How Trauma, Loss, and Influence Shape What We Remember

Memory feels solid. Certain. Like something we can point to and say, this happened exactly this way. But the truth is, memory doesn’t work like a recording. It works more like a story our brain rewrites over time—especially when trauma, loss, or emotional stress are involved.

This is something I’ve come to understand not just through research, but through lived experience.

When my daughter lost her father to suicide at just four years old, she was too young to fully form long-term, independent memories of him. Years later, she once told me something that stopped me in my tracks: “The only memories I have of my dad are the things you and the family told me.” At the time, I didn’t yet have the language to understand what that meant. I only knew it mattered.

As I’ve learned more about how memory works, I’ve come to realize that this experience is far more common than we talk about—especially for children who experience early loss or trauma.

Memory is not stored as a single, untouched file in the brain. Each time we remember something, the brain reconstructs it. It pulls from fragments—sensations, emotions, images, stories we’ve heard—and fills in gaps with what feels most plausible. This process is usually harmless. But when grief, fear, or repeated narratives are involved, those reconstructions can slowly shift.

There is a term for one type of memory distortion called confabulation. It’s a neuropsychological process where the brain creates memories without any intention to lie or deceive. These memories often feel vivid and real to the person experiencing them. The brain isn’t trying to rewrite history—it’s trying to make sense of missing pieces.

Children are especially vulnerable to this. When a child experiences loss before their brain has fully developed the ability to encode detailed autobiographical memory, they often rely on the stories told by trusted adults to understand their past. Over time, those stories can blend with imagination, emotion, and suggestion. Eventually, the child may experience those borrowed stories as lived memories.

Trauma adds another layer. When the nervous system is overwhelmed, memory encoding becomes fragmented. Stress hormones interfere with how the brain binds details together. Instead of clear timelines, memories may be stored as emotional impressions—fear, sadness, confusion—without full context. Later, the brain tries to make sense of those emotions by attaching them to narratives that feel familiar or repeatedly reinforced.

This doesn’t mean anyone is lying. It doesn’t mean memories are fabricated out of malice. It means the brain is doing what it was designed to do: protect, organize, and survive.

I’ve also had to reflect on my own memory. My childhood included periods of fear and instability, and there are gaps I can’t fully recall. For a long time, that scared me. I wondered if missing memories meant something was wrong with me. What I’ve learned instead is that memory gaps are often a sign of a nervous system that adapted to survive difficult circumstances. Sometimes the brain chooses distance over detail.

Research supports this. Studies show that people who have experienced trauma, grief, or chronic stress are more likely to experience memory distortions—especially when new information is emotionally charged or closely related to past pain. The brain links what it already knows emotionally, even if the details aren’t fully accurate.

This is why memory conflicts can be so painful within families. Two people can remember the same period of life very differently, both believing their version wholeheartedly. When trauma is involved, memory becomes less about facts and more about meaning.

Understanding this doesn’t erase hurt. It doesn’t magically repair broken relationships. But it can soften the sharp edges of blame. It can remind us that memory is human, fragile, and deeply influenced by who we were when the experience happened—and who was shaping the story afterward.

False memories are not a moral failure. They are not a sign of weakness. They are often a sign that someone’s brain learned to survive under emotional weight.

If you’ve ever questioned your memories, doubted your reality, or felt confused by conflicting versions of the past, you are not alone. Your experience deserves compassion, not judgment.

This article reviews scientific research on false memories in trauma, PTSD, and depression:
👉 National Library of Medicine – False Memory and Psychopathology