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. 

drglenndoyle

Over it.

A very common experience of people reading these words is, we’re f*cking over it. 

I mean, really, really over it. 

Over trauma. 

Over therapy. 

Over recovery. 

Over…all of it. 

Almost everybody reading this is tired. 

Many survivors reading this are pissed off. 

More than a few survivors reading this are numb. 

We are sick and tired of being sick and tired. 

We’re just…over it. 

Then, of course, along with feeling over it, we might also be feeling shame. Because we’re not “supposed” to feel this way. 


Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our bullies and abusers, is real good at telling us we’re not “supposed” to be feeling WHATEVER we happen to be feeling— including over it. 

We’re “supposed” to have a “good attitude.” Because “attitude is everything,” didn’t you know? 

Or something. 

We’re “supposed” to be “nice” to people who helpfully offer their (often unsolicited) advice— because, don’t you know, they’re “just trying to help!” 

Or something. 

On, and on, and on. “Supposed” to this, “supposed” to that. 

Who reading this is f*ckng over what we’re “supposed” to feel or do? 

That’s what I thought. 

Let me tell you the reality of trauma recovery: you can be quite over it, exquisitely over it, but still work your recovery. 

Ask me how I know. 

(It’s because I’ve often had to do just that myself.)

You do NOT have to have a “good attitude”— and attitude is not, actually, “everything.” 

The rock bottom reality is, you and I are going to have good days and mid days and “meh” days in our CPTSD recovery. Some days are diamonds, some days are rocks. 

We are going to have days when we would rather walk into the f*cking ocean than haul out one more coping skill to deal with one more f*cking trauma response. 

And: the fact that we are fed up, exhausted, over it, doesn’t mean that we have to yeet our recovery progress into the sun. 

We can be utterly honest about how we feel— and work our recovery anyway. 

We can want to quit— and work our recovery anyway. 

We can be f*ckng over it— and work our recovery anyway. 

I do not expect, or even want, you to have an amazing, or even “positive” attitude at every point in this process. 

I do want you doing what you need to do to be safe and stable, regardless of whether today is a diamond or a rock. 

I do want you absolutely refusing to give up, even on the days when you’re over it all and your attitude sucks ass, because your bullies and abusers do not, do not, do not get to win. 

I don’t feel like a million bucks every day. Some days I feel like a wrinkled five dollar bill that’s been through the wash. 

But you and I do the things we need to do to change our nervous system, bit by realistic bit, because we are f*cking with the hassle. 

I know: you may not believe that right in this moment, pursuant to the “over it” extravaganza. 

But you are. Worth it, I mean. 

You are worth persisting, even when you’re over it. 

You are worth protecting, even when you’re over it. 

You are worth whatever it takes to realistically feel and function differently. 

And that equation absolutely exists. 

drglenndoyle

We’re not going to “control” our way out of this.

One of the things I say that make me the least popular trauma focused “influencer” out here, is that “control” is an utter illusion. 

I don’t know about you, but I can’t “control” sh*t. 

Oh, I’ve tried. So, probably, have you. 

I’ve tried to “control” my emotions. 

I’ve tried to “control” my behavior. 

I’ve even tried to “control” the feelings and behaviors of those around me. 

You can guess how successful my attempts to “control” things have been— probably because you’ve tried to “control” things, too. 

Experiencing trauma can get us preoccupied, almost obsessed, with “control.” 

I think it’s because traumatizing experiences make us feel controlled— and utterly powerless. 

We hate hat, rightly so. So we reflexively spend the rest of our lives trying to feel in “control” of …something, Anything, really. 

The reality is, “control” is largely an illusion. 

But the more energy we invest in trying to “control” things, the less energy we have for realistically INFLUENCING (not “controlling”) what we actually can— and coping with what we can’t. 

I cannot overstate how destructive that “control” illusion is. 

The Twelve Step tradition acknowledges “control” as so inherently destructive that it made Step One all about surrendering that particular illusion. 

Insisting that we “control” things exhausts and frustrates and distracts and ultimately depresses us. 

