Imagine your life as a swimming pool. The water represents your personal space, energy, and emotional well-being. Some people are floating right next to you, while others linger at the edges. Some are standing on the pool deck, watching from a distance, and others? They might not belong anywhere near your pool at all.
Last week, we explored how boundaries determine who gets access to you—who is in the deep end, who stays in the shallow end, and who doesn’t get in the water at all. But there’s another layer to this: trauma changes how you experience the pool altogether.
For some, stepping into relationships feels natural, like easing into the water on a warm day. For others, trauma has made the water feel unsafe, unpredictable, or even dangerous. Whether you’ve experienced a single traumatic event or complex, ongoing trauma, your approach to relationships is shaped by those experiences.
So let’s look at how trauma influences who we let into our pool—and how we learn to navigate trust after pain.
The Impact of Trauma on the Pool Experience
Trauma isn’t one-size-fits-all. It can come from a single, defining moment or years of accumulated pain. And while the sources of trauma differ, they often lead to a shared struggle: trusting others and feeling safe in relationships.
Single-Event Trauma: Imagine swimming comfortably for years—then, suddenly, a rogue wave crashes over you, pulling you under. Even after you resurface, you no longer trust the water the way you once did. You start second-guessing yourself, the people around you, and whether you even want to be in the pool at all.
Complex Trauma: Now, imagine growing up in a pool where the water was always rough. You were never sure when the next wave was coming, so you learned to tread carefully—or stay out of the water altogether. Over time, you stopped believing the pool could ever be safe.
Two people with different trauma histories can appear very different on the surface, yet both may struggle with trust, connection, and boundaries. Let’s explore this through two real-life examples of how trauma shapes who we allow in our space.
Who We Let Into the Pool: Two Stories of Trauma and Trust
Alex: The Single Event Trauma Survivor—Drowning in Uncertainty
Before the event, Alex had a full, vibrant pool. Family, friends, laughter—it was a space filled with trust and connection. He wasn’t naive about life’s difficulties, but he had a solid foundation of support that made the world feel safe.
Then, one night, everything changed.
A violent mugging left Alex shaken. The bruises healed, but the fear didn’t. Suddenly, he felt on edge all the time—watching exits, scanning crowds, never fully at ease. But what hurt the most wasn’t the trauma itself—it was the way people reacted to him afterward.
At first, his support system showed up. But as time passed, patience wore thin.
“You’re still struggling with this?”
“You used to be so fun—what happened?”
“Just let it go, Alex. It’s been months.”
Alex felt like they had become a stranger to his own relationships. The people he had once trusted now felt distant, impatient, or uncomfortable. They weren’t cruel, but their inability to understand Alex’s ongoing struggle made Alex feel crazy—like he was the problem.
So Alex pulled back. His once-busy pool became emptier. He still wanted connection, but now, every interaction carried an unspoken fear: Do they still see me as I was, or am I just “too much” now?
Jordan: The Complex Trauma Survivor—Building Walls Around the Water
Jordan’s pool was never full to begin with. Her childhood was marked by instability—one parent in and out of her life, another emotionally unavailable. Trust was never a given; it was something you earned, and even then, it wasn’t permanent.
As an adult, Jordan appeared independent—some would even say tough. But the truth was, she had built their life in a way that kept others at a distance.
A coworker invited her to a get-together? No thanks.
A friend checked in after noticing she was withdrawing. I’m fine. Drop it.
Someone showed genuine kindness? What do they want in return?
People often described Jordan as “rough around the edges,” but the reality was she had spent years fortifying her emotional walls. Trust wasn’t something she gave freely, because in her experience, people left. People disappointed. People took.
Her pool had rules:
The shallow end? Closed off.
The deep end? Barely used. If someone got too close, Jordan instinctively pushed them away—before they could be hurt first.
What people didn’t understand was that Jordan wanted to trust. They just didn’t know how, every time she
considered letting someone in, her mind flashed back to all the times she had been let down before. So, instead of testing the waters, she stayed on the deck—watching, waiting, convincing herself that she didn’t really need anyone in their pool anyway.
Two Journeys, One Common Struggle
Alex and Jordan have different trauma histories, but they both struggle with the same fundamental question:
Who can I trust?
Alex, once open and connected, now second-guesses relationships because of how others responded to his pain.
Jordan, conditioned by a lifetime of instability, built walls so high that no one could get in.
Both want meaningful relationships. Both feel disconnected. And both remind us that trauma doesn’t just shape what happened to us—it shapes how we navigate relationships long after.
Healing and Reclaiming Your Pool
Healing isn’t about forcing yourself to swim before you’re ready. It’s about finding safe waters, trusted lifeguards, and rebuilding your confidence in relationships.
For those who relate to Alex: It’s okay to take your time. The people who truly belong in your pool will not rush your healing or make you feel like a burden.
For those who relate to Jordan: Letting people in doesn’t mean flinging open the gates. It can start with small steps—choosing one person to let closer, testing the waters, and reminding yourself that not everyone is a threat.
So, take a look at your pool.
Who is in it?
Who deserves to be closer?
Who might need to be moved to the deck?
And most importantly—are you letting yourself wade back in?
Healing is a process, but the pool will always be there. The question is: Who do you want in it?
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