PBC-PAN Theory

PBC & PAN (within PSP) is a preventive developmental analysis framework that integrates audience pressure, conflict patterns, and pattern-break cognition into a practical language for helping identifying hidden coercive control, bullying, and escalating relational dynamics in children and adolescents.

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PAN: (PBC) Parental Arena Network, Pattern Break Consciousness-Cognition.

  • Millions of passive media viewers: could they come to believe they have an innate “Highly Sensitive Person” deficit through an unnamed professor’s repetitive online broadcasts (of course, not every day, but some videos have received over a million views across social media)? Could the widespread societal embrace of the “Highly Sensitive Person” (HSP) archetype function primarily as an advanced, late-stage elaboration of David Elkind’s Personal Fable (Ryan & Kuczkowski, 1994)?

    Beneath these videos, the chorus practically writes itself: “That is me.” “I have that too.” “I am much more sensitive than other people.” Millions of viewers, each discovering how unlike everyone else they are. Are we gaining understanding, or being handed one flattering explanation for every uncomfortable experience?

    Then comes the Superman imagery: deeper feelings, greater pleasure, perceptions unavailable to ordinary mortals. Apparently, exceptional sensitivity also requires extensive photographic documentation. At what point does explaining an experience become auditioning for a superhero franchise?

    More men are now “coming out” as HSP, too. According to the research cited by its proponents, one in five people shares this supposedly exceptional sensitivity. Quite a crowd of uniquely gifted individuals.

    And, of course, the books. Two, three, four, five books on the same subject. HSP, ADHD, autism and now coercive control joins the publishing circuit. “I barely escaped.” Fortunately, the manuscript for book number seven made it out too.

    A researcher in the Netherlands has reportedly spent ten years studying HSP, observing that people often “discover” it during burnout. A curious transformation: you are exhausted, overwhelmed, and struggling with light and sound. experiences with many possible causes and suddenly the origin story arrives.

    Congratulations: your distress has been rebranded as a gift. After a decade of research, could we at least establish whether we are measuring a lasting trait, a temporary state, or the appeal of the explanation?

    When an uncalibrated organism faces chronic environmental threat, the primitive ego may split reality into rigid absolutes to survive. In adulthood, that defensive logic can persist: instead of confronting the internalized shame and somatic stress of an unsafe environment, the individual retreats into a fantasy of absolute uniqueness. What once protected against threat now protects against self-examination.

    The somatic overstimulation is real driven by a perpetually overactivated nervous system but its clinical interpretation is completely hijacked. By relabeling this trauma-driven hypervigilance and sensory flooding as an innate, elite cognitive trait (“I am wired differently, unique, and deeply special”), the actor can constructs an unassailable position of moral superiority.

    The (HSP) label is actively drawn from the digital validation marketplace to function as a defensive shield: it enables the identity-diffuse organism to demand absolute external accommodation while remaining entirely immune to interpersonal responsibility, thereby effectively transforming a raw survival reflex into a premium commercial brand.

    When a message repeatedly tells us who we are, do we recognise ourselves or learn to recognise ourselves in it? And if we question the conditioning of the public audience, why not question how early we learned to live before an imagined one?

  • “Underdiagnosis” consistently dominates the institutional agenda, ensuring a perpetual pipeline of clinical demand. But what about structural misdiagnosis? Reaching a young person requires looking beneath the static label to map their behavioral adaptation, developmental history, and threat environment. There never was, and never is, “overdiagnosis.” Every person is communicating something. Behind every question, behind every discomfort, there is a story.

    Why does questioning the validity of an ADHD or autism diagnosis provoke such fierce, pathologized defensive reactions? Could this anxiety reflect a terrifying existential fear of losing the identity, artificial recognition, institutional support, or the external validation matrix associated with that label? For others, it may reflect the historical trauma of having previously struggled to be heard within an invisible system. These systemic parameters deserve rigorous exploration.

    Look online at the hyper-production of content where individuals repeatedly broadcast their diagnoses alongside social comparison, perceived inadequacy, hyper-sensitivity to criticism, and anticipated rejection. The market continuously invents pseudoscientific terminology like rejection sensitive dysphoria, conveniently avoiding the raw developmental mechanisms of a simple rejection deficit making the semantic inflation increasingly difficult for tracking services to keep up with.

    Feeling rejection intensely does not establish a distinct neurobiological disease. Rejection hurts. Its functional impact depends entirely on longitudinal environmental pressures, caregiving circumstances, attachment styles, and structural coping mechanisms. Severe sensitivity to evaluation can also manifest within the defensive grandiosity of narcissistic personality disorder, Although NPD hurts a little bit more because it is fundamentally driven by the primitive, internalized fear of the “not good enough” mother as conceptualized by Donald Winnicott.

    Before attaching another static label, the baseline scientific question must be asked: What makes social rejection feel so phenomenologically threatening to the organism?

    A psychodynamic and object-relational perspective explores attachment insecurity, early environmental coercion, and the automated drive for absolute environmental control. When an infant’s home life is unpredictable, controlling the microscopic parameters of the immediate surroundings becomes a vital sensory strategy to seek symbolic safety.

    School then introduces rigid institutional demands, structural transitions, peer-group comparison, and binary social interactions that the child cannot control. Some children sit in class thinking about a PlayStation achievement or a virtual game world they cannot wait to escape to. Others are entirely occupied by somatic worries at home. When I was younger, I was dreamy, frequently retreating into internal spaces, distracted by severe systemic difficulties at home.

    Under the current reactive paradigm, those automated survival behaviors would instantly trigger a linear ADHD or autism assessment. What actively occupies the child’s mind behind closed doors deserves a rigorous 3D prospective investigation before individual pathology is assumed. Earlier support based on actual systemic need, rather than total dependence on a clinical label, offers the only constructive developmental direction.

    Now consider a highly calibrated, alternative laboratory: social media.

    Why does speaking to millions of invisible followers on TikTok or Instagram feel safer than speaking to thirty peers in a physical classroom? Online, the actor holds total operational supremacy: you can edit the recording, filter the aesthetic, frame the victimhood script, and project an entirely receptive audience. In a physical classroom, the public responds immediately, uncalibrated, and unpredictably.

    This operational supremacy allows individuals to construct a highly compartmentalized psychic architecture. By fabricating a personal fable wherein an online coaching group universally validates them as a “certified expert,” the raw, uncalibrated anxiety of real-world presentation is completely bypassed. From that moment onward, recording oneself ceases to be a vulnerable exposure; it becomes a controlled broadcast to a domesticated crowd. With real digital followers watching, how “imaginary” is that audience anymore? Behind the camera, this functions mechanically as a fantasy defense. Repeated, algorithmic validation systematically reinforces the Personal Fable, inflating the ego until the individual no longer needs to adapt to physical reality.

    The absolute peak of this clinical comedy was broadcast live into the network when I landed on a TikTok Live hosted by a self-proclaimed “ADHD expert.” Addressing her captive digital audience with absolute authority, she announced her structural vision: utilizing her coaching enterprise to systematically acquire a portfolio of multiple real estate properties. Armed with her credentialed background as a behavioral scientist. Her facade fractured completely when she slipped mid-broadcast, admitting she was merely executing a generic online coaching loop rather than advanced cognitive behavioral therapy.

    It was a textbook example of the Freudian slip the fehlleistung where the unconscious mind bypasses the corporate script to reveal the raw, underlying reality. The structural mask of “healing” and “therapeutic alignment” cracked wide open in a single second, exposing nothing more than an optimized commercial extraction machine designed to milk the digital crowd to fund a personal property portfolio.

    During the stream, she explicitly targeted her audience’s existential vulnerability, broadcasting the terrifying administrative reality: “You have to wait one or two years for an ADHD or ASD diagnosis; I understand your profound fear, and that is precisely why you can bypass the system and come straight to me.”

    Where have we seen this exact mechanism executed throughout clinical and systemic history? It is the raw, textbook signature of an actor who deliberately secures total control by capturing and managing the fear of an uncalibrated victim.

    We now witness the profound absurdity of individual “ADHD experts” traveling entirely alone on vacation, It was really the first time, constantly broadcasting messages of aggressive independence: “I am so incredibly proud that I do everything completely on my own.”

    The systemic reality is that they do absolutely nothing alone.

    For the first time in developmental history, we observe individuals holding up a smartphone, speaking continuously to a piece of glass as if it were a living, breathing companion. The camera has become the surrogate attachment object; the external relational network has been entirely replaced by an automated digital introject. They are trapped in a profound psychological paradox, proclaiming absolute isolation while actively dragging an invisible, ten-thousand-headed collective into their immediate sensory field to provide non-stop verification for their script. You are now systematically traveling the world with your imaginary followers, utilizing their digital engagement as a continuous, automated fuel pump for your Personal Fable. This structural theater ensures you never have to face the cold reality of your original caregiving void or feel the raw agony of the underlying attachment wound. Positive validation or negative backlash it no longer matters to the system; you have completely integrated the delusion and fully surrendered your identity to a validated DSM label.

    We also witness the ultimate epistemological comedy within the professional ranks themselves: a young female psychologist marketing a specialized device engineered to reduce smartphone dependency, while simultaneously hosting an online celebration to mark her milestone of 10,000 digital followers. The camera rolls continuously as she applies makeup before a mirror, navigating reflections and shifting through pajama coordinates and fashion attire, smoothly transitioning from dating commentary to rapid-fire explanations of cognitive behavioral therapy. Every single video initiates with the exact same automated preamble: “I’m Laura, and I’m a psychologist,” an anxious linguistic anchor deployed just in case the audience forgets that the credentialed expert resides safely at the top of the hierarchy.

    This slots perfectly into a flawless replication loop higher up the institutional ladder. Female psychiatrists broadcast real-time video footage of themselves inside their clinical offices, ostensibly compiling diagnostic reports on the very clients whose systemic history they remain blind to. The loop continues into the domestic sphere, culminating in bedtime video journals where the practitioner directly interfaces with the phone to confess, “As a psychiatrist, I simply cannot sleep tonight.” Directly downstream from this performance sits the endless, automated assembly line of algorithmic clinical content: the ubiquitous “three signs you have X disorder” broadcast, now operating on its 894th iteration.

    Which brings us directly to the pharmaceutical loop.

    Have we accidentally discovered that a highly engaged TikTok following is clinically equivalent to 30mg of Ritalin?

    That is satire, of course. But the neuropsychological question behind it is deadly serious. My digital feed features a growing cohort of women presenting themselves as certified ADHD experts who proudly announce they have completely abandoned their medication because they “feel so much better.” Once the individual secures the official DSM label, the behavior shifts instantly: they begin manufacturing an endless loop of daily, highly repetitive videos. The disorder is no longer a clinical problem to be resolved; it is seamlessly converted into the absolute foundation of their online identity. Alongside these daily broadcasts come public recognition, corporate sponsorships, automated dopamine supply networks, and specialized lifestyle merchandise.

    Social recognition, belonging, occupational purpose, and algorithmically generated rewards obviously contribute to a systemic feeling of relief. That does not establish that digital likes reproduce a stimulant’s molecular effects, or that the original diagnosis was wrong. It does, however, raise an urgent question about what actually changed in the person’s life.

    Before “launch a channel and vermarket your trauma through dopamine merchandise” becomes the next therapeutic breakthrough, perhaps science could investigate the underlying transition. What provides the clinical relief: greater environmental control, reduced systemic shame, public validation, or the artificial stabilization of the self through a borrowed collective structure?

    Before naming another individual disorder, look out of the academic sandbox. Examine the life, the relationships, and the audience behind the reaction.


  • The more I look back on those years through PBC-PAN, the more I think we often misunderstood adolescent anger. Some of the young people who showed the most resistance, frustration or rebellion were actually the ones who made the biggest steps once someone truly connected with them. I understand that much better now through Margaret Mahler’s individuation-separation process, but also through Arnold van Gennep’s idea of the rite the passage. Adolescence is not just a phase of “difficult behaviour”; it is a developmental transition in which a young person is trying to separate, become an individual, a struggle for autonomy, and find a place outside the old system.

    That means anger, fear, resistance and rebellion are not always signs of pathology. Very often, they are signs of movement. And the more I look back, the more I realise that PBC-PAN can make a far more developmental reading of these young people than a label. If you only read that fear, anger as defiance or dysregulation, you miss the developmental force underneath it.

    If you zoom out, the pattern is not hard to see.

    Youth aggression is rising. Child maltreatment is rising. Family instability, attachment wounds, emotional dysregulation and relational breakdown are not isolated issues anymore. They are showing up across systems, across countries, and across generations.

    So no, I do not find the rise of coercive control laws strange at all. In many ways, it is the logical outcome of a much deeper developmental and relational crisis that has been building for years.

    And if someone truly connects with an aggressive adolescent, you’d be surprised how much movement is possible. I see adolescence less as a problem phase, and more as a developmental window we should take far more seriously.


  • What is the Inverted Peek-a-Boo Rhythm?

    Most people understand peek-a-boo as a harmless infant game, but inside unsafe family systems, this regulatory mechanism mutates into the devastating Inverted Peek-a-Boo Rhythm a mechanical loop of appearance, explosion, erasure, and forced return. While mainstream psychiatry remains fixated on labeling individual behavior, the PBC-PAN framework maps the shifting velocity of environmental pressure and tracks exactly how an organism adapts to relational trauma. PAN explicitly maps where the external systemic pressure originates; PBC describes precisely what the child’s nervous system must do with that pressure to survive.

    The Anatomy of the Inverted Cycle

    Behind closed doors, the interaction sequence behaves like an automated loop. A caregiver explodes into the relational space, screaming, threatening, and deploying weaponized blame and then abruptly terminates the connection. They slam a door, withdraw into a separate room, and disappear into a cold somatic void. They wait. Then, they return, and the exact same interactional loop restarts. This cycle can replicate ten, thirty, or fifty times in a single evening.

    The structural execution of this loop presents in two distinct styles, yet both operate on the exact same underlying mechanism:

    • The Overt Victim Persecutor: Explodes into aggressive rage, hurls accusations, and walks out to enforce terrifying abandonment.
    • The Covert Victim: Deploys psychological extortion, weeping behind closed doors while stating, “I cannot handle this; if something happens to me, it is entirely your fault.”

    Whether the caregiver utilizes fight or flight, the Karpman drama triangle is instantly completed, and the environment fractures into an unpredictable danger zone.

    The Loss of Orientation

    In a normative developmental rhythm, the predictable disappearance and return of the caregiver teaches the infant object permanence, tolerable absence, and emotional continuity. The child learns: “You disappear, but you return; I remain safely held in your mind.” The Inverted Peek-a-Boo Rhythm teaches the exact opposite: “When you disappear, I cease to exist securely; I am fundamentally unsafe.”

    Faced with this systemic chaos, the developing child is forced into a state of chronic, hypervigilant threat-monitoring. They spend their childhood scanning the micro-expressions of the room:

    • What mood is the parent in?
    • Will they explode?
    • Will they leave?
    • Will they ever come back?
    • Am I the cause of this terror?

    Has anyone in the mainstream academic sandbox ever truly stopped to consider how a child actually feels trapped inside this mechanical hell? While protocol-driven experts sit in comfortable clinic rooms filling out checkboxes, the living child is experiencing absolute existential disorientation. They are drowning in a relational vacuum where the very person who inflicts the terror is also their only source of survival and relief.

    Mapping the Spatial Lines

    This is not magic; it is raw pattern logic. When these closed family systems are mapped visually on a whiteboard, the physical walking lines of the conflict become instantly predictable. By tracking the exact trajectory of the parent’s exits and entries, the invisible reality becomes undeniable, and in daily clinical practice, the moment an adolescent sees this mapped layout, their cognitive dissonance clears, and their hyperventilation subsides.

    When the child finally tries to raise their voice to break the terror, the system instantly executes a containment operation: they are told to be quiet because “the neighbors might hear.” This is the exact coordinate where the Audience enters the architecture. The family lives in a permanent panic state between the Audience and the Army. The safe audience is gone; an unsafe, judging eye is everywhere. The outside world becomes an active threat, and inside this crushing counter-pressure, the child’s identity is systematically broken and rewritten.

    The Quantitative Diagnostics of Safety

    To protect the child, we must stop guessing and start counting. True prevention requires a structured matrix of quantitative tracking questions:

    • How often does a caregiver explode within a weekly timeline?
    • How many weaponized conflict boomerangs are thrown across the room?
    • How frequently does an adult disappear into silence or active withdrawal?
    • How often is the child forced to carry the structural weight of the parent’s emotional regulation?
    • How often are physical objects moved, hidden, or broken as tools of control?

    You do not need a year of exhaustive, circular administrative testing to determine whether an environment is safe. You need a map. While readers can easily track these foundational roots through Sigmund Freud’s Fort-Da observations, emotional object constancy, and early mirroring processes, abstract complexity never saved a child on the work floor. The basic logic remains clear: if an interaction loop repeats thousands of times, the child is not “difficult” the child is adapting to a battlefield.

    Systemic Emergence and Relationship Replication

    When schools see poor grades, they diagnose a learning deficit. When doctors see tachycardia or hyperventilation, they diagnose an individual panic disorder. They treat the downstream symptoms while remaining utterly blind to the slow, calculated interactional terrorism that manufactured the pressure at the source. If case workers continue to navigate these crises without structured conflict-mapping tools, global child abuse will continue to hide behind the curated masks of the “class clown” or the “perfectly quiet student.”

    What is pathologized in adulthood as an intractable personality disorder is actually the late-life, automated activation of this exact childhood survival architecture. When these uncalibrated attachment wounds enter an adult relationship, the blueprint replicates with total indifference to gender: both a man and a woman get locked in a symbiotic object-relations dance where the roles of perpetrator, rescuer, and victim constantly alternate. Control and coercive patterns sometimes develop through conscious agreements, but they can also emerge from automatic, unconscious survival responses as two nervous systems react to one another. Behaviour develops within a relational context; to understand the child clearly, we must first examine the pressures within the system.


  • The Developmental Thinkers Mapped the Foundations. We Fragmented the System.

