If you read only the black text, the sign is telling people it’s perfectly fine to be victims of their circumstances.
Jokes aside, I reluctantly agree with the sentiment that one or two commenters have expressed that it’s awful privileged to assume it’s within the capacity of those who endured childhood trauma to just “be better”.
At every moment of every day, I carry a wound with me that tells me I’m not good enough, that I’m both physically and mentally in danger, and that everyone and everything I trust will turn on me at a moment’s notice.
It’s a bit like handling a curve on a bike or car. On good days I feel like gentle tug of inertia trying to pull me from the path I’m steering toward. In this metaphor, the curves are the little challenges that are thrown at you socially.
I see the edge of the mental road and all the darkness that lies beyond it, but I can handle it with grace and move in the direction I’d like. On bad days - most days, honestly - it’s not so gentle of a pull. I’m sliding right into panic and fear because of the trauma that was built into me. It takes a considerable effort and a lot of energy to not be antisocial, to not indulge in things that protect my wounds.
It sucks. And it’s not because I’m not being better, it’s because my starting point is farther back and with fewer resources.
(And time, apparently, as I’m rushing to finish this comment - apologies if that rush comes through with incomplete thoughts.)