drglenndoyle

“Fawning” is not a “choice.”

It’s real important we be clear with ourselves that other peoples’ approval or acceptance does not, cannot, make or break our actual worth. 


Sounds obvious, right? 

Not so much when we’re operating with a nervous system wounded by CPTSD. 

It can be more than a little counterintuitive that we get so attached to— and f*cked up by— the very idea of others’ approval or acceptance. After all, we’re smart grown ups, right? Why should we care? 

It’s not a rational thing. 

No one reading this woke up this morning and thought to ourselves, you know what, I think I’m going to get way up in my head about what other people think. 

It’s a deep, gut level thing— a reaction, a reflex. 

Caring what other people think is most closely tied to the “fawn” trauma response, which I describe as that “please and appease” reflex. 

“Fawn,” just like any other trauma response, is not a “choice”— we do it because our nervous system truly believes, in that moment, that we would be literal dead meat if we DON’T please and appease. 

“Fawn” can FEEL a little more like a “choice,” insofar as it manifests in was that tend to be a little more cerebral or nuanced than “fight,” “flight,’ “freeze,” or “flop,” but it’s real important we be clear: no matter how nuanced or complex a trauma response seems to be, it’s still a trauma response. 

That is to say: it’s still not a “choice.” 

When we’re up in our head about making others happy or meeting others’ expectations—that s to say, when we’re drowning in anxiety about others’ approval or acceptance— we’re very frequently playing out a “fawn” response. 

We’re not “weak” and we’re not “stupid.” We’re responding reflexively to conditioning— and trying like hell to survive a situation that truly, honestly feels like like life or death to a “part” of us. 

Yes, learning to care less about others’ approval or acceptance is going to be a significant part of everyone reading this’s trauma recover blueprint— but don’t get sucked into thinking that’s a simple, straightforward “decision” we make, to just “care less.” 

What was conditioned into our nervous system by trauma needs to be reconditioned in our nervous system by recovery— and that takes the time it takes. 

Easy does it. Grace over guilt. 

You didn’t ask for these patterns, and you exist in a culture that does not understand we can’t make significant positive changes in our nervous system in an instant. 

Whether it’s “fight,” “flight,” “freeze,” “fawn,” or “flop” we’re trying to recondition in our nervous and endocrine systems, we need to start by creating realistic safety inside our head and heart— and THAT project starts with giving ourselves permission to find this hard and unfair. 

Others’ approval or acceptance can nether create nor destroy our true worth. 

No matter what the “fawn” response is whispering in your ear right now as you read this. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Food and eating and trauma recovery.

Of course food and eating are inextricably entwined with our experience of both trauma and recovery. 

Eating is hard wired into our survival instincts— you know, those instincts that have been lit up like a Christmas tree every minute of every day, thanks to CPTSD. 

Eating, for many of us, is entwined with ambivalence and shame about our body. 

Controlling our diet or depriving us of food might have played a role in our abuse. 

Eating may yank on our triggers and conflicts around self-indulgence and self-control. 

I don’t think I’ve ever met a trauma survivor for whom eating is uncomplicated— including myself. 

It may be difficult for some people to wrap their head around food and eating as relevant to trauma, especially if our trauma didn’t specifically involve food or eating— but that’s a perfect example of how CPTSD works: very often our symptoms and struggles aren’t “obviously” connected to what we went through. 

(That’s even assuming we clearly or coherently remember what we went through in the fist place— it’s common for CPTSD survivors not to.)

Learning to eat regularly and self-compassionately (I know that may sound strange, but many people reading this don’t know how to eat without hating themselves) is real important in sustainable trauma recovery. 

It won’t matter what we learn or do if our body and brain, our literal cells, are starting for fuel. 

Similarly, realistic recovery is hard if we’re at war with one of our most basic biological needs and urges. 

Ambivalence and conflict around food and eating s one of the main drivers of dissociation. 

A mistake I see some CPTSD survivors make in designing their recovery blueprint is, they overlook symptoms and struggles that they don’t think are overtly relevant to their CPTSD— like eating and other forms of daily self care. 

Many people don’t understand that when I talk about post traumatic self care, I’m not talking about bubble baths and spa days. 

I’m talking about things like literally feeding ourselves and developing accurate knowledge about how food and nutrition work to keep us alive. 

It’s not that you struggle with “adulting.” I know everybody reading this can technically feed themselves. 

It’s that you and I have had experiences that make food and eating (and exercise and sleep and hygiene and other “basic” self care activities) hard. 

