drglenndoyle

Recover for sixty seconds (only).

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tanked an attempt at trauma or addiction recovery because I freaked myself out about what might happen tomorrow. 

Or next week. Or next month. Or next year. 

Actually, you know what? Sometimes I didn’t even have a timeline for the freakout— I freaked myself about what could happen “eventually.” 

Like, all this self-talk, mental focus, and physiology stuff takes an awful lot of effort— what if, someday, I’m just exhausted, and I can’t do it? 

Well then, Trauma Brain responded to me: you probably just shouldn’t even try, my man. 

Remember that this is how Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our bullies and abusers, operates: it will always, always, always err on the side of giving us an excuse to not work our recovery. 

Including something as stupid as “someday you might struggle with this stuff.” 

The thing is, OF COURSE we’re going to struggle someday. Maybe tomorrow, next week, next month, next year; maybe “eventually.” 

We’re going to struggle with it because recovery is hard, and we, being human, have a limited supply of energy and focus.

But that’s kind of like saying, there will be days when I’m going to struggle to brush my teeth or take a shower, because I’m going to be tired or depressed, and I’m not going to feel like it. 

Would the move then be to not bother brushing my teeth or showering tonight, because at some point I might have a hard time with it? 

Come on. 

Many survivors do this all the time. We get all up in our head about what might happen in the future, whether we’ll stay committed to our recovery, whether we’re going to relapse. 

Trauma Brain and/or the Addiction Best leap right in and tell us that if we do struggle with our recovery in the future, it’ll mean we “wasted” all this time trying to work our recovery— and most people really hate wasting our own time. 

Understand what our pain is doing to us in these moments: it’s making up a story just to get us to quit. 

The reality is, we might struggle with the recovery stuff. Hell, I might even relapse on the substances or behaviors of addiction that have taken a pretty fair run at ruining my life in the past. 

Any or all of that might happen— but will it happen today? This minute? 

Will I self harm, make a suicide attempt, or relapse by the end of this blog? Maybe— I can’t tell the future, even one minute into the future— but I doubt it. 

The fact that I might (or might not!) struggle with any or all of those in a future moment does not mean I have to collapse the wave function and give in to them in THIS moment. 

I will die on the hill of, do not f*ck your head up about what might happen next. 

Do what you can with what you have, i.e., this minute. This one, right here, right now. 

Maybe tomorrow you’ll be exhausted. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be psychotic. Maybe tomorrow you’ll make a different decision about whether you even want to be in recovery. 

So what? 

Can you influence your self talk right now in a supportive, realistic way? 

Can you influence your mental focus right now in a recovery supporting way? 

Can you influence your breathing and physiology right now in a centering way? 

Then do that. 

Your recovery lives in this minute. This one, right here. 

The past is history, tomorrow’s a mystery. 

Work your recovery this minute. Again, and again, and again. 

One of the most brilliant truths ever pointed out to me in my own addiction recovery is that life, as it moves forward, is just a series of present moments— and it’s only ever in the present moment that we have ANY kid of wiggle room. 

So grab it. 

And let the “you” of sixty seconds from now deal with the next moment. 

drglenndoyle

So maybe you’re disappointing someone. And?

I cannot guarantee that you’re not disappointing someone. How the hell would I know? 

You may well be disappointing someone. I know I am. 

Who am I disappointing? Plenty of people whose vision of life does not align with mine. Which would include my family of origin and my abusers (categories that are not mutually exclusive, but do not overlap completely either). 

I imagine you are, actually, disappointing someone. 

Maybe your family. Maybe people in your spiritual community. Maybe people who strongly align with the culture you grew up in. 

I’ve never loved disappointing people. 

But part of my trauma recovery— and probably part of yours, too— is accepting that disappointing people is not the end of the world. Truly. 

When we grow up without the necessary support and safety to become our own person and develop confidence in our ability to handle life, we get very, very invested in others’ opinions of us. 

That “fawn” people pleasing response doesn’t come out of nowhere. 

It’s not just that we think we have to please and appease others to stay safe; it’s also that we believe if we DON’T conform to everyone’s expectations and desires, that we might actually lose our identity. 

That might sound strange, but many people reading can identify. So to speak. 

Who are we if we’re not checking all the boxes, being who “they” want us to be? 

Many of us grew up without permission to be our own person— to have our own standards and goals about what our life should be all about. 

Hell, many of us were implicitly or explicitly threatened if we DARED to have a life vision that didn’t align with the people who raised us. 

