drglenndoyle

Trauma survivors and cats.

Trauma survivors can be a lot like cats. 

We can be easily startled— often by things that “shouldn’t” startle us. 

We can sometimes get spooked by things other people can’t see. 

We can be slow to trust. 

If someone wants to get close to us, they’re going to need patience. And consistency. And the ability not to take our skepticism personally. 

A lot of people don’t understand trauma survivors— in much the same way a lot of people don’t understand cats. 

Sometimes cats hiss, even at people who they love.

And then sometimes they cuddle up to people they just hissed at. 

Cats can be really good at hiding. 

And sometimes cats come when they’re called— but just as often, calling a cat makes it get even more elusive. 

All true of trauma survivors, too. 

We can be famously prickly. 

Like cats, we don’t respond well to people coming at us. 

Like cats, we do not respond well to feeling trapped. Or controlled. Or in trouble. 

Seriously, have you ever tried to reprimand a cat? It’s a surefire way to make it defiant. Cats tend to double down when they’re “in trouble.” 

Many trauma survivors reading this know exactly what this feels like. 

Here’s the thing, though: cats are wildly misunderstood. Much like trauma survivors. 

Does it take time and patience and a little bit of knowledge about how we work to get close to either a cat or a trauma survivor? Absolutely. 

But: like cats, trauma survivors, once you put in that effort, are some of the most loyal, most loving, and dare I say some of the fiercest creatures on the planet. 

Yes, loving cats— or trauma survivors— can be complicated. 

And yes, loving cats— and trauma survivors— is 100% worth the effort. 

(That includes the effort required for us trauma survivors to love ourselves, by the way.)

drglenndoyle

Get dangerous.

Get dangerously consistent. 

Terrifyingly consistent. 

Get so consistent with your trauma Recovery Supporting Rituals (RSR’s) that people wonder what your deal is. 

Here’s the thing: sustainable trauma recovery is going to ask you to do things on a regular basis that the normies aren’t even going to comprehend. 

Trauma recovery makes us survivors get clear about our values, goals, and habits in ways they will never understand. 

Understand, we shouldn’t “have” to think about any of this. It sucks that we do. 

But the fact that we do have to think about trauma recovery in order to stay alive and function, means we wizards have to get real about sh*t that the muggles never do. 

Trauma recovery is not just about processing trauma or coping with trauma symptoms. 

It is ultimately about connecting with and developing and amplifying our authenticity. 

Becoming who we really are. Rediscovering— or maybe just discovering— who we were meant to be underneath all of this. 

That’s going to require courage— and discipline. 

Which is where the terrifying consistency comes in. 

Do you know how few people out there in the world actually set and work toward goals in any consistent way? 

Most of the people you and I meet in the course of a day are on cruise control. They haven’t truly thought about who they are or what they want— maybe ever. 

It’s one of the main reasons why so many people out there are so miserable— no trauma required, even. 

Trauma recovery is going to ask us to be unlike them. 

If we want trauma recovery to be realistic and sustainable— if we want it to be more than an abstraction we read about on the internet— we’re going to have to do things most people can’t, or at least won’t. 

We’re going to have to be consistent. 

Consistent in checking in with ourselves. 

Consistent in talking to ourselves like a supportive, realistic coach— not like a drill sergeant. 

Consistent in feeding and hydrating ourselves in ways that actually support our functioning. 

Consistent in reality testing the bullsh*t the culture throws our way, instead of swallowing wholesale. 

Consistent in defining and working toward our recovery goals in realistic segments, every day, every hour. 

The kind of consistency trauma recovery demands of us is not always easy. Especially if you’re like me, and you have a brain that gets enamored of shiny objects. 

But there really is no substitute for consistency. 

Dangerous consistency. Terrifying consistency. Consistency that the normies cannot wrap their heads around. 

Work your recovery like you’re obsessed. 

(You and I are trauma survivors, we f*cking KNOW what obsession looks and feels like.)

drglenndoyle

Complex trauma, complex recovery.

You’re not struggling, with either trauma or trauma recovery, “for no reason.” 