No shame. These are all CPTSD symptoms. Not evidence of how “immature” or “lazy” we are. 

Consider your relationship with food and eating yet another relationship we have to work on improving, with patience, compassion, and realism, if we want our trauma recovery to “stick.” 

We are not only “what” we eat— we are “how” we eat, and “why” we eat. 

Don’t rush, pressure, or shame yourself around your food and eating issues. Just put them on your radar screen as something that matters in a realistic recover blueprint. 

drglenndoyle

So you’re not the “perfect victim.” And?

So you’re not the “perfect victim.” 

You know what that term means, right? The perfectly sympathetic victim, the victim who never rubbed anyone the wrong way or made a bad decision n their entire life. 

The culture wants all victims to be the embodiment of this “perfect victim” to deserve support. 

The culture is less enthusiastic about supporting victims whose character or stories are more complicated— that is to say, more real. 

In woking with hundreds of trauma survivors, I don’t know that I’ve met that “perfect victim.” 

I’m a trauma survivor, and I know I’m definitely not the “perfect victim.” 

I’m not always kind. 

I’ve definitely made decisions that have made my life worse. 

I’ve definitely pushed away people who were just trying to help. 

Most every survivor I’ve met has been, you know, a real human being. Who has unpleasant moods, makes mistakes, and isn’t always the cinematic underdog you want to root for. 

If you, like me, are a decidedly imperfect victim of trauma, you may have been made to feel like you don’t “deserve” support. 

You may have been made to feel that if you are just more likable, more of a “perfect” victim, then you’d be “worthy” of empathy and time and resources…but you, just as you are right now, don’t rate. 

You need to know that’s a bunch of bullsh*t. 

There is no such thing as the “perfect victim.” 

Everybody reading this is a very real human being— and that means we have flaws. 

We’ve all had moments when we’re not exactly likable or charismatic. 

We’ve all made decisions that, yes, have made our life worse. 

That doesn’t mean the trauma at the core of our suffering is either our fault or our responsibility— but it mans that we, like every other human being in the history of human beings, have sabotaged ourselves at some point. 

It happens. 

And: you, me, and every other trauma survivor out there, STILL deserves compassion. 

We STILL deserve support. 

In all our imperfections, in all our flaws, in all our less than attractive moments, we STILL deserve the chance to recover from trauma and build a life we value. 

The fact that nether you nor I are the “perfect victim” has f*ck all to do with whether we are worthy or capable of realistic recover. 

We are. You are, I am— both worthy and capable. 

Trauma Brain may not be letting those words in right now, and that’s okay. Just sit with them for a sec. 

Our story may not be “perfect.” Our character may not be “perfect.” Our decisions will definitely not be “perfect.” 

And: we are STILL worthy and capable. 

Anyone who says otherwise is revealing THEIR issues— not ours. 

drglenndoyle

Not every “helper” will be able to help.

There are people and institutions that will say they want to be part of our trauma recovery— but who just aren’t up to it. 

They may want to be. They may even try to be. But they just aren’t. 

The fact of the matter is, our culture is not great at compassion. 

It’s not great at empathy. 

It’s not great at acknowledging the realistic limitations of personal responsibility. 

To the contrary: our culture really, really loves this fantasy of every human being wholly responsible for how they feel and function— no exceptions, no excuses. 

I say it’s a fantasy because there are few, if any, situations in the real world that actually work like that. 

As a rule, when someone tries to frame something to you in stark black and white terms like that, they’re missing something— intentionally or unintentionally. 

In any case, victims are not responsible for our abuse or neglect, and trauma responses are not “choices.” 

Survivors do have responsibility in how we choose to manage our self talk, mental focus, and physiology to increase our odds of making it through the day safe and stable — but that’s not the same as saying “we are responsible for every aspect of how we feel and function.” 

But our culture loves that fantasy. 

It makes people feel better, to think that they can be responsible for “everything” they think and feel. 

After all, that means if they ever think or feel something they don’t like, they can just, you know, bootstrap their way on out of it. 

Great fantasy, right? 

Well…it’s great right up until you run up agains a feeling, memory, or habit that you didn’t choose and you can’t readily change. 

You know, like CPTSD survivors experience every goddamn day. 

But the world out there doesn’t like the existence of CPTSD or trauma survivors f*cking up their little fantasy world, so they often choose to overlook the actual lived experience of survivors. 

Which brings us back to, many people and institutions that buy into the cultural trope of “complete responsibility” and “rejecting victim mindset” will just not be serious supports in our trauma recovery— even if they want or try to be. 