Fast forward to now: OF COURSE we feel all kinds of pressure to be who “they” expect, who “they” want. 


The alternative might feel like being nobody at all. 

As we work our trauma recovery, we’re going to find that one of the most powerful factors in how we think, feel, believe, and behave, is our identity. 

One of the big reasons many survivors struggle to change our patterns is, we have an identity that we believe precludes us changing those patterns. 

Put another way, we may change some patterns for a short period of time— but if we truly believe we’re “just not the kind of person” who continues that new pattern, we won’t. We’ll go back. 

Our nervous system doesn’t like instability in our identity. That’s why it’ll try to drift back, again and again, to our familiar identity— even if that identity is painful. 

It’s also why we’ll cling to the identity that was handed to us by our abusers and bullies— instead of taking the risk of creating an identify of our own in recovery. 

Almost every CPTSD survivor struggles with this. You’re not alone in this. It’s what CPTSD does: it hijacks our identity, and makes us believe that to disappoint or confuse someone with our new behavior is dangerous. 

Changing our patterns IS dangerous— to CPTSD’s ability to make us miserable. 

Screw it. Disappoint “them.” Confuse “them.” Create and deepen an identity and life they have no clue how to process. 

Losing the prefab identity life handed us without our input or consent is one of the most amazing things that can happen to us. 

One of the scariest, too. So no need to rush it, or shame yourself for struggling with it. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

And go disappoint someone today. 

drglenndoyle

Self-talk and our most important relationship.

A core principle in trauma recovery is that our relationship with ourselves is the one that needs to be developed and protected more than any other. 

It’s one of the reasons why the Internal Family Systems approach and others like it are so useful in trauma work. 

The relationship with ourselves is what complex trauma f*cks up— and the relationship with ourselves is the one that we have to reformat and strengthen. 

It’s why I focus on self-talk as the first of the the three main trauma recovery tools I emphasize. 

(I know, you’re sick of me repeating self-talk, mental focus, and physiology over and over again— but EVERY effective trauma recovery tool comes back to a combination of those basics.)

Self-talk is not just the noise that happens to occur in our heads. 

It’s how we communicate to ourselves and our “parts” what things mean and what’s going on. 

It’s what CPTSD hijacks, alongside our mental focus and physiology. 

We need the inside of our head and heart to be safe for us. 

We need to know that when we turn toward ourselves to understand and process what things mean and what’s going on, that we won’t blithely repeat our abusers’ and bullies’ talking points. 

We need to know that, if we turn toward ourselves when we’re triggered, we will respond in the voice of a gentle, wise, realistic mentor— not a saboteur. 

Someone who loves us, not someone who hates us. 

I understand that some people think “self talk” sounds like weak sauce in the face of the symptoms and stressors we experience in CPTSD. 

I don’t think self talk solves all our problems. 

I do think it’s a necessary tool to use and the gateway to deeper self-communication and self-support that is the backbone of realistic trauma recovery. 

We manage our relationships through communication, and largely through words— including our relationship with ourselves. 

That relationship we carry with ourselves 24/7/365, that relationship that has been to hell and back thanks to the programming and conditioning of our abusers and bullies. 

What we say when we talk to ourselves really, really matters. 

How we feel when we engage with ourselves really, really matters. 

Safety starts inside. 

We could be in a totally “safe” situation physically, but if we’re not safe inside our own head and heart, if we’re afraid of or expecting an attack from ourselves, our old programming, Trauma Brain— then we’re not truly safe. 

Have your own back. 

Be on your own side. 

Come hell or high water, no matter how our old conditioning is pressuring us to go back to what’s familiar, what we know, the cognitive and emotional and behavioral patterns we’re “good” at. 

If nothing changes, nothing changes. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

And check in with yourself— all of you. 

drglenndoyle

It’s your gentleness vs. the sh*t show.

For many CPTSD survivors, it took a lot of pain and chaos to make us as gentle and mindful as we are. 

We’ve seen, we’ve experienced, the sh*t show. 

We have no desire to visit the sh*t show on anybody else. 

Sometimes, though, that “fight” response makes us seem a little combative. 

Sometimes that “flee” response makes us seem like we don’t like people. (And, of course, sometimes we don’t like people— and there’s nothing wrong with that.) 

Sometimes that “freeze” response can make us feel like we’re holding back or holding out on people. 