The difference between “control” and “influence” may seem small to you— but I promise, hat difference really will save your life and determine  your trauma recovery trajectory. 

How we realistically apply this principe is: when we’re checking in with ourselves, as realistic trauma recovery requires we do frequently, one of the questions we ask ourselves is, “Am I up in my head about ‘control’ right now?” 

We get good at detecting when we’re on that “control” trip— and we accept our own defensiveness about that trip as a a reflex. 

(I know, YOU would never be defensive about your control issues, but I definitely am. Your mileage may vary.) 

When we do detect we’re up in our head about “control,” creating tension in our body and getting distracted from our recovery needs and goals, we ask the Recovery Supporting Question (RSQ): “How can I shift from focusing on unrealistic ‘control’ to realistic INFLUENCE in this situation?” 

I understand that many would prefer a more sophisticated or esoteric approach to trauma recovery than mine, but for my money, realistic trauma recovery really is all about checking in with ourselves and asking RSQ’s. 

There really isn’t any magic to it: it’s all about using our self talk, mental focus, and physiology to scramble old, trauma based patterns, and reinforce new patterns grounded in safety, stability, and self-esteem. 

And in my experience, an excellent place to start is with our control bullsh*t— because we’re not realistically recovering while still hanging on this tight. Just isn’t going to happen. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery is earthy work.

Here’s the thing about affirmations: if they feel fake, they can make us worse. 

That’s a tough truth, but we can’t afford to be unrealistic about it. 

I like affirmations. I think what we repeat to ourselves really matters in how we feel and function. 

But when an affirmation clashes too sharply with what we feel and believe now, our nervous system isn’t going to just accept it. 

No, what our traumatized nervous system is going to do is reject both the message and the messenger. 

Toxic positivity is more than annoying to CPTSD survivors. 

Toxic positivity can be actually triggering to CPTSD survivors. 

It triggers our bullsh*t radar. 

And our bullsh*t radar is finely tuned after years of interpersonal trauma and emotional neglect and mental abuse. 

Some people don’t love the language I use on this page— and I get it. 

They are 100% entitled to not love the language I use in discussing trauma and recovery, up to and including setting boundaries with me or my page because of it. 

Of course I understand why profanity and colloquial language trigger some survivors. No shame, no shade. 

But one of the reasons I use the language and idioms I do on this page is explicitly to avoid toxic positivity bullsh*t. 

There are some people who think ANY discussion of recovery that accompanies the discussion of trauma is “toxic positivity”— but I don’t believe that. 

I believe trauma recovery is both possible and realistically achievable for every survivor (yes, I said “every,” deal with it) reading this— IF we manage our expectations and are deliberate about our focus and language. 

That is to say: if we don’t sugar coat this sh*t. 

I’m actually not all that “profane” a person in everyday life. If anything I probably use relatively less profanity than many people. 

But when it comes to discussing both trauma and recovery, I don’t believe in candy coating. 

 I think it’s super important we avoid fluffy pop psychology tropes and fantasies. 

That’s why I keep coming back, again and again, to some unglamorous truths about recovery, such as: 

Therapy and therapists are not the be all, end all of trauma recovery. 

Most of the important trauma recovery work we’ll ever do, we do alone. 

EVERY effective trauma recovery tool is a version or combination of self talk, mental focus, and physiology— including the most appealingly branded tools, like EMDR. 

And the connections between trauma and addiction are undeniable and MUST be accounted for, in EVERY survivor’s recovery blueprint. 

I guarantee, there are survivors reading this who profoundly disagree with some or all of those points— and they’re likely piping up in the comments right now (as is is their right— God bless!). 

My thoughts on trauma recovery aren’t for everyone. 

But those who do resonate with and benefit from what I write, know that toxic positivity— including bullsh*t affirmations— don’t get us where we need to know. 

I believe in affirmations. 

But I believe in making them realistic and grounded. Gritty, if you will. 

I like my affirmations earthy because I believe trauma recovery is earthy work. 

Your mileage may vary. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Validation: the least fluffy, non-bullsh*t concept in trauma recovery.

Validating our pain can be a really tough ask for CPTSD survivors. 