Who WILL be realistically supportive of our recovery? 

People and institutions that can acknowledge our feelings and needs, without talking over us. 

People and institutions that can accept not every survivors’ experience is identical or fits into a preconceived mold of what “trauma” is or is’t. 

People and institutions that do not get defensive when confronted with their own potential role in our pain. 

Mind you: people and institutions that actually fit those criteria are pretty few and far between. Which is why so many attempts to “support” survivors of complex trauma fall so impressively flat. 

In fairness: many who would otherwise wish to support us are working against cultural narrative that they just have no idea how to take on. 

But what we need to know is, not everyone who says they want to help, will be a realistic helper. It sucks, but it’s the truth. 

It doesn’t mean we don’t deserve help. 

It doesn’t mean our pain or our needs are not real or valid. 

It does mean we are more alone out here than we might otherwise be— but honestly, most of us CPTSD survivors have felt and functioned like loners from a very early age anyway. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

And lock in on the next recovery supporting micro choice. 

drglenndoyle

When trauma doesn’t look like trauma.

Most people who don’t struggle with trauma fail to understand: the damage CPTSD does to us is not confined to thoughts or feelings or memories of the trauma. 

One of the reasons why complex trauma is, well, complex, is because that CPTSD wound can masquerade as struggles that look wholly unrelated to trauma. 

For example: CPTSD f*cks with our ability to manage time. I consider chronic procrastination a not-unreliable indicator that trauma might be lurking.

It f*cks with our ability to manage money. Because of course it does— money being deeply entwined with pressure and shame and anxiety in our nervous system. 

It f*cks with our ability to perform sexually. Because, again: pressure, shame, anxiety, and add to that the eating and body image issues many trauma survivors experience. 

Oh, speaking of: it f*cks with our ability and inclination to eat. 

Notice how one of those necessarily hooks directly on to trauma feelings and memories. 

In fact, many trauma survivors who don’t have clear, or any, memories of their trauma, do struggle with these, often along with the emotional dysregulation and sh*tty self esteem that most CPTSD survivors know all too well. 

The problem out there in the world is, if you struggle with these things that don’t overtly or “obviously” connect to your trauma— that is, they aren’t straightforward trauma memories or feelings— few people will acknowledge you as a survivor in need of support. 

What they are likely to call you is a loser who needs to get their life together. 

Which is sh*tty enough— but that harsh, unfair judgment tends to dovetail perfectly with the damaged self esteem experienced by many survivors…meaning it reinforces our bad habit of blaming and kicking the sh*t out of ourselves. 

It’s not that “every problem encountered by humans is probably a trauma symptom.” 

It’s that trauma symptoms can cosplay as many unrelated problems that our culture tends to judge and punish. 

I don’t believe in “blaming” struggles and symptoms on trauma. 

I believe in realistically considering the role trauma may play in struggles and symptoms, so survivors can formulate realistic strategies and develop realistic tools to manage and resolve them. 

Ever try to resolve a procrastination issue that is actually trauma based, through the lens of “you just have to get more organized?” 

I have. It doesn’t work. 

The other thing I want people to understand about this subject is that you struggling with life stuff, “adulting,” isn’t you being a “loser”— and you’re definitely not alone in those struggles. 

You deserve compassion and support for managing and resolving these things as much as you do for resolving painful memories and feelings overtly related to your trauma. 

Trauma recovery isn’t just about resolving straightforward trauma symptoms. 

It’s about getting your whole life realistically on track— whatever that looks like and whatever that takes. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery and reclamation.

Part— but not all— of trauma recovery is reclamation. 

Our abusers and bullies, whether the were people, churches, organizations, governments, or whatever— took things from us. 

Sometimes they took language from us. 

Sometimes they took activities from us. 

Sometimes they took whole chunks of our identity. 

What I mean when I say they “took things from us” is, after we’ve been through trauma, there tend to be things that we don’t want to think about, get near, engage with, or identity with, because they remind us of our abusers or abuse. 

Sometimes it’s something as simple as a word. 

Sometimes it’s an activity that we might otherwise find fun or meaningful. 

Sometimes it’s music. 

Sometimes it’s an identification with a family or tribe of some sort. 

The list of things trauma takes from us includes big and little things— and rarely a day goes by when we are not cognizant of trauma having taken something away from us. 

There are multiple moving part to trauma recovery, but I believe an important part is reclaiming what we choose to take back. 