This sh*t is hard. And complicated. And sneaky. 

How is CPTSD “sneaky?” Because it masquerades as other things. 

Often complex trauma masquerades as “personality.” 

Sometimes it masquerades as aspects of neurodivergence (that can intersect with aspects of very real neurodivergence). 

Sometimes CPTSD can masquerade as organic cognitive dysfunction (which, again, can intersect with very real organic cognitive dysfunction or brain injury). 

But the sneakiest thing of all about CPTSD is how it will pretend it has nothing to do with what we went through. 

Many of the signs and symptoms of complex trauma don’t superficially point to what happened to us. 

CPTSD is different from PTSD, insofar as many PTSD symptoms directly link back to the “main” trauma, in the form of explicit flashbacks and other intrusive memories. 

But with CPTSD, the symptoms mainly point back to us. 

To our beliefs about ourselves. 

To our reflexes in our relationships. 

To our emotional regulation in situations that don’t seem to have anything to do with our trauma. 

To our reasons to triggers that don’t seem to “make any sense” in the context of our trauma. 

This is what makes complex trauma “complex”— the fact that CPTSD struggles can engulf so much more of our life and functioning that “should” be affected. 

(One of the things this means, by the way, is that realistic RECOVERY from CPTSD has to involve more than just “processing the trauma”— it often involves rehabbing our whole life and identity.)

When we’re up against something as sneaky as CPTSD, we can’t afford to minimize. 

We can’t get up in our head about “okay, but was it really ‘TRAUMA,’ though? Am I really ‘eligible” for these terms and tools?” 

Don’t overthink it. If you’re reading this, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt: you’re “eligible” to be a member of the trauma recovery community. 

(And, even if you really don’t think you are, I’m willing to give you a pass— stick around anyway. Everybody also reading these words really wants you to recover from WHATEVER pain you’re trying to manage and heal, “traumatic” or not.)

CPTSD is sneaky, and realistic CPTSD recovery requires daily, hourly vigilance and skill. 

You’re not wrong or “weak” to be frustrated with it, exhausted by it, over it. Big same, some days. 

Acknowledge that, validate that, allow all that to exist. 

And then: do the next recovery supporting thing. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

You’re not “too much.” That’s just Trauma Brain f*cking with you.

Let’s be clear: the respect you’re asking for, the respect you’re entitled to, is not asking for anything unusual. 

We trauma survivors can lose perspective on that. 

We’ve been conditioned to believe most ANY boundary we assert is “mean.” 

We’ve been conditioned to believe that basic respect— for our physical body, for our time, for our needs, for our boundaries— is “too much.” 

We’ve often been conditioned to believe that WE are “too much.” 

The truth is, we actually deserve lots of things we’ve been programmed to believe we don’t. 

We do, actually, deserve respect. 

We do, actually, deserve privacy. 

We do, actually, deserve to be taken seriously. 

And believe me when I tell you that a not-small subset of survivors just read that and thought some version of, “he’s not talking about me. Maybe everybody ELSE deserves those things; but I don’t.” 

That’s how deep the conditioning goes. 

It goes so deep that smart, self-aware survivors all read what I just wrote, and actually believe that they are somehow The Exception to it all. 

You are not The Exception. 

It’s actually not hard to extend basic respect to other human beings. 

It’s actually not hard to be broadly kind to other human beings. 

When we want and need respect and kindness from other people, it’s important we keep in mind that we’re not asking for something that requires a ton of effort. 

We’re not asking for the moon, here. 

We’re asking for the courtesy and thoughtfulness that most people would extend to basically any creature. Most people would be nice to a dog they don’t know by default. 

It’s real important we reprogram ourselves around this subject as we work our trauma recovery. 

It’s real important we remember— that we remind ourselves— that asking for basics from other human beings does not make us “high maintenance.” 

That feeling— that belief— that having ANY need or boundary makes us “too much” is just that: a feeling, a belief. It’s not reality. 

I find the expression “feelings are not facts” to be more than a little reductionistic, but this is one of those situations where it applies. 