That is to say: sometimes trauma responses are going to make us feel or seem like people we aren’t. 

And yet, we still want to be gentle with the world, with other people, especially with animals. 

The vast majority of the CPTSD survivors I’ve ever met have wanted nothing more than to heal the world. 

We’ve decided the sh*t show stops with us. Which is why we go through the hassle of working a recovery. 

We don’t want to be like our abusers. 

Our abusers could not fathom doing the amount of kind of work we do in trauma recovery. 

I don’t care who your abusers were, whether they were people or institutions— they were gross.

The sh*t show actually belongs to them, even though we’re the ones who pay the price for their chaos. 

It’s actually a f*cking miracle we’re as gentle as we are. 

If you’re reading this, you’re doing something your abusers could not fathom. You’re reading, studying, taking in material to improve your life, to make things different. 

Remember that. 

Even when it feels like it’s an uphill battle, if when it feels like it’s not working, even when it feels hopeless and pointless— you’re committed to, and working to definitively, end, the sh*t show. 

I admire and love your gentleness. 

It’s not a weakness, it’s a superpower. 

And I’m not just saying that as a bullsh*t therapist trope— I mean I want and need more people like you in the world to push back the sh*t show. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

drglenndoyle

Try a little love.

Many CPTSD survivors get hung up on this idea that we’re supposed to love the person we were when we were hurt— whether we were a child or an adult when that happened. 

The fact that complex trauma unfolds over time means that many of us were hurt both as children and as adults. 

But CPTSD survivors often want to instinctively hate or reject that person. 

CPTSD survivors are often told that it was somehow that person’s fault. 

We’re told that so frequently, in so many direct and subtle ways, that we often come to believe it— to just download that belief into our nervous system. 

It’s not that CPTSD survivors wake up and make a “choice” to hate or reject the person we were when we were hurt. 

We just wake up and register that’s how we feel. What we feel we’re “supposed” to do. 

One of the characteristics of CPTSD, as opposed to traditional PTSD, is that if f*cks with our sense of who we are. 

The symptoms experienced by CPTSD survivors don’t always center on what happened, like in PTSD. 

Rather, many of CPTSD survivors’ symptoms focus on us— specifically our identity and our worth. 

That’s what happens when you’re taken advance of in relationships that should be safe, as almost every CPTSD survivor has been. 

Realistic recovery from CPTSD asks us to extend grace and patience to the person we were when we were hurt. 

We don’t have to love the fact that we were hurt— but it’s real important we not let our hatred of the situation spill over on to us. 

There are CPTSD survivors reading this who will respond to what I just wrote by saying, “okay, but I DID do things that made me more vulnerable. I may not be totally responsible for what happened to me, but I DO bear SOME responsibility.”

We have to be really, really careful how we engage with that idea— that there may have been something we could have done different. 

The reality is, whether we could have done something different or not, things unfolded the way they did. 

There is absolutely no realistic benefit to going back and kicking the sh*t out of ourselves for what we “could” or “should” have done. 

Most CPTSD survivors have been immersed in shame and self-blame for as long as we can remember— don’t you think if that helped, it would have helped by now? 

Shame and self-blame are never going to be realistic, effective tools in CPTSD recovery. Never. 

Instead of coming at your past self— again, whether you were a child or an adult— maybe try holding your past self. 

Just hold them. Don’t judge them; don’t yell at them; don’t rush them. Don’t demand they be different. Don’t demand the past be different. 

CPTSD tries to get us constantly demanding that we somehow be different. 

Turns out our nervous and endocrine systems don’t give a sh*t what we “demand.” 

Try a little love instead. 

You know, just see how it goes. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

drglenndoyle

Psst. “Gaslighting yourself” is not a thing.

Yes, you and I might run patterns of thinking, feeling, and behaving that have been conditioned by our past experiences. That’s how conditioning works. 

It doesn’t mean we’re “doing it to ourselves.” 

I understand what people mean when they implore us to “stop gaslighting ourselves”— but I’ve never been comfortable with that language. 

We don’t “gaslight ourselves.” 

Gaslighting is an abuse tactic. 

In using the term “gaslighting ourselves,” we’re shifting blame from those who abused us— those who really did gaslight us— to us. 

Us being vulnerable to an abuser’s gaslighting is not us “gaslighting ourselves”— even if we’re still vulnerable to it or suffering from it years after that abusers is out of our life. 

Some people assume that if an abuser is gone— maybe even dead— then the gaslighting is gone, too. 