Pain sucks. Why on earth would we want to “validate” it? 

Many of us were actually taught to do the exact opposite: to INVALIDATE our pain at every opportunity. 

To tell ourselves our pain doesn’t count. 

To tell ourselves our pain is “crazy.” 

To call ourselves “weak,” among other things, for even experiencing pain. 

Over and over again, we were taught to communicate to ourselves that our pain should simply not exist— and maybe WE simply should not exist if we’re experiencing pain. 

We’ve often been invalidating our own pain for so long, invalidation as our default setting can feel very “right.” Very “natural.” 

Why would we want to challenge something that feels right or natural? 

Because the truth is, our pain IS valid. 

Our pain is NOT “crazy.” 

Our pain and symptoms actually make all kinds of sense, given what we’ve been through (and that’s true whether we happen to completely or coherently remember all we’ve been through or not). 

If we consistently communicate to ourselves that we “shouldn’t” be feeling or responding the way we are, that we are “crazy” or “weak” for doing so, not only are we lying to ourselves— but we’re doing our abusers’ and bullies’ dirty work for them, in our own head. 

The truth is that strong, smart people experience pain. 

There is nothing about the pain you or I are experiencing that actually means we’re “crazy” or “weak.” 

Our pain means we’re injured. Not “weak” or “crazy.” 

Why does how we talk to ourselves about or own pain matter? 

Because we are not particularly motivated to actually heal pain that we decide is “crazy” or otherwise invalid. 

Telling ourselves our pain doesn’t make sense and shouldn’t exist just leads us to try to “stuff” it, or ignore it, or maybe try to pressure or punish ourselves into not feeling it. 

I probably don’t have to tell you how well that works. 

Leading off with validation, though— telling ourselves ourselves the truth, that our pain represents an injury— gets us feeling and responding to our pain differently. 

Injuries and wounds very often heal, with the appropriate care and support. 

Validating our pain as an injury or a wound, rather than dismissing it as “crazy” or evidence of “weakness,” opens us up to realistic healing— and keeps us from needlessly, pointlessly beating ourselves up over being hurt in the first place. 

Validation is not some warm and fuzzy, pop psychology bullsh*t. 

It is a practical, essential tool in sustainable trauma recovery. 

Your pain is valid and you are valid. 

No matter how familiar or pervasive that “you suck” programming feels as you read this. 

drglenndoyle

You don’t have to hate yourself.

You don’t have to hate yourself. 

I know, that sounds obvious, right? 

Not to CPTSD survivors it’s not. 

We are very often conditioned to hate ourselves. 

And distrust ourselves. 

And hurt ourselves. 

When I say we are “conditioned,” what I mean is, we are not making a “choice.” 

We have been programmed. Trained. 

Most of us don’t even realize what’s happening inside our head and heart— all we know is, we f*cking hate ourselves. 

We wouldn’t hold anyone else to the standards we hold ourselves to. 

We wouldn’t talk to anyone else like we talk to ourselves in our own head. 

We wouldn’t punish anyone else for simply existing and breathing and taking up space, he way we punish ourselves. 

Why do we hate ourselves so much? 

Because the experiences that evoke CPTSD often leave us feeling like it was our fault. 

And, not for nothing, we’re often TOLD it was our fault. 

We walk away from those experiences believing we are unworthy. 

We walk away from those experiences feeling incompetent. 

Abuse, neglect, and coercive control— the experiences most often associated with CPTSD— often just shred our self-esteem beyond anything recognizable by non-survivors. 

Sexual abuse in childhood— the experience most often associated with DID— often leaves us feeling fundamentally “gross” and unlovable and complicit. 

We don’t “ask” for any of those feelings. None of those feelings has anything to do with reality. 

But all we know is, we arrive in adulthood just seething at ourselves.

Sometimes it’s so bad we can’t even look at ourselves in the mirror or stand to hear our voice on a recording. 

That’s where we are. It’s not where we “should” be; but it’s where many survivors reading this start. 

Changing that— learning to not hate ourselves— starts with just introducing the simple idea: it doesn’t have to be this way. 