    FORENSIC INSIGHT: THE SYSTEMIC CRASH OF DEVELOPMENTAL INFRASTRUCTURE

    Why is the Western clinical apparatus aggressively expanding toward 300+ diagnostic classifications while frontline outcomes continue to deteriorate rapidly? The foundational pioneers of developmental science mapped human distress as an interactive, dynamic architecture of structural pressure, identity integration, attachment tracking, symbolic language, and environmental adaptation. Over multi-decade timelines, this clinical depth has been systematically fragmented into an assembly line of isolated symptom clusters, flat checklists, and monetized diagnostic boxes.

    The current collapse proves that we do not need infinite individual labels. We need structural developmental mapping at the front door. Less consensus noise; pure mechanism.

    1. THE BIOLOGICAL ROOT: OBJECT CONOCIVITY & THE INVERTED REFLEX

    (Piaget / Freud / Elkind / Friston)
    Psychological conflict and behavioral volatility initialize through the disruption of baseline object constancy. Within a computational neuroscience framework, an uncalibrated, unstable Peekaboo Rhythm in early infancy generates massive, recurring prediction errors in the developing nervous system. When the caregiving apparatus functions as a flat, reactionary mirror rather than an affective container, the organism is forced into chronic, hypervigilant threat-monitoring. To defend the fragile ego from total annihilation, the child is driven to meticulously assemble an inflated, defensive Personal Fable long before it manifests on digital feeds.

    2. THE COMPENSATORY SHIELD: DEFECTIVE MIRRORING & SYNTHETIC IDENTITY

    (Kohut / Winnicott / Mahler / Klein / Kernberg)
    Defective maternal mirroring and a disrupted separation-individuation process create an intolerable, frozen internal void. When negative interpretations dominate and early attachment approach-cycles collide with shame, primitive splitting is forcefully activated to divide the psychic matrix into absolute categories of idealized safety and persecutory threat. Imagination is hijacked for survival. The individual constructs highly specific savior or grandiosity fantasies to secure psychic continuity, calcifying open play into a rigid, defensive refuge. When this geconstrueerde reality is challenged in later life, the ego unleashes explosive, uncalibrated 0-to-100 aggression loops to protect its moral shield.

    3. THE SPATIAL MATRIX: MULTI-PAWN TRIANGULATION & THE DIGITAL LABEL MARKET

    (PBC / PAN / Karpman / Bronfenbrenner)
    Unmapped, frozen Parent-Bound Conflicts (PBC) migrate inward, mutating the childhood Imaginary Audience into a highly punitive, multi-voiced Imaginary Army. In adulthood, this structural trauma is relentlessly acted out via the repetition compulsion across closed relational networks. Mainstream tracking services arrive late, evaluate only the surface-level behavioral output, and isolate the individual from the environment shaping the response itself.

    This systemic blindness has been completely weaponized by the digital economy. Algorithmic pipelines reduce complex, multi-layered developmental tragedies into eendimensionale “3 signs you are dealing with X” checklists, driving mass self-diagnosis and corporate neurodiversity coaching portfolios.

    4. THE SOMATIC IMPLOSION: CYTOKINE TRACKING & LATE-STAGE TRAGEDY

    (Somatic, Sensorimotor, and Forensic Evidence)
    When home environments remain chronically unsafe, Pavlovian conditioning operates at a raw, biological level. The autonomic nervous system is forced into permanent overload, heightening amygdala reactivity, disrupting prefrontal functioning, and driving severe sensorimotor and somatic symptoms. The biological footprint is unmistakable: unexplained tachycardia, hyperventilation, and elevated inflammatory cytokines like (IL-6) coexisting alongside untraceable maternal somatic syndromes like fibromyalgia, ME/CVS, and severe sensory processing overloads.

    Left unmapped, this interactional terrorism drives the system toward a catastrophic, predictable endpoint: severe relational polarization, partner homicide fueled by Freud’s death drive, sudden adolescent suicide clusters, and a historic surge in youth euthanasia requests (euthanasieverzoeken). The child or partner is driven into total despair, desperately seeking an exit from an invisible family prison that the mainstream sandbox remains entirely blind to.

    The Paradigm Shift: From Checklists to Engineering

    The mainstream diagnostic establishment relies on manual-driven checklists that operate within an isolated academic sandbox, collapsing on the work floor when addressing complex, high-risk cases. Instead of adding more diagnostic labels, the next step involves providing frontline practitioners with practical tools. By using non-stigmatizing spatial symbols from the PBC-PAN framework, professionals can map relational dynamics, track interaction patterns, and translate unconscious conflict into measurable language to help individuals recognize structural traps early


    While reflecting on the symbolic elements in my framework, I noticed something unexpected.

    I did not start with the intention of designing a fictional world. My goal was simply to understand a few recurring patterns in human interaction and conflict. For that purpose, I began using a small set of symbols: a pawn, a boomerang, a compass, a voice that provokes reactions, and what I call a “source.”

    However, during a conversation about these elements, something interesting became clear. When these symbols were placed together, they naturally began to form a coherent internal structure, almost like a small conceptual world.

    In this symbolic structure, there is a board where interactions and conflicts take place. Voices provoke reactions. Boomerangs represent the way conflicts often return and escalate when people respond to each other impulsively. Within such dynamics, reactions tend to keep the system moving.

    But outside that board there is another place: the source. The source is not part of the conflict itself. It represents a moment of distance and reflection. When someone reaches the source, reactions lose their immediate power. Without an audience and without returning reactions, the usual dynamics of provocation begin to fade.

    Looking into the water of the source becomes a moment of self-reflection. Not about the role someone plays within the system, but about the person behind that role. From there, a choice becomes possible. When you still don’t know the answer, maybe a safe Source can help you? The compass represents the moment when someone decides how to respond when returning to the board.

    Importantly, the world itself does not change. The board remains the same. Voices may still provoke, and conflicts may still arise. What changes is how someone reacts. Others may eventually recognize this difference. When provocation no longer triggers the expected reaction, the system begins to behave differently.

    I did not consciously design this symbolic world. It appeared naturally once the elements were placed together. Sometimes, when a model becomes simple enough, it reveals its own internal logic, and with it, an entire conceptual structure. Interestingly, I didn’t design the story; I discovered it.

    This organic simplicity reveals an immense, preventative possibility: if we introduce these non-stigmatizing symbols into early childhood education, primary school curriculums, and animated cartoons at a young enough age, the architecture installs itself naturally directly within the subconscious mind. Long before an individual faces the high-pressure dynamics of adolescent bullying or adult relational chaos, the subconscious is already formatted with the archetypes of the Pawn, the Boomerang, and the Compass. By planting these visual coordinates early, a child implicitly learns how to step off the board, look into the source, and execute automatic boundary calibration before an unsafe system can rewrite their biology. It bypasses the clinical sandbox entirely, dropping the tools of autonomy straight into the developing psyche.


  • The picture shows a pattern.

    The man in the frame barely exists. He is there to validate. The woman exists mainly through reflection. Through being seen. Could an imagined online audience become a source of external validation? Who knows? Through external confirmation. That is how the self is held together. I have met several women like this. The attachment feels familiar to the pawn. Endless photos, endless posting, endless need for validation. As long as the audience confirms, things remain calm. When validation drops, the audience turns into a threat. Not because people attack, but because they don’t confirm.

    What happens next is predictable. The closest people pay the price: the ex, the partner, the relationship at that moment. Pawns are used against pawns. Triangulation follows. Sometimes escalates. When there is a child, the pattern repeats. The child sits in the same position. When validation is insufficient, pressure increases. The child no longer has an audience. Everyone becomes a potential threat. They think I’m stupid. They think I’m ugly. I shouldn’t talk. I’m wrong. My parent is right. We see this everywhere: abusive relationships, “Are We Dating the Same Guy” groups, repeating dynamics across platforms. You can write reports forever. The pattern is visible.

    The trend is increasing. The violence is increasing. And the child is still the one paying the price. Some illnesses are real. Others function primarily as shields within these systems, so I met the woman with fibromyalgia. In recent years, chronic pain conditions such as fibromyalgia have increasingly been discussed in relation to stress and trauma earlier in life. Some clinicians focus on measurable pain points. Others cautiously explore psychological histories. There is still no consensus.

    What follows is not a medical conclusion. It is a pattern. I was in a relationship with that woman for about eight months. She lived in constant pain. Exhaustion. Complaints. Doctor visits. Fibromyalgia, according to several physicians. She needed care. Support. Understanding. I became the caretaker. Her previous relationship was described as abusive and chaotic. The story was familiar: she had suffered deeply, and the consequences were still present.

    She had a son another unseen pawn. A young adolescent. Quiet. Withdrawn. Poor grades at school. He spent most of his time indoors, gaming. Few friends. Conversations were short and cautious. Eye contact fleeting. Without explanation, he understood the rules. When I arrived, he went to his room. No discussion. No resistance. A man in the house meant withdrawal.

    This was not shyness. It was learned behavior. After several months, I began speaking with him more regularly. Carefully. Slowly. What became visible was loneliness. A sense of worthlessness. Fear of saying the wrong thing. When his mother became angry, she told him he was stupid. That nothing about him was good enough. These moments were not isolated. They were repetitive. At school, there was no diagnosis. No label. No ADHD. No autism. Nothing that would trigger attention. A quiet child without a label does not exist in the system. I had already seen it in his eyes. They were flat. Empty.

    This was not normal adolescence. Anyone familiar with emotional humiliation recognizes the pattern immediately. At some point, it became clear that this environment was not safe. This boy needed help. At the very least, he needed someone outside the household who could see him. I added him on social media. We exchanged occasional messages. Nothing dramatic. No accusations. Just contact. That was enough to change something. When his mother noticed that I was reaching out to him, the atmosphere shifted. For people who rely heavily on external validation, there is one unacceptable threat: being seen as imperfect. Not as a flawless mother. Not as a caring, suffering woman. She always told me the boy was smart, perfect and her sunshine. The reality was not seen.

    Shortly after, the relationship ended. Leaving did not feel like a normal breakup. It felt like escaping a closed system, one that pulls you in while simultaneously pushing you away. The personal details of this relationship are described elsewhere. They do not matter for understanding the mechanism, which occurs far more often than we like to admit. Afterward, I tried to reach the boy. His WhatsApp profile picture was gone. Messages unanswered. Facebook deleted. Instagram disappeared. He vanished. I drove by the neighborhood occasionally. I never saw him again. Something felt deeply wrong.

    A few years later, I heard what had happened, through a friend of hers. One year later, after i had met him for the last time, her soon took his own life. Out of disbelief, I checked her social media pages again. I had not looked at them in a long time. Before that, he was almost never there. Sometimes he appeared in the background of a picture; sometimes he dissapered from the pages all together. Her pages had always been filled with holidays, expensive trips, and different men. Those men were the ones who took pictures, during the honeymoon phase. The same images were then reused andlessly on WhatsApp and social media. Endless photos. Endless validation. A child did not fit that image. It is easier to appear available and desirable when no child is visible in the frame. (Non-confirmation is punished by removal from the frame (sometimes literally) and the image. You are painted black, assigned to the army rather than the confirming audience. This status is provissional and reversible).

    So, he was absent. And then, suddenly, he was there, Photos appeared. Posts appeared. She was in tears. She had lost her son. The grief was visible, overwhelming. Messages of sympathy followed immediately, before the holiday pictures started rolling again. Hearts appeared, love quotes followed, and slowly everything returned to normal. Everyone felt for this woman with fibromyalgia, and that she was so strong. The system responded exactly as expected. Her pain was seen, the mother with the ilness and how nobody saw her true self. Her loss was acknowledged. Her story was protected. The child, however, was already gone.

    This is not an isolated story. Children growing up under chronic emotional pressure learn early that speaking has consequences. Silence becomes safety. Withdrawal becomes strategy. When no diagnosis is present, nothing alerts the system. Schools see poor grades, not despair. Doctors see physical complaints, not fear. The family narrative remains intact. The adult is visible. The child disappears. Until there is nothing left to see.

    (My observations extend beyond the case described here, drawing on additional conversations and cases, including media accounts that appear to echo aspects of the PBC-PAN model: public victim narratives, possible victim–persecutor shifts, and relational pressures that receive little scrutiny. Some concern suicide or requests for euthanasia among young people, making careful investigation especially urgent. These similarities cannot establish causation or justify conclusions about any individual, but what I have heard raises questions that public accounts do not resolve. I am documenting these possible connections; if sufficiently robust evidence establishes a recurring pattern, I intend to submit the findings for publication and independent scrutiny).


  • The DSM-5 has improved diagnostic reliability and contributed to crisis intervention, much of mental health research has historically focused primarily on symptom classification and post-hoc treatment. Preventive insights have existed since the 1960s, but they were never fully integrated into a coherent, child-centred developmental framework. PAN is not a new diagnosis, nor is it positioned against the DSM-5. It is designed to operate alongside existing diagnostic systems by addressing the developmental layer that precedes classification. Where DSM classification rosponds to observed outcomes, PAN focuses on trajectories, aiming to support earlier recognition and intervention before structural damage accumulates. The distinction between reactive classification and developmental prevention is not merely theoretical. Its implications become visible in long-term societal patterns. Tens of millions of children continue to live with emotional or physical abuse behind closed doors: unseen, unmeasured, and structurally unprotected. At the same time, bullying mechanisms often go unnoticed, while aggression among youth is rising worldwide. Together these pressures place a growing strain on children’s emotion-regulation systems, which can become increasingly misaligned over time. This helps explain why the numbers keep rising and why pressure on mental health care continues to increase. The system is overloaded not because professionals fail, but because prevention was never structurally embedded.

    In this gap, a ”business model of hope” emerged: At the same time, ”sociopathic” and ”narcissistic” dynamics continue to reproduce each other systemically, across families and generations. These dynamics tend to intensify over time; although difficult to quantify empirically, the consistency of reported experiences across clinical and lived contexts suggests a robust underlying pattern. In cases where caregivers carry unresolved attachment trauma, ‘sometimes’ associated with splitting processes described by Otto Kernberg, the capacity to provide secure attachment may be structurally compromised. The vacuum is now filled by poeple producing endless content about the gap itself, not because solutions are scarce, but because unresolved dynamics keep generating demand, endless promises of healing, awareness books and treatments, symptom management, and retrospective labelling, while abusive dynamics remain undetected during early development.

    DSM-5 reflects this limitation. It classifies outcomes rather than trajectories and the origen. Symptoms are described, but the label itself remains unstable, shifting with observer perspective, training level, and timing of assessment. In practice, this means individuals can receive different labels across contexts, despite stable underlying dynamics. This is not a failure of clinicians. It is a structural limitation of retrospective classification.

    PAN is not against the DSM-5. It is designed to operate before DSM-based classification, at a preventive and developmental level. It addresses this gap. Ideally, developmental analysis should begin in early childhood and continue through adolescence to build a stronger, more complete understanding of the individual and their environment. PAN makes abusive dynamics, pawns, boomerang loops, projection, shame, triangulation, identity pressure, parentification, and borrowed identity measurable before collapse, when intervention is still possible. Some people start to feel reduced to a label. For some, that label does not just describe distress, it starts to shape identity itself. Online, people then gather around the same diagnosis, mirror each other’s limitations, and gradually begin to live through the label. Others want the exact opposite: they do not want a diagnosis to become their identity at all.

    Keep DSM where it is still administratively needed, but place a non-labelling prevention framework next to it, one that looks at family dynamics, coercive control, chronic pressure, shame, peer influence and developmental stress before symptom-checking begins. The moment the care system openly acknowledges both the strengths and the limits of diagnosis, it takes oxygen away from the online identity market and restores trust in the care system again. This is not an attack on care. It is a critique of a system that became reactive, and structurally late.


  • PAN is a creative symbol system designed for children. Children can express themselves safely. Teachers can understand what’s happening. Researchers can measure and study it globally.

    When boomerangs are thrown endlessly inside a home, or repeatedly in a classroom during bullying, that rhythmic return is the first structural warning sign. A child knows instinctively that a boomerang hurts (they can understand projection) and that every word or action returns. That recognition reveals that something behind closed doors is not as it should be. The key moment is visibility. When conflicts are no longer hidden, the real dynamics show themselves, especially from the child’s perspective. That exposure already changes some behavior. Some shame-based families, not all self-correct the moment shame becomes visible to teachers, professionals, doctors, and others around them. When visibility is interpreted as judgment, the audience functionally shifts into an army, which explains the self-corrective shift.

    The symbols: pawn, boomerang, compass give language to those hidden experiences of pain and violence. Children instantly recognize: this is the symbol of being unsafe, this is my voice.

    PAN symbols can be used anywhere, even an event giving every child a way to feel or express, communicate, and be understood. You can even start with a small children’s book for kindergarten. A simple story about a little pawn who sometimes feels unsafe. What is safety? What can you do when you feel unsafe? Who is your safe person, Source at home? Who do you feel comfortable talking to when something is bothering you?

    Do they listen to you? Do they understand how you feel And if they don’t, who else can you talk to? A grandparent, a teacher, an aunt, an uncle, a neighbour, or another trusted adult? What is a safe Source? What does it feel like when someone is angry with you? What happens when someone throws a boomerang of hurt or frustration? What do you do when someone ignores you? Is it about you or not? And how do you discover that the boomerang doesn’t always belong to you?

    Most importantly, the story teaches that every child has a choice. You have your own autonomy. You have your own compass. You can decide whether to catch someone else’s boomerang or let it fall, and choose the direction that feels safe for you.


  • When shame settles, the story splits

    Around ages 7–8, early shame experiences begin to organize the Imaginary Audience and a proto-form of the Imaginary Army. Around ages 11–13, identity-building intensifies: self-awareness spikes, social comparison accelerates, the Imaginary Audience becomes dominant (“everyone is watching me”) mirrors, words from others, and reflections become checkpoints. The adolescent begins to build a story: “I am different. My experience is special. My feelings matter more than anyone realizes.” This is the personal fable, the engine that drives early identity.

