Mario didn’t realize he was depressed. Not at first. His wife Carrie noticed it before he did—commenting that he had seemed “spacey” and “sort of checked out” ever since she went back to college to pursue her dream career. And while life was certainly fuller and more demanding as she balanced the responsibilities of work and school, something deeper was stirring inside him.
What Mario did notice was a quiet but persistent undercurrent of resentment toward Carrie, coupled with a growing tendency to emotionally distance. He didn’t realize it then, but this dissociative drift was a clue that something longstanding and unprocessed was surfacing. His resentment baffled him. Carrie was still the warm, loving wife he’d always known. And while her attention was divided at times, they were navigating life together. He couldn’t put his finger on why her presence felt so irritating to him, or why her absence (emotional or physical) left him feeling vaguely empty and angry.
Over time, Mario began drinking more after work. It started as a way to “unwind,” to push away the growing sense of malaise. Within a year, he was having an affair with a coworker. When his wife discovered the betrayal, Mario was devastated—not only by the pain he caused her, but by how far from himself and his own ideals he’d drifted. This rupture became the turning point that led him to therapy.
Need, Shame, and the Silent Drift Toward Betrayal
In therapy, what began to surface was not just guilt over the affair or regret over his choices—it was something deeper and far more corrosive: toxic shame.
Beneath the resentment Mario felt toward Carrie was profound shame tied to childhood experiences of emotional neglect. As a boy, he learned that needing someone emotionally— wanting attention, affirmation or comfort—was met with punishment, indifference, and ridicule. The harshness and lack of availability of his mother in particular led him to feel shame whenever he needed her. Instead of becoming associated with only his mother, her rejection became associated with the need for emotional security itself.
And so, in adulthood, when he wanted more emotional closeness from his wife, his inner world responded with something unexpected: fear and self-loathing. It wasn’t safe to want. Wanting was weak, humiliating. That unmet longing, buried under early shame and a protective shell of stoicism, eventually hardened into resentment whenever he felt slighted or ignored.
Rarely did he feel like he could ask for what he needed, and when he did, the consequences of not getting his needs met felt catastrophic. The pain he experienced was quickly masked by a host of self-protective but ultimately self-defeating behaviors —resentment toward Carrie, passivity, withdrawal, excessive porn and alcohol use, and eventually, infidelity.
When shame hijacks our ability to identify and ask for what we need, we lose full access to our adult agency. Instead of acting from our needs, values, and goals, we’re pulled along by the unresolved attachment wounds of our past.
Mario’s affair wasn’t simply about unmet desire or dissatisfaction—it was a trauma echo, a response to the shame and humiliation associated with the vulnerability that comes with wanting something from his wife. When shame hijacks our ability to identify and ask for what we need, we lose full access to our adult agency. Instead of acting from our needs, values, and goals, we’re pulled along by the unresolved attachment wounds of our past.
How Toxic Shame Distorts Agency
Developmentally rooted shame, especially the kind seeded in childhood trauma, is insidious. It can even become a kind of identity. It tells you who you are in the worst possible terms: unworthy, unlovable, defective, broken. And when that becomes the internal compass, it profoundly distorts one’s sense of self and agency.
When we are shaped by the loving, attuned and responsive presence of caregivers, agency—our ability to act purposefully and in line with our values—arises from the belief that we deserve to have our needs met; our contributions are important; we have the right to take up space. For children who grew up in environments where their emotional needs were repeatedly unmet, minimized, or punished, agency wasn’t safe. Over time, they learned that the very act of wanting and expressing desires is problematic.
Children who grow up in neglectful or abusive environments must find ways to hide their needs. In order to cut oneself off from their internal experiences, the self becomes fragmented—some parts go into a psychic underground to hide, other parts engage in extreme behaviors in order to prevent further relational wounding or internal emotional flooding.
Later in life, when attachment longings arise, we may respond with self-condemnation—attacking the very parts that yearn for connection—or we may dissociate from these needs altogether and not even have the awareness that they exist and are impacting us in profound ways. One common outcome to this internal dynamic is the resentment of and pushing away of the people who awaken our attachment yearnings (like a spouse or romantic partner).
