drglenndoyle

We’re Not Gonna Take It.

Leveling up in trauma recovery often involves defining, clearly and emphatically, what we’re done tolerating. 

If you look at your life, chances are any time it’s significantly changed for the better involved a decision to no longer tolerate something. 

Sometimes what we’re no longer tolerating has to do with somebody else. We’re done tolerating their condescension, their disrespect, their neglect. 

Other times what we’re no longer tolerating has to do with our own behavior. We’re done talking to ourselves like our bullies and abusers talked to us. We’re done harming ourselves. We’re done neglecting our physical health. 

This tool— getting clear and consistent about what we will no longer tolerate— stems in no small part from the post traumatic “fight” response. 

What is the “fight” response? 

Ultimately, it’s our nervous system saying, “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore.” 

Our “fight” response is akin to our “parts” banding together and saying, “Aw, hell no.” 

One of the reasons I think the “fight” trauma response gets such a bad rap is, we survivors have super mixed feelings about aggression in general. 

Often we’ve had terrible experiences with people who cannot regulate their aggression or anger. 

We associate aggression with pain and lack of control— and we assume our “fight” response might make us like those scary, dysregulated people who hurt us. 

Nothing could be further from the truth. 

Yes, sometimes our “fight” response manifests aggressively— but just as often, it manifests protectively. 

Our “fight” response is the engine of most of the boundaries we set in trauma recovery. 

Our “fight” response allows us to tap into energy and focus we just can’t access when we’re cool, calm, and collected. 

And, of course, our “fight” response fuels our commitment to no longer tolerate things that are toxic to our recovery or our life. 

What you’re going to find, as you work your trauma recovery, is that there truly is a place for every trauma response we can experience. 

We don’t have to deny, disown, or ignore any of them. 

Trauma responses don’t actually cause us the biggest problems when they get triggered— they cause us the biggest problems when we try to deny or disown them. To run from them, to shame them. 

If you had the tools and support, what would you no longer be willing to tolerate in your life, starting today? 

What would make nudging toward setting a boundary with that thing .01% more realistic today? 

Now go listen to “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister, and repeat as necessary. 

Doctor’s orders. 

(Of course that’s a joke, but that is what I’m going to do.) 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Us and our shadows.

We all have a “shadow” self. 

A version of ourselves that is a little— or a lot— dark. 

This is a normal human thing, but CPTSD survivors can have particularly complicated relationships with our shadows. 

We’ve often been assailed, for years, with messages about how “bad” we are. 

We’ve had shame used to control our thoughts and behavior for years. 

Even when we try to recover, we often get messages about how bad our “attitude” is. About how we should “smile” and “engage” more. 

All of that can make us especially sensitive to, and conflicted about, our shadow self. 

We need to understand that our “shadow” self is not evidence we’re “evil,” or even “bad.” 

The concept of a “shadow” self has been around so long that versions of it crop up in the earliest psychological theories, long before Carl Jung popularized the idea. 

Freud’s entire body of work is all about how we engage with our “shadow” drives— most prominently our sexual and aggressive instincts. 

Everybody has a “shadow self.” It doesn’t make anyone a predator or an abuser. 

Predators and abusers are not predators and abusers because their “shadow” selves exist. 

They’re predators and abusers because of how they relate to their “shadow” selves (and for lots of other reasons). 

For trauma survivors working our recovery, how we understand, relate to, and manage our “shadow” selves really, really matters. 

It can be enormously destructive to our recovery if we deny and disown our “shadow.” 

Realistic trauma recovery doesn’t tolerate the refusal to see what we see and know what we know— including our “shadow” self. 

Acknowledging our “shadow” doesn’t mean we let it run the show or make decisions for us. 

It doesn’t mean we become mean, impulsive, or otherwise destructive. 

It means we accept that we are human beings, with the full spectrum of human feelings and experiences— including the darker ones. 

The quality of our trauma recovery is the quality of our relationship with ourselves— including our “shadow” self. 

The intensity of our “shadow” doesn’t mean we’re bad or broken. 

It almost always speaks to safety and guidance we didn’t get once upon a time when we were vulnerable. 

We’re not getting gout of this trauma maze while denying or disowning aspects of who we are— even aspects that make us anxious, aspects we’re conflicted about, aspects we don’t love. 