We don’t hate ourselves because we “have” to. We hate ourselves because we’ve been trained to. 

We can unlearn what we once learned. 

Don’t get me wrong: it will take time. And patience. And persistence. And commitment. Just like every meaningful shift in realistic trauma recovery. 

Oh, it’s a massive pain in the ass. 

And but also: it’s a pain in the ass that’s worth it. 

You deserve to be on your own side. To have your own back. 

You deserve the most realistic shot at meaningful trauma recovery possible. 

And that includes not waking up and f*cking hating yourself. 

Because you don’t have to. Nothing bad will happen if you don’t. 

I promise. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery is not about “just getting by.”

Yes, I want you getting by every day. Surviving every day. 

But I want you doing more than that. 

Trauma recovery, to me, is about more than just getting by. 

It’s about realistically creating a life we don’t hate waking up to. 

Realistically creating relationships we don’t resent, with people who feel safe and who are interesting to us. 

What I think CPTSD recovery REALLY is all about is developing life skills many humans are just never taught. 

Most humans are never taught the basics of happiness. Of life satisfaction. Of realistic emotional management and goal achievement. 

Now, many humans pick these up— sort of— throughout life…if they’re not busy, you know, just f*cking surviving. 

We were busy just surviving. 

So we’re a little behind the 8 Ball. 

Our life management skills are good for, say, combat, either literal or metaphorical. 

They’re less good for, say, working a job or relating to a romantic partner. 

So— we trauma survivors have to explicitly focus on and learn things about life and self management that many other people take for granted or pick up by osmosis over time. 

There’s no denying that this sucks— but, in my view, there’s also no denying that the skills and tools we trauma survivors need to develop to claw our way out of CPTSD hell, also set us up to create and live purposeful, pleasurable lives that many other people don’t know how to create.

Put another way: what we have to do to stay alive, ultimately equips us to create a life worth staying alive for. 

A life that is more than “just getting by.” 

Why say any of this at all? 

Because I believe it’s super important to realistic trauma recovery to begin with the end in mind. 

I believe it’s important to our focus and motivation to remind ourselves that there’s more to this “recovery” thing than just staying alive. 

That promise of a better life isn’t just a fantasy. 

It follows from he fact that we have to develop certain skills, step by step, in order to do this at all— and those skills will put us ahead of others who didn’t have to learn them step by step to stay alive. 

You can believe that or not. I wouldn’t have believed it at certain points in my recovery. 

But it’s the truth. 

Don’t set the bar at “just staying alive.” 

This isn’t about survival. You’ve already survived. 

This is about realistic joy. 

What a concept. 

drglenndoyle

Second acts. Third acts. Fourth acts. More acts.

Something I strongly believe in, to the very core of my being, is that life unfolds in second, third, and fourth “acts.” 

I remember being suicidal and in very active addiction at age 20— and being firmly convinced my life had run its course. 

At age TWENTY. 

I remember thinking, I’d had my chance at adulthood— and blew it. 

I’d had my chance at love— and blew it. 

I’d had my chance at a career— and blew it. 

Again: at age twenty. 

What I didn’t know then, and I do know now, is that I had only experience one, or maybe two by that point, of the “acts” of my life. 

I didn’t realize there were more. 

Not only were there more— but my second, third, and fourth “acts” would look ridiculously different from my first couple of acts. 

At age twenty, I had no vision of being a psychologist. 

At age twenty, I had no vision of writing things for public consumption. 

At age twenty, I had no vision of supporting trauma survivors and addicts like myself create realistic recovery blueprints and make recovery supporting choices one day at a time. 

Those things, which now powerfully define me, were not even on my radar screen. 

At age twenty, I wouldn’t even meet the person I would eventually marry for another twenty six YEARS. 

At age twenty, two cats who I would come to overwhelmingly love weren’t even close to being born yet. 

I’m telling you: we don’t know where we are on our recovery, or life, arc. Even now we don’t. 

You and even I have life “acts” ahead of us that we can’t even imagine. 