I wish that was the case. 

When people ask me to define “emotional abuse,” my most common answer involves some variant of the phrase, “head games.” 

Emotional abuse is an abuser f*cking with our head— and it can be notoriously difficult to hold abusers accountable for emotional abuse, specifically because of the “we’re doing it to ourselves” myth. 

That’s why I can’t let it go with “stop gaslighting yourself.” I see it repeated on social media, and every time I do, I want to remind survivors: you are NOT “doing this to yourself.” 

Running old patterns is NOT a “choice.” It’s how conditioning works, how programming works, how learned helplessness works, how CPTSD works. 

Saying “stop gaslighting yourself” implies it’s a “choice” you can just “stop.” 

This is more than semantics. Words mean things, and survivors have had tropes like “gaslighting yourself” used against us forever. 

We can’t just “stop” a program or pattern we’ve been running, especially one that includes gaslighting and other emotional abuse. 

What we can do is work to understand what it is and realize when it’s happening. 

What we can do is work to identify and de-shame our triggers. 

What we can do is develop an understanding of how Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our abusers and bullies, keeps their gaslighting and other head games quite active inside us, sometimes years after our abusers aren’t around anymore. 

I understand “stop gaslighting yourself” is a cute, catchy social media trope. 

But I think we have to be incredibly mindful of the language we use to describe our pain and our needs in trauma recovery— especially when it’s around an issue that so easily devolves into cultural skepticism and victim blaming as gaslighting. 

Stop demanding you simply “stop” behaviors you’ve been conditioned into over years. 

Remind yourself that patterns take time to unwind and unwire. 

Repeat to yourself, “grace over guilt,” every time you run into that pattern. 

A good place to start with unraveling patterns is breathe; blink; and focus on the new pattern you’re trying to condition. 

Patience and realism, all the way home. 

drglenndoyle

Your sensitivity is not a flaw. It’s a world changer.

You need to know that your sensitivity is not a flaw. 

I know, it can feel like it. It can feel like your sensitivity makes you vulnerable. 

And there are definitely people who will try to take advantage of how sensitive you are. 

But that doesn’t mean your sensitivity is a flaw, or even necessarily a weakness. 

Let’s be real: there are people who will try to take advantage of ANY quality we happen to have a lot of. 

And ANY quality that hooks into who we are and what we’re all about, including but not limited to our sensitivity, is potentially exploitable. 

So many trauma survivors walk around feeling like a raw nerve— and we so often feel ashamed of that. 

It doesn’t help that we have an entire culture around us glorifying “toughness” and portraying emotional non-reactivity as the essence of heroism. 

Let me tell you, real heroes are plenty sensitive and plenty emotional. 

I happen to think the way our culture glorifies emotional non-reactivity is kind of an exercise in wish fulfillment: we humans desperately wish we weren’t so sensitive or emotional, so we invent heroes who are defined by their ability to “suck it up.” 

The reality is, the world desperately NEEDS people who are sensitive and empathic. 

We don’t WANT an entire culture created by people who are out of touch with their feelings and intuition. That world would be a cold, hard place. 

CPTSD tries really hard to convince us we’re “damaged goods.” 

So many of us really, truly believe there is something fundamentally “wrong” with us— beyond the post traumatic injuries we’ve sustained and the CPTSD patterns we involuntarily run. 

An injury is not the same as a “flaw” or a “weakness.” 

The strongest, toughest athletes in the world get injured. 

The best designed bridges and buildings on the planet get damaged by earthquakes and storms. 

It is likely you, like me, are more sensitive than most. Things hit us harder. We have harder time compartmentalizing and moving on than many (which is why many survivors develop the psychological defense of dissociation— it seems to do the heavy lifting of compartmentalization for us, though relying on it in this way eventually creates more problems than it solves). 

That doesn’t mean we’re “immature,” “weak,” or any of the other dozen things Trauma Brain tries to call us. 

It definitely doesn’t mean our job is to somehow banish our sensitivity. 

We very much NEED our sensitivity. 

We also need to develop tools and philosophies that support us in managing that sensitivity so it doesn’t overwhelm us. 

Your sensitivity is not a flaw. 

It’s one of the best things about you. 

People like us are going to change the world in ways people not in touch with their sensitivity cannot. 

I truly believe that. 

drglenndoyle

You get to choose who you are sexually.

I think it’s real important, in trauma recovery, that we not pathologize our needs. 