    But now the split begins. ⁠Internal Shame – hyper-empathy and collapse. For internalizers, the personal fable turns inward. The inner narrative becomes: “Something is wrong with me.” “I must be the problem.” “I have to fix myself.” The Mirror Loop. Internalizers repeatedly check mirrors, windows, screens, reflections: “I don’t look good here… maybe I look better over there.” One reflection breaks them. Another gives temporary relief. They aren’t trying to feel beautiful. They are trying to feel coherent. They’re searching for a version of themselves that holds, constantly seeing themselves through the eyes of others.

    The Comparison Loop. When mirrors fail, comparison begins: “My friend looks good, maybe I’m not that different.” “My father looked good, I resemble him.” “My mother was attractive, I have some of her features.” This is identity borrowing: “I might be acceptable because I resemble someone who was acceptable.” Brief relief. Then collapse. Then repeat. The Collapse. Eventually, the inward personal fable breaks: “This story isn’t real. This isn’t who I am.” And the collapse brings: hyper-empathy, overwhelm, guilt, fragile identity, emotional overload. This is the hyper-empath pathway. The problem is simple: it never stabilizes. When this process does not stabilize during adolescence, it does not resolve spontaneously. Without an explicit understanding of the underlying mechanism, the pattern persists and often intensifies, continuing into adulthood beyond age 18. It never stabilizes because no one explains the mechanism to you. So the adolescent enters a cycle of ups and downs, trying to regulate something they cannot name. When the mechanism remains invisible: the shame stays internal, the self-blame grows, the pressure rises, and the system collapses in waves. In many cases, this leads to coping mechanisms mask behaviour, and addictions, not because the person is weak, but because no one ever told them what was happening inside them. In these families, the outside world becomes the place where the adolescent and family “borrows” identity, yet it is also the place the abuse remains hidden, and the family works hard to keep the outside world out.

    External Shame – projection, control, and non-collapse For externalizers, the personal fable shifts outward: “I am special.” “Others must adapt to me.” “If something is wrong, it’s not me.” Shame is not felt; it is exported. This can show up as: arrogance, dominance, bullying, minimizing others, emotional withdrawal or attack, aggression, belittling, control “I’m right, you’re wrong” logic.

    It does not mean the person is “narcissistic” by diagnosis. But we all see what is happening online: rising buzzwords, viral victim narratives, and yes many of these stories are real but also, it’s a culture that labels every painful interaction as “narcissism.” This is intended for professionals only, to understand which behavioural patterns may correspond to potential future difficulties, not to diagnose or label individuals.” This means the person learned to regulate pressure through external direction.

    Projection: The Silent Confession. Projection is not power. It is a silent confession of internal pain. Or in PAN language: Fractured-ego projection teaches the child one truth: the boomerang was never theirs, they only carried it until they understood it.” Before anything reflects outward, the accusation reveals what the accuser cannot see in themselves. Projection protects the self by firing discomfort outward. And because the person never turns inward, the personal fable never collapses.

    David Elkind (1967) The Imaginary Audience – The Imaginary Army. It doesn’t stop with the Imaginary Audience: “Everyone is watching me.” Under pressure, something shifts: The audience becomes an army. The Imaginary Army: judgment, threat, expectation, symbolic opponents, internalized voices, rehearsed conflict, anticipated attacks. This Army determines whether the adolescent fights the world or fights themselves.

    The same Army, two directions. This is the core PAN insight: Both internalizers and externalizers use the same psychological mechanism, the Imaginary Army. Externalizers – deploy the Army outward. They use it to: intimidate, dominate, control, punish, dismiss, overpower. Their Army says: “Strike first. Stay on top.” Internalizers absorb the Army inward. They experience it as: shame, self-blame, guilt, fear, pressure, collapse. Their Army says: “You are the problem.” One fires the Army outward. The other swallows the Army inward. Both are surviving pressure. Just in opposite directions.

    The PAN Mechanism Behind Both Paths

    Everything can be reduced to one sequence: pressure – no safe exit – shame – hidden behaviour – pattern strengthening. Internal shame leads to hidden behaviour directed inward: mirror loops, comparison loops, rumination, and collapse. External shame leads to hidden behaviour directed outward: projection, control, dominance, and image regulation.

    Both internalizers and externalizers engage in comparison loops. In internalizers, comparison weakens and collapses the ego. In externalizers, the same loop hardens the ego and reinforces the personal fable. The personal fable (“I am special”) exists to buffer insecurity. Under sustained pressure, this buffer fails differently across paths. For internalizers, the personal fable collapses in waves, producing shame-based withdrawal and self-correction. For externalizers, the personal fable does not collapse; it hardens and is defended through outward regulation.

    Externalizers can repeatedly rewrite their personal fable (e.g., future model, professor, exceptional talent), because the audience and the army function as anchoring reference points that allow the narrative to be reset in whatever form restores perceived superiority. They can sometimes verbally express insecurity, mirroring what the Imaginary Audience expects to hear, because this stance is performative rather than felt, shame cannot be integrated and is therefore exported onto others, often privately, through control, coercion, or bullying. This expression is performative rather than experiential: it regulates perception, not inner state.

    This is PAN Theory: the same mechanism, different direction.

    In One Sentence. Every adolescent writes a personal fable. Internalizers turn it inward and eventually break. Externalizers turn it outward and never stop. And when pressure rises, the Imaginary Audience becomes an Imaginary Army launched outward by one, absorbed inward by the other.


  • Rotating the hierarchy.

    Carl Jung’s statement “The true leader is always led”

    That means that a genuine leader does not rely purely on ego, dominance, or rigid control. Instead, they remain receptive to a deeper inner authority, collective purpose, or unconscious wisdom rather than just commanding blindly.

    What if we stopped teaching young people that development means climbing upward Walk into a school, institution, company, hospital, or government organization and sooner or later you will encounter the same familiar picture: the organizational chart. At the top: management, directors, experts, decision-makers. Further down: teachers, professionals, support staff, workers. And somewhere at the receiving end: the student, client, patient, resident, or young person. It looks perfectly logical. Someone has to coordinate. Someone has responsibility. Someone has expertise. But there is another question we rarely ask: What does repeatedly seeing the world organized vertically teach a developing child? Not because organizational structures are inherently wrong, but because children do not only learn from what adults explicitly tell them. They also learn from structure. They observe who speaks first. Who gets interrupted. Who makes the rules. Whose knowledge counts. Who receives the largest office. Who is expected to listen. Who has to ask permission. Who evaluates whom. And slowly, an invisible social map can develop:

    Up means important. Down means less important. Development means moving upward. Rotate the Hierarchy. What if schools and institutions occasionally turned that map around? Not permanently. Not chaotically. And certainly not by pretending that a twelve-year-old and a trained surgeon possess the same medical expertise.

    The idea is much more precise: Keep responsibility where responsibility belongs, but rotate perspective, knowledge and temporary authority. A hierarchy can be functional without becoming psychological. A teacher may have authority in a classroom. A mechanic has authority when diagnosing an engine. A carpenter understands materials differently from an accountant. A nurse may notice something at a patient’s bedside that senior management cannot see from a spreadsheet. And a fifteen-year-old may understand the social dynamics of his classroom better than every adult sitting in the staff meeting.

    Expertise moves. Context moves. Perspective moves. Therefore, the hierarchy should sometimes move with it.. The True Leader Is Always Led This may sound like a contradiction. We normally imagine leadership moving in one direction: the leader knows, the leader explains, the leader decides, everyone else follows. But good leadership can move in both directions. A good leader knows when to lead, but also when to follow. A good teacher knows when to teach, but also when to become the student. A good professional knows when to intervene, but also when to step aside.

    Because leadership is not about occupying the highest position all the time. Leadership is creating an environment in which knowledge, feedback and initiative are allowed to move. And this can begin with something incredibly small. The Teacher Who Makes a Mistake Imagine a teacher writing something incorrectly on the board. You can do this indirectly by simply waiting, staring at the whiteboard as if you are trying to figure something out. Eventually, a student may step in: “Wait, you don’t know that?” Without asking for help, you have temporarily shifted the hierarchy and invited the student to become the expert.

    A child can also raises their hand. “Teacher, that’s wrong.” The teacher looks again. “Really? You’re right. I made a mistake.” And instead of immediately restoring the normal hierarchy: “Okay. Then help me. Where did I go wrong?” For a few minutes, something important happens. The teacher is still the teacher. The child is still the student. Responsibility has not changed. But knowledge has changed position. The person normally being taught becomes the person teaching. The person normally correcting becomes the person being corrected. The child experiences: Authority can make mistakes. Authority can listen. Authority can be corrected. Knowing something gives me a voice. Not knowing something does not reduce my value.

    The teacher demonstrates something equally important: Leadership is not proving that you are always right. Leadership is creating a system in which the right information is allowed to reach you. The true leader is always led. “I Don’t Know, Show Me”

    I used something similar when working with young people. Sometimes I simply said: “I don’t know.” Of course, sometimes I did know. But that wasn’t the point. During cooking, for example, instead of automatically becoming the adult who explained every step, I might ask: “How do we do this?” And suddenly the roles changed. “No, you have to cut it like this.” “First you put this in.” “No, wait, not yet.” And I followed their instructions. For a moment, the professional was no longer the instructor.

    The young person was. Nothing important had been surrendered. I still remained responsible for safety and for the situation as a whole. But the direction of knowledge had temporarily reversed. A young person who is normally surrounded by adults explaining, evaluating and correcting suddenly gets another experience:

    I know something. You can learn from me. My knowledge has value. I can guide someone too.

    That is rotating hierarchy in everyday practice. Sometimes the most powerful thing an adult can say is not: “Let me show you.” But: “I don’t know. Show me.” “You Know This, Right?” There is another variation. Years earlier, when I worked as a mechanic, I once had an apprentice working with me.

    There was something technical that needed to be figured out. Instead of immediately explaining it, I said something like: “You know how this works, right?” I don’t know. Especially when working with young people, whether in construction, technical work, education, or anywhere else, sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is: (“I don’t know. Do you understand it? I don’t know yet.” Then leave the silence. didn’t. I thought you knew this. You’re smart, right?” for example. Don’t immediately provide the answer. Give them space to think, explore, and take the initiative themselves. If they genuinely don’t know, you always step in later. It’s an ongoing process). And that was how it started. The question stayed with him, not as an instruction, but as a small challenge. Instead of me giving him the answer, he became curious enough to go looking for it himself.

    He was an apprentice. And of course, I actually knew the answer. But something interesting happened. The question stayed in his head. Why did he ask me? Am I supposed to know this? How does this actually work? Instead of waiting for me to provide the answer, he started helping, thinking, searching.

    In his own time, he looked things up on the internet. He tried to understand the mechanism. He kept working on the problem independently. Eventually he came back to me: “I know it.” That moment mattered. Because I could have given him the answer in thirty seconds. But then the knowledge would still have travelled through the traditional hierarchy: From that moment on, something shifted: sometimes, before I had even reached the next problem, he had already researched it and started working on the repair himself. I would look over and think, “Wait, how did you get there already?” He was no longer simply helping me; he had started thinking ahead, exploring problems in his own time, and taking initiative before I even had to ask. And the funny part is that this is often exactly where creativity appears. The student may approach the problem from a completely different angle, and suddenly, you are learning from them too. They see something you didn’t see, simply because they have a different perspective.

    Expert → apprentice. Instead, something else happened: question → uncertainty → curiosity → independent search → understanding → return. The apprentice did not simply receive knowledge. He constructed his way toward it. And when he returned, the hierarchy had rotated again. Now he was explaining the mechanism.

    I was listening. This introduces another important function of rotating hierarchy: sometimes stepping back creates curiosity. If the expert immediately fills every gap with an answer, the learner can become very good at receiving information. Leave the right gap, however, and the learner may start searching for the answer independently.

    The Classroom as a Laboratory. Now take these small interactions and make the underlying principle visible. Imagine a teacher drawing the traditional school hierarchy on the board: Principal. Management. Teachers. Support staff. Students.

    Now rotate it. Put the students at the top.

    Then ask: “If the school existed primarily to help you develop, what information should travel upward from you?” Suddenly the organizational chart becomes something else. It becomes a feedback system. Students could map: Where does pressure accumulate? Where does information stop moving? Who knows whether a classroom actually feels safe? Which rules help learning, and which rules merely produce compliance? What problems are visible to students but invisible to management? The teacher has not lost authority. The students have gained system awareness. That distinction matters.

    Let the Child Become the Expert. A second exercise could be even simpler. Once in a while, rotate expertise. One student understands computers. Another repairs bicycles. Another knows everything about animals. Someone cooks with their grandmother. Someone understands social media better than every adult in the building. Someone knows exactly how exclusion happens in the playground. For twenty minutes, the normal hierarchy changes. The teacher becomes the learner. The student becomes the instructor. This teaches something that cannot easily be taught through a textbook:

    Authority is contextual. You can know more than me here. I can know more than you there. Neither fact determines our human value. That is a remarkably important lesson to learn before adulthood.

    But First: Understand the Group Dynamic. There is an important condition to all of this: you have to understand the group dynamic. Not every young person wants to become the temporary expert in front of twenty other students. Some children will immediately raise their hands. Others may know exactly what the answer is and still remain completely silent. Not because they have nothing to contribute. They may be reading the room. Who is listening? Who might laugh? Who usually dominates the group? What happens if I make a mistake? Will someone use this against me later? Is it actually safe for me to speak? That is why rotating hierarchy should never become another compulsory classroom exercise.

    Sometimes it works beautifully in a group. Sometimes it works much better one-to-one. A teacher might notice that a quiet student understands something particularly well and approach them privately: “I think you understand this. Can you show me?” Now the hierarchy can rotate without the pressure of an audience. Before asking someone to lead, therefore, we need to understand the social architecture around that person. Who feels safe with whom? Who speaks freely? Who becomes quiet when particular people enter the room? Who knows a great deal but rarely shows it publicly?

    Who needs encouragement? And who needs less attention rather than more? This makes rotating hierarchy more than simply swapping roles. It requires reading the system first. Because equality does not mean treating every person identically. One young person may grow when you say: “Come to the front and show us.” Another may grow when you quietly sit beside them and say:

    “You know this, don’t you? Show me.” Same principle. Different social conditions. Rotate the hierarchy, but read the room before you rotate it.

    Institutions Could Do Exactly the Same Thing

    Now imagine a youth-care institution. The organizational chart normally moves downward: Director → manager → behavioural specialist → team leader → staff → young person. But once a month, rotate it. Start with the young person.

    Ask: “What does the institution look like from your position?” Then physically map the system on a wall: Young person → daily environment → staff → team → specialists → management → policy. Now trace information upward. A young person becomes angry every evening. What happens next? Does the information reaching management become: “aggressive behaviour”? Or does the system preserve the entire sequence?What happened beforehand? Who was present? What rule was introduced? Was there embarrassment? Conflict? Social pressure? Loss of autonomy? Fear? A misunderstanding? What happened five minutes before the behaviour? What happened five hours before it? What happened repeatedly during the previous month? Rotating the hierarchy changes the starting point of analysis. Instead of asking: “How do we make this person function within our system?” During my graduation internship, I tested this with a young person who could be highly aggressive. I told him, “Today, I know nothing. You teach me.” He started explaining cooking, cleaning, and other practical tasks while I deliberately took the position of the learner. The dynamic changed, and he became noticeably calmer. I initially wanted to make this the subject of my thesis, but eventually chose a different topic.

    The institution can also ask: “What does our system look like from the position of this person?” That is not anti-authority. It is better systems engineering. The Same Problem Appears in Work. We reproduce the vertical model later in life. You should move up. Get promoted. Become manager. Become director. Acquire status. Build a personal brand. Become visible. Become somebody.

    But somebody still has to build the house. Somebody has to repair the heating system. Somebody has to diagnose the engine. Somebody has to install the electrical system. Somebody has to grow food. Somebody has to teach the apprentice how the work is actually done. A highly skilled tradesperson can create enormous economic and social value without ever wanting to become a manager. Yet our cultural language often describes advancement vertically: Also, when you’re young, you simply don’t know yet. We often underestimate the opportunities in skilled trades and technical professions. After five, six, or eight years of experience, someone may start their own business, develop a new product, or discover a completely different direction. And look at what highly skilled tradespeople can earn today, it can be surprisingly good. As a child, you have no idea. You may think working with your hands means limited opportunities or income, while the opposite can be true. Technical and skilled work can offer enormous room for creativity, entrepreneurship, innovation. These professions are often underestimated, yet they can offer excellent earning potential and even opportunities to build a successful business of your own.

    higher education. higher position. higher management. higher status. higher income. Perhaps development does not always have to mean higher. It can also mean: deeper expertise. greater autonomy. better craftsmanship. greater responsibility. stronger cooperation. more creativity. That changes the geometry of development.

    From Hierarchy to Network. Traditional hierarchy asks: Who stands above whom? A rotating hierarchy asks: Who has the relevant knowledge here? That produces a different model of authority. Authority does not disappear. It becomes functional, temporary and accountable to context. The surgeon leads during surgery. The pilot leads in the cockpit. The teacher carries responsibility for the classroom. The mechanic leads the diagnosis underneath the bonnet. The child becomes the primary source when adults want to understand what the child’s daily environment actually feels like.

    Leadership becomes something that can move through a network depending on the problem being solved. This is closer to how complex systems actually work.