We don’t have to identify with our “shadow” self. 

But we don’t have to pretend it doesn’t exist, either— or assume that it means something about us that it doesn’t. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Come for it all.

Come for everything they said you couldn’t have. 

You’ve hard that motivational phrase, right? I didn’t originate it, I’ve seen it quite a few places. 

But it has particular resonance for CPTSD survivors. 

We have very often been told we “can’t” have things. 

That we don’t “deserve” things. 

That we’ll have to give up our “victim mindset” and make better “choices” before we’ll even be supposedly eligible for those things. 

Now, don’t get me wrong: mindset certainly matters in trauma recovery, and I’m all for making better choices, always. 

But I’ve worked with hundreds of trauma survivors in recovery, and I can assure you: “mindset” and “choices” are not their— our— biggest problems in recovery. 

Some CPTSD survivors were told, when they leave painful relationships or situations, that we’ll “never make it” without our abusers and bullies. 

(No, really: some of us were literally told just that, in those words.) 

So, my advice is: come for it. 

Come for it all. 

Come for everything they said was out of your reach. 

Come for everything that you ever imagined was off the table for you. 

Don’t let shame stop you, don’t let fear top you, and abso-f*cking-lutely do not let the internalized voices of abusers and bullies from the past stop you. 

You are absolutely “eligible” for a better life. 

You’re honestly “eligible” for a much better life than you would probably have ever imagined, had you not been introduced to the trauma recovery paradigm. 

I would never, ever wish trauma on anyone, and I am emphatically not “grateful” for what you or I have endured. 

But truthfully, if I hadn’t had to save my own life by getting serious about trauma and addiction recovery, I probably would have slept on such basic tools as self talk, mental focus, and physiology for the rest of my life. 

I probably would have remained a random white dude with middling aspirations and moods I could not predict or influence, like most random white dudes. 

However: things unfolded as they did. 

And here I am. 

Coming for everything they said I couldn’t have. 

And here I am, recommending you aspire to do the same. 

They don’t get to choose or limit what we “get” to achieve. Or feel. Or become. 

Working our trauma recovery and building a life can be hard, and is often not straightforward. And we’re very often doing this functionally alone. 

There are no guarantees in recovery, or in life. 

But I can tell you this: if you’re reading this, you’ve very likely been sold a bill of goods about what you do and don’t “deserve.” 

And it’s most likely BS (Belief Systems—but also, you know, bullsh*t) 

Come for it. 

Come for everything they said you couldn’t have. 

We are not who they they think we are— we are golden. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

drglenndoyle

CPTSD and you (your body, anyway).

Something many trauma survivors have in common is, our bodies know we’re stressed or triggered before we do. 

Our conscious mind is often very well defended against seeing what we see and knowing what we know. 

It’s had to be, for us to psychologically (and, sometimes, physically) survive what we’ve been through. 

But our bodies, our nervous system, our endocrine system, our very cells, are under no illusions. 

They’ll register triggers and stress— often in ways that confuse and frustrate both us and the myriad medical professionals we try to seek support from. 

For example, the exhaustion many CPTSD survivors experience has nothing to do with lack of sleep.

The chronic pain many trauma survivors experience can only be partially understood in terms of physical traumas or injuries we’ve sustained. 

The allergies and inflammation many trauma survivors experience often trace back to…we’ll we’re not quite sure, actually. 

All we know is its real, and often debilitating. 

None of this is to say that any or all of these problems are “psychosomatic” or “in our head.” 

But when we’re reacting to triggers in our body— especially if we’re cognitively “blind” to those triggers— it can make us a hell of a lot more vulnerable to every physical problem or pain point you can imagine. 

Many people will misunderstand this, and think that either CPTSD “causes” those physical problems, or that those physical problems are the result of a “victim mindset” that CPTSD nurtures. 

Nothing could be further from the truth. 

I know and have worked with more chronic illness and pain warriors than most, and I can tell you that, as a group, they do not have a “victim mindset.” 

In fact, it’s usually the opposite: trauma survivors who struggle with chronic pain and complicated medical conditions often feel OVER responsible for what they’re going through— largely because they’ve been told that they are. 

I don’t want you to understand your physical pain or other medical problems as manifestations of CPTSD. 

I want you to understand that CPTSD spikes our risk for all kinds of pain and other problems— which is one reason why it’s so important to work our recovery. 

Nobody reading this loves their physical reactivity. 

Everyone reading this as probably wondered, at one time or another, how they got such a “lemon” of a physical body. 

I don’t think you got a “lemon” of a physical body. 

I think that every cell in our body was affected by what happened to us, and what we’ve been forced, against our will, to manage every day since. 

I think that’s a cognitive, emotional, hormonal, and spiritual load that human bodies were not designed to bear. Certainly not for years on end. 

I think our bodies are doing the best they can. 

And I think all we can do for them, is what we can do: work our recovery with realism, self-awareness, and self-compassion, one day at a time. 

Breathe, blink, focus. 

And say “thank you” to your body. 

drglenndoyle

“Coercion” can be more than just physical.

Because you were not physically threatened, doesn’t mean you weren’t coerced. 

Because no one had a physical gun to your head doesn’t mean you made a “choice.” 

Because your body responded doesn’t mean you “wanted” or “enjoyed” it. 

You’re going to run into many people who have a very narrow definition of “force” or “coercion.” 

They are going to assume that if there wasn’t physical force or threat directly involved, then behavior must have been a free “choice.” 

These are the people who are going to ask you “why didn’t you just leave?”

They’re the same people who will say, “why didn’t you just set a boundary?” 

They’re the same people who say, “if you hated it so much, why did you repeat the pattern, over and over and over again?” 

That worldview has nothing to do with reality. 

That worldview has everything to do with those peoples’ wishes that reality be that simple. 

You see, if reality was that simple, those people would feel safer. 

They don’t like the idea that we can be forced to do things in ways that have nothing to do with physical coercion. 

They don’t like for example, the fact that true, unforced “choice” only actually exists if all the alternatives are survivable. 

That is to say: if someone “chooses” something because the alternative was not survivable, they haven’t really made a “choice.” 

Those people also don’t like the fact that there are types of survival in addition to physical survival. 

Sometimes we may “choose” something not because our physical life is in danger, but because the alternative was not realistically survivable socially, financially, or even spiritually. 

The actual fact of the matter is, there are dozens of ways to make human beings do things that do not involve threats to physical survival. 

Pretending that physical threat or coercion is the only way “choice” can be taken away from us opens the door to us feeling shame about many things we “chose” for the sake or survival along the way— but which, upon examination, were not actually “free” choices. 

I get it: you don’t love some of the things you did once upon a time. Neither do I. 

We don’t have to love all our “choices.” 

But we also don’t have to pretend all of those choices were truly “free.” 

You and I did plenty of things to survive— again, not just physically— that don’t particularly align with our values or self-concept now. And again, we don’t have to love that. 

But we don’t have to hold those “choices” against ourselves, either. 

We can realistically and self-compassionately acknowledge the truth: that we were forced to do sh*t we don’t love and wouldn’t “freely” choose. 

I know, that can feel helpless. And many people would rather feel ashamed than helpless. 

I’m going to ask you to sit with the helplessness that comes with acknowledging we haven’t, actually been “in control” of our “choices” for a very long time. 

That’s not an excuse. That’s reality. 

And that’s the starting point to actually making some real, values-congruent choices: forgiving ourselves for not being as “in control” as we thought we were. 

Easy does it. None of this is easy. 

And, we deserve a recovery that restores our autonomy and dignity. No matter what “choices” we did or didn’t have in the past. 

Breathe; blink; focus.  

drglenndoyle

Self-sabotage is a CPTSD symptom.

Self sabotage is one of the most common, and most frustrating, symptoms experienced by CPTSD survivors. 

That’s right: self-sabotage is a symptom of CPTSD. Not a “choice.” 

Not evidence that we don’t have our sh*t together. 

Why do CPTSD survivors seem to sabotage ourselves? What on earth does that have to do with trauma? 

Turns out, CPTSD involves a lot of symptomatology that has nothing overt to do with trauma. 

But when you scratch the surface of something like self sabotage, you very often find lurking the anxiety and scrambled self-perception that is very recognizably CPTSD. 

Trauma survivors are very used to getting the rug snatched out from under us. 