This is what happened to Mario. His longing for connection with his wife after she returned to school was not inherently problematic. It was human. But in his internal world, shaped by early emotional neglect, that longing clashed with the reality of the academic demands that made his wife less available. Two things then occurred: he attacked himself for needing her (“You’re pathetic and needy”) and he resented her for not being completely available (“You don’t really love me…”). This all occurred below the surface of his awareness.
When Mario began “spacing out,” as Carrie described it, he was being impacted by his past. That dissociative drift is often a clue that toxic shame has been activated below the surface. And once agency is distorted by the powerful forces of toxic shame, one’s ability to stay present and weigh options in a discerning manner becomes impaired. In these moments, tragic choices can occur like they did for Mario. He acted against himself, abandoning what was important to him. He fell far away from his goals and moral compass—not because he didn’t care, but because he lost access to the part of himself that can care in an integrated, adult way.
As Janina Fisher puts it, trauma survivors often feel “taken over” by younger emotional parts that act without consent. These parts are trying to prevent unbearable feelings—shame most of all. But in doing so, they can lead us away from our core values, toward short-term relief that costs us deeply.
Mario’s affair wasn’t a fully conscious decision—he was running from shame and self-loathing. His actions were choices, of course, but fragmented ones—choices made while disconnected from his core self.
That’s what toxic shame does: it hijacks our experience, cutting us off from our essence and distorting our moral clarity, making it feel, in the moment, like there’s no other option.
And when we’re under the clutches of this type of shame, relational slights, and the emotional bumps and bruises that inevitably occur in committed relationships, take on epic proportions, sending us into an emotional tailspin.
And when we’re under the clutches of this type of shame, relational slights, and the emotional bumps and bruises that inevitably occur in committed relationships, take on epic proportions, sending us into an emotional tailspin.
Let’s breakdown this complicated internal dynamic into its component parts.
The Cycle of Trauma-Driven Self-Betrayal
1) A need emerges (it may or may not enter into conscious awareness).
2) That need activates long-buried shame or fear.
3) A protective part takes over to contain the need triggering the shame.
4) The person acts out (in an effort to contain the need)—through withdrawal, dissociation, addiction or excessive drinking, infidelity, or overeating (to name a few)—not from intention, but from compulsion.
5) Afterward, they’re left feeling even more disconnected from themselves, as the damage caused deepens the pre-existing shame.
In this way, trauma doesn’t just lead to suffering—it leads to self-fragmentation. The person loses access to their core self—the part of them capable of honesty, compassion, and values-based choices. In these instances, acting out is often a maladaptive attempt to manage the distress, especially when those needs are entangled with toxic shame and disavowed longing caused by childhood attachment injuries.
Adult Relationships: The Stage Where Childhood Wounds Are Reenacted
Intimate relationships are often where early attachment wounds get pushed to the forefront.
As attachment researchers like John Bowlby (1969), Mary Main (1996) and Dan Siegel (2020) have shown, our earliest caregiving experiences shape our “internal working models” that influence how we perceive and behave in adult relationships. These internal relationship templates or expectations are deeply rooted within us, influencing our relational experiences in ways we often can’t articulate.
When those old templates are triggered—especially with our romantic partner, where attachment needs are most alive—unresolved childhood trauma is not just remembered, it is felt, re-experienced and defended against.
Mario’s marriage became one such stage.
His wife’s emotional distance—real or perceived—after she returned to college triggered something in him that went far beyond the current moment. He wasn’t just reacting to her preoccupation with schoolwork or the stressors of juggling a job and college. He was reacting to a much older wound: the pain of feeling emotionally invisible as a child. This is the trauma echo from Mario’s past.
When our spouse or partner inevitably triggers our core wounds (because emotional wounding is inevitable in intimate relationships), the old trauma is reactivated. And our responses to these wounds coming alive is often automatic, disproportionate, and confusing—even to ourselves. These are what Pete Walker (2013) describes as “emotional flashbacks”—sudden regressions into the shame and fear of the wounded inner child, with or without an obvious trigger.
Agency is distorted when we are unaware of how our past is being played out in our adult relationships. Especially when our protector parts work so intensely to keeps the younger wounded, exiled parts of us at bay. When this is at play, one can lose access to our value-driven agency—not because of a lack of willpower; rather, because in these moments one is operating from an emotional blueprint laid down in childhood. A blueprint designed to assess danger and prioritize safety, not necessarily connection. Agency is diminished when our protector parts are in crisis mode, working tirelessly to somehow extricate us from our underlying pain.
