drglenndoyle

Eh, maybe you ARE “in trouble.”

I don’t, actually, know if you’re “in trouble” with anyone right now. 

I do know that “in trouble” feeling is a CPTSD symptom. 

It may not be part of the official diagnostic criteria, but an overwhelming majority of CPTSD survivors with whom I’ve worked experience it. 

Our brain will jump through all kinds of hoops to convince us we’re “in trouble” (and also that people “hate” us, by the by). 

Even if we can’t think of anything we could possibly be “in trouble” for, Trauma Brain will close that loop by declaring we’re probably in even BIGGER trouble than we thought, and it’s going to be ESPECIALLY bad because it’ll catch us by surprise. 

(CPTSD survivors tend to be ambivalent as hell about surprises, if you didn’t know.) 

And here’s the thing: every now and then someone, knowing about this CPTSD symptom, feeling “in trouble” all the time, will try to comfort us by telling us we’re NOT in trouble. 

But how would they know? 

That’s not just my Trauma Brain talking: I mean it literally, how the hell would they know? 

I’ve been in plenty of trouble in my lifetime. 

One of the reasons why my brain finds it so easy to convince me that I’m CONSTANTLY in trouble is because, growing up, I constantly WAS in trouble. 

Whether I “deserved” to be in trouble all those times, especially growing up, is a different question— and, honestly, not a very relevant one. 

If my father decided I was in trouble, I was in trouble. Whether I “deserved” it wasn’t a question he asked. 

Later, as an adult, I created plenty of personal and professional situations that caused other adults to be irritated or angry with me. 

I’ve lost jobs, I’ve ruined relationships. And it would be absurd for me to assert I didn’t RICHLY deserve at least SOME of those painful experiences. 

My point is, it may not be particularly helpful to tell a trauma survivor who has the “in trouble” thing activated that they’re NOT “in trouble”— because maybe they are, with someone, somewhere. 

So: I have no idea if you’re “in trouble” or not. 

Here’s what I DO know about that “in trouble” feeling: we’re going to feel it, jacked up to 11, whether or not it’s reality based. 

And Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our bullies and abusers, is going to use that feeling to make the case that we “have” to dissociate, hurt ourselves, maybe even kill ourselves, certainly hate ourselves. 

THAT’S the bullsh*t part of this “in trouble” thing. 

Even if we ARE “in trouble,” self-hate doesn’t lead anywhere we “deserve” to go. 

When I WAS in trouble with other adults, it was real easy to use those feelings (and the reality that someone really WAS mad at me) to justify substance relapse and self-harm. 

That’s what we have to manage. 

The “in trouble” feeling does get less intense as we work our recovery, build our self-esteem, and strengthen our interpersonal effectiveness skills. It really won’t be like this forever. 

But in the meantime, know that even if you are “in trouble,” with someone, somewhere, that feeling probably doesn’t mean what Trauma Brain is trying to convince you it means. 

You STILL deserve support. 

You STILL deserve empathy. 

You STILL deserve to have your own back and be on your own side. 

Your worth does not change, even when you feel or are “in trouble.” 

Understand that feeling as the trauma response it is— and remember trauma responses are neither choices, nor character defects. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma responses and the work.

It can be helpful to remember that trauma responses occur in pairs. 

Many survivors are vulnerable to the full range of trauma responses— fight, flight, freeze, fawn, and flop— but it’s my experience that most survivors have one or two that are dominant, and they tend to be linked. 

Speaking for myself, when triggered, I often lead off with a strong “fight” response. 

I get my back up. I instinctively inhabit the aggressive “hurt them before they hurt me” energy that my father modeled. 

But, at some point, a switch gets flipped— and I tend to fall right into a “fawn” response. 

I profusely apologize. I do everything I can to signal that I am submissive, not a threat, not even a presence. 

I summarize my fight/fawn response pattern as “F*ck you; please don’t hate me.”

Mind you, there are absolutely times for fighting and for apologizing— if they’re choices. 

But trauma responses are not choices. 

They’re reflexes. They’re our nervous system getting hijacked. 

(Which can be particularly upsetting, given most survivors’ aversion to feeling controlled— or out of control.) 

Why do we want to pay attention to our characteristic trauma responses? Because our patterns can clue us in to what we need in those moments. 

Fundamentally, what our nervous system needs when we’re trauma responding is to know that we’re safe— but there are different “flavors” of safety, just as there are various “flavors” of trauma responses. 

When we’re “fighting,” we’re not especially in the mood to be soothed. We want validation. 

When we’re “fleeing,” we many not especially care about validation— we want to know there is physical distance between us and the threat. 

When we’re in “freeze,” we want to know we’re sufficiently hidden. 

And when our trauma responses occur in pairs, we can use our understanding of them to anticipate what we might need, and to realistically meet ourselves where we are. 

Trauma responses can be frustrating and overwhelming, and it can be real hard to be curious about them. 

But asking not just what trauma responses we experience, but how those trauma responses pair up— what the pattern is— can give us a framework to explore and understand both our wounds and our needs. 