That temptation is real, though— to chalk everything we feel or do or need up to a trauma response. 

Many of us have been so overwhelmed by trauma responses for so long, in fact, that we’ve come to kind of believe trauma is our personality. 

(This is one of the reasons I think CPTSD is real easy for some clinicians to misdiagnose as a “personality disorder”— you need to not only know what you’re looking at, but accept what trauma is and understand what it does to really see it.)

But not everything in our lives is a trauma response— even if many of our patterns and preferences have been shaped by pain. 

An example that comes up often is sexuality. 

It’s no secret that, for survivors of sexual trauma in particular, our experiences can play a role in how we experience our sexuality and what we want, need, and seek out in our sex lives. 

(By the way, this isn’t just confined to survivors of sexual trauma— people who have been subject to emotional abuse and coercive control, among other forms of complex trauma, can also find their sex lives profoundly impacted by what they went through, even if their trauma wasn’t explicitly sexual.)

Some survivors of sexual trauma come through the experience never wanting to consciously engage with sexuality again. 

Some survivors come through with preferences and response patterns that are shaped by the abuse— which can cause enormous shame or confusion. 

Some survivors may think they’re “fine” as far as dealing with sexuality goes— until they wind up in a sexual situation where “fight,” “flight,” “freeze,” “flop,” or “fawn” are suddenly running the show.

Some survivors, for whom dissociation is a primary pattern, compartmentalize their sexual memories and needs into “parts,” which may in turn vary widely and wildly when it comes to what they like, hate, seek out, or avoid at any cost. 

Add to all this that the memory “glitches” experienced by many trauma survivors are very often especially glitchy around sexual experiences, both past and present. 

There’s no question: our experiences can profoundly shape who we are sexually. 

And but also: there’s no need to chalk EVERY sexual desire or dislike up to what we experienced. 

Maybe our trauma shaped who we are sexually in some ways— that doesn’t necessarily mean we have to reject who we are sexually (assuming we desire to connect with other consenting adults in non-harmful ways). 

In my experience there’s a strong temptation on the part of many survivors to reject anything and everything in their lives that they remotely suspect was shaped by trauma— and, sure, you can do that. 

But in doing that, you might be setting your nervous system up to feel more shame and self-rejection than is necessary or helpful. 

Put more simply: you get to like what you like and be who you are, including sexually, without the fact that your sexual self was partially shaped by your trauma polluting it. 

There are going to be many aspects or ourselves that have been at least partially shaped by our past and our pain that we don’t necessarily need to reject— and that we certainly shouldn’t shame. 

So your sexuality was influenced by what you went through. You get to sift through that understanding, and decide what you want to do about it. There’s no rule that says you “have” to reject things about yourself you’ve come to like or value. 

The core concept behind trauma recovery is autonomy. Autonomy, self-determination, psychological independence, is what was ripped away from us by our trauma. EVERYTHING we do in recovery NEEDS to be grounded in respect for our absolute right to choose who we are and what we’re all about. 

That includes our sexuality. 

Choose what to embrace and what to deemphasize about yourself. It’s your life. 

But don’t start out from the premise that you “have” to embrace or reject anything, just because of the experiences that shaped it. 

You get to choose. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Turns out, trauma recovery is hard.

Unfortunately, a lot of realistic trauma recovery is pushing back against what feels “natural” or “normal” for us. 

It’s one of the reasons why trauma recovery is so hard. 

I really, really hate when people come at trauma survivors with advice that starts with “all you have to do is…” or “just…” 

If trauma recovery could be accomplished with a simple shift or a “just…” anything, we would have done it by now. 

The reality is, recovery is complex— specifically because we’re trying to reverse and reshape neural pathways that have been heavily conditioned and reinforced, sometimes for years. 

People misunderstand how trauma wounds us. 

Only part of the pain results from “what happened.” 

Much of what ruins our life is what happens in the aftermath of what happened— the patterns of thinking, feeling, believing, and behaving we fall into and repeat, that get ingrained in our nervous system, in response to what happened. 

People think it’s a matter of “processing” a memory. “Letting it go.” “Moving on.” 

What they don’t understand is that the patterns that make up CPTSD are etched into our literal cells, starting with our neurons. 

CPTSD is a PHYSICAL injury. It literally, physically shapes our neural pathways and the behavior of our endocrine system. 

That does not, cannot, be undone in a moment or with one decision. 