I believe it really maters that we feel realistically able to claim and own and engage with things that are pleasurable or meaningful to us— even (especially!) after the’ve been “tainted” by our abusers. 

It’s true that many survivors in recovery define ourselves by what we aren’t— namely, we are not our abusers. 

Most survivors work really hard to be better people, better parents, better morally and spiritually and emotionally than the people who hurt us. 

Who we AREN’T tends to be such a huge part of our trauma recovery identity, that sometimes we can lose perspective on the fact that there may be things that we’re rejecting that actually have nothing to do with our abusers per se— and which we might actually value. 

I just don’t believe in letting abusers and bullies limit who we can be and what we can do.

Most of us have spent far too long tiptoeing through life like navigating a minefield— and make no mistake, emotionally and psychologically, that’s absolutely what many of us have been doing. 

Maybe reclamation for you looks like choosing to use words in a particular way that is authentic to you, but which got corrupted by an abuses’s habits of expression. 

(Welcome to why I so often use profanity in my writing.) 

Maybe reclamation for you looks like exploring or practicing a spatial path that an abuser poisoned for you once upon a time. 

Maybe reclamation for you looks like getting reacquainted with music that actually moves you, but which got associated with pain for you once upon a time. 

I’ve said it before: trauma recovery is a search and rescue operation. 

Think of reclamation as one of the most important ways we reestablish who we are and what we’re all about— and one of the most important ways we keep from being controlled by our abusers and bullies every day. 

drglenndoyle

WTF is the “f*ck” trauma response?

What I call the “f*ck” trauma response, where we respond to triggers by becoming hyper sexualized, fixated on sexual thoughts and behaviors, and vulnerable to risky sexual choices, is not the “fawn” response, where we please and appease in order to avoid danger. 

I think of the “f*ck” response as separate from, but related to, “fight,” “flight,” “freeze,” “fawn,” and “flop.”

(As you learn about the “F” trauma responses, you’ll come to understand they’re all related on certain levels, but very distinct on others.) 

Yes, sometimes sexual behavior is driven by the “fawn” “please and appease” reflex— but that’s not quite what I’m talking about with “f*ck.” 

When our abuse was sexual, it can do a real number on how we think about, respond to, and otherwise experience sexually. 

In some ways the “f*ck” response can appear to be a “fawn” reflex— but the main difference is that “fawn” focuses on please and appeasing the threatening person, whereas “f*ck” is focused on regulating our own nervous system. 

In some ways, “f*ck” does resemble the “flight” response, in that survivors experience it as a “flight” into sexual ideation and behavior to avoid feelings of threat— but the end goal of “f*ck” isn’t really escape, as it is with “flight.” 

In other ways, the “f*ck” response can resemble the “freeze” reflex, in that survivors can use sexual thoughts and behaviors as a way to “stop” triggering thoughts cold (in this way, “f*ck” also kind of resembles certain self harm behaviors, which survivors also use as “thought stopping” tools.)

In yet other ways, “f*ck” can resemble the “fight” trauma response, depending on how it manifests. “Fight” is a reflex centered on feeling a sense of power and efficacy as a survivor “fights back” against fear and helplessness— and anyone familiar with the “f*ck” response knows how empowering it can feel in the moment to proactively seize “control” of sexual impulses.

The reason I believe it’s important to discuss the “f*ck” response as its own thing alongside “fight,” “flight,” “freeze,” “fawn,” and “flop,” is that trauma survivors vulnerable to the “f*ck” response very often get shut down when they try to discuss it. 

Speaking as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse myself, I can affirm that sexualized trauma responses are not the easiest to acknowledge or explore, specifically because of stereotypes around how “damaged” we are after sexual abuse. 

Many survivors vulnerable to the “f*ck” response feel shame around it in ways we don’t around the other “F” responses. 

It can get to the point where we don’t even want to acknowledge that there is anything trauma-driven about how we experience sexuality, because we don’t want to navigate others’ judgment about our sexual behaviors, fantasies, or needs. 

Simply reducing “f*ck” to one of the more well known trauma responses diminishes what I believe to be an essential experience for many, many survivors of sexual trauma in particular. 

Trauma survivors should not have to go to sex therapists specifically to understand and work through their behaviors and needs surrounding their sexual trauma and consequent “f*ck” trauma responses. Sex therapists can be awesome at what they do— but the “f*ck” reflex is so much a part of so may survivors’ lives, working with it should be part of any trauma informed or trauma focused therapist’s skillset. 

