drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery is self-reconnection.

CPTSD tries to cut us off from ourselves. 

I know that might sound strange, but that’s the bottom line of what it does. 

CPTSD tires to drive wedges between the “parts” of us, such that we’re not in touch, we’re not collaborating, and we’re not caring for or about those “parts” of us. 

We’re not making a “choice.” It’s programming, conditioning. 

This is almost impossible to explain to someone who doesn’t struggle with CPTSD, but many survivors reading this know exactly what I mean. 

That sense of self-alienation. 

That sense of not feeling like yourself, for no discernible reason. 

That sense that there are “parts” of us that hold and need things—but which we can’t quite access, and we’re never sure why. 

It can all sound “crazy” to a non-CPTSD survivor. 

But for survivors, dissociation, depersonalization, and derealization are often everyday occurrences. 

They often occur so regularly that we don’t even register them as particularly unusual or remarkable events. 

Dissociation happens when we’re reflexively, involuntarily removed from, cut off from, distanced from, or made unaware of something we feel, need, remember, or otherwise experience. 

Depersonalization is when we don’t feel like ourselves. We know we ARE ourselves— but we don’t feel real. 

Derealization is when the world around us doesn’t feel real. When we feel floaty, or as if everything is unfamiliar, strange, or overwhelming. 

All of these are more common experiences for CPTSD survivors than is commonly acknowledged— even by survivors. 

We often don’t acknowledge these things because we don’t love them. They’re disorienting and inconvenient and sometimes scary. 

And, not for nothing, we sometimes don’t even realize we’re experiencing them in the moment. 

(That’s kind of the problem with symptoms that f*ck with our sense of presence and reality.) 

It all comes back to CPTSD trying to alienate us from ourselves— from our memories, our emotions, our needs, and even our physical reality. 

Realistic recovery from CPTSD always involves reconnection— first and most importantly, with ourselves. 

It always involves rediscovering who we are and what’s authentic and essential to us. 

We are simply not recovering while remaining splintered and scattered and floaty. We have a life to live here.

That’s NOT to say recovery from CPTSD (or DID, for that matter) involves “parts” going away— quite the opposite, actually. 

What recovery DOES involve is lowering the barriers between “parts.” 

It DOES involve giving “parts” opportunities to support each other. 

It DOES involve us being as grounded in the current moment as much as possible— not because the current moment is always great (sometimes the current moment absolutely sucks), but because right here, right now, is where we have our power, our autonomy, our wiggle room. 

CPTSD must fail to divide and conquer us from within. 

We need to have a united internal front— and an internal environment in which “parts” know, without a shadow of a doubt, that they are wanted, needed, listened to, and protected. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Become unrecognizable.

One way I think about trauma recovery is, it’s the process of becoming unrecognizable to our abusers, our bullies, and people who knew us when we were going through the worst of it. 

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with who we were. 

It’s that this project, trauma recovery, is about rebuilding ourselves, from the ground up, at the level of identity. 

We can have all the empathy in the world for who we were then. 

In fact, it’s really important we not blame or shame the person we were then. 

And but also, we need to move on from them. 

Not “abandon” our past self— but evolve beyond them. 

The psychological research tells us over and over again that change “sticks” when we incorporate it into our identity. 

It also tells us over and over again that change does NOT stick when we hold on to our old identity. 

For example: quitting an addiction, like smoking, tends not to “take” as long as one thinks of oneself as a smoker who is trying not to. 

But when one shifts their identity, so one does not think of oneself as any kind of smoker anymore, when smoking becomes something so foreign to their identity that they wouldn’t even think about picking up? That’s when quitting “takes.” 

The same can be said of any time we try to significantly change what we believe, what we feel, and what we do. We can’t think of ourselves as the same-old-person-who-is-trying-to-change. 

We need to shift our identity. 

And then we need to talk to and behave toward ourselves as if our new identity is set in stone. 

All of which is to say: trauma recovery is not about staying the same person and trying to make some tweaks. 

It’s about reformatting our own hard drive. 

The reality is, trauma has ALREADY reformatted our hard drive. It’s ALREADY shaped and shifted who we are, on the identity level. 