And but also: let’s say our basic boundaries and needs really are “too much” for someone— that sounds like a “them” issue, don’t you think? 

Remember: if you’re “too much” for them, they are always welcome to go find less. 

But you just existing does not make you “too much.” Really. 

Don’t let Trauma Brain convince you otherwise. It just wants you to feel bad— for existing, for breathing, for anything. 

drglenndoyle

Consistency and recovery.

There is zero shame in struggling with consistency in our trauma recovery. 

Everybody struggles with consistency. I struggle with it. 

It doesn’t mean we’re not committed. It doesn’t even mean we’re not focused. 

What it means is that CPTSD tends to jerk us around a lot. Hijack us. 

If you’re reading this, you likely know exactly what I’m talking about— what it feels like to be a puppet on a string. 

One minute we can be more or less okay— then we get yanked in the direction of anxiety. Or depression. Or self-harm urges. 

There might not even seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. No particular trigger. 

Realistic, sustainable trauma recovery requires a lot of attention to our self-talk, our mental focus, and our physiology— and it’s real hard to consistently pay attention to what we’re saying to ourselves, what we’re focusing on, and what our body is doing, when we’re getting jerked around by triggers and memories. 

That’s not our fault. Nobody reading this “chooses” to get hijacked by trauma memories and trauma responses. 

Our job is to not overreact to our difficulties being consistent. 

To not overinterpret it. 

To not tell ourselves a story about how it means we “can’t do this.” 

Our job, when we struggle with consistency in our trauma recovery, is to be compassionate and realistic with ourselves. 

Maybe even gentle with ourselves. 

Maybe even (GASP) FORGIVING of ourselves, for struggling with consistency. 

What a concept, right? 

Don’t get up in your head about it. Consistency is hard. And it’s especially hard when we have CPTSD f*cking with us. 

When you get off track, push pause, breathe, blink, focus…and just do the next right thing for your recovery. Just get back on track when you can. 

Consistency is a long game. 

Keep coming back to center. To your recovery goals and your recovery values. To your recovery self. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Conditional value isn’t “love.”

People who only value you as long as you’re playing along with their narrative, don’t value you. 

They value your function— as “evidence” that their story is true. 

This happens all the time in abusive or neglectful families. 

The minute you stop playing along with their story, their attitude and energy toward you changes. 

These are often the same families that claim “family should come first” or “family is everything.” 

If “family should come first,” then why is their positive attention contingent upon you affirming them as “good parents?” 

If “family is everything,” then why do they blame and shame the family “scapegoat” over and over again instead of taking responsibly for their limitations? 

Their own behavior proves their words are empty. 

Here’s the thing: we don’t need “perfect” parents. 

No one reading this is hurting because our parents weren’t “perfect.” 

No one reading this is “mad” because our parents weren’t “perfect.” 

What we needed were parents who were trying. 

What we needed were parents who were attuned— or, at least, doing their best to attune to us. 

CPTSD and DID do not result from “imperfect parents” or childhood pain that “everybody” experiences. When you hear someone say some version of “everyone has childhood trauma,” they are wrong.

It’s not easy to know we weren’t, or aren’t, valued by the people who were supposed to love and protect us the most. 

And it’s very easy to assume, to believe, that it was somehow our fault. 

It wasn’t. 

It wasn’t on us to “make” them love us. To be “lovable” enough for them to do what parents are actually supposed to do. 

It wasn’t your fault. 

And it’s still not. 

So they only value us conditionally, instrumentally. So what. 

What they do or don’t value, what they can or can’t do emotionally, has zero to do with us. Less than zero. 

I wish I didn’t have to say any of this, and I wish none of it applied to you or me. 

But here we are. 

And we have the option of creating a life going forward that has nothing to do with them. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

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

drglenndoyle

Why compliments can be tricky for trauma survivors.

To many trauma survivors, compliments often are not compliments. 

To many trauma survivors, compliments feel like traps. 

They feel like setups. 

They feel like someone trying to get us emotionally vulnerable. 

It doesn’t particularly matter how sincere the compliment, or how trustworthy the complimenter— compliments can trigger us. 