This is particularly true if what we endured was complex trauma— trauma that unfolded over time, entwined with our important relationships, was functionally inescapable, and f*cked with our beliefs. 

Many CPTSD survivors reading this had experience after experience of the rug being pulled out from under us— very often by the very people who “should” have been our biggest, most reliable supporters. 

When we have that experience over and over again, our nervous system starts to make a strong connection between getting our hopes up— and then being bitterly disappointed. 

Our nervous system then decides that maybe the best way to avoid that bitter disappointment of getting the rug yanked out from under us, is to avoid getting our hopes up at all. 

Enter self-sabotage. 

In trauma survivors, self-sabotage often functions as a “pressure valve” or “escape hatch” when things start going unexpectedly well. 

Why would we let ourselves get excited or interested when things are going well, knowing that it’s likely only a matter of time before something happens to dash our hopes again? 

Add to this equation the fact that our traumatized nervous system very often hates, hates, hates unpredictability. 

You may have heard that CPTSD survivors are “control freaks,” but I don’t believe that’s quite accurate. I think we’re “predictability freaks,” not “control freaks.” 

When things go right or well, when we start building some momentum in our lives, that necessarily introduces unpredictability into the equation— and very often our nervous system does not deal with that well. 

So: it does what it has to do to make the situation predictable. It throws a wrench in. 

Hey, better we throw that wrench into the works ourselves, rather than waiting for someone or something else to do it, right? 

Many survivors feel shame about the symptom of self-sabotage— but the truth is, no one is consciously “choosing” it. 

Trauma responses are not choices. 

They are very often attempts to self-regulate— and self-sabotage definitely falls into this category. 

The path out of habitual self-sabotage involves noticing when it’s happening, getting aware and realistic about what’s going on inside us— especially with our wounded, anxious “parts”— and being there for ourselves as we ride that anxiety out. 

It’s not easy. And it’s often not quick. One of the “benefits” of self-sabotage as a regulation strategy is that we can burn a situation down pretty quickly, thus returning to baseline. Tolerating that anxiety, on the other hand, can be a long term project. 

It’s real important we approach the symptom of self-sabotage with compassion, patience, and realism— just like every symptom in CPTSD recovery. 

We work on this symptom like we work on every symptom: moving .1% at a time toward a new way of managing painful or activating feelings. 

Grace over guilt, progress over perfection. 

Breathe, blink, focus. 

drglenndoyle

Some basics about CPTSD.

Trauma symptoms like flashbacks, nightmares, intrusive memories, and hypervigilance really suck. These are largely what people think of when think think “PTSD.” 

But they’re not the whole story for people who have experienced complex trauma. 

“Complex” trauma is trauma that occurred over time; that was functionally inescapable; that entwined with our important relationships; and that f*cked with our beliefs. 

Complex trauma produces symptoms that are less “obviously” trauma symptoms— symptoms that many mistake for personality disorders, bipolar disorder, or even psychotic disorders. 

Complex trauma can also make survivors overwhelmingly vulnerable to substance and behavioral addictions— so much so that I consider addiction a reliable indicator that a sufferer’s past probably includes complex trauma. 

Why is it important to know what complex trauma looks like? 

Because recovering from complex trauma requires specific tools, skills, and philosophies— as well as a commitment to not blame ourselves for things that happened TO us. 

Complex trauma can absolutely coexist with other mental or behavioral health struggles, including PTSD. 

In fact, struggling with mental or behavioral health is very often itself a risk factor for CPTSD. 

(Think about it: of the criteria I just laid out for complex trauma, mental and behavioral health struggles check almost every one of those boxes— meaning that most people with a psychiatric diagnosis are also likely to struggle with at least some aspects of CPTSD as well.)

What you need to know about CPTSD is that it is not your fault— or your “personality.” 

Many CPTSD survivors struggle with reflexive trauma responses for so long, that we feel CPTSD defines our personality— but that’s just not true. 

We are not our trauma. 

And if we’re going to realistically recover from trauma, we have to get crystal clear that this is not about us— this is about what happened to us. 

Recovery from CPTSD tends to happen in three stages: safety and stabilization; trauma processing; and life reintegration. 

Safety and stabilization is where we build the tools, skills, and support to not want to slice ourselves up or kill ourselves every day— and we use these tools, skills, and support in every other trauma recovery phase or task we subsequently do. It’s NOT one of these things where we graduate and never think about the stuff we learned again. 