We’re talking about reshaping, rewiring, overwriting old patterns— sometimes dozens of them or more— on the daily. 

That’s hard for ANYONE— just ask anybody who has tried to change ONE longstanding problematic habit. 

Trauma recovery is like quitting smoking times twenty. 

Reversing and reshaping the CPTSD patterns of thinking, feeling, believing, and behaving asks us to push back against what feels familiar. 

It asks us to push back against the punishment and abandonment we may think we “deserve.” 

It asks us to push back against patterns of addiction— not just to substances— that work overtime to make us believe that we simply “can’t” break certain cycles. 

We all need to be realistic about how hard it is to push back against what feels “normal” or “natural.” 

We need to honor the kind of effort and commitment that we were investing in when we work our trauma recovery. 

It’s not easy, and it’s not supposed to be easy— and we’re not “ungrateful” or “whining” when we acknowledge how hard it is. 

To stay alive when we don’t want to stay alive? Hard.

To communicate with our “parts,” when we don’t want to acknowledge we HAVE “parts?” Hard. 

To eat and rest when we are absolutely not hungry and way too anxious to sleep? Hard. 

To continue engaging with recovery supporting literature and tools and people when we are SICK TO F*CKING DEATH of all of this? Hard. 

I hear you. I see you. The hard is real.

And, the hard is worth it. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

And remember that raindrops carve canyons. 

drglenndoyle

ATTACK of the SH*ITTY MOOD!!!

Where are all my survivors in sh*tty moods? 

I see you. I’m in one myself as I write this. 

Now: what does Trauma Brain tell us about sh*tty moods? 

Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our abusers and bullies, tries to tell us that if we were working our recovery “right,” we wouldn’t have them. 

What a load of sh*t. 

Let me tell you something: the most successful trauma recovery is going to involve some sh*tty moods. 

The most successful trauma recovery is going to involve us not feeling great— about life, about our body, about whatever. 

The most successful trauma recovery is definitely going to involve more than a few “f*ck it” moments. 

NONE of that means we’re doing recovery “wrong.” 

In fact, as we work our trauma recovery, we tend to learn something pretty f*cking interesting: we can have sh*tty moods, and not do what we used to do. 

You know what I’m talking about. Get high. Cut ourselves to ribbons. Blow up our relationships. 

Oh, am I the only one who did that? (No, I am not.) 

A great deal of this trauma recovery thing actually hinges on what we DON’T do when we feel sh*tty— and how we meet ourselves when we feel like sh*t. 

Our default mode is often to meet ourselves with judgment. Maybe even abandon ourselves. 

Just now I had a series of moments when I felt like absolute sh*t about my body. And once upon a time, there would have been absolutely no other option I saw than hurting that body— partly because I hate how it looks and feels, partly because I “deserve” some sort of punishment for gaining a few pounds. 

And, yes: I had a flash of that old sh*t. Trauma Brain tried to tell me that I “had” to do something sh*tty to myself, to externalize and concretize this sh*tty feeling, instead of letting it bang around inside myself. 

The fact that I had that flash doesn’t mean my trauma recovery is f*cked. 

It means I have a choice in how to talk to myself, where to focus, and how to breathe and use my body now. 

I choose to meet this sh*tty feeling with acceptance and compassion— and let me tell you, it is f*cking hard. 

I don’t WANT to meet this feeling with acceptance and compassion. I WANT to go throw up everything I’ve eaten in the last twenty four hours and run about thirteen miles. Or, you know, figure out the fastest and cheapest way to get an opiate cruising through me. 

But— I choose to not do any of that. 

Why? Because that’s my trauma trying to control and hurt me. 

Remember: CPTSD’s “helpful” suggestions only serve its goal to make us feel like garbage. 

This feeling I’m feeling now is not fun. But I didn’t choose it. And I am not going to punish myself for something that happened TO me. 

My nervous system, my “parts,” my inner child— none of them asked for that. None of them need or deserve that. 

They are all looking to me to see how I handle this. 

And I choose self-compassion. Goddamn f*cking self-compassion. 

Why? Because I am not my father. I do not hurt people because I feel sh*tty— including myself. 

I offer this to you as an example of what goes on inside someone who is successfully working his recovery. 

Recovery is not about perfection, it’s not about never feeling bad, it’s not about never wanting to do the self-destructive thing. 

It’s about staying on track, even when the track is on f*cking fire. 

Easy does it. Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

And be on your own side. Have your own back.