drglenndoyle

Not every “helper” will be able to help.

There are people and institutions that will say they want to be part of our trauma recovery— but who just aren’t up to it. 

They may want to be. They may even try to be. But they just aren’t. 

The fact of the matter is, our culture is not great at compassion. 

It’s not great at empathy. 

It’s not great at acknowledging the realistic limitations of personal responsibility. 

To the contrary: our culture really, really loves this fantasy of every human being wholly responsible for how they feel and function— no exceptions, no excuses. 

I say it’s a fantasy because there are few, if any, situations in the real world that actually work like that. 

As a rule, when someone tries to frame something to you in stark black and white terms like that, they’re missing something— intentionally or unintentionally. 

In any case, victims are not responsible for our abuse or neglect, and trauma responses are not “choices.” 

Survivors do have responsibility in how we choose to manage our self talk, mental focus, and physiology to increase our odds of making it through the day safe and stable — but that’s not the same as saying “we are responsible for every aspect of how we feel and function.” 

But our culture loves that fantasy. 

It makes people feel better, to think that they can be responsible for “everything” they think and feel. 

After all, that means if they ever think or feel something they don’t like, they can just, you know, bootstrap their way on out of it. 

Great fantasy, right? 

Well…it’s great right up until you run up agains a feeling, memory, or habit that you didn’t choose and you can’t readily change. 

You know, like CPTSD survivors experience every goddamn day. 

But the world out there doesn’t like the existence of CPTSD or trauma survivors f*cking up their little fantasy world, so they often choose to overlook the actual lived experience of survivors. 

Which brings us back to, many people and institutions that buy into the cultural trope of “complete responsibility” and “rejecting victim mindset” will just not be serious supports in our trauma recovery— even if they want or try to be. 

Who WILL be realistically supportive of our recovery? 

People and institutions that can acknowledge our feelings and needs, without talking over us. 

People and institutions that can accept not every survivors’ experience is identical or fits into a preconceived mold of what “trauma” is or is’t. 

People and institutions that do not get defensive when confronted with their own potential role in our pain. 

Mind you: people and institutions that actually fit those criteria are pretty few and far between. Which is why so many attempts to “support” survivors of complex trauma fall so impressively flat. 

In fairness: many who would otherwise wish to support us are working against cultural narrative that they just have no idea how to take on. 

But what we need to know is, not everyone who says they want to help, will be a realistic helper. It sucks, but it’s the truth. 

It doesn’t mean we don’t deserve help. 

It doesn’t mean our pain or our needs are not real or valid. 

It does mean we are more alone out here than we might otherwise be— but honestly, most of us CPTSD survivors have felt and functioned like loners from a very early age anyway. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

And lock in on the next recovery supporting micro choice. 

drglenndoyle

When trauma doesn’t look like trauma.

Most people who don’t struggle with trauma fail to understand: the damage CPTSD does to us is not confined to thoughts or feelings or memories of the trauma. 

One of the reasons why complex trauma is, well, complex, is because that CPTSD wound can masquerade as struggles that look wholly unrelated to trauma. 

For example: CPTSD f*cks with our ability to manage time. I consider chronic procrastination a not-unreliable indicator that trauma might be lurking.

It f*cks with our ability to manage money. Because of course it does— money being deeply entwined with pressure and shame and anxiety in our nervous system. 

It f*cks with our ability to perform sexually. Because, again: pressure, shame, anxiety, and add to that the eating and body image issues many trauma survivors experience. 

Oh, speaking of: it f*cks with our ability and inclination to eat. 

Notice how one of those necessarily hooks directly on to trauma feelings and memories. 

In fact, many trauma survivors who don’t have clear, or any, memories of their trauma, do struggle with these, often along with the emotional dysregulation and sh*tty self esteem that most CPTSD survivors know all too well. 

The problem out there in the world is, if you struggle with these things that don’t overtly or “obviously” connect to your trauma— that is, they aren’t straightforward trauma memories or feelings— few people will acknowledge you as a survivor in need of support. 

What they are likely to call you is a loser who needs to get their life together. 

Which is sh*tty enough— but that harsh, unfair judgment tends to dovetail perfectly with the damaged self esteem experienced by many survivors…meaning it reinforces our bad habit of blaming and kicking the sh*t out of ourselves. 

It’s not that “every problem encountered by humans is probably a trauma symptom.” 

It’s that trauma symptoms can cosplay as many unrelated problems that our culture tends to judge and punish. 