Trauma processing is where we actually look at what happened to us and how it f*cked with us— and there are dozens of ways to do that, including cognitive work, somatic work, EMDR, and lots and lots (and lots) of other methodologies. There is absolutely NOT one “right” way to do trauma processing for everyone— nor one way that reliably works for everyone. 

Life reintegration is where we fit all that work into the broader context of our life and future. Because it doesn’t matter how hard we work at this stuff if it doesn’t fit into our everyday existence. Trauma recovery work that stays in a therapist’s office is only good in a therapist’s office. 

None of this is stuff most of us were taught. 

If we know any of this stuff, it’s probably because we’ve been on the wrong side of some nasty lived experience. 

But I want everyone reading this to know that this “recovery” sh*t works. 

It’s not magic. Most of it is neuroscience, behavioral science, and addiction recovery— and most of the keys to making trauma recovery “tick” have been around for centuries, and are publicly available. 

It’s not your fault if you haven’t cobbled together the tools, skills, philosophies, and support you need to recover from CPTSD— yet. 

Reading this post might be a piece of the puzzle. And you’ll stumble upon other pieces to the puzzle if you keep looking. 

But it works. It’s possible. 

You’re not the exception— you are a human being with a human nervous system, and you are alive to read these words. 

That’s how I know there’s hope for you.

Don’t quit before the miracle. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

“Needy” is not an insult. Or it shouldn’t be, anyway.

Yes: as we work our trauma recovery, we will get better at identifying and expressing our needs. And that’s awesome. 

It’s also not a guarantee others will be at all interested in meeting our needs. 

Unfortunately, there’s no magic to expressing our needs. I wish there was. 

But we’re going to run into plenty of people who just don’t care. 

Not everyone, mind you. We’ll also run into people who will be supportive and invested. 

But we want to be realistic. That won’t be everyone. 

Does that mean there’s no point to expressing our needs? 

No, it does not. 

Identifying and expressing our needs is vital to our self-esteem. 

Identifying and expressing our needs is important to our self-respect. 

Identifying and expressing our needs is necessary to identify the subset of people who actually WILL help us get our needs met. 

If there’s anything you take away from my writing about trauma recovery, it’s that recovery needs to be realistic and sustainable. 

That means we can’t be hanging on to fantasies that the world is kinder than it is. 

The world is not kind. 

But some people in the world can be kind. 

It may not be the case that we’ll have people lining up to help us get our needs met, even if we identify and express those needs. 

But it is the case that if we’re going to realistically recover from CPTSD, WE need to be in touch with those needs—especially if years of abuse and neglect have made us believe we “can’t” or “shouldn’t” be clear and expressive about our needs. 

What the hell are our needs, anyway? 

The theory I like about human needs is that there are six basics: predictability, novelty, significance, connection, growth, and contribution. 

In my experience, most human needs reduce to one or a combination of those. 

Abuse and neglect sever our connection with our needs. 

Which leaves us no less “needy”— just less able to make a realistic plan to meet our needs. 

Your needs are not “bad” or “weak.”

“Needy” is not an insult. Or it shouldn’t be, anyway. 

Get clear about what you need. Put words to your needs. 

Not because there’s “magic” to any of this— but because things that matter deserve specificity and expression. 

And make no mistake, your needs matter— because you matter. 

drglenndoyle

Rest and recreation are not “optional” in realistic trauma recovery.

Ever wonder why coercive controllers love to shame rest and recreation? 

It’s because rest and recreation make us less easy to control. 

Rest and recreation literally make us smarter. 

Rest and recreation make us more creative— and thus more dangerous to them. 

There’s a reason why every cult documentary includes the part where the “guru” tells their followers to sleep less. 

And there’s a reason why every grind culture wannabe “guru” tells their audience that sleep is a waste of otherwise “productive” time.” 

(Remember James Arthur Ray telling his “Spiritual Warriors,” three of whom would die by the end of the retreat, that while they could sleep while they were doing the event, he “wouldn’t recommend it?”) 

Trauma survivors are conditioned to have all sorts of negative feelings about rest. 

Not only have we been programmed to believe rest is for the “weak” or “lazy,” many of us are very aware of how vulnerable sleep or relaxation can make us. 

