The Silent Treatment You Give Yourself: How Toxic Relationships Condition Self-Abandonment

There’s a quiet kind of violence that creeps in when we start to disappear ourselves. Not with dramatic exits or slamming doors, but through the subtle, daily practice of shrinking. We swallow our words. We make our needs so small they vanish. We retreat quietly until even we forget we were ever there.

I learned how to do this young.

Childhood taught me that my emotions were “too much,” and that speaking the truth meant disrupting the peace. So I learned to silence myself before anyone else could. I didn’t just receive the silent treatment—I became the one delivering it to myself.

When sadness rose, I whispered, “Don’t be dramatic.”When anger burned, I told myself, “You’re overreacting.”When joy bubbled up, I learned to “tone it down.”

I thought I was protecting myself from rejection. What I didn’t realize was that I was continuing the same abandonment I’d experienced as a child—only this time, I was the one turning away.

How External Criticism Becomes Internalized Self-Doubt

Toxic relationships don’t end with the last argument or the final goodbye. They leave behind a residue—a voice inside that mimics the criticism we once heard from someone else.

For me, that voice looked like emotional muting: believing that if I didn’t acknowledge my pain, it might just disappear. It sounded like pre-emptive rejection: calling myself “too much” before anyone else could. It even dictated my relationships—pulling me to ghost people at the first sign of conflict because confrontation felt like a threat to my safety.

None of these were conscious decisions. They were survival instincts. Reflexes developed in environments where authenticity felt dangerous. I didn’t choose to abandon myself. I just didn’t know there was another way.

My Reparenting Journey: Becoming My Own Witness

Real healing began the moment I realized that the way I ignored my own feelings was more painful than anything anyone else had done to me. I had become my own worst critic, my own silencer.

So I began slowly, awkwardly, learning how to show up for myself.

I gave myself permission to take up space. Instead of telling myself not to cry, I started saying, “These tears have something to teach me.”

I began using my voice again. Not in grand declarations, but in tiny, brave moments—saying “I disagree” in casual conversations, journaling without editing, and even whispering “that hurt” to empty rooms when no one was listening.

I started asking myself, whenever the urge to shut down appeared, “Am I protecting myself, or abandoning myself again?”

Daily Practices to Rebuild Self-Trust

The path back to self-trust wasn’t a one-time decision. It was daily, intentional practice.

I wrote letters I never sent, telling my younger self the things she never got to hear: “Your feelings aren’t flaws. Your needs aren’t burdens. Your voice isn’t too loud.”

I practiced a 90-second body scan whenever I felt the familiar pull of self-silencing. I would breathe into the tension, locate where the fear sat in my body, and remind myself, “You’re safe to feel this.”

And I began checking in before dismissing any emotion. What am I really feeling right now? What does that part of me need? And how can I honor that need without betraying myself?

The Radical Act of Being Your Own Safe Harbor

Self-abandonment is often our first survival skill. But healing is choosing to come back home to ourselves.

You don’t have to choose between abandoning who you are just to belong, or isolating completely to protect your truth. There is a third way: being so present and grounded in who you are that external validation becomes a nice-to-have—not a must.

It starts with noticing when you’re giving yourself the silent treatment. And then slowly, gently, starting a new conversation with yourself.

For deeper reflection, listen to my podcast episode “The Trauma Lie That Almost Destroyed Me” where I share how learning to trust my voice changed everything.