Trauma recovery is about us taking that power and autonomy back. 

It’s about “brainwashing ourselves”— with ideas and beliefs that we choose, in the service of an identity that feels chosen and authentic to us. 

That is to say: becoming unrecognizable. 

Understand, your mileage may vary. All I can speak to is the ideas and frameworks that motivate me, focus me, speak to me, in my trauma recovery. 

I don’t get all that motivated by the idea of making some minor tweaks in how I feel or behave. 

I do get motivated by becoming someone my bullies and abusers would not recognize. 

I get motivated by the idea of reshaping myself so completely that, while I love and accept and forgive my past self, it would be hard to believe I grew into the powerful, autonomous, self-responsible “recovery me” I did. 

Don’t play small. 

Become unrecognizable— and more authentic than you’ve ever been. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Our islands of misfit “parts.”

It’s the “parts” of us that get muzzled every day, in real time, that need us the most. 

Those are the “parts” we’ve been conditioned to deny and disown. 

Those are very often the “parts” of ourselves we’ve been conditioned to distrust and even hate. 

We’re not making a “choice” to do that, understand. Conditioning is not “choice.” 

Why were we conditioned to deny, disown, distrust, and/or hate “parts” of ourselves? 

Often it’s because of what those “parts” hold. 

We don’t develop “parts” for the hell of it. They evolve to “hold” memories, feelings, and other patterns that we can’t integrate at the moment. 

There may be lots of reasons why we can’t integrate something— but most often it’s because it’s just too painful. 

An example of something that is often too painful to integrate is betrayal. 

Our brain just might not be able to wrap itself around the idea of someone we love and trust choosing to hurt us, especially again and again over time. 

We just reject that idea. We can’t integrate it into our model of the world, our understanding of reality. 

So we split that knowledge and experience and those feelings off into a “part,” that holds it for us. 

And there that knowledge and those experiences stay, stuck, unprocessed, unintegrated— held by that “part” of us that is also frozen in time, most often at the developmental stage we were when what happened, happened. 

It’s not exactly a mystery why we don’t love that “part” of ourselves, or what it holds. 

So we learn to deny it. Disown it. 

Over time, we learn to distrust it— to not even be sure what that “part” holds is even real, insofar as it feels so hazy to us (except when we get pistol whipped with flashbacks, which feel hyper real and overwhelming). 

And we definitely learn to hate it. Because its existence represents something we powerfully resent. 

For as painful as all of that undeniably is— it’s all pretty normal. 

Most every CPTSD survivor is walking around with “parts” of us feeling muzzled and “stuffed” every hour of every day. 

We may not love the idea of acknowledging, let alone engaging with those “parts” of ourselves that hold such pain— but it’s exactly those “parts” of us that need our patience, our validation, and our compassion the most. 

How we hold and engage with those “parts” of us determine the realism and sustainability of our recovery arc. 

Because we’re NOT getting out of this maze while also continuing to deny and disown our pain. 

We’re NOT managing or resolving our CPTSD while also “stuffing” wounded “parts” of ourselves. 

Conditioned denial and self-hate are literally what got us sick. 

They are not going to heal us. 

Don’t try to rush self-compassion. You don’t have to figure it all out today, let alone reverse decades of conditioning today. 

Just start softening toward those “parts” of you you dislike, are afraid of, or don’t understand. 

Think becoming 1% less judgmental of them. 1% less resentful. 1% more open to them. 

It’s a long walk back to Eden. Don’t sweat the small stuff. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

See it.

Not for nothing, but you and I have spent an awful lot of time focused on the wounded version of ourselves. 

That’s not our fault. We’re not voluntarily “fixated” on our wounds. We’re not making a “choice.” 

We’ve been focused on our wounds because our wounds have been our life. 

We haven’t had the option of a day without our wounds f*kcing up our job, our relationships, our life. 

People who don’t struggle with CPTSD don’t know— that’s not a “choice.” We’re not being “difficult” or “negative.” 

That’s just what we’ve been handed by life, and it’s been on us to cope with it as best we can and stay alive. 

No shame, no shade. 

And but also— if recovery is going to be realistic and sustainable for us, we need to devote some focus to the healed version of ourselves that we’re trying to create. 