One of my own issues in trauma recovery is, I feel immense shame about people I may have hurt or alienated over the years with my overdeveloped “fight” response. 

There is absolutely room in trauma recovery for making amends— just like in the Twelve Step addiction recovery tradition, taking responsibility for our behavior is part of healing— but, knowing that I have a fight/fawn pattern, it’s real important I not let the guilt over my past “fight” behavior suck me into prolonged “fawn” responses. 

Pay attention to how your trauma responses shape up and play out. 

There are almost always patterns that emerge, and those patterns connect to our most vulnerable pain points. 

I would not have either a “fight” or “fawn” pattern without my terrifying father looming in the back of my head. 

Which tells me that much of my ongoing work is going to involve supporting the “parts” of me that helped navigate— and how “hold”— the fear and stress of that relationship. 

Your mileage may vary. But this is how we do the work. 


Breathe, blink, focus. 

drglenndoyle

Our stubborn neural architecture.

Our trauma conditioning is constantly, constantly going to try to drag us back to our old patterns. 

If trauma recovery was as simple as just “do different stuff,” 100% of survivors would do different stuff, and never look back. 

But we’re constantly working against deeply conditioned patterns. 

Those patterns aren’t just mental— they’re physical. 

Neurons that fire together, wire together; and the patterns of feeling and functioning that define CPTSD have been physically molded and reinforced inside our skin for years. 

Remember that two of the key components of complex trauma are that it unfolds over time and is functionally inescapable— meaning CPTSD has plenty of time and opportunity to etch itself physically into our nervous system. 

Consequently, when we try to change, we’re going to struggle. 

That struggle has nothing to do with us being “weak.” 

It has everything to do with the fact that we’re working against well-entrenched patterns. 

We CAN change well entranced, physically rooted patterns of feeling and functioning— but it requires us to step back and take the long view of our recovery. 

Which can be hard, when we feel like sh*t and we want to kill ourselves. 

No shame, no judgment. That’s the reality many complex trauma survivors are up against. 

We change deeply etched patterns bit by realistic, consistent bit. 

We change them by getting crystal clear about our goals, and utterly real about what we need to do, day after day after day, to sustainably nudge toward them. 

This is true whether our goals are shifting our patterns of self talk; shifting our patterns of mental focus; or shifting our patterns of breathing and physiology. 

And we have to keep in mind that it’s not a matter of “if” we feel pulled back to our old patterns— that is absolutely GOING to happen. 

We’re going to want to go back to talking to ourselves like we’re someone we hate. 

We’re going to want to go back to focusing on how we suck, how things are supposedly “hopeless,” to the times we’ve tried to change and haven’t been able to. 

We’re going to want to go back to breathing shallowly and physically crumpling into ourselves like a dying star. 

We’re going to be pulled back to those patterns, not because we LIKE them. 100% of trauma survivors f*cking hate all of it. 

But we’re going to be pulled back because our neural architecture takes time to change. 

If we keep doing the recovery stuff, we WILL build new neural pathways. 

The human nervous system is infinitely moldable. Changeable. We call it “neuroplasticity.”

Hell, the fact that our nervous system changes in response to experience is one of the reasons why we’re hurting in the first place. 

Stay on target. 

Keep with the .01% nudges in self talk, mental focus, and physiology, day, after day, after day. 

Understand that pull toward your old patterns for what it is: evidence of your old, but changing, neural architecture. No more; no less. 

This is how we realistically approach recovery. This is how we make it real and sustainable. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

And do the next teeny, tiny recovery supporting thing. 

drglenndoyle

Forget extreme. Think consistent.

Realistic trauma recovery is not going to ask anything extreme of you. Really. 

I know, the very idea of “recovery” may strike you as unrealistic right now. 

It may feel like even sort of putting your life back together after the sh*t show of CPTSD may feel like it “should’ require something extreme. 

But my observation, as both a psychologist and a survivor and addict working my own recovery, is that expecting “extreme” things from ourselves only sets us up to feel overwhelmed. 

Yes, we’re looking to create a significant change in our quality of life. 

But significant changes are made up of small, incremental changes— specifically, in how we talk to ourselves, how we direct our mental focus or “spotlight,” and how we breathe and use our body. 

That is to say: realistic trauma recovery is ultimately made up of tiny changes we make in things we can do— things we’re doing some version of already. 

I say make changes so small that it would almost be harder to NOT make them. 

In my experience, the thing that makes most survivors quit trying to recover is, we really struggle to set realistic daily goals. 

We overwhelm ourselves, and it happens for a few reasons. 

Many of us are overachievers. 

Many of us are “fawn” responders. 

Many of us were conditioned to believe that we had to work hard in order be even minimally loved or accepted or safe. 

So, when it comes to setting trauma recovery goals, we shoot high. 

Add to all this that we’re very aware of what a sh*t show our life is now— so we get it in our head that the only way to meaningfully change is to change f*cking EVERYTHING. 

No wonder we set our goals and standards so high. 

I love how ambitious so many of my fellow trauma survivors are. 

It’s true, that ambition frequently derives from our “fawn” reflex and other trauma responses— but our relentless focus and achievement motivation also frequently gives our lives purpose and color that it would otherwise lack. 