    From Instruction to Curiosity. The small examples from earlier now reveal several different mechanisms. The teacher creates space for correction: “You’re right. I made a mistake.” The professional creates space for temporary leadership: “I don’t know. Show me.” The mechanic creates space for independent discovery: “You know this, right?” And understanding the group creates the conditions in which that rotation can happen safely:

    “Where and with whom can this person actually take the lead?” The adult does not abandon responsibility. Instead, the adult temporarily stops occupying all available space for knowledge. That empty space matters. Because if adults immediately answer every question, solve every problem and demonstrate every skill, young people can become very good at following expertise. But leave the right gap at the right moment and something else can emerge:

    Curiosity. Initiative. Problem-solving. Competence. Confidence. Ownership. Sometimes leadership means showing someone the answer. Sometimes leadership means knowing the answer, and leaving just enough space for someone else to discover it. And It Can Start at School Children could learn this before they ever enter the labour market. Rotate the classroom. Rotate expertise. Rotate who explains. Rotate who asks the questions. Let students occasionally evaluate the learning environment instead of only being evaluated by it. Let them map how decisions travel through the school. Let a caretaker explain the building. Let a carpenter teach measurement. Let an entrepreneur explain risk. Let a nurse explain responsibility. Let a student explain the social architecture of the playground. Sometimes do it in the group. Sometimes do it one-to-one. Read the room. Keep responsibility. Rotate perspective. Then return everyone to their normal roles. The purpose is not to create a world without structure. The purpose is to prevent structure from becoming identity. Because perhaps one of the most useful developmental lessons we can give a child is remarkably simple:

    You do not have to climb above other people to develop yourself. Sometimes you lead. Sometimes you follow. Sometimes you teach. Sometimes you learn. Sometimes you know. Sometimes you say: “I don’t know.” And sometimes the person at the bottom of the organizational chart possesses the information everyone at the top desperately needs. The goal is not to destroy the hierarchy. The goal is to rotate it. Keep responsibility. Rotate expertise. Create curiosity. Read the room. Return the floor.

    And perhaps, if we teach that early enough, children will grow up seeing society less as a ladder to climb,

    and more as a system in which everyone has a position from which something valuable can be seen.

    The true leader is always led.


  • He notices something strange.

    Several adolescents have not left their bedrooms for weeks, months, or even years. They are described as being extremely sensitive to light, sound, touch, or warm wate making showering almost impossible. Daily routines become increasingly difficult, and the mainstream academic sandbox immediately deploys its standard, flat explanation: autism, ADHD, innate sensory overload, and a biological need for structure.

    So Freud starts asking questions, exposing what is in reality a profound clinical disaster where healthcare professionals are walking around like blind pawns merely following protocols.

    The Protocol-Driven Containment Theater

    Within the institution, privacy is pathologized into a rigid micro-fortress. Freud notices that staff members enter rooms only at fixed times, dogmatically executing a knocking protocol before opening any door. When the door opens unexpectedly, the young people appear profoundly shocked. The adolescents largely control the temporal boundaries of the environment; if a pawn-practitioner approaches differently, intense frustration and systemic crisis immediately follow. Everyone carefully follows the administrative protocol to maintain an artificial peace.

    But Freud looks beyond the immediate behavioral output and scans the moving parts of the developmental history. Another pattern becomes undeniably visible: many of these young people come from closed family networks marked by parental separation, substance abuse, chronic conflict, psychological aggression, physical violence, or prolonged systemic instability behind closed doors. In several cases, there are deeply complicated, unmapped conflicts with their own mothers operating through remarkably indirect or unusual ways.

    What exactly happens to a developing nervous system when unpredictability, conflict, fear, shame, or emotional instability repeatedly occurs inside the primary caregiving environment that was supposed to provide safety? Within a computational neuroscience framework, this constant environmental trauma generates massive, recurring prediction errors. To prevent total ego annihilation, the organism retreats into the bedroom—not because of an innate biological deficit, but to construct a hyper-controlled, localized sandbox where absolute predictability can be artificially enforced.

    The Untouchable Realities of the Bedroom

    When the establishment arrives late with its manual-driven checklists, it examines only the current behavior without reconstructing the original threat environment, raising an uncomfortable question: “What exactly happens behind those closed bedroom doors all day?”

    In ordinary situations, society jokes about embarrassing adolescent transitions. Here, however, the subject is treated as entirely untouchable. Gaming, YouTube, and endless digital scrolling are tossed out as lazy, comforting answers. But are we seriously suggesting an organism spends twelve to sixteen hours a day doing nothing but consuming media?

    One day, a staff member unexpectedly breaks protocol and opens a bedroom door because a young person has refused to shower for two years. The adolescent is startled, embarrassed, and furious. Freud raises another question that the checklist factory is too terrified to articulate: Could normal adolescent sexuality, acute shame, privacy, online pornography, compulsive internet use, or profound existential loneliness also be driving this regression?

    Instead of addressing these raw human variables, the protocol-driven machinery accepts that a young person remains inside a dark room for years with virtually no daylight, movement, or human interaction. The clinical conversation remains safely frozen within the flat silos of sensory processing plans, behavioral charts, and diagnostic labels.

    The Disruption of Endless Accommodation

    Predictably, the moment a practitioner breaches the artificial boundary, the covert structure of the system reacts. The young person becomes furious and files an official institutional complaint. The feedback from the surrounding colleagues is instant and defensive: “Some young people simply want to stay in their rooms. You have to accept the protocol.”

    But then, the system experiences a profound pattern break. A few days following the conflict, the exact same adolescent voluntarily walks downstairs. He apologizes. Gradually, he starts joining the group again. When Freud sees him navigating the stairs, he breaks the sterile clinical boundary with a joke: “Hey, can daylight even handle you? Good to see you.” Something shifts. The adolescent starts showering regularly, appearing downstairs with wet hair and gel in it, systematically re-entering the social matrix.

    Could the uncomfortable conflict have been the exact corrective mirroring the young person was starving for? Was it the sudden experience of being truly seen through a real boundary? Human behavior is never simple, but this sequence illustrates an absolute law of Pressure System Psychology: respectful confrontation, clear boundaries, and genuine human contact can instantly interrupt a destructive pattern that endless protocol-driven accommodation will keep funding forever.

    The bedroom is not evidence of a static brain disorder. It is a complex, multi-layered defense mechanism operating as a retreat, a control matrix, an arena of shame, and a desperate bid for autonomy all at the same time. Freud would leave the building with one final, devastating question for the sandbox: “Are we still curious enough to ask the uncomfortable questions, or have our administrative checklists become more important than understanding the whole human being?”


  • Autonomy slips away when too many hands pull in different directions

    The First Signals It began innocently. A girl with panic attacks. Her parents had brought her in. She was still in school and wanted to finish it. But at the care facility she was immediately given new learning goals: cleaning her room, cooking, washing, hobbies, activities. The municipality demanded progress. The learning goals had to remain measurable. She carried two burdens at once: school and treatment. At home, everything was falling apart, parents in conflict, a brother, a sister,
    and a child who didn’t feel seen.

    The panic attacks came quickly. Several times a day. The assigned caregiver got calls from the parents: “You’re not responding fast enough! It took ten minutes before anyone came!” And that’s where it began.

    The Panic of the System
    The panic of the system became greater than the panic of the girl herself. Every attack became an emergency. Every emergency another meeting. It all depended on which caregiver she got. One could calm her down in five minutes, the other kept talking for forty-five minutes. She cried, she screamed, and a moment later, she laughed again. The assistant caregiver, a man in his sixties, full of common sense and allergic to nonsense, was the first to understand. After ten minutes, he simply started acting silly. A little dance. A few funny faces. Or he’d say, “Come on, let’s take a short drive in my car.” And sure enough, she wanted to. Within ten minutes, the panic attack was over.

    Later he said, “I don’t think this is panic. I think it’s just attention, the child was never seen” But he wasn’t allowed to say that. Not his role. Not professional. He didn’t have a degree. So officially, he wasn’t competent. Meanwhile, the panic above him kept growing. The parents wrote emails. The main caregiver ran from meeting to meeting. The girl sat in the middle of the storm and thrived on all the attention. Many months had passed. By now, panic had become procedural. A specialist had even come by with a PowerPoint presentation on panic attacks. We all sat there with our notepads. The assistant caregiver, the same man, sat with his arms folded. He’d had enough months ago.

    One of the boys in the group said,
    “That twenty-year-old intern is allowed to help her, but he’s not?” He kept pointing it out. Meeting after meeting. But no one listened. There was too much panic, too many meetings, too many words. The core stayed outside the room. The specialist explained everything: what panic attacks were, how they started, what we had to do. PowerPoints, definitions, step-by-step plans. We knew exactly what panic was, on paper. And still, nothing changed.

    Then came the fatigue.
    Slowly, quietly. After many months, the whole team was drained. The main caregiver held on a little longer, but the rest began saying it out loud: “I think it’s just attention.” The main caregiver had been so determined to meet the learning goals that she eventually had to quit school herself. She couldn’t take it anymore. Because now the girl didn’t just have school goals, she had treatment goals too. Double the load. Double Steering and then, slowly, the panic attacks disappeared. As quietly as they had arrived. The parents sent one last email to the team manager:
    “The staff isn’t responding adequately.”

    The team manager panicked. Complaints. More meetings. More pressure. The assistant caregiver shrugged. He said, “Guys, I’ve seen enough. I’m done.” Many months of panic. A team in crisis. A specialist, a protocol, a PowerPoint. And in the end, it turned out: the panic attacks had never been real. It was a cry for attention, a human being who simply wanted to be seen.

    The Lesson of Panic:
    everyone got exactly what they didn’t need.

    The girl got panic.
    The parents got control.
    The staff got exhaustion.
    And the system got yet another protocol.

    No one got rest. No one got understanding. Only another document in the file. In the end, the girl was the only one without a disorder. The rest developed one, a collective anxiety disorder, officially confirmed by protocol. And so, it stayed quiet. No more panic, but no growth either. Only fatigue in human form. And no one truly looks at the history of the family, at what really happened. It isn’t discussed, acknowledged, or felt. Slowly, you become system-blind. What you see every day eventually starts to feel normal. And what you live among infects you little by little.

    As Maslach and Leiter (2016) describe,
    such organizations emerge when emotional strain,
    lack of autonomy, and constant control begin to feed each other. Where exactly is the clinical logic in taking an overstimulated adolescent with, for example ADHD, autism (ASD) diagnosis and dropping them directly into a hyper-reactive institutional warehouse alongside 25+ severely traumatized, dysregulated youth? How would a child feel if their parents abandoned them? Maybe we can simply ask ourself a few questions before the child gets a new “fear disorder” in her file?

    •⁠ ⁠Why does this appear to be such a fear-based institution?
    •⁠ ⁠Why is the manager afraid to say, “This is how we work, and this is why?”
    •⁠ ⁠Why is a complaint or a negative review from parents perceived as such a major threat?
    •⁠ ⁠Is the organization driven more by fear than by reflection and learning?
    •⁠ ⁠Why is the main caregiver afraid? Is it workload, accountability, organizational pressure, or something else?
    •⁠ ⁠Are care workers expected to meet targets set by the municipality, or are they primarily expected to meet the needs of the child?
    •⁠ ⁠Why does the child panic at the thought of being separated from their parents?
    •⁠ ⁠Could attachment dynamics, uncertainty, or a lack of information contribute to panic attacks?
    •⁠ ⁠Is there a hierarchical problem within the organization?
    •⁠ ⁠Why does the assistant caregiver decide to leave? Were their concerns genuinely heard?
    •⁠ ⁠Are the young people who witness these dynamics actually being listened to?
    •⁠ ⁠Why does the rest of the team follow the main caregiver?
    •⁠ ⁠Does the main caregiver hold more formal or informal influence than the others?
    •⁠ ⁠Is authority outweighing critical thinking?

    And what about the parents?

    •⁠ ⁠Why do they keep talking about each other in the third person during conversations?
    •⁠ ⁠Why is the focus always on what the other did wrong?
    •⁠ ⁠What kind of relational dynamics unfolded behind closed doors before the care system became involved?
    •⁠ ⁠How many unresolved conflicts, arguments, fears, and misunderstandings came before this situation?
    •⁠ ⁠How much of the current conflict is rooted in the past rather than the present?
    •⁠ ⁠Are we only examining today’s behavior, or are we also asking what happened before?
    •⁠ ⁠And finally, are these individual failures, or are they symptoms of a system under pressure?


  • A young person was diagnosed with ADHD when he was younger. Years later, after some conversations and a great deal of reflection of his own, he began asking a different question: What if some of the behavior that was labeled ADHD also had a history?

    He grew up as a butcher’s son. His father could be physically aggressive and occasionally hit him. Interestingly, he says those moments became almost predictable. He could feel them coming and learned how to handle them. But something else appears to have affected him more deeply. His parents were almost always working, and he remembers his mother as someone for whom work consistently came first. From his perspective, there was always something that needed to be done before there was time for him, leaving him with the feeling that he repeatedly came second. Looking back, he believes this emotional absence affected him more than the physical aggression he could actually anticipate. He also had an older sister who, in his childhood perception, seemed to receive more attention from their mother. Whether that perception reflected the full family reality is impossible to establish retrospectively, but for the child experiencing it, the feeling of repeatedly coming second may itself have mattered.

    During his adolescence, there were periods in which he used alcohol and different drugs, particularly during times of severe stress. Later, he became known for being extremely reactive. In the village, people sometimes regarded him as the dangerous guy you did not want to provoke. A wrong remark or feeling attacked could trigger enormous anger. He could also be restless, impulsive, and easily irritated. He eventually came to the conclusion that substances did not solve what was happening underneath and has since stopped using them altogether. Under extreme stress, he develops physical symptoms, including skin reactions he describes as allergy-like. But another pattern became especially interesting to him: cleaning and organizing.

    Again, this raises a developmental question rather than providing an easy explanation: what function did the substance use have at the time? Was it sensation-seeking, social behavior, escape, emotional regulation, an attempt to reduce internal tension, or some combination of these? When his mind becomes chaotic, suddenly his surroundings need to become orderly. Everything must be cleaned. Everything needs to be in its proper place. Looking back, he wonders whether controlling his physical environment became a way of creating the predictability and control he had missed earlier in life.

    And then something changed. He became aware of the pattern. Now he can sometimes catch himself: Here we go again. My head is overloaded and suddenly everything around me needs to be perfect. Instead of automatically cleaning everything or becoming increasingly irritated, he can interrupt it. He goes fishing. Several hours later he returns calmer. The same mess is still there, but it no longer carries the same urgency. He cleans gradually and continues with his day. That raises an interesting psychodynamic question as well: What happens when something that was previously acted out automatically becomes consciously observable? Freud’s work invites precisely this kind of question: could apparently irrational or repetitive behavior sometimes have a psychological history or function that is not immediately available to conscious awareness? Modern developmental and stress perspectives give us additional ways to investigate that question without assuming one explanation in advance.

    And then there is his daughter. This is perhaps the most fascinating contrast in the entire story. The man once known for explosive anger can show seemingly endless patience with her. He can be remarkably gentle, tolerant, and emotionally available. Until he believes she has been seriously wronged. Then the old anger can suddenly return with extraordinary intensity. That contrast raises another question: if aggression were simply a fixed characteristic of the person, why would it vary so dramatically according to relationship, meaning, and context? Perhaps the important question is not merely “Is he aggressive?” but what activates the aggression, what inhibits it, and what is he protecting when it appears? None of this proves that his original ADHD diagnosis was incorrect. ADHD and developmental adversity can coexist, and retrospective reflection cannot settle a diagnosis.

    We routinely ask these baseline developmental questions on our platform, but in clinical reality, we already know the exact mathematical answers. This is not an isolated story; there are thousands of identical case trajectories hiding directly behind standard diagnostic protocols.

    Before explaining restlessness, impulsivity, irritability, and emotional reactivity through a flat ADHD label alone, the structural architecture demands that we analyze the system’s history:

    • When did these behaviors begin?
    • Were they consistently present across childhood and across different settings?
    • What happened inside his family?
    • What did anticipating physical aggression teach his nervous system about threat-monitoring?
    • What happened to his biology when he repeatedly sought emotional connection from his mother and was met with chronic absence?
    • Why does a perceived attack activate such intense, sub-cortical anger?
    • Why can that same man display extraordinary patience with his daughter?
    • Why does perceived injustice toward her instantaneously reactivate his aggression?
    • What function does controlling, cleaning, and rigidly organizing his physical surroundings serve when internal safety collapses?
    • Why does the urge decrease the exact moment he recognizes his internal state and goes fishing?
    • Which behaviors remain when the organism feels safe and regulated?
    • What changes when the immediate environment changes?
    • Could some behavior represent an old, automated survival adaptation that continues to run after the original threat environment has disappeared?
    • And only then: what is best explained by ADHD, what might be related to developmental experience, and could both be present?

    The behavior is observable. The mechanism behaves lawfully. When we use the non-stigmatizing symbols of PBC-PAN to make a pattern conscious that once operated entirely outside of awareness, we finally hand the individual the ultimate human possibility: the power to choose something different.


  • Or the boy that nobody truly tried to understand? Sometimes I wonder whether we spent more time managing behaviour than understanding where it came from.” It was my first internship as a social worker. The file was already waiting for me. Diagnosis: Autism. The parents had brought in their fifteen- or sixteen-year-old son. School refusal. Severe bullying. Conflicts at home nobody knew or talked about. His rabbit was his only real friend. Nobody seemed surprised by that. I was. Because one question immediately came to mind: What does it mean when a fifteen-year-old boy trusts a rabbit more than people?

    The solution seemed obvious. Place him in a residential youth care facility with more than twenty-five adolescents. Many had problems with light or sound, so did the boy. Behavioural goals. Weekly evaluations. Municipality reports. Protocols. Interventions. Everything was carefully organised. Except his story. Every morning the same routine. “Good morning! It’s a beautiful day!” The first week he replied politely. The second week less enthusiastically. After a few weeks… Nothing. One morning the staff member repeated it again. “Good morning! It’s a beautiful day!” He looked at me. Quietly. Then he said, “This isn’t real, is it?” He walked away. That sentence has stayed with me ever since. Every now and then there were multidisciplinary meetings. His parents. The psychiatrist. The personal mentor. Care workers. By then I was usually asked to join as well. Not because I was experienced. I was only a second-year intern. Over time, he gradually withdrew into his bedroom, preferring to spend more and more time alone with his rabbit. It seemed to become the only place, and the only relationship, where he still experienced a sense of safety. In those residential homes, every week revolves around evaluation: room inspections, cooking, cleaning the shared living space, and constant feedback on whether you did it “right.” The boy was described as “unmotivated,” yet there were ongoing conflicts in almost every group about these household tasks.