To understand what’s going on, you need to know that many CPTSD survivors only ever received backhanded compliments growing up. 

For many of us, the people closest to us only ever complimented us for the purpose of somehow making us feel bad. 

Do you know what a “neg” is? 

A “neg” is a manipulation tactic, wherein someone gives you a backhanded compliment for the purpose of kicking you in the self-esteem. 

Why would somebody do that? Because many people— and especially trauma survivors— will respond to that kind of thing by feeling a need to earn that person’s respect or approval. 

That is: “negs” work because they evoke a “fawn” trauma response. 

Do you know the kind of psychological harm that results from a parent “negging” a child, over and over again, at some of the most developmentally sensitive periods of that kid’s life? 

Actually, I suppose you might. 

Anyway— compliments often feel suspicious to us. And we come by that skepticism honestly. 

We’ve come to understand compliments as potential manipulation. 

We’re not “choosing” to be “difficult” about compliments. We’re not “ungrateful.” 

We’re not trying to push people away— though sometimes pushing people away does feel safer, doesn’t it? 

That sensitivity to compliments won’t last forever. Though many of us do struggle with wondering when the other shoe will drop, or when we’ll be “found out” for the “imposter” we are, for awhile. 

Don’t get up in your head about it. 

Just work your recovery today. 

Self-talk, mental focus, physiology. Micro choices. 

(I’d tell you “good job,” but…you know.) 

drglenndoyle

Hero in a crisis; struggly on a Tuesday.

If you’re reading this, chances are you’re real good in a crisis. 

Maybe calm, maybe decisive, maybe organized. 

CPTSD survivors very often keep our sh*t together when the sh*t hits the fan. 

Which makes it all the more mystifying why we sometimes can’t keep our sh*t together when, you know, everyday life happens. 

So many trauma survivors get so frustrated when “everyday” things trigger us. 

Sometimes we don’t even know what triggers us— all we know is, nothing seems to be happening that “should” be activating us. 

And yet, we’re activated. 

Why can we keep our sh*t together and be absolute heroes in a crisis, but Tuesday kicks our ass? 

First thing’s first: it’s not your fault, and it’s super common. 

We trauma survivors have lots of experience managing life-or-death situations— or, at least, stations that feel like life or death. 

When our sympathetic nervous system locks in, everything else falls away— which, by the way, is how that system was designed. 

Our nervous system is supposed to let all the peripheral stuff slide when it’s time to survive. It evolved to turn down the noise, so we could focus and function. 

What we’re not so good at, though, is managing the psychochemical hangover that follows sympathetic nervous system activation. 

When we get triggered, that state of activation and focus is mediated by neurotransmitters and hormones that produce alertness and energy when they’re surging through us- but which leave us exhausted and flat when they filter on out. 

It’s a literal hangover. And it definitely feels like a hangover. 

Do you know anybody who feels and functions well while hung over? I don’t. 

Not everybody does well when their sympathetic nervous system is activated. People who haven’t experienced trauma after trauma, in particular, often don’t know what to do when they feel that surge come on. 

But we know what to do, don’t we?

Many of us have been living with sympathetic nervous system activation on the daily for years. 

So we’re good at managing it. They’re not. 

But, the flip side also applies: the “muggles” feel more calm and focused when their parasympathetic nervous system kicks back in— but we trauma “wizards” often experience that as anxiety provoking.

After all, we “know” that another stressful situation is just around the corner— so we can’t afford to be hanging out with an un-activated sympathetic nervous system, can we? 

All of which is to say: there are lots of reasons why we’re good in crises— but we’re confused and disoriented when we don’t have the adrenaline and cortisol flowing. 

Part of trauma recovery is getting good at functioning, no matter what our nervous and endocrine systems are dong in the moment— which takes patience, realism, and self-compassion. 

You know— like every other trauma recovery skillset. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Quit trying to make self-punishment work.

Stop trying to make self-punishment work as a trauma recovery strategy. 

It doesn’t. 

And you’re not the first trauma survivor who’s going to make it work. 

You’re DEFINITELY not the first trauma survivor to TRY to make it work. 