Healing requires recognizing when an old wound and the unhealthy coping strategies used to manage it have taken the wheel. This means slowing down, getting curious: “Am I reacting to my partner, or to a ghost from my past? Am I trying to protect myself, or to be seen?” As Dan Siegel often notes, “You have to name it to tame it.” Developing this reflective capacity allows people like Mario to slowly reclaim agency from the grip of shame, fear, and unconscious trauma reenactment.
For Mario, therapy helped him begin to track these internal shifts. He learned to notice when his wife’s emotional distance stirred something disproportionate in him. Over time, he could name it: “This is that old feeling again. The one that says I don’t matter.” And rather than acting from that place, he could begin to speak from it. Not perfectly, but more often. That’s how the traumatic impact of our past slowly gives way to repair.
Reclaiming Agency: The Path Out of Shame and Trauma Reenactment
If trauma-based shame distorts agency, what does it mean to reclaim our will in the present?
The impact of childhood trauma isn’t undone by willpower alone. Often, people like Mario have spent years trying to choose differently, only to be overrun by internal forces stronger than conscious intention.
Reclaiming agency is a series of moments when you begin to notice: “A part of me is reacting, and it’s familiar. This isn’t just about now.” That noticing is an act of agency. It places a spotlight on shame when it’s attempting to shrink our self-awareness; the goal is increasing awareness on how shame and our protective (but destructive) impulses are often entangled. Making this less automatic opens up the possibility of choice, allowing different options to be held in awareness.
These changes are gradual, small shifts occurring over time. But over time, with enough reflection and awareness, you can begin to feel less possessed by the past. You stop disowning and compartmentalizing your reactions; you begin to recognize them, hold them, trace them. And as healing progresses, you learn to distinguish the past from the present, who you were taught to be and who you are becoming.
Agency in this sense is built on an increasing awareness of how the past and present have been colliding and robbing you of full choice, of options that can be explored. This allows for a deeper alignment with one’s values, longings, and integrity, even when old protector parts flare up.
When agency isn’t diminished by toxic shame, staying present with difficult emotions and internal contradiction—like feeling angry with a partner while also, at the very same time, knowing that you still love them—becomes possible. Holding internal contradiction (the urge to go underground existing alongside the desire to stay present) are signs that the rigid patterns of self-protection shaped by trauma are loosening—that you are beginning to live from a more integrated place.
Healing the impact of childhood trauma doesn’t mean the past gets erased. But it loses its intense grip. And in that loosened space, something new becomes possible—not just in behavior, but in how a person sees themselves: not as a problem to be fixed, but as someone deserving understanding and care.
Special Note for Betrayed Partners
This article was written to make sense of the complex psychology that drives some people to act against themselves and their loved ones. But that doesn’t erase the hurt, or the reality that someone else’s trauma collided with your life in a way that may have shattered it.
Understanding the roots of betrayal—how trauma, shame, and unmet childhood attachment needs can distort agency and lead to extreme and damaging behavior later in life—is not meant to excuse or justify harm. The emotional devastation of infidelity (or other types of betrayal trauma) is real, and no amount of psychological explanation can undo the impact of this trauma.
Understanding is not the opposite of accountability—it is the beginning of it. True repair requires that the person who acted out not only understand their internal patterns but also take full responsibility for the damage caused. . .and to commit to embarking on the long journey toward change.
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Rich Nicastro, PhD, is a clinical psychologist with over 25 years of experience supporting individuals and couples as they navigate betrayal trauma and other emotional challenges. He offers teletherapy to clients throughout the United States. To work with Dr. Nicastro and join his waiting list, please email him at Rich@RichardNicastro.com.
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References:
Bowlby, J. (1969). Attachment and Loss: Vol. 1. Attachment. Basic Books.
Fisher, J. (2017). Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors: Overcoming Internal Self-Alienation. Routledge.
Herman, J. L. (1992). Trauma and Recovery. Basic Books.
Main, M., & Solomon, J. (1996). Attachment theory: Retrospect and prospect. In Handbook of Attachment Theory and Research.
Siegel, D. J. (2010). The Mindful Therapist. W. W. Norton & Company.
Siegel, D. J. (2020). The developing mind: How relationships and the brain interact to shape who we are (3rd ed.). Guilford Press.
Walker, P. (2013). Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving. Azure Coyote Books.