That said, our pull to overachieve can bite us in the ass sometimes. Such as when we’re trying to set daily recovery goals. 

I want your recovery to be realistic. To really become a thing in the real world— not stay this interesting, abstract, hypothetical thing you read about on the internet. 

It’s because I want your recovery to be realistic that I want you getting OUT of the habit of thinking extreme. 

I want you thinking teeny, tiny, .01% shifts in how you do your life every day. 

I want you thinking consistent, not extreme. 

Remember that when structures and systems— like our nervous system— are changed by “extreme” things, it’s usually traumatic, and ultimately negative. 

We want positive, chosen, sustainable gains. 

Which is why we think teeny, tiny adjustments in our self talk, mental focus, and physiology— over and over again, day after day after day. 

This is how we make recovery real. 

This is how our nervous and endocrine systems actually change. 

This is how we save our life. 

Forget extreme. Think consistent. 

Breathe, blink, and focus. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma Brain has some BS it would like you to smell.

No one can tell you what’s going to happen next. 

That includes Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of your abusers and bullies, camped out inside your head right now, telling you everything is going to be horrible and you’re going to fail. 

Look, maybe everything is going to be horrible. Maybe you are going to fail. 

But maybe not. 

Trauma recovery is not about guaranteeing anything. I wish working your trauma recovery could “guarantee” anything— but it won’t. 

Here’s what I do know: working our trauma recovery, with awareness and commitment, gives us our best shot at a life we don’t hate. 

It gives us our best shot of being in a position to experience things we like. 

It gives us our best shot at meeting our needs. 

But it doesn’t “guarantee” any of that. 

Watch what Trauma Brain does with what I just told you: Trauma Brain very likely is whispering in your ear right now, telling you that if working your trauma recovery doesn’t “guarantee” anything, then it’s not worth bothering with. 

After all, paying attention to your self talk, your mental focus, your physiology— it’s all hard. It’s all a hassle. 

Of course, what Trauma Brain is conveniently neglecting to tell you is, NOT working your recovery— just letting your trauma programming run on autopilot— is also hard. It’s also a hassle. 

And, importantly, letting your trauma conditioning run on autopilot is hard and a hassle in a way that you did not choose. It was chosen for you, by the behavior of your abusers and bullies. 

The “hard” and hassle involved in trauma recovery orients you toward what YOU want and what YOU value. That’s not true of the “hard” and hassle of trauma programming. 

Your mileage may vary, but if both options are hard and a hassle, I’ll go with the “hard” and hassle that gives me some options for actually living a life I like. 

Here’s the other thing about trauma recovery: while it may be hard and a hassle, the component skills are things we’re all doing all the time anyway. 

We’re always talking to ourselves. We’re always mentally focusing on something. We’re always breathing and using our physiology in some way. 

Trauma recovery doesn’t ask us to invent new tools out of whole cloth. 

It asks us to adjust the way we’re doing things we do all day, every day we’re alive. 

Is it really any skin off our nose to adjust how we talk to ourselves? It costs us nothing. 

It costs us nothing to adjust how we direct our mental focus or “spotlight.” 

It costs us nothing to breathe and use our physiology intentionally, as opposed to letting it all run on autopilot. 

None of that is to say these things are EASY— but they’re free. And there is no downside to experimenting with them. 

Talking to ourselves, leveraging our mental focus, and utilizing our physiology in recovery supportive ways are all unfamiliar, and it might feel awkward or cringe or even dangerous to shift how we manage these things. That’s absolutely true. 

But don’t let Trauma Brain tell you that recovery is going to ask us to invent or learn entirely new skills that are overwhelming. 

When I tell you you can recover from trauma, I’m not just spouting inspirational bullsh*t. 

What I mean when I say that is that trauma injures us in specific ways— and there are specific tools that tend to help humans recovery from those injuries which are not outside of the behavioral repertoire of anybody reading this. 

I know, I can hear Trauma Brain now. It’s working overtime to invent reasons why trauma recovery might be be possible for some people, but not for you. 

That’s what it does. 

What a bunch of BS (Belief Systems). 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

And lock in on the next recovery supporting micro decision. No more, no less. 

drglenndoyle

Recover for sixty seconds (only).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come on. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what? 

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

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

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

Then do that. 

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

The past is history, tomorrow’s a mystery. 

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

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

So grab it. 

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

drglenndoyle

So maybe you’re disappointing someone. And?

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

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

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

I imagine you are, actually, disappointing someone. 

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

I’ve never loved disappointing people. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


The alternative might feel like being nobody at all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

And go disappoint someone today. 

drglenndoyle

Self-talk and our most important relationship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone who loves us, not someone who hates us. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safety starts inside. 

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

Have your own back. 

Be on your own side. 

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

If nothing changes, nothing changes. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

And check in with yourself— all of you. 

drglenndoyle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We don’t want to be like our abusers. 

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

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

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

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

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

Remember that. 

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

I admire and love your gentleness. 

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

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

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

drglenndoyle

Try a little love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Try a little love instead. 

You know, just see how it goes. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus.