All-or-nothing thinking is so common in trauma and dissociation that it’s worth spending some time on. But first—what is it, and where did it come from?
Also called black-and-white thinking, this pattern only sees extremes:
- Someone is either entirely good or entirely bad.
- You either love someone or hate them.
- You’re a total failure or a complete success.
Everyone has some unhelpful kinds of thinking. But in people with trauma—especially early in life trauma—it tends to show up more often and go deeper. That’s because it didn’t come out of nowhere. It had a purpose.
All-or-nothing thinking developed as a survival strategy.
It gave you quick answers in a chaotic world. Even if those answers weren’t fully accurate, they created a sense of control—and that helped reduce fear and confusion. Imagine you just watched a movie. It wasn’t the best you’ve ever seen, but it wasn’t terrible either. Now, imagine being asked to rate it on a scale from 0 to 100. You’d probably need a moment to think about it—there are a lot of options to choose from. But if you were simply asked, “Did you like it—yes or no?” your answer would be much quicker. Fewer choices make decisions easier and faster—even if they don’t capture the full picture.
Now let’s take that same idea and apply it to something much more serious. Imagine being in a home where every small choice feels dangerous.
All-or-nothing thinking was never just about simplifying decisions. It was about staying safe when there wasn’t time to think it through.
In an abusive or unpredictable environment, clear categories like “good” and “bad” or “safe” and “dangerous” helped you make sense of what was happening—even if those interpretations were harsh or distorted.
That predictability reduced anxiety. It simplified overwhelming emotions.
If someone both loved you and hurt you, that was too much to hold—especially as a child. So your brain simplified it:
“They love me, so maybe this is what love feels like.”
That distortion protected your attachment, even if it wasn’t the full truth. It helped you function.
In DID, this shows up clearly across parts. One part might say, “Nothing bad ever happened.” Another might believe the opposite: “Everything is dangerous.” That separation wasn’t a mistake—it was a brilliant adaptation.
It allowed your system to survive what no one part could carry alone. Even rigid “rules” like “I have to be perfect” may have felt safer than living with uncertainty.
This kind of thinking protected you. But it might be holding you back now.
And that’s what we’ll explore next.