    I was often asked to coordinate these groups because staff had run out of ideas. Instead of supervising from a distance, I simply started cleaning myself, and so did the young people. The same happened with the boy. Working together, he was perfectly capable of completing the tasks. The same applied to many other activities, cooking, repairing a bicycle, fixing a flat tyre. The boy was capable of far more than people seemed to realize. I learned that the foundation is set by example. When you roll up your sleeves first, the group usually follows. After a while, I no longer had to initiate it. Young people would come to me and say, “Don’t worry, I’ve already taken care of it.” Leadership begins with modelling the behaviour you want to see.

    But afterwards, another staff member would often take him aside to point out what he had supposedly done wrong, even though we had just cleaned it together. I often wondered whether the constant monitoring was creating more resistance than responsibility. How many of us, at the age of fifteen or sixteen, were genuinely motivated to keep everything perfectly clean? And isn’t it true that everyone has a different standard of what “clean enough” means?

    In the meantime he had stopped talking to almost everyone else. Without me sitting beside him, he often wouldn’t speak at all. His parents kept asking, “Why doesn’t he like it here?” The meetings almost always focused on one thing. His behaviour. He stayed in his room. He refused conversations. He became angry when the staf knocked on his door. He didn’t cooperate. He displayed aggression. His aggression wasn’t acceptable. Week after week… The discussion was about what was wrong with him. Almost nobody asked what had happened before he ever entered the institution. Meanwhile, daily life followed the protocol. Staff knocked on his bedroom door at fixed times because the schedule required it. Eventually he stopped opening the door. One day someone entered anyway. He became angry and slammed the door shut.

    The report? Aggressive, unacceptable behaviour. I remember thinking: “Or maybe someone had just entered the only place where he still felt safe.” I didn’t have a treatment plan. I didn’t have a special technique. So I did something very simple. I stopped following the timetable. Sometimes I knocked in the afternoon. Sometimes in the evening. “Hey… how are you?” He would come out, we played basketbal for example, he talked. No behavioural goals. Soon he would only talk to me and my colleague who did the same, who felt the same way. We both tried to change the culture, but it was nearly impossible because of rigid protocols, bureaucracy, and the way professionals are trained during their education. Other colleagues asked, “How do you do that?” Honestly? I tried to explain, but I think trust is build in the beginning. Once a young person sees you as a threat, it becomes very difficult to rebuild trust and turn the relationship around. Something still didn’t add up. During team meetings I repeatedly heard, “He’s not very intelligent.” Really? So I started making phone calls. Schools. Teachers. Certificates. Educational records. To my surprise, he had started at a higher educational level than I had. How had we concluded that this boy wasn’t intelligent? I reached univercity eventualy., didn’t finish the school because I was done spending endless years proving myself without earning money, So why they thought he wasn’t intelligent? The story simply didn’t fit. Nobody knew why he was the way he was.

    Then another story slowly emerged. Years of severe bullying. Humiliation. An older brother who constantly bullied and intimidated him whenever the parents weren’t around. Parents who repeatedly sided with the brother. He was called stupid. Worthless. Eventually he didn’t even want to go home during weekends anymore. Without going into detail, what happened behind closed doors was extreme. and now another question entered my mind. What exactly were we treating? Every week, his main caregiver sat down with him with the same notebook and newspaper job advertisements.

    “Wouldn’t this be a nice job for you?”

    He rarely responded. Most of the time, he simply stared out of the window. Week after week, the same conversation. Eventually, he stopped attending the meetings altogether. At one point, a colleague and I stopped talking about behavioural goals. Instead, we talked about ourselves. How we had chosen our own education. What kind of work we enjoyed. No pressure. Just a normal conversation. Slowly he began talking about what interested him. Eventually we found a vocational programme that suited him.

    But there was one problem. He didn’t want to enrol. At first I didn’t understand why. Then it suddenly clicked. This wasn’t about motivation. This was about safety. He had been bullied for years. Walking into another unfamiliar school probably felt like walking back into the same nightmare. So I suggested something different. “Let’s not enrol today. Let’s just go and have a look.” We drove there together. He quietly walked around the building. Looked at the entrance. The classrooms. The corridors. He was scanning the environment. Orientating himself. Trying to answer one question: “Is this place safe?” Only after he had explored the school did his body seem to relax.

    Only then did he say, “I think I could study here.” And only then did we enrol him. Years later I still think about that rabbit. People saw an autistic boy carrying a rabbit. I saw a teenager whose safest attachment seemed to be an animal. A rabbit doesn’t judge. A rabbit doesn’t bully. A rabbit doesn’t humiliate. A rabbit doesn’t choose your brother over you. Sometimes an animal becomes the safest relationship a child has left. That deserves our attention before we immediately reduce the story to behaviour.

    Questions I still ask myself Before discussing behaviour…Before discussing diagnoses… Before writing another intervention plan… Shouldn’t we first ask:

    What happened inside this family? Why did his mother consistently speak in the third person about what others were doing wrong, while his father remained almost completely silent during the meetings? What might those interaction patterns reveal about the family’s relational dynamics? ⁠Why was a rabbit his only trusted companion? Why did he trust one person but not the system? ⁠Why did he need to inspect an entire school before he felt safe enough to enrol? Were we witnessing autism alone…

    •⁠ ⁠Intra-Familial Perimeter: Boundary Calibration?: What long-term relational dynamics within the early family environment prevented the nervous system from developing a stable internal sense of safety and object constancy? Why did he exclusively establish eye contact, share smiles, and engage in humor with an un-scheduled intern with zero agenda, while completely looking away and disconnecting from the senior professionals who approached him with standardized, textbook protocols learned from manuals on “How to Speak to Autistic Clients”?
    •⁠ ⁠The Non-Human Safety Connection: Why did a non-judgmental bond with a rabbit become the only reliable attachment relationship capable of providing a sense of emotional safety?
    •⁠ ⁠Reality Testing Through Environmental Scanning: Why did he first need to physically inspect the school environment before his nervous system felt safe enough to consider enrolling?
    •⁠ ⁠The Etiology of the Nervous System Lockdown: Was this primarily the result of a congenital neurodevelopmental condition, or could it also reflect the physiological adaptation of a nervous system shaped by years of chronic fear, bullying, and relational trauma?
    •⁠ ⁠The Institutional Amplification Question: To what extent can institutional routines, standardized interventions, and highly structured environments unintentionally reinforce defensive survival responses in already traumatized adolescents?
    •⁠ ⁠…or were we also witnessing years of chronic fear, humiliation and survival?

    Why was this young man expected to meet two parallel sets of learning goals at the same time, one imposed by school and another by the residential institution to satisfy municipal care requirements? At the same time, he was living in a house with more than twenty-five adolescents, surrounded by constant noise, tension, and sensory overload. How could anyone reasonably expect that combination to promote recovery?

    By then I had already left the organisation. Later, a former colleague told me he had dropped out of school once again. Eventually, he was transferred to another residential facility. During the final meetings, his mother primarily blamed the institution for what had gone wrong. Looking back, I couldn’t help but wonder whether the system had simply placed more and more pressure on a young person who had already reached his limit.

    The biggest lesson I learned during that internship wasn’t about autism. It was this: Behaviour is often the final chapter of a much bigger story.

    If an adolescent’s gaze avoidance emerges after child maltreatment and markedly diminishes within a safe holding environment offering consistent emotional mirroring, what evidence distinguishes autism from a learned interpersonal threat response, or their coexistence?


  • PBC & PAN Theory — Pressure System Psychology

    I chose the name Pressure System Psychology because I kept seeing how invisible pressures shape decisions. Across families, schools and organisations, expectations, protocols and interpersonal pressures can constrain autonomy in children, adolescents, adults and professionals alike. How freely are we choosing when the pressure itself remains unseen?

    The foundations of PBC-PAN began taking shape several years ago, driven partly by my growing concern about shortcomings in the Dutch care system. Similar concerns kept appearing in reports from other countries: child maltreatment, youth aggression, long waiting lists and debates about overmedicalisation. These recurring themes sharpened my question: how much distress could we prevent by recognising harmful environments and pressures earlier?

    That question also shapes PBC-PAN’s opposition to reducing people to diagnostic labels. In my view, psychiatry must confront its own role in creating this problem: an expanding catalogue of hundreds of labels that now circulate as identities, coaching businesses, merchandise and commercial partnerships. When a diagnosis becomes a brand, whose interests does it serve?

    Consider an adolescent starting an internship, only to hear: “Oh, another autistic person, we really don’t need this.” Before that young person has demonstrated a single ability, the label has already shaped expectations. Who helped create a culture in which a diagnosis arrives before the person?

    I don’t believe that “overdiagnosis” exist; every person seeking help is communicating something. A diagnosis may be misplaced, but the distress still deserves attention. Behind every question, behind every discomfort, there is a story.

    PBC-PAN therefore seeks to understand people through their development, relationships and environments, examining each person, family and case individually. The aim is to recognise patterns without reducing anyone to a label, assigning fixed roles or encouraging stigma and polarisation.

    A central research question follows: could recurring patterns and rhythms of interaction help make otherwise hidden psychological abuse behind closed doors more observable and, ultimately, measurable?

    I ended up in a garage, Not because I was dangerous, but because the violence around me had nowhere else to go. living in it for more than fifteen years, believing it was normal.

    They tested me when I was a child.
    The results said I was slow, below average.
    But the truth was simpler: I wasn’t safe enough to think.

    Years later, I proved what so many children could prove if given safety. I reached the highest level of education anyway, like many others. After a long road through classrooms. From working as a mechanic, to standing in front of classrooms, running a business I entered the care sector, and everywhere, I saw the same silent pattern:
    children labelled as problems, when they were only products of unsafe systems.

    Three psychiatrists were once involved with the family.
    Several social workers came and went.
    No one ever saw how severe it really was.
    Looking back, it could have been so simple.
    Everything was visible, if only someone had asked one question deeper, looked one second longer.

    That was when I started asking myself: how could they all miss what was so obvious from the inside?

    The GP sees physical symptoms; the family dynamics may remain invisible. The social worker sees fragments, without a consistently applied method for mapping cumulative relational pressure. The psychiatrist arrives late and so does a DSM-centred response when prevention has already failed. Children and adolescents may be removed from the family and enter youth care while the familial pressures remain insufficiently investigated and child maltreatment goes unrecognised. An ADHD or autism diagnosis does not establish that anyone has adequately assessed what is happening at home.

    Across 49 studies involving 38,332 people, retrospective accounts of childhood maltreatment showed high stability over time (Coleman et al., 2026). Stability does not establish the accuracy of every account, but how damning is it that, in 2026, assumptions of inherent unreliability still need challenging? How often has questioning someone’s memory replaced investigating their childhood?

    Apparently, we can classify the individual in considerable detail while leaving the environment remarkably vague. In 2026, carefully mapping someone’s childhood and family relationships should hardly be a revolutionary proposal.

    In my 2025 book, I discussed potentially inaccurate diagnostic labels and suspected misdiagnoses where child maltreatment had been overlooked. Professor Julie Nordgaard has voiced concerns about diagnostic reliability, following a study reporting only 55% agreement between clinicians assessing written psychiatric cases. The UK review chaired by Professor Peter Fonagy now also warns of increasing risks of misdiagnosis in ADHD and autism assessments.

    During my exploratory work in 2024, I began questioning diagnostic stability; my hypothesis is that disagreement may be even greater in pressured, real-world assessments than in written vignettes. Time constraints, state-dependent symptom expression, and incomplete, overlooked developmental histories may compound diagnostic uncertainty, particularly when pressured speech or what I describe as “trauma language” is interpreted without its relational context. The testable question is whether assessment pressure increases diagnostic disagreement and the risk of overlooking maltreatment.

    Psychiatrist Awais Aftab distinguishes diagnostic errors from the medicalisation of ordinary experience. Psychiatrist Derek Summerfield, affiliated with King’s College London goes further, arguing that psychiatry’s biological foundations remain shallow: most psychiatric categories are symptom clusters, syndromes, rather than biologically validated diseases. Apparent ADHD symptoms may instead reflect anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, personality disorders or longstanding, stress-prone character traits. There may be much more going on than the label suggests.

    Professor Jim van Os (UMC Utrecht) has demonstrated for years that individual genetic variances exert an entirely negligible influence on the manifestation of psychopathology, completely breaking away from the obsolete DSM to forge an independent path within the Dutch healthcare landscape. He explicitly points out that many of these fragmented classifications are fundamentally meaningless; because everything overlaps with everything else, an apparent case of ADHD might just as easily be unmapped NPD. Jim van Os has also warned that people can leave mental healthcare more damaged than helped.

    In my book, I described an adolescent who told me he had faked symptoms to obtain a DSM diagnosis as a way to escape abuse at home. He understood that an ADHD or autism diagnosis could improve his chances of receiving support and priority for housing. He even laughed about having figured out a way through the system. What does it say about access to safety when a young person feels they must appear disordered to be protected?

    I have conducted interviews with young people who received ADHD/ASD labels and who now, in adulthood, have understood that child maltreatment had taken place.

    Then I met a boy. He had lived through what I once tried to forget: child maltreatment. The World Health Organization (WHO) describes a global problem with potentially lifelong consequences for health and development. Yet the long-term relational and psychological damage is often overlooked. Now NOS reports that Veilig Thuis, the Dutch domestic violence and child maltreatment reporting service, can no longer cope: reports keep rising, cases are becoming more complex, and investigating what happens behind closed doors takes time they do not have. Even reported danger ends up on a waiting list. Many of the adolescents I have spoken with asked me the same question: “Why are we treated as the problem when our parents are the ones doing this to us?”

    So the boy asked me if I wanted to write a book. I told him no. I had left it behind. But his question stayed. It forced open the silence. That’s how the PBC-PAN-Theory began, not as an academic pursuit, but as a survival map written backwards.

    Following my own fractured relationship, I found it profoundly fascinating to track and structurally resolve the persistent trauma dreams and nightmares regarding parental figures that rapidly reactivated within the system. Within an object-relations framework, these nocturnal panic states are not random biological glitches; they are the automated, late-life activations of the frozen childhood Imaginary Army surfacing the moment the adult holding environment collapses. By systematically decoding how these internalized parental introjects continue to dictate affect and neural signaling decades after physical separation, I was able to map the exact escape coordinates for the Child Compass, turning my own psychological warfare into an objective, replicable roadmap for autonomy.

    Slowly, fragments returned, metaphors, patterns I’d seen but never named. Pawns. Compasses. Boomerangs. During my internship, I had already intuitively used what I would later call the Boomerang Theory on several occasions with children who were being bullied. It seemed to help at the time, even though I had not yet named or formalised the approach.

    They weren’t just ideas anymore; they were a language. The language I had needed as a child, and the one he needed now. During my exploratory work, I began to notice how metaphors such as the pawn and the boomerang could spark curiosity and invite people to explore pressures within their home and wider social environment. “Imaginary Army” proved particularly engaging in these conversations: explaining “army” through a familiar reference such as Call of Duty could spark immediate recognition and curiosity. “Calibration” offered another accessible metaphor, like adjusting a game’s controller sensitivity or a camera’s focus until the settings suit the situation.

    A child, adolescent may not understand the term “ego defence,” but can more readily say, “My army defence went up.” I also began using “army defence” in my exploratory notes as shorthand for the protective responses we were discussing. The phrase felt natural and gave us a shared language for exploring moments when they felt the need to protect themselves. These familiar terms seemed to provide an entry point for discussing pressure, boundaries and possible choices. Drawing together on a shared moodboard helped turn abstract experiences into visible patterns that we could discuss and refine. Using the compass to explore possible choices appeared to support autonomy and boundary-setting.

    In several cases, participants reported that their hyperventilation subsided after clarifying conflicting beliefs and expectations, potentially reflecting reduced cognitive dissonance and perceived pressure.

    I began developing the conceptual framework for my book before becoming aware of David Elkind’s 2025 paper or his established imaginary audience construct. I released the foundational book in June 2025, only to subsequently encounter his definitive paper published later that year mapping the cognitive developmental hierarchy of ego defenses.

    When I first reviewed his text, my immediate reaction was complete disbelief, it felt like an absolute clinical joke. How was it structurally possible that my independent prospective mapping, written entirely backwards from the raw survival story had arrived at the exact same systemic intersection as one of the world’s most eminent developmental psychologists?

    Years earlier, I had already begun documenting a recurring interactional pattern within households that appeared to function as closed relational systems, a pattern I later termed “inverted peekaboo.” Through self-observation and observations of others, I had conceptualised a threatening internalised audience that I later called the imaginary army. Encountering Elkind’s work subsequently helped me recognise conceptual overlaps with these independently developed ideas, while several earlier observations became understandable as possible examples of ego defence mechanisms.

    Encountering Elkind’s work subsequently helped me recognise conceptual overlaps with these independently developed ideas, while several earlier observations became understandable as possible examples of ego defence mechanisms.

    By splitting David Elkind’s Imaginary Audience into a Safe Audience and an Unsafe Audience, this model connects chronic environmental threat directly to sudden behavioral explosions. This specific differentiation is exactly what allowed me to understand where that aggression originated revealing precisely who carries it and why an individual can explode from 0 to 100 out of absolutely nowhere.

    This led me to bring Piaget’s developmental perspective, particularly object permanence as a conceptual reference for inverted peekaboo, together with Elkind’s adolescent egocentrism constructs and Freud’s account of ego dynamics within my own theoretical framework.

    I believe David Elkind’s work on the imaginary audience is more relevant than ever in 2026, particularly to understanding young people’s experiences of social media, shame and perceived judgement. In my view, it deserves renewed attention in research on the current youth mental health crisis, including depression and pressures surrounding identity and belonging. Does the imaginary audience David Elkind function here as a substitute for dopaminergic homeostasis? What is the neuroendocrine impact of binary interaction (likes and dislike) on the reward system? This structural defense does not simply fall from the sky out of nowhere. The Personal Fable is meticulously assembled long before it manifests on digital feeds; it is engineered step-by-step through a lifetime sequence of severe childhood environmental pressures, loyalty conflicts, and cumulative interactional counter-pressures. When an infant’s home life is fundamentally unstable, primitive splitting, as conceptualized by Melanie Klein and Otto Kernberg is forcefully activated to protect the fragile ego from total annihilation.