I’m not talking about bullsh*t “positive thinking.” 

I’m talking about getting clear and visceral about what we’re shooting for. 

What does a “healed” version of you look like? 

What do they feel like? What sorts of experiences do they have in their life every day? 

Many trauma survivors are surprised to find we haven’t really thought much about that.

After all, why would we? A “healed” version of ourselves has seemed so unrealistic over the years, that to envision it might even be more depressing. 

Add to that the fact that many of us have been told, implicitly or explicitly, that we “can’t” meaningfully recover from what we’ve experienced. 

Many survivors reading this haven’t had a particularly robust cheering section as we’ve tried to change our life, have we? 

So— visualizing that “healed” version of us might have been bittersweet at best, or a profound bummer at worst. 

But I’m going to ask you to put that “healed” version of yourself back on the radar. 

Our nervous system functions much better when we give it a clear goal. 

Most humans have real trouble “locking in” if a goal is abstract. Hard to hit a target you can’t really define. 

So, in your journal, on a Pinterest board, wherever: flesh that healed version of yourself out. 

What do they look like? What kinds of things do they think about? What kinds of things do they believe? 

What is it like inside the head and heart of the “healed” version of you? 

I understand: this is not an easy exercise for many survivors. We’ve been hit over the head so often and so rudely by the “toxic positivity” crew that envisioning a “healed” version of ourselves may feel silly, like a waste of time. 

But I’m telling you: the mind develops the pictures we hold in it. It’s not magic or metaphysics; it’s neuroscience. 

Dopamine flows where our focus goes. 

You are not struggling because you’ve been thinking “negatively.” That’s not at all what I’m saying. 

What I’m saying is that giving your brain something to shoot for as you design your trauma recovery is worth the effort. 

Our wounds and limitations will always be there to think about. 

But mixing our pattern of focus up to include what we’re driving toward is a value added tool. 

No pressure. Just experiment with it, like you would with any recovery tool. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

“Try harder” is not a trauma recovery strategy.

The secret to trauma recovery is not “try harder.” 

And your problem in trauma recovery is not that you haven’t been trying hard enough. 

“Try harder” is not even a strategy. It kind of sounds like one, but it’s not. 

“Try harder” is the kind of thing people say who don’t understand trauma or recovery. 

Most people reading this, especially if they’re recovering from CPTSD, already feel an enormous amount of guilt for supposedly “not trying hard enough.”

This tends to be true no matter how hard they’ve been trying. 

But this isn’t an effort problem. 

If you’re reading this, you probably didn’t have the safety or support you needed to develop effective strategies for living. 

Note I said “living”— not just “surviving.” You obviously survived, since you’re reading this.

But if you’re reading this, odds are you haven’t really been living. 

You’ve probably not had the safety or support to really define or work toward your goals. 

You’ve probably not had the safety or support to really engage and enjoy what you like. 

Hell, you may have been expending enormous bandwidth just staying alive. 

No shame, no shade— but that’s not really “living.” 

And the problem has not been you “not trying hard enough.” 

The problem has the lack of safety and support. Tools and philosophies that you should have been taught by the people who said they loved you—but you weren’t. 

It doesn’t matter how hard we want or try to build a house, if we don’t have a hammer. And a lot of other tools and materials, for that matter. 

Where did that “try harder” thing come from, anyway? 

Usually it came from someone who wanted to blame us for our own pain. 

After all, if our suffering reduces to a problem of effort, they don’t have to take any responsibility for it, do they? 

Then we survivors take that “not trying hard enough” BS (Belief System) and apply it to ourselves, because on some level we actually like the idea that we can do more or less ANYTHING if we just “try hard enough.” 

We would rather feel guilty than powerless, as an old Dialectical Behavior Therapy saying goes. 

No one, and I mean no one, is harder on trauma survivors than we ourselves are. 

It starts out with us imitating our bullies and abusers— who were often our primary caretakers and models— but we sure take it and run with it. 

We don’t do this because we “like” it. We do this we lack alternatives. We don’t relish the idea of building a house without a hammer, but we’ve never been given a hammer to work with. 

We’ve only been told “try harder.” 

