When Our Wounds Whisper Lies: How Hijacked Emotions Fuel Violence, Tear Us from Our True Selves—and Mirror Our Collective Divisions

Imagine this: You're sitting across from someone you love, their eyes flashing with a storm you didn't see coming. One moment, it's a quiet disagreement; the next, words fly like daggers, accusations laced with old hurts that have nothing to do with you. You freeze, heart pounding, wondering how a conversation turned into a battlefield. This isn't just drama—it's the raw ache of hijacked emotions at work. Deep down, we're all carrying invisible scars from life's blows, and when those scars go unhealed, they don't just hurt us; they ripple out, twisting relationships into knots of manipulation, violence, and a profound disconnection from the natural flow of who we're meant to be.

But here's the gut punch: This isn't confined to our living rooms or late-night arguments. It's playing out on a grander stage—in our headlines, our feeds, our fractured society. Our collective divisions? They're the same hijacked patterns scaled up: unprocessed traumas fueling polarized rage, manipulative narratives dodging accountability, and a passive shrug from those meant to hold the line. In a world reeling from pandemics, economic upheavals, and endless culture wars, we're all unwitting actors in this drama, projecting personal shadows onto public battlegrounds. It's exhausting, isolating, and oh-so-human.

In this piece, we'll unpack this messy truth with heart and grit, weaving in the psychological, emotional, and spiritual layers. Drawing from dysfunctional relational theory—that lens on how our earliest bonds shape (and sometimes sabotage) our connections—we'll explore how an unbalanced feminine energy turns avoidance into a weapon, while a weakened masculine energy stands by in fearful silence. And we'll trace how these intimate wounds echo in our broken culture, turning "us vs. them" into a global echo chamber. Because understanding this isn't just therapy—it's the map to mending what we've torn apart.

The Sneaky Way Trauma Hijacks Us: From Frozen Fear to Unseen Fury

Let's start with the basics, because trauma isn't some dramatic movie scene—it's often the quiet drip of everyday wounds that we pretend aren't there. Psychologically, picture your brain as a vigilant guard dog: the limbic system, that ancient emotional hub, snaps to attention when danger lurks. But trauma? It reprograms the dog to bark at shadows. Bessel van der Kolk, in his groundbreaking book The Body Keeps the Score, explains how these experiences lodge in our bodies—like a knot in your gut from a childhood betrayal or a racing pulse from a recent loss. They replay on loop, flooding us with cortisol and adrenaline, sidelining the calm, thinking part of our brain (the prefrontal cortex) that could say, "Hey, this is safe now.”

Now, layer on unwillingness to own it. We all know that inner voice whispering, "If I look at this pain, it'll swallow me whole." So we dodge—consciously shoving it down, unconsciously letting it leak out. That's when hijacked emotions kick in: raw feelings commandeered by fear, twisting the "natural order" of life. What do I mean by that? It's the simple, sacred rhythm we're wired for—feeling our hurts, sharing them vulnerably, growing through them together. Instead, unprocessed trauma births distortion: a sharp word becomes a slap, a quiet doubt spirals into gaslighting. You become the perpetrator in victim’s clothing, yelling "You always do this to me!" not because it's true, but because facing your own role in the mess feels like emotional suicide.

Emotionally, it's exhausting. That surge of anger or tears isn't just release; it's a desperate grab for control in a world that once felt safe and now doesn't. Spiritually, it's like wandering off the path home. Carl Jung called this the shadow—the parts of ourselves we hide, like buried rage or shame. When ignored, it doesn't vanish; it erupts sideways, fracturing our sense of wholeness. We're meant to integrate these shadows into light, turning pain into purpose. But hijacked? We chase illusions of safety, building walls that keep out love as much as hurt. In dysfunctional relational theory, this shows up as projection: your unresolved story becomes their crime, pulling everyone into a cycle where no one wins. I've seen it in friends— a partner haunted by parental neglect, snapping at their spouse over nothing, then crumbling into apologies that ring hollow because the real work hasn't started.

The cycle? It's brutal but predictable: Trauma hits → We numb or deny → Pain festers into blame → It explodes as violence or manipulation. Break it? Only by staring it down, with grace for the mess. And collectively? This projection scales to society like a virus. Think of how national traumas—9/11's terror, economic crashes, or the raw grief of a global pandemic—linger unhealed. We don't gather to mourn; we point fingers. One group's "stolen election" becomes another's "insurrection," each side hijacking shared pain into partisan fury. It's the same personal dodge, but amplified: instead of facing our fears of powerlessness, we demonize the "other," turning neighbors into enemies and distorting our communal natural order into tribal warfare.