You know the Twelve Step slogan, “don’t quit before the miracle?” This is what I think that slogan means: don’t assume what you’re currently thinking, feeling or doing, will be what you’re thinking, feeling, or doing indefinitely. 

Don’t assume the identity you understand as “you” today, will be “you” tomorrow. 

I understand: it’s very, very hard for survivors who are suffering to believe there can be ANYTHING positive in front of us. The phenomenon psychologists call “learned helplessness”— where we give up expecting anything to change, because nothing has ever positively changed for us in the past— kicks our ass up and down the block. 

Trauma Brain is very convincing when it tells us we have assumed our final form in how we feel and function right now. 

But we haven’t. 

Neither you nor I have assumed our final form. 

We both have life acts ahead of us. 

And if there’s any one thing I believe about the rock bottom nature of reality, it’s this: what came before can absolutely not predict what will happen next. 

You and I can and will build lives so utterly foreign to our pasts, our bullies and our abusers, it is absurd. And we will do so not by magic, but by realistic, incremental, purposeful changes to how we talk to ourselves, focus, and use our physiology. 

Trauma recovery is not magic. It is philosophy and behavioral science, and works on principles we’ve known about for centuries. 

Recovery is for you, and you are for recovery. 

You have life acts to write and perform that you’ve barely glimpsed. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

Don’t quit before the miracle. 

drglenndoyle

You are not being “punished.”

You’re not being “punished” for anything you did or anything you are. Really. 

I know: sometimes it can feel like that. 

And I know there are people reading this who vehemently disagree: they truly believe their pain IS “punishment” for something. Maybe just for existing. 

I promise: reality doesn’t work like that. 

It’s true that some people will try to control our behavior through threatened punishment. But that’s not what I’m talking about here. 

I’m talking about the fact that we can get it in our head that we “deserve” the pain we’re experiencing. 

Or that we “created” that pain. 

Or that we “allowed” that pain. 

Listen to me: you did not “deserve” to be traumatized, and you do not “deserve” to suffer now. 

The fact that Trauma Brain is insisting otherwise is an artifact of your conditioning— not reality. 

Why are we so vulnerable to that idea, that we’re being “punished” for something we did or something we are? 

Sometimes it’s because we were literally told that. 

We might have been directly told that by our bullies and abusers— but we might have also been indirectly “told” that by a culture that loves its fantasies of “nothing bad can happen to people who don’t ‘deserve’ it.” 

Our culture LOVES that particular fantasy. 

The idea that terrible things can happen to people who don’t “deserve” it, that bad things can happen to good people, leaves us feeling INCREDIBLY vulnerable. We hate it. 

So we, as a culture, invent this fantasy of somehow having “caused” or “allowed” our own pain, mostly as a way to feel less powerless. 

After all: if there actually IS rhyme or reason to this pain, if it’s our “fault,” then we’re kind of in “control” of it in a way, aren’t we? 

CPTSD survivors are particularly vulnerable to this line of bullsh*t, specifically because we hate, we hate, we HATE feeling powerless. 

We’d rather feel guilty than powerless. 

Realistic recovery asks us to give that fantasy up— which is harder than it sounds. 

Realistic recovery asks us to give up the idea that “everything happens for a reason.” 

Realistic recovery asks us to give up the idea hat we could have somehow avoided or controlled the trauma we experienced. 

Realistic recovery asks us to give up the idea that we’re being “punished.” 

Understand: we have been deeply, deeply programmed and conditioned to believe these things. Giving them up is not a one time decision. 

Rather: giving up those self-blaming ideas and fantasies is a process. 

It’s a process of notching when our old programming is activated— and intentionally, consistently scrambling it. Talking back to it. Swapping in new beliefs and self talk for the old. 

It’s a massive pain in the ass. 

And: it’s worth it. 

It’s worth it to liberate ourselves from the vicious fallacy that this is all our fault. 

No one reading this “deservers” to suffer for anything that happened TO them, or for what they didn’t know or couldn’t do in the past. 

You deserve recovery. 

You deserve support. 

You deserve to live. 

Breathe; blink; focus; and do the next recovery supporting thing.