Author: drglenndoyle

Self-compassion doesn’t mean minimizing or ignoring the mistakes we’ve made. 

Trust me, you and I aren’t gonna do everything perfectly on this journey. 

We’re going to miscalculate how resilient we are on some days. We’re going to take risks that we would probably be better off not taking. 

Some days we’re going to treat people poorly— and we might not have any particular “excuse” for it. We’re just going to be a jerk some days. 

If you’re like me, you can look back upon your past— including your very recent past— and not be thrilled with certain decisions you’ve made. 

I’ve said over and over again that self-compassion is absolutely essential to trauma recovery, and I mean that— but many people assume I’m only talking about being compassionate to ourselves when whatever has happened isn’t our fault. 

It is true that many trauma survivors struggle to be compassionate toward ourselves when it comes to situations that aren’t our fault— but I’m going to tell you that we ALSO need to be compassionate toward ourselves when something’s gone haywire, and it’s TOTALLY our fault. 

I’ve never really understood the criticism of trauma informed care that it “enables” survivors to “avoid responsibility.” Literally nothing could be further from the truth. 

Realistic, sustainable trauma recovery is all about TAKING responsibility. 

Here’s the thing, though: some people equate “taking responsibility” with “self cruelty.” 

They seem to think that the only way we can “take responsibility” for poor decisions we’ve made is to beat the snot out of ourselves indefinitely. 

Again— nothing could be further from the truth. 

We can make responsibly for he poor decisions we’ve made and the mean moments we’ve had— and also refuse to be cruel or unfair to ourselves. 

I don’t like many of the decisions I’ve made, either in the distant or recent past. Hell, I’m still kicking myself over one of the first decisions I made in 2024. 

Bad decisions and mean moments happen. We can own them. In fact, in trauma recovery, we really NEED to own them, if we’re serious about not wanting them to happen again. 

But owning them doesn’t mean torturing ourselves over them. 

Likewise: forgiving ourselves for our poor decisions and mean moments doesn’t mean “letting ourselves off the hook.” It’s kind of the exact opposite: in order to realistically change our behavior, we need to get past the self-loathing and self-punishment thing. 

So you miscalculated. It happens. 

So you were in a bad mood. It happens. 

So you were feeling like sh*t, and you said things you wish you could take back. It happens. 

So you were focused on the “wrong” thing in the moment. It happens. 

We can acknowledge not-so-great moments of judgment, without kicking ourselves in the stomach every time we think about it. 

Part of what makes complex trauma survivors so vulnerable to self-punishment is, we never quite know what to do with shame. And we tend to experience LOTS of shame. 

To us, a mistake is never “just” a mistake— because shame throws pretty much any negative thought or feeling about ourselves into overdrive. 

We do not need to be ashamed for making a mistake. 

We can experience guilt for our mean moments— Lord knows I feel plenty of that, even as I’m writing this. But we don’t need to let shame chase us down the rabbit hole. 

If we want to take REAL responsibility for our mistakes, we need to stay present with them— instead of letting shame wash over and overwhelm us. 

I know. It’s hard. It’s hard for me, too. Staying present when we want to die of cringe is a tall emotional order. 

But you can do it. 

And so can I. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

Your mileage may vary— but for my money, trauma recovery isn’t about eternal “coping.” 

I remember the first time a therapist said the word “coping” to me, as an adolescent. I hated it. 

I still kind of hate it. Not as much as I did then, and not for the same reasons— but still. 

“Coping,” to me, sounded like just keeping your head above water. The word had this sense of desperation about it. 

I knew I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life desperately trying to keep my head above water. I didn’t want to “just get by.” 

I wanted to live. To thrive. 

So— for a long time I rejected “coping skills.” Didn’t want to learn about them. Didn’t want to hear about them. 

Fast forward to now— I still don’t envision trauma recovery as just desperately keeping our head above water or just barely getting by. 

But I’ve learned to appreciate coping skills for what they are. 

Coping is important. Getting through a long, dark night is necessary if we’re going to build a live we love in the morning. 

If we neglect coping skills— as I did, for so long— we are setting ourselves up to be way more miserable than we have to be, for way longer than we have to be. 