Taking realistic responsibility for our trauma recovery is a good thing, a necessary thing, a beautiful thing. 

But we’re not going to “try hard” our way into building a house with our bare hands. 

We need tools. 

Think stacking your toolbox— with tools other than shame or pressure. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

What does what we like have to do with trauma recovery?

We’re not going to realistically build self-respect while also mocking or hiding the things we like. 

Many of us were taught by our bullies and abusers to do exactly that. 

We were taught that if we like something, we can’t show it. 

We were taught that if we’re passionate about something, we’d better keep it hidden. 

We were taught that liking something a lot is “cringe,” and that the only way to keep from being mocked about it is to mock it first ourselves, pretend that we like it ironically. 

I almost never see this discussed in “trauma treatment” circles— how the stuff we like, the stuff we’re passionate about, is integral to our trauma recovery. 

After all, what are we recovering for? 

We need something to think about, to dig into, to celebrate. 

We need our lives to be ABOUT something other than trauma. 

I don’t believe we like the stuff we like “for no reason.” 

The stuff we like, the stuff that resonates with us— stories, music, movies, shows, plays, art, characters— speak to us for reasons. And I choose to believe those reasons are important. 

One of the reasons I can’t design a generalized trauma recovery plan for everybody reading this is because we’re all individuals. What heals me, may not heal you; and what heals you, may not resonate with me.

And make no mistake: the art that resonates with us, heals us. In profound, sometimes inexplicable ways. 

Just like we’re not finding our way out of this CPTSD maze while also mocking and denigrating ourselves, like we were conditioned to do by our bullies and abusers, we’re also not finding our way out of this labyrinth while mocking and denigrating the things we love. 

The things we like and love and invest in— those are part of us. 

Pay attention to what you like and love and get interested in and get passionate about. 

Notice what resonates with you, what catches your attention, what tugs at your heart. 

Treat the things you like and love with respect. Don’t let anyone con or coerce you into denying or disowning them just to be one of the “cool kids.” 

Let me tell you something about real “cool kids:” they don’t actually try to pressure or shame anyone into not liking or celebrating what they like. 

Not every resource that supports your trauma recovery is going to explicitly be a trauma recovery resource. 

But what every resource that supports your trauma recovery will have in common is, it will “grab” you in a positive way. 

Instead of denying and disowning those things that “grab” us, we need to nurture them, collect them, invest in them. 

The stuff we like and love and get passionate about are clues. 

They point the way home. 

drglenndoyle

We are not “obligated” to engage with toxic people or institutions from our past. Really we’re not.

Something that happens in realistic trauma recovery is, we realize we no longer want to be around people or institutions that hurt us. 

It can be a weird feeling. Especially if we grew up with those people or institutions. 

We might even be attached to those people or institutions on some level. 

But we often get to the point where the juice just isn’t worth the squeeze when it comes to engaging with them any longer. 

It can be bittersweet. 

It can be especially bittersweet if we have other people in our life encouraging us to reconcile with those people or institutions. 

We all know people like this— who think it’s their job to mend fences, even if they have no idea why those fences are damaged in the first place. 

Some people— including ourselves— hate the idea that there are some things that can happen in relationships that functionally mean the end of those relationships. 

But the reality is, engaging with people or institutions that hurt us exacts a cost. 

We have to expend energy to tolerate being around them. 

We have to expend energy managing the triggers they scrape up. 

We have to expend energy staying grounded, to the extent that we can stay grounded. 

We have to expend energy managing the reactions and needs of the “parts” of ourselves that hold the memories and feelings associated with the past. 

Those energy expenditures add up— and they can be exhausting. 

Add to that the fact that continuing to engage with many people or institutions from our past is simply not value added for many of us. 

We don’t get anything positive from it. We don’t need it. 

All engaging with those people or institutions does for us is allow us to pretend we’re somehow “over it.” Which, news flash, we almost never are. 

(Even if we were or are “over it,” that STILL doesn’t mean the juice is worth the squeeze when it comes to engaging with certain people and institutions from our past.)

Make no mistake: you and I are under absolutely no obligation to continue engaging with people and institutions that hurt us. 

We don’t have a “duty.” We don’t have a “responsibility.” 