I don’t believe in “blaming” struggles and symptoms on trauma. 

I believe in realistically considering the role trauma may play in struggles and symptoms, so survivors can formulate realistic strategies and develop realistic tools to manage and resolve them. 

Ever try to resolve a procrastination issue that is actually trauma based, through the lens of “you just have to get more organized?” 

I have. It doesn’t work. 

The other thing I want people to understand about this subject is that you struggling with life stuff, “adulting,” isn’t you being a “loser”— and you’re definitely not alone in those struggles. 

You deserve compassion and support for managing and resolving these things as much as you do for resolving painful memories and feelings overtly related to your trauma. 

Trauma recovery isn’t just about resolving straightforward trauma symptoms. 

It’s about getting your whole life realistically on track— whatever that looks like and whatever that takes. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery and reclamation.

Part— but not all— of trauma recovery is reclamation. 

Our abusers and bullies, whether the were people, churches, organizations, governments, or whatever— took things from us. 

Sometimes they took language from us. 

Sometimes they took activities from us. 

Sometimes they took whole chunks of our identity. 

What I mean when I say they “took things from us” is, after we’ve been through trauma, there tend to be things that we don’t want to think about, get near, engage with, or identity with, because they remind us of our abusers or abuse. 

Sometimes it’s something as simple as a word. 

Sometimes it’s an activity that we might otherwise find fun or meaningful. 

Sometimes it’s music. 

Sometimes it’s an identification with a family or tribe of some sort. 

The list of things trauma takes from us includes big and little things— and rarely a day goes by when we are not cognizant of trauma having taken something away from us. 

There are multiple moving part to trauma recovery, but I believe an important part is reclaiming what we choose to take back. 

I believe it really maters that we feel realistically able to claim and own and engage with things that are pleasurable or meaningful to us— even (especially!) after the’ve been “tainted” by our abusers. 

It’s true that many survivors in recovery define ourselves by what we aren’t— namely, we are not our abusers. 

Most survivors work really hard to be better people, better parents, better morally and spiritually and emotionally than the people who hurt us. 

Who we AREN’T tends to be such a huge part of our trauma recovery identity, that sometimes we can lose perspective on the fact that there may be things that we’re rejecting that actually have nothing to do with our abusers per se— and which we might actually value. 

I just don’t believe in letting abusers and bullies limit who we can be and what we can do.

Most of us have spent far too long tiptoeing through life like navigating a minefield— and make no mistake, emotionally and psychologically, that’s absolutely what many of us have been doing. 

Maybe reclamation for you looks like choosing to use words in a particular way that is authentic to you, but which got corrupted by an abuses’s habits of expression. 

(Welcome to why I so often use profanity in my writing.) 

Maybe reclamation for you looks like exploring or practicing a spatial path that an abuser poisoned for you once upon a time. 

Maybe reclamation for you looks like getting reacquainted with music that actually moves you, but which got associated with pain for you once upon a time. 

I’ve said it before: trauma recovery is a search and rescue operation. 

Think of reclamation as one of the most important ways we reestablish who we are and what we’re all about— and one of the most important ways we keep from being controlled by our abusers and bullies every day. 

drglenndoyle

WTF is the “f*ck” trauma response?

What I call the “f*ck” trauma response, where we respond to triggers by becoming hyper sexualized, fixated on sexual thoughts and behaviors, and vulnerable to risky sexual choices, is not the “fawn” response, where we please and appease in order to avoid danger. 

I think of the “f*ck” response as separate from, but related to, “fight,” “flight,” “freeze,” “fawn,” and “flop.”

(As you learn about the “F” trauma responses, you’ll come to understand they’re all related on certain levels, but very distinct on others.) 

Yes, sometimes sexual behavior is driven by the “fawn” “please and appease” reflex— but that’s not quite what I’m talking about with “f*ck.” 

When our abuse was sexual, it can do a real number on how we think about, respond to, and otherwise experience sexually. 

In some ways the “f*ck” response can appear to be a “fawn” reflex— but the main difference is that “fawn” focuses on please and appeasing the threatening person, whereas “f*ck” is focused on regulating our own nervous system. 

In some ways, “f*ck” does resemble the “flight” response, in that survivors experience it as a “flight” into sexual ideation and behavior to avoid feelings of threat— but the end goal of “f*ck” isn’t really escape, as it is with “flight.” 