The Shadow Side of the Feminine: When Manipulation Becomes Our Armor

Ah, the feminine principle— that beautiful, wild force of intuition, nurture, and deep feeling. In its healthiest form, it's the warm embrace that holds space for tears and dreams alike. But when trauma hijacks it? It flips into something fierce and fractured: a shield of manipulation, wielded not from malice, but from the bone-deep terror of falling apart.

Psychologically, this echoes anxious attachment styles, where early inconsistencies (a parent who was sometimes loving, sometimes absent) wire us to cling hard. The brain's alarm system—the amygdala—lights up at the slightest whiff of rejection, screaming, "Do whatever it takes to stay connected!" So tactics emerge: the silent treatment that twists like a knife, tears that demand endless soothing, or that sly guilt-trip, "If you really cared, you'd know how much this hurts me after everything I've endured." It's not calculated evil; it's survival mode, dodging the "death" of your story—the shattering realization that your victim narrative isn't the full truth, or worse, that letting go means facing the void alone.

Emotionally, oh, it cuts deep. Imagine carrying a backpack of grief so heavy it warps your spine. Every interaction becomes a battlefield to offload it without dropping the pack. Volatility reigns: one minute, you're the wounded bird needing rescue; the next, a storm that floods the room. It's avoidance on steroids—sidestepping intense pain, the ego's demise (like admitting, "I pushed you away first"), or even the brush with existential dread, like "If I don't control this, who am I?" In relationships, it breeds exhaustion. Your partner walks on eggshells, their empathy drained dry, while you feel perpetually unseen, trapped in a loop of your own making.

Spiritually, this is the Great Mother's dark twin—devouring instead of birthing. Myths like the Greek Erinyes, vengeful furies born of unmet pain, capture it: unchecked feminine energy that punishes rather than transforms. In relational theory, it's enmeshment gone toxic—boundaries blur, and your unhealed flow drowns the other's sovereignty. Culturally? Scroll through any feed: influencers spinning sob stories for sympathy, evading accountability with a hashtag. It's our collective feminine crying out, but distorted into division.

Take Sarah, a composite of folks I've known: Abandoned young, she marries kind-hearted Mike. Her fears flare— a forgotten anniversary becomes "proof" he's leaving. She withholds affection until he grovels, her volatility a veil for terror. It's not her fault entirely, but without facing it, she stays the puppeteer, strings tangled in her own heart.

Now zoom out: This manipulative feminine shadow haunts our public squares. In cultural battles—over identity, justice, or rights—narratives weaponize victimhood to silence dissent. "Check your privilege" can morph from a call for empathy into a shutdown tactic, evading the discomfort of nuanced dialogue. Social movements, born from real pain like systemic racism or gender inequities, get hijacked when unhealed grief demands unwavering allegiance, turning potential bridges into moats.

It's the collective ego clutching its story: "Our suffering absolves scrutiny," fostering echo chambers where challenge feels like annihilation. The result? Divisions deepen, as one side's righteous fury drowns out shared humanity.

The Wounded Masculine: When Fear Locks the Door on Truth

Here's the heartbreaking flip: No one's chaos dances solo. It needs a partner in the shadows—the unhealthy masculine principle, that archetype of steady protection, clear boundaries, and bold action. Hijacked by its own fears, it doesn't hold the line; it cowers, enabling the storm through passive surrender.

Psychologically, this is avoidant attachment's haunt: walls up high from past wounds, like a father who demanded stoic silence or a culture that mocks men's tears. Confrontation? It registers as threat level red—losing the relationship, financial stability, even a sliver of self-worth. The body responds: chronic stress numbs you out, freezing emotions in a dissociative fog. "Better to say nothing than risk the explosion," thinks the husband, his truth bottled up like shaken soda.

Emotionally, it's a slow suffocation. You concede ground—apologizing for her outbursts, tiptoeing around triggers—hoping it'll buy peace. But resentment brews, a quiet poison leaking into sarcasm, porn as escape, or outbursts at safer targets like the dog. Fear of "her"—that archetype of engulfing fury—mirrors your own survival instincts gone haywire. It's not cowardice; it's a man who's learned that speaking up once cost him everything, so now he whispers to himself in the garage at midnight.