We trauma survivors really love that idea— that we’re going to punish ourselves into feeling and functioning better. 

Of course we love it. Punishment is very frequently how our behavior was “managed” growing up. 

Many of our most formative experiences revolved around punishment— and not just at home, either. 

My father was a dangerous, addicted, narcissistic man, and many of my damaging early experiences involved him— but many of them also revolved around peer group bullying I experienced for years (and years), primarily at school. 

Abuse at home— physical, verbal, and emotional— and bullying at school are punishing experiences. They’re painful experiences, inflicted by someone else, that shape our behavior. 

And even when we’ve left those experiences behind, we often pick right up where our abusers and bullies left off, in trying to shape our own behavior via punishment. 

Maybe it’s what we feel we “deserve.” 

Often it’s what we feel we “need.” 

We just cannot imagine a world in which any force other than pain or threats or humiliation shapes our behavior. 

Many survivors reading this truly think the only way we realistically manage or adjust our behavior is through shame, pressure, or humiliation. 

Understand: it’s not our fault we think this. 

We’re just doing what we know. We’re using the “tool” we have, that was programmed into us. 

The truth about punishment, at least from a behavioral science perspective, is actually pretty well-established: punishment does not change behavior. Not long term. 

If punishment reliably changed behavior, crime recidivism rates would be very different— but they’re not. 

There are two was punishment DOES change behavior: it makes people sneaky about behavior they’re not “supposed” to do; and it makes people resent whatever entity is dishing out the punishment. 

So what happens when we’re the ones punishing ourselves? 

It means “parts” of us get “sneaky”— that is to say, we’re way more vulnerable to dissociatively “hiding” things from ourselves. 

It also means we come to resent ourselves. 

Does that sound like a combination that is supportive of trauma recovery? 

I understand: the urge to punish ourselves can be strong. I struggle with it, especially when my behavior falls short of my values and goals. 

But we need to resist. 

Self-punishment is a distraction from our goals. It’s a layer of stress and self-conflict we don’t need and we can’t afford in trauma recovery. 

Quit trying to make it work just because it’s familiar. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

You don’t have to chase. You are the prize.

You don’t have to “chase” anything. 

You don’t have to chase people. 

You don’t have to chase validation. 

You don’t have to chase status. 

You don’t have to chase any of it, in order to be worthy. 

Lots of us grow up believing we really had to “chase.” To “hustle” our way to worthiness. 

Many survivors reading this right now honestly don’t believe we’re worthy unless we’re producing, or achieving, or earning. 

The chase has been so ingrained in us, that to even consider giving it up feels dangerous. 

How on earth could we be “worthy” if we’re not hustling for it? 

Why would anybody like us, let alone love us, if we’re not “productive?” 

Here’s the thing: I love striving. I love goals. I love high standards. 

I love setting a goal and working toward an achievement. I find goal setting and achievement fun and interesting. 

But the only reason I can find that kind of thing fun and interesting now, is I quit staking my entire self worth on it. 

I stopped chasing. 

And it’s a good thing, too, because I was f*cking exhausted from the chase— emotionally and physically. 

The emotional exhaustion that comes from chasing peoples affection in particular is brutal. 

It never lets up, even if and when somebody tells us they love us. 

Turns out: if we think of love as something we necessarily have to “earn,” we’re never going to be secure in it— because in that model, love disappears if we happen to be too exhausted or compromised to keep hustling for it. 

Realistic trauma recovery requires a perspective shift when it comes to chasing, namely: we no longer chase. 

We don’t chase to “prove” our worthiness, or our desirability, or anything else. 

We are, actually, the prize. 

Yes, I’m talking to you. You are, actually, the prize. 

You don’t need to chase. 

You don’t need to “earn.” Not the basics, not respect, not safety, not dignity. 

Anybody who makes you FEEL like you have to chase those things down, to “earn” those things, is only going to reinforce Trauma Brain’s messaging about the conditionality of safety and worthiness. 

F*ck that. 

You don’t chase. 

You attract, in your authenticity. 

Put it on repeat.