If we, the trauma recovery community, ignore or minimize the “f*ck” trauma response because we feel icky about it or don’t understand it, we are ensuring that both therapists and survivors don’t know how to normalize, validate, and manage it— which leaves survivors very vulnerable to sexual manipulation, exploitation, and risk. 

There is nothing shameful about being vulnerable to the “f*ck trauma” response. It has nothing to do with your morals, your standards, or your intelligence. 

Creating and experiencing a safe, fulfilling sex life begins with understanding, with compassion, patience, and clarity, how our trauma has impacted how we experience and express our sexuality. 

It’s often not a simple equation— but few things in realistic trauma recovery are. 

You’re not a “pervert,” “freak,” or irreparably sexually damaged for being vulnerable to the “f*ck” trauma response. Trauma responses are not choices; they happen, and they do not discriminate. 

Meeting it with compassion, patience, and realism is how we understand and wrangle it. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Normalize being human.

Sometimes we’re just in a mood. 

It doesn’t necessarily have to do with depression. 

It doesn’t necessarily have to do with trauma, even. 

Something we can lose perspective on when we’re struggling with trauma responses and working our trauma recovery is, we’re also allowed to have normal mood shifts. 

We’re allowed to have feelings and reactions that have nothing to do with trauma. 

Of course, our trauma history and symptoms might find ways to “spike” or otherwise influence our “normal” mood and energy shifts— but we need to remember that just because we are trauma survivors, not everything in our life is or has to be about trauma. 

Why does this matter? Because CPTSD has a way of convincing us we are nothing BUT our trauma. 

CPTSD can be so pervasive, so overwhelming, so consuming, that we can totally forget that we have thoughts, feelings, reactions, and needs that do not derive from trauma wounds. 

For my money it really maters that we are more than trauma survivors. 

Yes, trauma recovery may become the toolbox to which we turn most often in making decisions and navigating life— but it doesn’t follow that we are reducible to our trauma. 

Put another way: you are not our CPTSD, or even your DID. 

You are a person, a whole human being, who experienced trauma, and who experiences CPTSD and/or DID. 

It can be counterproductive to our recovery if every time we’re in a mood, we leap immediately to the conclusion that we’re experiencing a trauma symptom or response. 

Our non-trauma based moods and responses deserve acknowledgment, too. 

Our non-trauma recovery needs need to be met, too. 

We have permission to be human beings who have a whole range of emotional and physical experiences beyond our wounds. 

Sometimes we’re just in a mood. 

And it would be condescending and inaccurate for anyone, including ourselves, to chalk every mood we’re ever in up to CPTSD. 

Be in a mood. Give ‘em the door if you need to. 

Normalize being human. 

drglenndoyle

Don’t overthink the “self love” thing.

Don’t overthink the “self love” thing. 

“Self love” is such a loaded term for CPTSD survivors. 

We were very frequently conditioned to hate ourselves— and self love feels virtually impossible. 

We get told a lot that we “have to learn to love ourselves” before we can love someone else (which, by the way, is bullsh*t— or, at the very last, nowhere near that simple). 

All the emphasis on “self love” can make trauma survivors feel hopeless and defective, given our frequent struggles to even like ourselves, let alone love ourselves. 

It’s true that how we feel about ourselves matters to our trauma recovery. 

After all, trauma recovery asks us to expend enormous effort caring for ourselves— and why would we do that, if we don’t even like ourselves? 

Feeling negatively about ourselves, feeling worthless, and feeling hopeless often feed suicidal ideation (though suicidal ideation is also nowhere near that simple most of the time). 

But insisting we jump right to “self love” from self-distrust and self-hate is almost always a leap too far, too fast for most trauma survivors. 

Where I find we get most hung up is the fact that we simply cannot imagine feeling love toward ourselves. 

And insisting that we FEEL something we don’t feel now is a recipe for shame and frustration— because you just can’t force a feeling. 

So: maybe don’t start with insisting that you feel, or “have” to feel, anything, including self love. 

The thing about “love” is, it’s not just a feeling. It’s also a verb. 

Yes, the verb “to love” often accompanies the feeling of “love”— but in the context of trauma recovery, it’s useful to remember that we are often called upon to do things that are inconsistent with how we feel. 

Recovery asks us to stay alive when we don’t feel like staying alive. 

Recovery asks us to try when we don’t feel like trying. 

And, to be sure: realistic, sustainable trauma recovery asks us to love ourselves, behaviorally, when we don’t feel particularly loving toward anyone. 

Put another way: we don’t ned to feel loving toward ourselves, to behave lovingly toward ourselves. 