Spiritually, the masculine is the frame for feminine fire—think Shiva's calm amid Shakti's dance. Abdicated, it leaves the sacred container cracked, chaos spilling unchecked. Relational theory calls this the distancer role: you pull away to protect, but it starves the bond of oxygen. Culturally, it's everywhere—politicians dodging hard calls from backlash dread, or "nice guys" who nod along to toxicity, their inner king dethroned by doubt.

In our volatile woman-husband tale: She's the whirlwind of unmet needs; he's the oak bending too far, roots starved. He fears not just her rage, but his own unraveling—"If I stand firm, what if I'm the monster?" Together, they co-create a prison: her manipulations unchallenged, his passivity a silent vote for the status quo. Scale it up: Societies where collective grief rages unchecked because leaders (the masculine) prioritize polls over principle.

On the collective stage, this passive masculine enables division's wildfire. Institutions—media, corporations, governments—shrink from enforcing truth, fearing cancellation or lost revenue. A news outlet soft-pedals facts to appease one side; a CEO stays mum on injustice to dodge boycotts. It's the husband writ large: passivity as survival, allowing manipulative narratives to run rampant. In polarized debates, like those over immigration or climate, the "strong" masculine voice—meant to cut through noise with clear boundaries—retreats into performative neutrality, whispering, "Both sides have a point," while the storm rages. Fear of being labeled "oppressor" or "out of touch" locks the door on accountability, letting distortions fester into societal violence: riots, echo-chamber extremism, or policy paralysis.

Heart of the Hurt	Unhealthy Feminine (The Volatile Storm)	Unhealthy Masculine (The Silent Sentinel)	Collective Echo (Our Divided World)
What Fuels It	Terror of abandonment or ego-death; control as lifeline	Dread of conflict or loss; withdrawal as shield	Unhealed societal scars; fear of "losing the tribe"
How It Shows Up	Tears as leverage, blowups to bind, whispers of "After all I've suffered..."	Nodding yes while screaming no inside, concessions that erode the soul	Victim narratives silencing debate; performative neutrality enabling extremes
Mind's Toll	Anxious loops, projecting old ghosts onto now	Avoidant freeze, rage simmering under ice	Polarized cognition; "us vs. them" brain bias
Heart's Ache	Loneliness in a crowd, chasing connection through chains	Betrayed integrity, a hollow victory in "peace"	Eroded trust; empathy fatigue across divides
Soul's Cry	Stalled rebirth, devouring the light we crave	Forsaken duty, wholeness shattered in silence	Fragmented collective spirit; lost shared story
Echo in the World	Viral victim tales that dodge the mirror	Systems that bend to fury, truth traded for calm	Culture wars where pain projects onto "enemies," passivity stalls healing

Finding Our Way Back: The Tender Work of Reclaiming Wholeness—and Bridging the Divide

So, how do we untangle this? It starts with a quiet revolution: owning our mess with fierce compassion. Psychologically, tools like EMDR (eye movement therapy) or breathwork thaw the freeze, teaching the body it's safe to feel without fighting. Emotionally, it's practicing "vulnerable truth"—saying, "I'm scared this old hurt is flaring up; can we sit with it?" instead of lashing or shutting down. Spiritually, shadow work invites us in: Journal the rage, dance the grief, invite the divine to witness without judgment. The feminine learns to flow without flooding; the masculine to hold without hardening.

In relationships, it's co-creation: She softens her edges with therapy's mirror; he voices boundaries with love's firmness. But collectively? That's where the magic—and the muscle—comes in. Healing divisions means mirroring this intimacy on a bigger canvas: Community circles for shared grief (think truth and reconciliation models from South Africa), media that calls out distortions without demonizing, and leaders who embody balanced principles—feminine empathy meeting masculine resolve. Social media? Redesign algorithms for bridge-building, not bunkers. Start small: Listen across the aisle without defending, own your projections in a heated thread. It's the natural order reborn: Emotions as wise guides, not jailers; bonds as gardens, not graveyards; societies as crucibles for collective growth.

Listen, friend: Your hijacked heart doesn't define you—or us. It's a call to come home—to the messy, miraculous human beneath the storm. Face the uncomfortable with room to stumble, and watch violence yield to vitality. In that space, victim and perpetrator dissolve, leaving only the sovereign you, ready to love without armor. And when we do this together? Divisions soften into dialogues, turning our broken culture into a tapestry of resilient whole. What's one small truth you're ready to touch today—personally, or across the great divide? The world—and your soul—breathes easier for it.