And anyone who has the expectation that we’ll continue engaging with people or institutions that hurt us just because we “should” (or, at least they think we “should”) is delusional. 

We can set that limit with ourselves— “no looking back.” 

Even if it means we’ll have to break some longstanding traditions. 

Even if it means we might disappoint or confuse someone. 

Even if it means someone might decide we’re “difficult” or “high maintenance” or “dramatic” to set that limit. 

By the way, choosing to no longer engage with people or institutions that hurt us isn’t “difficult,” or “high maintenance,” or “dramatic.” 

But even if it was? F*ck it. Be “difficult.” Be “high maintenance.” Be “dramatic.” 

But do not be a human being who feels trapped or controlled by others’ expectations. 

Not anymore— not ever again. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Fight the real “war” in trauma recovery.

The “war” is not between us and our triggers. 

Our triggers are unpleasant— but they’re not the enemy. 

They didn’t ask to be triggers, any more than we asked to be triggered by them. 

The reason they are triggers is good old classical and operant conditioning. No more; no less. 

No, the real “war” in trauma recovery is between us and our old conditioning, which I like to personify as “Trauma Brain.” 

Trauma Brain is not our brain. Nor is Trauma Brain a “part” of us that needs acceptance and understanding. 

Trauma Brain is everything we internalized from our abusers and bullies. 

Every pattern of vicious self talk, every pattern of toxic mental focus, every pattern of restricted physiology. Every time the voices and priorities of our abusers and bullies seem to be running the show inside— that’s Trauma Brain. 

Sometimes “parts” of us collaborate with or amplify Trauma Brain’s bullsh*t— but they are not Trauma Brain, and Trauma Brain is not a “part.” 

Some survivors make the mistake of thinking they can negotiate with Trauma Brain. 

Some survivors misunderstand Trauma Brain as a “part” that only needs to be listened to and nurtured to change its patterns. 

Trust me: nobody reading this needs to be listening to Trauma Brain. 

Trauma Brain does not “hold” anything useful for us. It does not “protect” anything inside. Its needs are not our needs. 

Trauma survivors can be enormous empathic— and many of us really want to understand and align with what we (mistakenly) believe is a wounded part. 

That’s what Trauma Brain is counting on. That’s how it uses our empathy against us. 

If you’re going to think of yourself as a “warrior,” and your trauma recovery as a “war,” don’t think of it as you “fighting” against your triggers, or anything else outside of yourself. 

Think of yourself as in competition with your old, conditioned patterns. 

Those patterns are not our fault. 

I said: those patterns are not our fault. 

Again, I said: those patterns are not our fault. Trauma symptoms and responses are not “choices.” 

(I said: trauma symptoms and responses ARE NOT CHOICES.)

But we are fighting against those old patterns nonetheless. 

Trauma recovery is about reformatting our own hard drive. Reconditioning how we feel, what we think, what we believe how we make choices. 

None of that will be accomplished by going to “war” with our triggers. 

Triggers gonna trigger. And we are going to react. 

But after the reaction, once we realize what’s happening— we have some wiggle room. We once again have choices, even if they’re teeny, tiny choices at first, about how to talk to ourselves, what to focus on, and how to breathe and use our body. 

That’s where the “war” is fought— in our choices. 

And that’s where the “war” is realistically won. 

drglenndoyle

Sick and f*cking tired.

Getting sick and f*cking tired is a tool. 

It’s often a very necessary tool. 

Sometimes we don’t actually change anything until we’re sick and f*cking tired. 

I don’t love feeling sick and f*cking tired, understand. And I imagine you don’t, either. 

I also imagine there are plenty of people reading this who are so f*cking sick and tired that they literally can’t express it. 

If there’s one thing almost all of the survivors who have come to me for support in their journey have had in common, it’s that they are sick and f*cking tired. 

And if there’s another thing many of them have in common is, they often have very mixed feelings about being sick and f*cking tired. 

Many survivors don’t feel we have the “right” to feel sick and f*cking tired. 

Many survivors are ambivalent about whether what we’re feeling is “enough” to affect us like it has. 