In other ways, the “f*ck” response can resemble the “freeze” reflex, in that survivors can use sexual thoughts and behaviors as a way to “stop” triggering thoughts cold (in this way, “f*ck” also kind of resembles certain self harm behaviors, which survivors also use as “thought stopping” tools.)

In yet other ways, “f*ck” can resemble the “fight” trauma response, depending on how it manifests. “Fight” is a reflex centered on feeling a sense of power and efficacy as a survivor “fights back” against fear and helplessness— and anyone familiar with the “f*ck” response knows how empowering it can feel in the moment to proactively seize “control” of sexual impulses.

The reason I believe it’s important to discuss the “f*ck” response as its own thing alongside “fight,” “flight,” “freeze,” “fawn,” and “flop,” is that trauma survivors vulnerable to the “f*ck” response very often get shut down when they try to discuss it. 

Speaking as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse myself, I can affirm that sexualized trauma responses are not the easiest to acknowledge or explore, specifically because of stereotypes around how “damaged” we are after sexual abuse. 

Many survivors vulnerable to the “f*ck” response feel shame around it in ways we don’t around the other “F” responses. 

It can get to the point where we don’t even want to acknowledge that there is anything trauma-driven about how we experience sexuality, because we don’t want to navigate others’ judgment about our sexual behaviors, fantasies, or needs. 

Simply reducing “f*ck” to one of the more well known trauma responses diminishes what I believe to be an essential experience for many, many survivors of sexual trauma in particular. 

Trauma survivors should not have to go to sex therapists specifically to understand and work through their behaviors and needs surrounding their sexual trauma and consequent “f*ck” trauma responses. Sex therapists can be awesome at what they do— but the “f*ck” reflex is so much a part of so may survivors’ lives, working with it should be part of any trauma informed or trauma focused therapist’s skillset. 

If we, the trauma recovery community, ignore or minimize the “f*ck” trauma response because we feel icky about it or don’t understand it, we are ensuring that both therapists and survivors don’t know how to normalize, validate, and manage it— which leaves survivors very vulnerable to sexual manipulation, exploitation, and risk. 

There is nothing shameful about being vulnerable to the “f*ck trauma” response. It has nothing to do with your morals, your standards, or your intelligence. 

Creating and experiencing a safe, fulfilling sex life begins with understanding, with compassion, patience, and clarity, how our trauma has impacted how we experience and express our sexuality. 

It’s often not a simple equation— but few things in realistic trauma recovery are. 

You’re not a “pervert,” “freak,” or irreparably sexually damaged for being vulnerable to the “f*ck” trauma response. Trauma responses are not choices; they happen, and they do not discriminate. 

Meeting it with compassion, patience, and realism is how we understand and wrangle it. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Normalize being human.

Sometimes we’re just in a mood. 

It doesn’t necessarily have to do with depression. 

It doesn’t necessarily have to do with trauma, even. 

Something we can lose perspective on when we’re struggling with trauma responses and working our trauma recovery is, we’re also allowed to have normal mood shifts. 

We’re allowed to have feelings and reactions that have nothing to do with trauma. 

Of course, our trauma history and symptoms might find ways to “spike” or otherwise influence our “normal” mood and energy shifts— but we need to remember that just because we are trauma survivors, not everything in our life is or has to be about trauma. 

Why does this matter? Because CPTSD has a way of convincing us we are nothing BUT our trauma. 

CPTSD can be so pervasive, so overwhelming, so consuming, that we can totally forget that we have thoughts, feelings, reactions, and needs that do not derive from trauma wounds. 

For my money it really maters that we are more than trauma survivors. 

Yes, trauma recovery may become the toolbox to which we turn most often in making decisions and navigating life— but it doesn’t follow that we are reducible to our trauma. 

Put another way: you are not our CPTSD, or even your DID. 

You are a person, a whole human being, who experienced trauma, and who experiences CPTSD and/or DID. 

It can be counterproductive to our recovery if every time we’re in a mood, we leap immediately to the conclusion that we’re experiencing a trauma symptom or response. 

Our non-trauma based moods and responses deserve acknowledgment, too. 

Our non-trauma recovery needs need to be met, too. 

We have permission to be human beings who have a whole range of emotional and physical experiences beyond our wounds. 

Sometimes we’re just in a mood. 

And it would be condescending and inaccurate for anyone, including ourselves, to chalk every mood we’re ever in up to CPTSD. 

Be in a mood. Give ‘em the door if you need to. 

Normalize being human. 

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.