didn’t come from forcing myself to stay calm or resolving imaginary arguments.

It came from learning to work with my nervous system, not against it.

Containment: You Don’t Have to Be Fully Open

Containment means recognizing that just because you’re physically present, you don’t have to make your whole self emotionally available.

Less explaining.
Less sharing.
Less engagement.

This isn’t avoidance or dissociation.
It’s a trauma-informed boundary.

With my mom, the injury wasn’t just what she said—it was the lack of filter, the lack of emotional boundary, the lack of respect for my interior world.

Containment is deciding, in advance, what parts of you stay private and protected.

Somatically, containment can look like:

• a subtle inward gathering

• less eye contact

• shorter responses

• slower movements

• a neutral tone

Your body is saying: “I am here, but I am not open.”

Relationally, containment sounds like:

• “Hmm.”

• “I’ll think about it.”

• “That’s handled.”

• “Okay.”

No elaboration. No justification.

Internally, you might say to younger parts:
“You don’t have to engage. I’ve got this.”

That alone can reduce panic.

Choice: You Are Not Powerless Anymore

Many trauma responses are rooted in a lack of choice earlier in life.

As a child:

• you couldn’t leave

• you couldn’t say no

• you couldn’t protect your body or space

So your nervous system learned:
If I don’t anticipate, I’ll be trapped.

Choice repairs that.

Choice isn’t confrontation.
It doesn’t require big boundary speeches or explanations.

It’s quieter than that.

Choice is internal permission:

• “I don’t have to answer.”

• “I can step away.”

• “I can change the subject.”

• “I can leave the room.”

Even knowing you can brings relief.

Often, choice shows up in the body as:

• a small exhale

• a softening in the belly

• less jaw tension

That’s autonomy returning.

Exit Ramps: You’re Not Trapped

Exit ramps are pre-planned ways to step out before your system goes into fight or freeze.

Your body remembers:

• being yelled at

• being looked at with contempt

• being unable to escape

So it braces.

Exit ramps tell your nervous system:
“We have a way out. You don’t need to fight or disappear.”

They can be physical:

• stepping outside

• going to the bathroom

• taking your child for a walk

• going to bed early

Verbal:

• “I’m not discussing this.”

• “We’re good.”

• “I’m taking a break.”

Or time-based:

• limiting shared meals

• scheduling outings

• planning daily solo time

When your body knows there’s an end point, it can finally relax.

Why I’m Sharing This

I see so many people blame themselves for reactions that make perfect sense.

The intrusive thoughts.
The tension before family visits.
The exhaustion afterward.

These aren’t signs that something is wrong with you.

They’re signs of a nervous system shaped by past experiences—and one that deserves compassion, not judgment.

Trauma Therapy in Washington State Can Help

If this story resonates, I want you to know that you don’t have to navigate this alone. I would be honored to be of support.

Trauma therapy—including EMDR, Internal Family Systems (IFS), and Somatic Experiencing—can help you:

• understand your nervous system responses and why they make sense

• heal childhood emotional wounds with compassion and care

• build boundaries without guilt or self-blame

• feel safer in your body and more grounded in your relationships

If you’re looking for trauma therapy in Washington State—whether in person in Lynnwood or online—I’d be honored to support you on your healing journey.

Your body isn’t overreacting.
It’s remembering.

And healing is possible.
Let’s begin—when you’re ready.
www.karekounseling.com