Many survivors tell themselves over and over again that what they’ve been through isn’t “bad enough” to either produce the symptoms they’re experiencing— or to require them to work a trauma recovery. 

On, and on, and on…we very often invalidate and minimize and deny and disown our experience and our needs. 

None of which changes the fact that we’re actually quite sick and f*cking tired of all of this. 

The reality is, we need to meet that sick-and-f*cking-tired experience with radical acceptance— it is happening, whether we love it or not and whether we feel we have a “right” to experience it or not— with enormous compassion, patience, and realism. 

And I also find it helpful to think of sick and f*cking tired as a tool. I think of it as fuel. 

When I get sick and f*cking tired, I remind myself that if nothing changes, nothing changes. 

If I keep doing what I’ve always done, I’ll keep getting what I’ve always gotten. 

None of that is to shame or blame myself for my pain. That’s not the point of thinking of sick and f*cking tired as a tool. 

That’s to face the reality that I can only influence— not “control”— finite corners of my experience, notably my self talk, mental focus, and physiology…and that if I am truly sick to death of living the same day over and over again, “Groundhog Day” style, I’m going to need to realistically leverage the wiggle room I DO have. 

The truth is, I am sick and f*cking tired of dreading feeling sick and f*cking tired. So I insist on doing something with it. Turning that feeling into a tool. Into rocket fuel for my recovery. 

Your mileage may vary. 

But I do not recommend just sitting in the sick and f*cking tiredness of it all. 

I recommend using it as a tool to focus and propel you. 

Because f*ck this, you know? 

drglenndoyle

Independence Day.

Most everybody reading this is engaged in a war for independence right now. 

Most everybody reading this truly wants to be independent— and also, many people reading this have very mixed beliefs and feelings about what “independence” actually means. 

For trauma survivors, “independence” can mean a lot of things. 

We hate, hate, hate feeling “dependent,” upon anyone or anything. 

Even the things it’s normal or unavoidable to feel “dependent” on— food, water, oxygen— we tend to be ambivalent about at best. 

For many people reading this, dependence has been nothing but dangerous in our lives. 

Dependence has often led us to be or remain involved with hurtful people and institutions, notably churches, long beyond the point where they proved their toxicity. 

There is a subset of mental health influencers who roam around loudly proclaiming “trauma can ONLY heal in relationships”— without any apparent understanding of how that sounds to CPTSD survivors who have only ever been hurt in relationships. 

To tell a trauma survivor the ONLY path to healing is by depending on someone else is often to guarantee that survivor absolutely will not consider trauma recovery safe or possible. 

You’re going to run into plenty of people eager to lecture you about how you need to “get over” your anger, fear, and resentment about feeling dependent. 

But very few people are going to be willing or able to tell you what exactly that’s supposed to look like. 

If we could have just “gotten over” any or all of our attachment pain points, we would certainly have done so by now. 

I don’t actually believe we have to resolve all of our ambivalence about attachment and dependence in order to realistically work a trauma recovery. 

It’s true that certain relationships— but certainly not all relationships— can be powerful tools and supports on our healing journey…but it’s my observation that almost everybody starts this journey profoundly alone. 

(And for many survivors, that profound state of aloneness is a feature, not a glitch.)

We are, in point of fact, fighting a war for independence. 

Independence of our mind from memories and beliefs that are not accurate— no matter how “right” they happen to feel— and which do not serve us. 

Independence of our nervous system from dysregulation and pain. 

Independence of our bodies from somatic memories, chronic pain, and complex illnesses that are “spiked” by CPTSD. 

Many survivors with DID in particular are fighting a war for independence of their inner environment from “parts” that, while they may mean well, often show up in self-sabotaging ways. 

Your war for independence is like all other survivors’— and it’s profoundly unlike any other survivors’. 

As you fight your war for independence, I need you to remember that wars are not won by overwhelming firepower alone. They’re very often won by strategy, patience, and commitment to one’s values and goals. 

(By the by, everyone reading this could do worse than to read Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War,” with an eye for how to apply the ancient general’s philosophies to their trauma recovery.)

Today may not be your Independence Day, yet. 

But if you’re reading this, I respect your fight, and I hope the tools, skills, and philosophies I discuss on these pages realistically add to your arsenal.