    The PBC-PAN Boomerang Projection Feedback Cycle: What you reject, you repeat. What you repeat, you understand. What you understand, you transform.

    The Boomerang Projection Feedback Cycle (including possible dynamics of projective identification) and Imaginary Army concepts build on foundational work in developmental and clinical psychology, including Urie Bronfenbrenner’s ecological understanding of human development within nested environmental systems.

    It further connects with Karl Friston’s work on the brain as a continuously adapting system, constantly responding to uncertainty, prediction, and changing environmental demands. Classical psychoanalytic and developmental foundations, such as Sigmund Freud’s early structural concepts and Jean Piaget’s cognitive-developmental theory (Piaget, 1952), alongside Karpman’s Drama Triangle (Karpman, 1968) and Elkind’s Imaginary Audience (Elkind, 1967).

    PBC-PAN reframes them through a preventive, child-centred lens. PBC-PAN advances this lineage by making the underlying mechanics structural and measurable: shame cycles, internalised threat, anticipatory fear, role pressure, and repeated behavioural loops.

    While the framework was initially conceptualized as a preventive intervention specifically engineered for children and adolescents, the lifespans architecture demonstrates a much deeper neuro-developmental reality. The vast majority of severe adult relationship conflicts, systemic polarization, and sudden aggression cycles do not originate in adult biology; they are in many times the late-life, automated activations of unresolved threat structures built during childhood, buried deep within the unconscious mind.

    This enables early identification of manipulation, silence, and trauma dynamics, linking childhood environments to lifelong outcomes.

    This allows practitioners to recognise ”manipulation” patterns, silence structures, role assignment and inherited trauma before these dynamics crystallise offering, for the first time, a framework that connects the child’s outer environment to the internal processes that drive long-term outcomes.

    PAN describes where the pressure comes from by mapping the external environment, social context, and systemic pressures. PBC describes what you do with that pressure by mapping your internal responses, coping strategies, defensive mechanisms, and behavioral patterns.

    PBC-PAN describes a continuous process: input → process → output → reflection → new input. At its centre is the Pawn the person learning, adapting, and navigating throughout childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. PAN connects Prevention (P), awareness of the Audience, Army, and Attachment styles (A), and Network Navigation (N), with each experience informing the next.

    Many times unnoticed, emerging from external pressure, roles, pressure and harmful dynamics around the child. Within PBC-PAN, the imaginary audience is differentiated into an audience perceived as safe and one perceived as unsafe, allowing perceived social pressure to be operationalised.

    Imagine a football stadium: playing at home with a supportive crowd feels very different from playing away before a hostile one, that is how I illustrate the shift from an imaginary audience to an imaginary army.

    The imaginary army represents the threatening counterpart to the safe audience: an internalised public combining imposed messages and critical voices from earlier relationships with anticipated rejection, control, or punishment by others.

    This hypothesised social counterpressure can shape behaviour through self-censorship, conformity, avoidance, or defensive responses, even when the audience is not physically present. The imaginary army operates as an internalised crowd of voices, shame and anticipated judgment.

    Attachment Style: the early loops of safety, fear, splitting and borrowed identity that shape how the child navigates the system. Network and Navigation: the system around the child, and the internal network they build within themselves.

    Two Networks: Outer and Inner. A child lives in two networks at the same time. The outer Network. The abusive or unstable environment: roles, alliances, silence, pressure, triangulation and repeated patterns. The Inner Network. The Imaginary Army, Introjects, internalised voices, fear, shame and evaluation that stay with the child even when no one is speaking. These two layers reinforce each other.

    Every external boomerang becomes an internal voice. Every internal voice prepares the child for the next external boomerang. Children do not simply react, they adapt structurally.

    PBC-PAN identifies three ways a child can be positioned in the system:

    • Direct Pawns: Actively pulled into adult conflicts and emotional loads.
    • Indirect Pawns: Not targeted directly, but structurally shaped by constant tension, environmental instability, and silent pressure.
    • Imaginized Pawns: The moment the entire external system has permanently migrated inward. The child or adolescent now carries the crushing weight of the Imaginary Army and hostile introjects entirely on their own, behind closed doors.

    This mapping connects the external family system directly to the child’s internal logic. Consider the adolescent boy who first asked me to write the book. His cognitive dissonance had reached a catastrophic threshold due to the intense, conflicting pressure of both parents. The institutional care services involved had been completely manipulated and brought under the parents’ influence, mechanically reframing the child himself as “the core problem.”

    The breakthrough occurred entirely outside their academic sandbox. The moment the boy was given access to the non-stigmatizing symbols of PBC-PAN visually mapping the Pawns, tracking the trajectories of the Boomerangs, and identifying his boundaries via the Child Compass on a shared moodboard, the invisible reality became undeniable. By structurally counting the frequency of the conflict loops and mapping the systemic pressure, he could precisely articulate what he thought, felt, and experienced. Faced with this absolute clarity of patterned interaction, the care workers finally recognized the severity of the hidden abuse, leading to his rapid, accelerated extraction and placement into safety.

    The Boomerang: The Measurable Loop.
    The Boomerang Theory makes these exact feedback cycles visible, trackable, and predictable. A boomerang consists of:

    • The Throw: Projection, weaponized blame, and emotional pressure.
    • The Flight: Systemic escalation, amplification, and cognitive distortion.
    • The Return: The inevitable, calculated reaction that strikes back.
    • The Count: The structural frequency of the loops over time.

    Boomerangs, stress tracking create shame loops and pattern loops. They show structure. That makes prevention possible. The Child Compass is the way out and gives (Direction, Awareness, Boundaries, Autonomy, Choice): Moving away from external control requires rebuilding internal compass points. The Compass is the exit from the system. It gives children: direction, choice, autonomy, emotional distance, orientation. The Compass gives both children and professionals a shared language. PAN connects the full trajectory: the position of the child (Pawn, Prevention) the pattern (Boomerang loops) the internalisation (Imaginary Army) the exit strategy (Child Compass) It transforms invisible dynamics into visible, measurable structures.

    These theories give language to loyalty conflicts, systemic conditioning, and what children cannot yet explain. They turn chaotic confusion into absolute clarity.

    They help a child say: “I’m not the problem here.”

    This is not superficial learning; it is raw, Pavlovian conditioning operating at a biological level. Much like Pavlov’s dog adapting to an automated bell, a child trapped in an unstable family network is systematically trained to read the environment for survival. A microscopic shift in the caregiver’s tone, an icy silence, or a sharp look becomes the unconditioned stimulus of an impending emotional strike.

    The child’s nervous system is conditioned to salivate for safety long before the threat explicitly manifests, forcing their biology into a permanent state of threat-monitoring. They do not live in a home; they live inside a continuous, high-pressure laboratory experiment where their identity is structurally broken and rewritten through automated survival responses.

    What is often called the abuse cycle is in “many cases”, an inverted peekaboo rhythm. The core problem is not the cycle itself, but the absence of a stable self and the lack of a preventive framework capable of interrupting it. Prevention begins with language: what is not resolved at the source is passed on to the next generation.

    The widely discussed “abuse cycle” the predictable loop of love bombing, devaluation, discard, and reconciliation, is not a mystery; it is the late-stage, mechanical re-enactment of an inverted child peek-a-boo rhythm.

    In a normative developmental rhythm, the caregiver disappears and predictably returns, teaching the infant object permanence, safety, and tolerable absence. In the inverted peekaboo rhythm, this baseline is fundamentally distorted. The child faces chronic uncertainty regarding the caregiver’s emotional and psychological availability. Instead of being safely held in mind, the child implicitly learns a terrifying developmental rule: “If I do not actively provoke your response, I may cease to exist.”

    The systemic roles switch entirely: the child becomes the searcher. The developing infant is forced into a state of chronic vigilance, repeatedly probing and checking for the caregiver’s presence because they can no longer rely on a predictable return. Within a computational neuroscience framework, this structural mismatch between expected reassurance and systemic unpredictability generates massive, recurring prediction errors.

    Over many years, this inverted rhythm completely disrupts early affective synchrony, crippling later empathic development and trapping the individual in a devastating paradox: the very person who inflicts the terror also becomes the sole source of emotional relief. When an individual’s biology adapts to this exact sequence in infancy, it is no longer mysterious why escaping an abusive relationship in adulthood feels terrifying. They are not seeking love; they are trapped in a survival loop.

    From this parentified, superego-driven position, Karpman’s drama triangle (rescuer, persecutor, victim) and basic survival states (fight, flight, freeze, fawn) follow mechanically. Genuine separation-individuation never occurred. The unresolved Parent-Bound Conflict (PBC) remains frozen at the source, forcing the individual into an unyielding repetition compulsion where this exact developmental trauma is re-enacted across every subsequent adult relationship.

    We isolate this exact developmental trajectory in a standard, cross-generational family simulation: The parents exist in a permanent state of high-friction warfare, where the identity-diffused mother continuously deploys the inverted peekaboo rhythm as a tool of marital extortion, repeatedly packed suitcases on the stairs, weaponized threats of immediate abandonment, and a constant rotation of tactical exits and returns. Trapped inside this chaotic laboratory, the developing infant possesses zero biological capacity to escape the Pavlovian conditioning of the threat environment.

    Decades later, these exact formatted organisms migrate seamlessly into adult relationship networks, relentlessly replicating their childhood survival loops with complete indifference to gender. When their adult partnerships inevitably collapse under the weight of this uncalibrated trauma, these specific profiles emerge at the top of the algorithmic pipeline inside “Are We Dating the Same Guy” groups.

    First, you have to earn the child’s or adolescent’s trust: chronic stress can hinder reflection, which also depends on developmental age. Once there is enough psychological safety, sometimes quickly, sometimes after several conversations, you can often map the family dynamics with them within an hour. Making these patters visible may reduce cognitive dissonance and ease hyperventilation, providing a starting point for safety.

    When the defensive superego dominates the psychic architecture, authentic morality collapses into a top-down hierarchical ranking system where judgment replaces connection. The imaginary audience and the imaginary army then function as the ultimate anchoring reference points. Through this profound fantasy defense, the personal fable is constantly reset, defended, and inflated into whatever form necessary to restore a perceived position of absolute superiority and emotional survival.

    My work also led me to examine the possible immune effects of child maltreatment, including reported elevations in inflammatory cytokines such as IL-6. Learning difficulties can arise when chronic stress heightens amygdala reactivity and disrupts prefrontal functioning, impairing attention, working memory and cognitive flexibility. Lower test scores and difficulties staying engaged at school may then lead a child to believe they cannot learn, even when those results underestimate their capabilities. Learning can become easier as safety, support and stress regulation improve.

    In my experience working with children and adolescents, examining observable relational patterns during conflict provides a more structured way to explore experiences of safety and threat, alongside associated physiological responses. The expression, duration and sequence of these interaction rhythms may vary across contexts, including during conflict and after separation.

    I regard the Freud-inspired image as a conceptual starting point for this work. My reading of Mark Solms and Karl Friston suggests that some of Freud’s insights remain very relevant to contemporary neuroscience. Developmental history and possible underlying causes can be explored alongside environmental pressures.

    The term “Imaginary Army” has worked particularly well as a conversation starter. The word “army” offers an immediately recognisable image, much like a GP explaining that an army of white blood cells helps the body fight a virus. It gives young people an accessible way to begin discussing otherwise abstract experiences of pressure, judgement and defence.

    I also describe the Audience and the available Army as “anchors.” For children, an anchor immediately brings to mind a boat and something they can cast out to hold it steady. Such metaphors offer a concrete point of reference, helping them find words for their experiences.

    Within the Inverted Peekaboo framework, imagine someone shifting between Army, Personal Fable and Audience ten, twenty or thirty times in an evening, a pattern that may operate unconsciously in everyday relationships. My working hypothesis is that NPD reflects one underlying mechanism, rather than ten separate labels, with potential overlap with BPD Within this framework, the Imaginary Army is proposed to reinforce the Personal Fable, as illustrated below. Perhaps the most disturbing possibility is that someone behaving sadistically may sincerely believe they are rescuing the very person they are harming. There is more to explore, but the detailed account lies beyond the scope of this discussion.

    It remains profoundly fascinating that Sigmund Freud deciphered the core laws of this internal warfare over a century ago; his foundational mappings of the unconscious mind and repetition compulsion accurately predicted the exact somatic and psychic architecture modern science is only now beginning to quantify. However, while Freud’s classical, unconscious complexes, such as the Elektra and Oedipus formulations undeniably drive the underlying psychodynamic architecture of these family networks, we unfortunately have absolutely no practical use for this old Victorian wisdom on the actual youth care work floor. Frontline practitioners cannot de-escalate an aggressive adolescent or identify covert or overt child maltreatment by reciting nineteenth-century psychoanalytic mythology.

    If mainstream researchers inside their insulated academic sandboxes wonder how these hidden dynamics can be objectively observed and verified, the empirical trail is remarkably straightforward: analyze the structural interaction rhythms of these mothers across family networks with two or three children. Behind closed doors, these characterological actors systematically deploy a fluid repertoire of three entirely distinct, compartmentalized behavioral faces alternating rapidly between the public “perfect mother” script, the covert manipulator, and the overt persecutor depending on which child or audience they are interfacing with. This operational shape-shifting is not a late-life adaptation; it initializes at a biological level during infancy, where the identity-diffused caregiver projects entirely different, fragmented faces onto the children, forcing their developing nervous systems to split reality into absolute categories of idealized safety and existential threat.

    The baseline initialization of this algorithmic failure is driven by a delicate convergence of biology and context. Consider an infant with a highly sensitive, intense temperament: when paired with a caregiver who lacks an integrated internal identity, the maternal apparatus merely functions as a flat, reactionary mirror. Instead of containing the infant’s somatic distress, the identity-diffused mother absorbs the ambient environmental tension multiplied by situational stressors such as family configuration, temporal chaos, chronic noise, and domestic pressure and reflects raw irritation straight back into the crying child, permanently short-circuiting the regulatory loop. Conversely, when a low-temperament infant encounters an integrated caregiver under stabilized environmental conditions, the stimulus is met with stable affective alignment, allowing the mother to predictably mirror empathic containment back into the system.

    This systemic fragmentation is precisely why I have always questioned the entire scientific validity of traditional twin studies.

    Behavioral genetics and large-scale spectrum research rely completely on the rigid, flat assumption of a “shared environment” to calculate the high heritability coefficients of conditions like ADHD or autism. But the raw operational reality behind closed doors exposes a profound epistemological blindness: if a parent with no stable sense of self presents a radically different, compartmentalized behavioral persona to each of two children from infancy, how can academia possibly distinguish a presumed innate biological vulnerability from divergent developmental responses to two entirely distinct relational microenvironments?

    Even monozygotic twins sharing identical genetic sequences are subjected to entirely separate interactive shocks and highly localized, divergent epigenetic stress tracking. The mainstream sandbox arrives late with its static checklists, measuring the distinct somatic and behavioral damage of two completely different rates of neuro-somatic Pavlovian conditioning, and then confidently misclassifies the result as an inherited brain deficit.

    Back to the abusive Arena. My hypothesis is that men and women engage in abusive behavior within relationships at roughly equal rates: a possible 50/50 split, without implying equal severity, impact, or responsibility. It is frequently the fatal, mechanical endpoint of a shared, hyper-destructive relationship loop where both actors are locked in a symbiotic object-relations dance relentlessly executing Freud’s repetition compulsion.

    Origins: Chapter 3 as the Structural Blueprint

    The structural core of the PBC-PAN Theory emerged during adolescence (ages 11–18) the exact developmental window where internal coherence must consolidate while external instability is highest. The foundational concepts: the pawn, compass, boomerang, imaginary audience, and imaginary army, were not abstract theoretical interventions. They were functional, real-time survival mechanics developed to map a closed relational system.

    Within this structural blueprint, the systemic components operate via a strict architecture:

    • The Source: Represents the parental figures and the early caregiving environment from which a child’s psychological matrix develops.
    • The Voice-Oracle: Represents the internalized, automated echo of that environment, continuing to provoke thoughts, intense emotions, and defensive behavioral reactions across the lifespan.

    An essential developmental task is learning to distinguish safety from threat and recognise who can be trusted. Yet many children and adolescents have never learned how to resolve conflict constructively or feel unable to express what they truly think and feel. Shame, peer pressure, social comparison and sometimes intense “imaginary audience–army” dynamics can make speaking honestly feel dangerous. When a primary caregiver is hostile or unpredictable, developing autonomy means learning to question the very source on which the child depends for safety.

    So back to my family. In this closed family system, shame operates as an absolute regulator. Because conflict occurs entirely behind closed doors, a powerful social illusion is maintained. The outside world functioning as a detached “third eye” perceives a perfectly stable, functional family. As a direct result of this external validation loop, the child’s internal collapse remains completely invisible to the surrounding community, leaving the underlying trauma completely unmapped by conventional tracking services.

    From my own experience, and what others have described to me, the “third eye” never disappeared, even when living remotely with no neighbors who could possibly hear anything.

    In this case, the household was physically attached to my parents’ large business. The yard bell functioned as the ultimate tool for reality testing; its ringing was the only objective signal that customers were arriving on the property, momentarily forcing the system to recalibrate.

    Outside of that bell, the instruction “be quiet, others can hear you” repeated itself automatically during conflict, despite the fact that no one was physically there. Silence was enforced not by immediate reality, but by an internalized fear of exposure. The parents themselves lived in a permanent personal fable of constant threat, an unyielding, paranoid anxiety of being seen and exposed by the outside world.

    In this closed system, every individual exists inside the structural architecture of the Army. This lived experience mirrors Elkind’s legacy construct of the Imaginary Audience, but under conditions of chronic domestic threat and behind closed doors, it mutates into the Imaginary Army. a multi-voiced, highly punitive, and evaluative system.