Some of us were primarily abused at night, literally woken from our sleep by our abusers. 

Many of us experience hyper vigilance and intrusive thoughts that make even trying to sleep or rest pure torture. 

When it comes to recreation, things we do for no other reason than we enjoy them and they make us feel good, many of us were conditioned to believe we do not “deserve” the opportunity to either enjoy things OR feel good. 

Some of us were heavily conditioned to believe that recreation was a waste of time— that it necessarily distracts us from being “productive.” 

If you read my material, you know how I feel about that: the things that we like, the things that inspire us, the things that tickle us, the things that make us feel good in any way, shape or form— I feel these things are integral to our recovery. 

They wake up our brain. They soothe our nervous system. They reconnect us to our authentic self. 

Resting and seeking out opportunities for recreation goes entirely against a LOT of our conditioning. Many of us have been programmed to be profoundly skeptical of and uncomfortable with either rest or recreation. 

A very common attitude I see in trauma survivors is that rest and recreation are “nice,” but optional. They truly believe that the “work” of trauma recovery is done primarily in therapy sessions, “processing trauma.” 

Let me tell you what I believe: trauma processing is “nice,” but the REAL work of trauma recovery is day to day self care. 

That means rest and recreation. 

Pro tip: anything that our abusers and bullies shame as much as they shame rest and recreation is probably a POWERFUL recovery tool. 

Get curious about why you were so heavily conditioned to eschew rest and recreation. 

And reframe them from “nice” but optional, to non-negotiables we absolutely have to figure out if we’re serious about trauma recovery. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma and time.

Trauma can do weird things to our perception of time. 

Things that happened years ago can feel like they happened yesterday. 

And things that happened yesterday can feel like they happened a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away. 

Trauma survivors can be vulnerable to the “time blindness” experienced by many neurodivergent people. 

Part of this is due to the dissociative “flavor” of many complex post traumatic symptoms— by definition, dissociation is separating us from some aspect of the here and now, and perception of time is often “collateral damage” when we’re experiencing dissociation. 

In addition, many trauma survivors are vulnerable to specific subtypes of dissociation called depersonalization and derealization, in which we or the world around us, respectively, don’t feel particularly real. 

It’s hard to keep track of and be responsive to time demands when we’re not quite sure what’s real and what’s not— when everything feels like a dream, or a copy of a copy (of a copy). 

Add to this the fact that traumatic memory isn’t encoded in our brain the same way non-traumatic memory is, and doesn’t decay like “normal” memory does, and survivors can get even more disoriented about time. 

None of this is survivors’ fault. Nobody asked for time distortion and challenges with time perception as a symptom. Nobody likes it. 

It’s actually quite a pain in the ass, that can get us in trouble— and we CPTSD survivors specifically hate, hate, hate feeling in trouble. 

One of the most common suggestions given to survivors working their trauma recovery is to start with the skill of grounding— using our senses to connect to the present moment, typically by identifying colors and objects and sensations that connect us to the world around us. 

An important aspect of grounding that often gets underemphasized is time. 

I’ve worked with many survivors who, when they’re triggered, might be able to identify colors and objects and other stimuli around them— but who are thoroughly convinced that it’s another year, and they are another age. 

One of the most beneficial tools I’ve ever stumbled upon in my own trauma recovery was a simple day planner. 

I know, I know, using a planner can be a pain in the ass. It runs the risk of making survivors feel trapped and controlled, especially if we struggled with procrastination or time management growing up. 

But keeping track of my day, hour by hour— taking time at the top of the hour to jot down what happened in the last hour, and reorienting myself to the structure and flow of the day— has actually made every OTHER trauma recovery tool I use more effective. 

Reminding ourselves that, no matter what it feels like, time only has one direction it flows— forward— and that any time we’re convinced we’ve been sucked into the past represents a symptom that is f*cking with us, can be a game changer. 

Flashbacks do not make us time travelers. Switching “parts” does not stop the clock on the flow of time. 

Many complex trauma symptoms SEEM to f*ck with time— but we need to remember that’s an illusion. 

We are still right here, right now; time only flows in one direction; and it only flows forward one minute at a time. 

Breathe; blink; focus— and check in with yourself before the top of the hour.