Instead of asking the question, “how can I FEEL loving toward myself?”, maybe start out with the question, “if I DID love myself, how would I behave toward myself right now?”

Most of us can spitball a few examples of loving behavior if we think about it. 

And most of those examples of loving behavior don’t necessarily break the bank. 

First and foremost among “loving” behaviors might be, we absolutely refuse to talk to ourselves like our bullies and abusers did. 

A “loving” behavior toward ourselves might be feeding ourselves adequately and appropriately. 

A self “loving” behavior might be refusing to shame or punish ourselves for being human. 

Mind you: we don’t need to FEEL loving toward ourselves to DO any of those. 

We might have to DO those things “under protest”— but, realistically, we’re doing so many things “under protest” in the wake of trauma, we might as well do things that can actually nudge our recovery forward. 

When I say “don’t overthink the self love thing,” what I mean is, don’t imagine  you have to figure out how to FEEL something you don’t yet FEEL. 

Start with loving behaviors— and keep it simple. 

Something we know about self esteem is, it tends to developing as we behave toward ourselves with care and respect— that is to say, DOING the loving stuff tends to lead to FEELING loving toward ourselves over time. 

Yes, it takes patience. Yes, you may not be in the mood for it. 

So just think baby steps. 

Ask the Recovery Supporting Question (RSQ), “if I DID love myself, what’s the smallest possible thing I could do to demonstrate or communicate that?” 

Think a thing so small, that it’d almost be harder to NOT do it. 

Start there. 

That’s how nervous system change actually, realistically happens— by starting small and not overthinking it. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Anger is friend.

Anger is legitimate; anger is important; anger is normal. 

And, anger is maybe my least favorite thing to feel and my hardest feeling to regulate. Your mileage may vary. 

Ironically, it’s because anger IS valid, legitimate, and important, that makes it so hard to regulate. 

Many trauma survivors experience this: we had to swallow our anger for so long, in so many settings where anger was a perfectly normal and adaptive response, that our nervous system is just kind of done holding it in. 

When my anger gets triggered, there’s part of me that’s almost offended when I try to reel it in. 

It’s that part of me that knows it goddamn well SHOULD be angry— and also knows that getting shut down year and year has not been helpful or healthy. 

Anger can be incredibly distracting. 

When we hook into our anger, which is very frequently wired directly into our “fight” trauma response, it can be difficult to think about literally anything else. 

(It is for me, anyway.) 

Anger is a tough one to regulate, because by its very nature it demands we DO something. 

The evolutionary purpose of anger is to spur us into taking action. 

The only reason why anger has survived as core human emotion is because it had survival value for the cave-people of eons ago: when a competing cave-person tried to infringe upon our territory, steal our resources, or drag away our cave-spouse by the hair, it was the cave-people who could get pissed about it and fight back that survived. 

Thus, every time we’re in the position of having to regulate our anger, we’re working against reflexes shaped by eons of evolution. 

That is to say: you’re not alone or “defective” if you struggle to regulate your anger. 

Add to all of that the fact that anger is very often misunderstood and shamed in our culture. 

Anger is often cited as “immature,” evidence someone doesn’t have their sh*t together— and there’s no denying that poorly managed anger has absolutely hurt MANY people reading this. 

Many survivors reading this very likely believe that they do not have “permission” to be angry- or they’ll be “in trouble” if they express their anger. 

Regulating anger involves the same skillset necessary to regulating any feeling in trauma recovery: we have to start by validating it before we can even hope to influence it. 

We cannot, cannot, cannot start from a place of, “I’m not allowed to get angry.” 

Or “I’m bad for being angry.” 

Or “My anger is pointless.” 

All of those represent bullsh*t attempts to shut down one of the most legitimate, useful emotional reactions we human beings experience. 

You know how I’m always telling you that trauma responses aren’t supposed to be “controlled,” but rather channeled? That is especially true for anger and the “fight” trauma response. 

You think you’re angry now? Keep trying to suppress and invalidate your anger. That’s a recipe to be low key rageful every day of your life. 

Validate your anger, ask questions of your anger, get to know your anger. Express your appreciation to your anger and your angry “parts.” Ask you “parts,” if your anger could speak, what would it say? What would it want, what would it need? 

I’ve said it before: the quality of our trauma recovery is the quality of our relationship with ourselves— especially those emotions and “parts” of ourselves we are uncomfortable with or have been conditioned to be ashamed of. 

Anger is friend. 

Treat it accordingly.