    Within this volatile dynamic, the surrounding actors, family members, peers, and authority figures function mechanically as indirect, direct, or imaginal pawns. They do not operate primarily out of deliberate malice, but because they themselves lack a stable internal self, operating entirely within the defensive Audience-Fable and counter-pressure Army dynamic.

    Through these carriers, environmental pressure is rapidly externalized and multiplied. Systemic messages such as “they think this about you too” are continuously channeled through the language of humiliation, minimization, and degradation. What superficially appears to the outside observer as multiple, separate voices is, in clinical reality, a single disfunctional system speaking through multiple carriers.

    The mathematical result of this architecture is total isolation. Any possibility of the child speaking outward, particularly with vulnerability, is systematically blocked by the network. The entire relational environment is organized to silence, suppress, and contain, until physical restraint becomes entirely unnecessary. The systemic belief “I am the core problem” permanently installs itself from the inside out.

    Chapter 3 demonstrates the defining, core principle of PBC-PAN: violence behind closed doors remains globally invisible because it is structurally internalized as invisible violence inside the child’s mind. This profound, automated invisibility is the precise mechanism that drives the catastrophic global scale of the problem.

    How often do we hear: “I should have left that relationship sooner.” “If only I had understood what was happening in my family all those years.” “I should have reached out for help ten years earlier.”

    And sometimes, we hear nothing at all. By the time we do, it is already too late, and another tragedy has become a newspaper headline.

    Developmental Foundations (Ages 0–3): The Distorted Peekaboo Rhythm

    Early social development is structurally organized by repeated cycles of presence and absence between infant and caregiver. Everyday interactional games such as peek-a-boo illustrate a foundational relational pattern: disappear – wait – return. Through continuous exposure to this interactive frequency, the child develops what Jean Piaget described as object permanence. The cognitive understanding that the caregiver continues to exist even when temporarily out of sight.

    When caregiving is consistent, this external rhythm is internalized as a stable neuro-developmental expectation of safety and return. The infant learns that absence is provisional, that connection survives interruption, and that distress does not signal catastrophic abandonment. This early affective repetition installs the baseline architecture for baseline trust, emotional continuity, and separation tolerance.

    However, when caregiving is chronically inconsistent, emotionally unavailable, intrusive, or unpredictable, this regulatory rhythm is fundamentally distorted. Instead of internalizing absence as a tolerable state, the infant registers it as a chronic environmental threat. The implicit developmental directive shifts entirely: rather than predicting a safe return, the child’s biology adopts a terrifying survival rule:

    “If I do not actively provoke your response, I cease to exist.”

    The present framework conceptualizes this systemic failure as the Inverted Peekaboo Reflex. Under this structural distortion, relational connection can no longer be trusted as a constant; it must be continuously and hypervigilantly tested. What should have stabilized as an internalized rhythm of return mutates into a permanent state of threat-monitoring forcing the child to become the active tracker in a desperate bid to maintain psychological and emotional presence within an unstable system.

    The present framework refers to this inversion as the Peekaboo Reflex. Within this model, connection is no longer passively trusted but actively tested. The child begins to rely on small signals, disruptions, or emotional probes to confirm that the attachment figure is still psychologically present. What should have become a stable rhythm of return is replaced by vigilance toward rupture.

    Across later development, this systemic adaptation manifests as distinct contact-testing behaviors: sudden tone shifts, tactical withdrawal, micro-disruptions, misplaced objects, probing conflicts, or engineered minor crises. Over time, the individual rehearses an expanding repertoire of strategies designed to force a response and restore a baseline of relational confirmation.

    While conventional systems pathologize these behaviors in later life as “manipulation” or “attention-seeking,” the present framework reframes them as automated, survival-driven attempts to re-establish a fractured rhythm of recognition and return. They are not primary bids for dominance, but raw, structural checks organized around a singular developmental question: Are you still there?

    The child first attempts external regulation through these structural contact-tests. When these behavioral probes fail to stabilize the relationship, psychic regulation shifts inward toward a compensatory fantasy defense. At this specific baseline, imagination is hijacked for survival. In normative Winnicottian terms, fantasy belongs to a healthy transitional space between inner and outer reality, a domain of play, symbolization, and creative development. Yet, when the holding environment is chronically unreliable, this imaginative capacity hardens into a rigid protective refuge. What began as open play calcifies into defensive fantasy.

    This defensive hardening provides the exact clinical key to a catastrophic global phenomenon: the relentless surge in youth aggression. Within modern youth healthcare and institutional care systems, many professionals remain completely blind to the origins of this volatility. The establishment mechanically links every behavioral explosion to individual, static DSM labels, entirely ignoring the underlying Parent-Bound Conflicts (PBC) driving the system.

    The empirical proof of this blind spot is visible in daily practice: the moment an individual practitioner provides an authentic, reliable holding environment, the client immediately de-escalates and stabilizes. Aggression is not an intrinsic brain deficit; it is the violent thrashing of a system trying to survive an uncontained threat environment.

    Within this child-protective framework, fantasy defense is not understood as mere grandiosity or superficial self-inflation, but as an adaptive inner solution to systemic relational inconsistency. The child turns inward to engineer what the environment failed to reliably provide: continuity, recognition, predictability, or symbolic safety. When the caregiver cannot be counted on to return psychologically, the mind constructs its own substitute forms of presence.

    From this perspective, subsequent relational patterns follow a predictable developmental sequence: first the disruption of the baseline rhythm of safety, then the emergence of hypervigilant contact-testing behaviors, and eventually a total reliance on internal fantasy structures as compensatory regulation. The individual is no longer waiting to be seen; they are attempting to secure psychic continuity by any means available, externally through erratic contact-tests, and internally through a rigid, compensatory personal fable.

    This internal structure manifests as highly specific savior or grandiosity fantasies. For example, the child constructs a personal fable where they are a mythic figur like Michael Jackson, engineered to rescue, heal, and dominate. However, because object permanence failed to stabilize during infancy, the child is left with a frozen, uncalibrated image of the mother.

    The moment the individual is left alone, this structural defect creates an immediate, terrifying void. Because the frozen mother image cannot provide internal reassurance, the psychological void instantly mutates into a hostile, multi-voiced entity: the Imaginary Army. The absolute panic of this internal threat environment forces the ego to retreat once again, collapsing backward into the inflated shield of the personal fable. The individual becomes trapped in a permanent, mechanical oscillation between the terror of the internalized Army and the grandiosity of the compensatory Fable.

    The developmental signal underneath this entire sequence remains simple: “See me, so I do not disappear.” Fantasy, in this model, is not the origin of the problem but the child’s solution to unreliable return.

    Repeated cycles of approach, shame-collision, and withdrawal train a relational rhythm where the individual increasingly approaches others from a defensive superego stance. What appears as later grandiosity or entitlement is the behavioral residue of a repeatedly rehearsed attachment collision cycle. When negative interpretations dominate, shame responses emerge, and from that moment onward, the child no longer relies on a stable internal image of the caregiver when they are absent.

    Compensation begins. The need for external confirmation increases, while sensitivity to visibility and judgment grows. Trapped between the Audience and the Army, the Personal Fable gradually expands and becomes increasingly influential, forcing interpersonal behavior to shift rapidly between the regulatory roles described in the drama triangle.

    Crucially, because the brain is trapped in this permanent state of threat-monitoring, this chronic psychological friction inevitably spills over into sensorimotor and somatic symptoms. The nervous system becomes entirely uncalibrated.

    The individual develops a severe sensory overload, becoming hyper-sensitive to external triggers like smell, light, and noise. To manage this internal physiological chaos, the system seeks absolute predictability externally. This manifests as an unyielding drive to control the immediate surroundings, resulting in compulsive cleaning rituals, extreme irritation at minor changes, and rigid organizational demands. These are not always separate OCD or sensory processing disorders; they are automated survival mechanisms designed to force order onto an environment when internal safety has completely collapsed.

    Ages 7–8: First Pattern Awareness. Children begin recognizing relational structure, systemic inconsistency, emotional directionality, and fairness versus unfairness. Here, the proto-Army forms, not as structured internal voices yet, but as foundational templates of evaluators. Adequate mirroring keeps the emerging self flexible and adaptive; failed mirroring hardens the proto-Army architecture.

    Ages 11–13: Ego Structuring and Army Consolidation. This is the highest-impact developmental window, where meta-cognition rapidly accelerates. Children become hyper-aware of themselves through the lens of imagined observers. Elkind identified ages 11–13 as the peak of the Imaginary Audience. The developmental sense of being constantly watched and judged. In stable environments, this cognitive distortion naturally fades. In shame-driven or unstable environments, it intensifies, hardens, and mutates permanently into the Imaginary Army.

    This specific window exposes the bifurcation of internalized and externalized shame responses:

    • Internalized Shame Profiles: Individuals present with acute somatic overloads, hyperventilation, dizziness, chest tightness, trembling, and panic in socially evaluative spaces. They experience an absolute inability to speak core shame-beliefs (“I am ugly,” “I am disgusting,” “I will fail,” “Everyone sees through me”). Attempts at cognitive self-reassurance fail mechanically because the internalized Army holds a significantly higher emotional and neurological authority than the fragile ego. A minor triggering cue, a passing glance, sudden silence, memory, or comparison, reactivates the Army instantaneously.
    • Externalized Shame Profiles & Projective Identification: While Elkind’s Personal Fable (“I am unique/special”) normally acts as a healthy developmental buffer against insecurity, in high-pressure PBC-PAN environments, the system collapses under the weight of the Army. To protect the ego from annihilation, externalizers utilize projective identification as a primary structural defense. They do not merely project their internal shame and threat onto others; they actively behave in ways that elicit, provoke, and manipulate those around them into feeling that exact distress, confusion, or anger. Through conflict testing, triangulation, multi-pawn recruitment, and rhythmic provocation, they force the outer world to mirror their inner chaos.

    This mechanical deployment of projective identification explains the sudden, uncalibrated 0-to-100 aggression cycles: the externalizer forcibly overrides the environment to defend the inflated shield of their Personal Fable, temporarily restoring a perceived position of absolute superiority and emotional survival. For internalizers, the Personal Fable collapses in devastating inward waves, leading to chronic withdrawal and self-punishment. For externalizers, the Personal Fable never collapses; it hardens into an aggressive, externalized control system that dictates the entire relational field.

    Critical Note: Repairability. Even adolescents who externalize shame via aggressive or manipulative means remain highly repairable during this specific developmental window. Because the ego structure is still soft, it remains receptive to targeted corrective mirroring and systemic boundary setting. True to its core principles, the PBC-PAN framework does not prescribe specific clinical intervention methods that belongs strictly to professional clinical expertise. Instead, PAN serves to map and identify the exact developmental window in which structural repair is most plausible before the psychic architecture solidifies.

    Ages 18+: Entrenchment, Collapse, and Reactivation. Beyond late adolescence, the Imaginary Army detaches from its immediate environment and becomes fully autonomous, self-referential, and permanently punitive. In adulthood, early trauma states are relentlessly re-experienced through profound neurological and physical symptoms: trauma dreams, nocturnal panic, night sweats, chronic sleep fragmentation, learning and cognitive processing deficits, vocal shouting at internalized evaluators, and severe somatic distress.

    Everyday sensory cues, a sudden smell, a specific tone of voice, a moment of silence trigger deep limbic memories and episodic flashbacks. These overwhelming superego attacks reactivate instantaneously whenever an adult encounters an external situation that mirrors the original childhood Army template.

    Yet, this internal warfare often remains entirely invisible to the outside world for decades. Adults successfully maintain apparent stability through a rigid suite of automated coping mechanisms:

    • Emotional Numbing & Dissociation: Severing connection to physical and emotional affect.
    • Intellectualization & Overwork: Channeling internal panic into frantic, compulsive achievement and corporate survival.
    • Chemical Regulation: Utilizing substance use to temporarily silence the internal noise.
    • Relational Replication: Systematically choosing partners who unconsciously recreate the original childhood Army dynamics (Repetition Compulsion).

    These defensive strategies merely suppress the Army without ever dissolving it. Catastrophic systemic collapse occurs only when accumulated life stress finally exceeds the individual’s coping capacity. The moment the defense mechanisms fracture, the unresolved childhood architecture is exposed in its rawest form.

    What appears clinically to mainstream psychiatry as sudden adult panic, treatment-resistant depression, or relational chaos is actually the late-life expression of a survival architecture built decades earlier. This profound developmental trajectory confirms why it is methodologically mandatory to examine PBC-PAN through psychodynamic and object-relational models rather than relying on surface-level, static diagnoses.

    Psychodynamic Architecture: The Structural Breakdown

    • Freud Recontextualized (Id, Ego, Superego): In shame-driven and unsafe environments, the psychic architecture fractures along predictable fault lines. The Id experiences primitive panic during periods of emotional caregiver absence. The Superego morphs into a harsh, externalized evaluator. The Ego structurally fails to integrate contradictory environmental signals. The Imaginary Army represents the toxic fusion of this fragmented Ego, a punitive Superego, and an abandoned, overstimulated Id.
    • Object Relations & The Distributed Self: When internal self-regulation mechanisms fail to develop, identity becomes completely externally distributed, tethered entirely to others’ reactions, triangulated alliances, real or imagined observers, and ritualized conflict rhythms. While anyone may involve a third party in normal life or a standard disagreement, within unsafe family networks, triangulation transforms into a vital survival strategy. It is not necessarily an act of deliberate, malicious manipulation, even when executed by the primary source of harm. Rather, it represents survival through a borrowed interpersonal structure an external scaffolding for a fragile ego that cannot yet stand on its own.
    • Beyond the Drama Triangle (The Multi-Pawn Army Triangle): Stephen Karpman’s classical Drama Triangle is fundamentally too narrow to map these complex systems. In high-pressure PBC-PAN environments, internal roles multiply and rapidly shift across both familial and online networks. Emotional self-stabilization within a fractured system requires the continuous recruitment of multiple pawns. The Imaginary Army operates as the internalized continuation of this exact external exploitation network. Addictions, avoidance, explosive rage cycles, compulsive rescuing, and chaotic relational patterns all converge on a singular, automated operational mandate: “I stabilize my internal network through the artificial manipulation of others.”
    • Reflex Architecture (Peekaboo and Boomerang): The foundational interaction loops operate via two mechanical reflexes:
      • The Peekaboo Reflex: Presence – disappearance – tension – return – relief. When distorted in infancy, it automates a lifelong repertoire of hypervigilant, erratic contact-testing behaviors.
      • The Boomerang Reflex: Internal fear projected outward – a specific environmental reaction actively elicited – temporary ego-stabilization – the return of the projection loop.

    Every conflict loop documented in Chapter 3 operates strictly within this mechanical feedback cycle. Together, the Peekaboo and Boomerang reflexes form the active, structural emotional engine driving many unsafe PBC-PAN families.

    Clinical Pattern Recognition Across the Lifespan

    The clinical imperative for this lifespans architecture emerged from deep case investigations into individuals completely broken by the psychiatric establishment. I have analyzed cases of clients plagued by relentless nightmares of maternal figures, individuals who were subjected to over ten distinct, conflicting DSM labels, forced into ECT shock therapy, and pushed through exhaustive IQ testing. The mainstream establishment repeatedly treated the downstream symptoms while remaining utterly blind to the underlying interactional terrorism. On Freud’s foundational mapping, the entire field of psychology was built, yet his structural depth was dismissed for a long time in favor of superficial checklists. By re-operationalizing his core insights alongside modern systems theory, PBC-PAN maps what the diagnostic machine misses entirely.

    When we look beneath the labels, the lifespans patterns of this uncalibrated threat-monitoring become unmistakable:

    • Adult Profiles (Entrenchment and Reactivation): Beyond late adolescence, early trauma states are relentlessly re-experienced through profound neurological and physical symptoms. Adults present with chronic trauma dreams and nightmares about parental figures that persist decades after physical separation. They suffer from nocturnal panic, night sweats, shaking, extreme irritability, and active vocal shouting at an internalized parental object (the evaluators). This leads to a catastrophic loss of internal continuity and rapid reactivation through everyday, minor sensory cues. Yet, these patterns remain invisible for years because adults maintain apparent stability through highly effective coping strategies: emotional numbing, dissociation, intellectualization, overwork, compulsive achievement, substance use, sarcasm, chronic joking, systematic avoidance, and the repetition compulsion of choosing relational partners who recreate familiar Army dynamics. These strategies suppress the Army without ever dissolving it, allowing massive distress to remain completely undetected in standard clinical and social settings.
    • Adolescent Profiles (Internalized Distress and Masking): Adolescents present with acute somatic overloads, hyperventilation, dizziness, chest pain, trembling, cognitive learning disruptions, and severe panic in socially evaluative situations. They experience an absolute inability to voice core shame-beliefs. Crucially, these symptoms routinely coexist with high-functioning external behavior: humor, clever deflection, tactical withdrawal, or the “class clown” persona that effectively hides internal collapse from peers and teachers. The systemic collapse occurs only when another person explicitly names the unspeakable shame. True visibility is the only force that dissolves the Army.

    Educational Note on Early Intervention:

    Because these destructive patterns remain hidden behind sophisticated coping styles, we must move our defenses upstream. Introducing age-appropriate lessons in primary and secondary schools using simple, open-source PBC-PAN metaphors such as the Boomerang and the Child Compass can give students a shared, non-stigmatizing vocabulary for discomfort, relational tension, and early distress signals. Implementing this collective language directly increases classroom cohesion, destroys systemic secrecy, and allows peers and teachers to detect early signs of hidden environmental pressure long before clinical symptoms consolidate into lifelong individual pathology.

    There is often one child within a dysfunctional network who can describe exactly what is occurring behind closed doors, if given an accessible symbolic language. The Pawn, Boomerang, and Child Compass translate complex, intimidating relational experiences into an intuitive vocabulary of words and structural images. This symbolic framework allows children and adolescents to recognize, map, and communicate systemic patterns they cannot yet articulate abstractly.

    The PBC–PAN framework operates directly as a pre-diagnostic tool deployed before and alongside standard DSM-5(TR) or ICD-11 classifications to analyze developmental history, immediate environmental pressure, and underlying interaction rhythms. This purely contextual approach ensures that clinical formulations remain precise, objective, and deeply informed by the individual’s actual threat environment rather than surface-level symptoms.

    Without a pre-diagnostic framework, the systemic failure is predictable and catastrophic:

    • Shame seals the system, enforcing absolute silence while the outer world remains blind.
    • Early defensive responses remain entirely invisible or are misclassified as intrinsic behavioral disorders.
    • Triangulation and role assignment are routinely misinterpreted as typical family conflict or bitter custody disputes.
    • Compensatory imagination is pathologized, mistaking a survival-driven personal fable for primary psychosis or severe personality pathology.
    • Symptoms only become legible to tracking services after significant, irreversible harm has occurred.

    Conversely, utilizing the non-labeling architecture of PBC-PAN radically shifts the clinical field:

    • Early distress signals become instantly recognizable before lifelong individual pathology consolidates.
    • Clinical interpretations remain provisional, allowing hypotheses to evolve dynamically alongside system changes.
    • General Practitioners (GPs) can decode somatic and sensorimotor distress developmentally, tracking the physiological indicators of chronic threat-monitoring.
    • Educators and protective professionals can intervene constructively, breaking systemic secrecy and offering needs-led support without prematurely labeling the child.

    But most importantly: when boomerangs are thrown endlessly inside a home, or repeatedly within a classroom during bullying, that rhythmic return serves as the primary structural warning sign. A child understands instinctively that a boomerang hurts, that every weaponized word or action returns, and that recognition alone reveals that something behind closed doors is fundamentally uncalibrated.

    When the Boomerang Theory is introduced within an educational context, conflict becomes immediately legible as a structured, trackable process: action, reaction, consequence, and choice. In combination with the Child Compass, a normative rhythm within social interaction can be identified, exposing systematic deviations from that baseline. Relational processes that typically remain implicit, such as audience formation, audience-to-army shifts, and projective identification become observable phenomena rather than subjective impressions. Externalizing behaviors, including belittling, degrading, and multi-pawn triangulation, can then be analyzed objectively as patterned interaction.

    This structural recognition enables children and adolescents to infer that certain relational dynamics, whether in domestic environments or peer groups, deviate severely from normative functioning. This immediate clarity reduces internalized shame and rapidly increases psychological safety for disclosure.

    Adolescents who acquire this framework are equipped to identify the precise moment a neutral or supportive audience transitions into a threatening, hostile collective (the Army), allowing them to map the escalation pathways that culminate in profound avoidance behaviors. Because these toxic dynamics are rarely articulated explicitly, they frequently persist below the threshold of institutional awareness. Once structurally named, however, measurable behavioral shifts occur.

    When children are introduced to the Boomerang Theory at an early age, a single, objective interpretive framework applies to all participants within the system. If, within that shared structure, attachment-related behavior consistently deviates and fails to recalibrate over time, it signals a systemic structural dysfunction rather than a temporary situational conflict. Through rhythm, frequency, and repetition, children learn not only how conflicts mechanically unfold, but exactly how healthy containment, regulation, and relational repair are supposed to occur.

    I have countless examples of bullied children who are not operating within an imaginary audience alone, but within an imaginary army. Their behavior is organized around anticipated collective violence: avoiding school, taking multi-kilometer detours, or not leaving home at all. Threat perception generalizes from specific peers to entire environments, sometimes even to the village as a whole. This reflects not adolescent self-consciousness, but a fear system structured around expected coordinated aggression. How can a young person receive different DSM labels without adequately examining where that fear, root cases originated, a pattern I have encountered in my work, where the young person becomes “the problem” while the role of peers, parents, or the wider environment in creating that fear remains unexamined? This audience–army shift is often assumed to be purely negative, the same mechanism can also be deliberately redirected and used constructively within the classroom.

    A classroom-based illustration clarifies this mechanism. Consider a small subset of persistently disruptive students, sometimes characterized by insecurity and adverse home environments. Conventional interventions emphasize exclusion, such as temporary removal from the classroom. When, instead the educater suspend direct engagement, pausing instruction without disciplinary escalation, the interactional focus shifts. Various tactics can be employed instead: the teacher might use verbal or non-verbal cues to signal, “figure it out yourselves; you don’t want to learn anyway,” addressing the whole group. Because the message applies to everyone, the focus of the class shifts entirely. The peers do not need to intervene or say anything, yet the disruptive students feel observed and experience a sense of guilt. Over repeated cycles, the audience reorganizes into a regulating collective. Behavioral recalibration emerges not through punitive measures, but through sustained visibility within the group context. This phenomenon can be described as an audience-army shift. Additional empirical illustrations are derived from later applied work. Ongoing qualitative interviews, to be analysed and reported in subsequent work, explore a proposed distinction between perceived supportive–empathic and hostile–evaluative forms of the imaginary audience. The analysis will examine how these configurations relate to perceived pressure, autonomy and behavioural adaptation. Further work will require operational definitions and the development and validation of measures assessing perceived audience support, hostility and pressure, alongside measures of audience-fable-army shift/ ideation.

    By analyzing these shifts within the group infrastructure, the framework moves beyond descriptive observation into active prediction. When the baseline interaction rhythms consistently fail to recalibrate under collective pressure, it signals that the unsafe audience has already solidified into an internalized threat. This predictive threshold explains why certain individuals remain entirely unreachable by conventional discipline, operating in a permanent state of hypervigilance where the slightest perceived judgment triggers a catastrophic transition from 0 to 100 in an instant.

    Rooted in developmental psychology and inspired by foundational concepts from Sigmund Freud, Jean Piaget, David Elkind and related ego-defense and conflict mechanisms, the roadmap focuses on prevention rather than late-stage labeling. The goal is to help professionals recognize core relational conflicts, family roles, shame dynamics, bullying pressure and child maltreatment patterns earlier, before children are reduced to static DSM-style labels. Development is dynamic, human behavior is rarely static. It emerges from the interaction between the individual and the context in which they live. Early awareness can create safer environments long before crisis intervention becomes necessary. Unresolved shame builds psychological pressure. As chronic stress repeatedly activates the HPA axis and the autonomic nervous system, cortisol and adrenaline help shape the brain’s expectations of safety and threat. What begins as an adaptive survival response can eventually become an automatic psychological pattern. When that pressure becomes overwhelming, the mind protects itself through defense mechanisms such as projection.

    I was already working with these concepts and symbols in 2024. In Trauma Unraveled, published in 2025 drawing on 108 foundational scientific sources, I presented the framework’s basic principles as simply as possible, making the patterns I had identified accessible to a broad readership. The work has since become more technical, particularly as I develop clearer definitions, counting procedures, and potential measures for its dynamic relational patterns. Operationalisation remains demanding: these interactions are highly dynamic, requiring explicit decisions about which variables can be measured reliably and which must, for now, be excluded to preserve model parsimony.

    I anticipate formally submitting a manuscript for peer review early next year. The entire framework remains open-source, built to be freely used, rigorously tested, and actively criticized. Expanding this architecture is not merely an academic exercise, but a structural necessity. Developments such as Automatic Boundary Calibration (ABC) and clearly defined parameters aim to help children recognize relational traps and reduce their need for defensive responses. Whether these effects occur, how quickly, and under which conditions are questions for empirical testing.

    By making previously unrecognized patterns visible, we can begin teaching these relational blueprints early. I firmly believe that PBC-PAN has the potential to expose the systemic secrecy of closed family networks, helping children recognize the pressures they are living under and develop psychological autonomy long before crisis intervention becomes a newspaper headline.

    What are we failing to detect in childhood that we later attempt to manage through diagnoses, relationship warnings, and public exposure?

    Start inside the family. Assess hidden maltreatment, coercion, bullying, and loyalty conflicts. Hear the child independently. Map who controls the relationship, who absorbs the pressure, and what happens when someone resists. Strengthen safety and autonomy early. The Fonagy review’s recommendation for earlier, needs-led support.

    Further downstream, AWDTSG groups report more than ten million women sharing dating experiences and warnings about men. Alongside protective information sits a market in abuse terminology, coaching, and threat detection. The scientific question is urgent: when does repeated warning improve judgment, and when might it reinforce hypervigilance, suspicion, and dependence on further warnings?

    The operational reality of these digital tracking networks has mutated into a brutal, highly competitive market for weaponized altruism. The self-appointed group administrators function as professional “trauma rescuers” across the Karpman drama triangle, actively fighting competing creators for digital turf, platform dominance, and audience market share. While masquerading under the guise of selfless community protection, these platforms seamlessly integrate monetization mechanics deploying GoFundMe links engineered to extract continuous crowdsourced capital for their “voluntary” moderation theater.

    Concurrently, the unmonitored velocity of these digital tribunals has generated catastrophic real-world casualties:

    Fatal Endpoints: The absolute psychological isolation engineered by these false accusations has driven multiple individuals into total neuro-somatic collapse, culminating in documented cases of suicide.

    Relational Destruction: Unverified, anonymous exposures systematically fracture stable relational networks based on uncalibrated, distorted feedback loops.

    Systemic Collapse: Targeted individuals are thrown into an immediate, irreversible state of public shame and professional ruin without any access to reality testing.

    Consider the modern algorithmic pipeline: a routine first relationship ends in a normal breakup, yet the individual immediately infers, “My ex must have been a narcissist.” Upon opening the internet, they are instantly met by millions of online users and self-proclaimed digital experts confirming their personal fable: “Yes, you were dealing with a narcissist.”

    This mechanical validation loop manufactures an artificial, generalized fear of dating, directly driving down global birth rates and accelerating systemic polarization where men and women are reduced to opposing, hostile categories. Fear generates engagement; engagement rewards alarming content; alarming content generates more fear. Protection risks becoming polarization. Relationship conflict becomes informal diagnosis.

    Assessment must withstand that pressure. A victim can also perpetrate harm. A campaigner against abuse can behave abusively. A parent seeking sympathy can remain a source of danger to their child. These possibilities require individual investigation, without assuming equivalence or dismissing genuine victimization.

    We need prospective research connecting family dynamics, clinical assessment, and digital threat exposure. The accountability question is straightforward: who is responsible for identifying the child’s circumstances before years of adaptation are interpreted primarily as individual pathology?

    The problem with the mainstream diagnostic establishment is that its manual-driven checklists function strictly within an insulated academic sandbox. While these system theories might operate perfectly inside the abstract isolation of a clinic or university room, they collapse entirely on the actual work floor when trying to collaborate with complex, high-risk youth.

    The problem also extends to professional training: practitioners may enter youth care with different approaches and without a shared foundation of practical tools for recognising and managing relational pressure. In a 2026 interview, an orthopedagogue and behavioural specialist nearing retirement described the institutional situation bluntly: “This cannot go on. You would be better off closing them.” His argument was that these children belonged at home, and that intervention needed to address problems within their families, including those involving their parents.

    In our onging work with PBC-PAN, it has become evident that real-world intervention requires moving out of the sandbox and into the immediate relational field. We can utilize this process-driven architecture to go far deeper, actively constructing a stable holding environment by engaging with the young person directly. Utilizing collaborative tools such as co-creating a shared moodboard turns chaotic, invisible tracking environments into concrete, visible interaction rhythms.

    By actively transforming abstract relational tension into a tangible, shared vocabulary of words and images, we don’t just categorize the individual; we recalibrate the system.

    PBC-PAN proposes making relational patterns visible and testable, with outcomes assessed using clearly defined measures of safety, autonomy, and functioning. We need a shared, empirically tested framework for structured assessment and formulation before and alongside DSM-5(TR)/ICD-11 classification, one that examines development, relationships, environmental pressures, and system changes over time.

    We are currently witnessing the rapid rise of highly weaponized, covert narrative movements where complex relationship conflicts are flattened into a singular, unscientific dogma: that one gender holds a monopoly on abuse. In this unchecked digital landscape, entire accounts of trauma including fabricated narratives of sexual assault and rape are routinely engineered or strategically deployed during initial dating phases as a high-velocity script to extract immediate sympathy, disable the new partner’s critical threat detection, and secure public validation. These calculated fabrications weaponize online altruism while genuine victims of severe domestic terrorism remain unheard.

    We observe the empirical peak of this systemic corruption in a rapidly accelerating European phenomenon, visible within geopolitical infrastructure. Highly sophisticated, identity-diffused actors are constructing increasingly baroque Personal Fables of weaponized uniqueness, seamlessly synthesizing highly curated accounts of profound somatic trauma, such as miraculous awakenings from comatose states, with elite cognitive credentials like “giftedness” Armed with these manufactured survivor portfolios and utilizing high-status professional titles appended to their names, these profiles actively infiltrate clinical and digital spaces, launching aggressive parasitic alignment strategies under the public feeds of prominent psychiatrists. They deploy a coordinated repertoire of public petitions, legalistic denunciations, and mass media-driven campaigns to capture institutional attention and force the surrounding network into an automated validation loop.

    The urgent, epistemological question remains for the contemporary diagnostic machine: when the psychic architecture is so profoundly warped by early parentification and survival-driven fantasy that it weaponizes the legal and public apparatus to enforce its grandiosity, can a traditional psychoanalyst genuinely intervene before the collective matrix is completely destabilized?

    Without an objective, ”scientific” framework capable of analyzing these deep psychodynamic wounds and interactional systems without moral bias, the institutional failure will be catastrophic. If our clinical and legal systems continue to validate superficial checklists over structural replication, the current youth mental health crisis will inevitably explode into a weaponized, system-wide abuse crisis.

    Case Analysis: Interactional Terrorism and Systemic Deception

    Short case illustration. Deeper architectural parameters are fully documented elsewhere, demonstrating exactly why this specific trajectory was, and remains entirely predictable.

    When you strip away the public scripts, the underlying psychodynamic architecture reveals exactly how this destructive sequence unfolds:

    • The Collision of Fractured Blueprints: A man entering the system with a deep, unresolved childhood attachment wound collides with a woman whose psychic architecture was structurally warped by early parentification and survival-driven fantasy.
    • The Interpersonal Laboratory: Behind closed doors, the woman deploys the inverted peekaboo rhythm as an automated, characterological contact-test. The chronic, unpredictable shifts between suffocating alignment and cold emotional stonewalling generate massive, recurring prediction errors within the man’s uncalibrated nervous system.
    • The Mechanical Disregulation: Trapped inside this high-pressure laboratory, the man’s defensive boundaries collapse entirely. He retreats into years of severe chemical regulation, utilizing alcohol to silence the absolute noise of the internalized Army while the relationship loops endlessly through weaponized conflict boomerangs.
    • The Late-Stage Re-enactment: By the time the system fractures, the covert actor seamlessly claims the dominant, public Personal Fable of the ultimate victim. Mainstream tracking services and local authorities step in, examine only the surface-level behavioral explosion, and mechanically assign the linear role of the “sole perpetrator” to the man completely blind to the decades of interactional terrorism that systematically drove his biology into the ground.

    The practical goal is a shared framework that children, social workers, psychologists, and psychiatrists can understand and use. It would combine psychodynamic understanding with practical cognitive tools, recognise defence mechanisms, and provide a holding environment where young people feel safe enough to lower their defences and communicate the fear, distress, or unmet needs that may lie beneath aggression. While the contemporary diagnostic establishment remains heavily funded to endlessly micro-analyze Jean Piaget’s exact developmental milestones or conduct exhaustive, circular critiques of David Elkind’s legacy constructs, the actual youth care work floor requires an operational language, not a multi-decade academic debate. We cannot stabilize an uncalibrated threat environment or prevent systemic collapse behind closed doors by waiting for the next university paper to evaluate whether pathologized narcissism resides within individual eyebrow geometry.

    This also requires direct communication and coordinated care between general practitioners, schools, social services, and mental health professionals. A shared case formulation should map developmental history, current pressures, relational patterns, protective factors, and the young person’s own perspective, while distinguishing observations from interpretations and working hypotheses. The baseline reality of global healthcare is an unmitigated, checklist-driven mess precisely because the system splits into isolated professional silos that validate surface-level symptoms while remaining blind to interactional origins. Clear responsibility for coordination, timely referrals, and agreed information sharing with appropriate consent and safeguarding procedures would help everyone involved work from an up-to-date, 3D understanding of the situation rather than hiding behind flat administrative checklists.

    Progress should be evaluated through changes in safety, daily functioning, autonomy, and the young person’s ability to communicate distress. The framework should remain open to revision as new information emerges, with its reliability and effectiveness subject to empirical testing. Instead of generating more endless, self-serving critiques that merely demand further institutional funding to protect theoretical sandboxes, we must hand a completed, solution-oriented puzzle straight to frontline practitioners before another hidden family tragedy consolidates into a lifetime individual label.

    Do we really believe that parents simply placing their bright 13- or 14-year-old with an ADHD or autism label in residential youth care tells us nothing worth examining about the family? What about individuation–separation at that age, and the adolescent’s experience of being sent away? If they subsequently receive an anxiety disorder label, shouldn’t we first examine what happened before and during that separation?

    In interviews conducted in adulthood, individuals looking back on their childhoods described receiving DSM labels for experiences they now identify as child maltreatment rather than a mental disorder. This points to a diagnostic limitation where complex environmental distress are frequently cataloged through one individual. (Off-topic or maybe on-topic: you can spot splitting defenses with PBC-PAN in children)

    We don’t need more flat, 1D diagnostic checklists to catalog human distress; we need an integrated 3D prospective lens to map how the human organism actually adapts, recalibrates, and survives within the high-pressure social media pipelines and interactional arenas of 2026

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    (Holmes, R., framework, 2025)


  • All rights reserved. Copyright ©️ Robert Holmes 2025.

    These terms and models are made available solely for scientific, educational, and preventive purposes. They may not be used for commercial exploitation, rebranding, or derivative commercial products without explicit written permission.

    All original terms and theoretical models, including the PBC & PAN Theory, the Imaginary Army, the Child Compass, the Boomerang (Conflict, Projection) Theory, and several additional concepts described in the book were first published by Robert Holmes (2025).

    ©️Robert Holmes 2025. Trauma Unraveled: Narcissistic Abuse vs. Lyme Disease. Trauma vs. Disease.