Coping skills, grounding skills (the skillset that helps us stay here when Trauma Brain is trying to snd us on a spontaneous trip to Neptune), containment skills (the skillset of being able to gently, respectfully compartmentalize feelings and memories so we can function in the moment, with the commitment to return to them later)…these are the backbone of early recovery. 

Coping skills are not optional. Not by a long shot. 

That said— I still think there’s more to recovery than “coping.” 

Coping is about keeping us safe and stable while we process our memories and feelings. 

To “process” feelings and memories means to take them out, examine them, their meaning, their impact on us, our relationship with them. It’s how we integrate and eventually resolve trauma— and it requires a different skillset than just “coping” 

I don’t want to “cope” indefinitely. I want to move on. 

There is a subset of people who get turned off of trauma recovery because they think it’s just about enduring memories and feelings that suck. And sure, in trauma recovery there is plenty of endurance training. 

But the only reason we bother with any of that is because we want our life back. 

We want ourselves back. Our personalty, our values, our priorities. 

We do trauma recovery because we want our life to be about things OTHER than trauma OR recovery. 

The myth is that trauma recovery is mostly, or entirely, about coping. That’s not true. Coping just gets us in the door. 

The real work of trauma recovery is in reconditioning our nervous system. 

All survivors of trauma have been subjected to a form of brainwashing. In order to take our lives back, we essentially have to “brainwash” ourselves. 

All that trauma conditioning is gonna stick— until we recondition ourselves. 

We think, feel, and behave the ways we do because we were conditioned. We were susceptible to conditioning because our nervous system is malleable— a phenomenon was call “neural plasticity.” 

Our brains are still malleable. Still plastic. It doesn’t matter how old we are— we can still change how we think, feel, and behave. 

That’s the end goal of trauma recovery. A life that gives us way more ways to feel good, than to feel bad. 

We have to cope if we’re gonna stay alive long enough to do any of this cool trauma processing and reconditioning work. But coping is only the price of admission. 

The real show starts once we’re in. 

In trauma recovery we have to accept that we can’t do certain things, at certain times. 

It’s similar to addiction recovery in that we recovering addicts, just can’t go certain places or do certain things without significant risk of relapse. If you’re an alcoholic, you probably shouldn’t be hanging out in bars, if your goal is to avoid relapse. 

We trauma survivors need to be realistic about the fact that we have certain limitations. 

There are certain triggers that we can’t expose ourselves to— not now, not at this point in our recovery arc. 

That may change. There may come a time when we can realistically endure exposure to certain triggers, and stay grounded, not tumble into flashback or abreaction. 

But if we want our trauma recovery to be realistic and sustainable, we have to be real about the fact that at certain times, certain triggers or tasks are just going to be too much for us. 

This isn’t a matter of “weakness.” This is a matter of what I call “the juice and the squeeze.” 

After I finish running a marathon— 26.2 miles— I can assure you, I can very likely not run an additional 5K just then, let alone another marathon. The juice isn’t worth the squeeze. 

When we’ve been expending lots and lots of focus and energy on our trauma recovery, enduring certain triggers just isn’t going to be worth it. The juice isn’t worth the squeeze. 

The thing is, we trauma survivors do NOT like being told we “can’t” do things— do we? 

We very often make it our business to go out and do things that other people tell us we “can’t” do, for no other reason than to prove that we can, in fact, do it. 

I get it, I’m the same way. And it’s because I’m the same way that I can assure you, that’s a highly efficient way to f*ckin’ kneecap your recovery. 

Believe me when I tell you, I am not telling you to fear, avoid, or flee any situation that makes you uncomfortable. No trauma therapist will tell you we heal by avoiding all our triggers. 

What I am suggesting you do, when confronted with a situation that you can reasonably surmise might be triggering, is ask yourself: “at this point in my trauma recovery, is the juice worth the squeeze?” 

Nobody, after all, is handing out medals for enduring triggering situations. 

“Proving” you can “handle” a highly triggering situation may be gratifying to you— but if it comes at the price of your hard-earned safety and stability, I might suggest that juice of “satisfaction” is DEFINITELY not worth the squeeze.

Trauma survivors are among the most courageous human beings I’ve ever met— and this is why so many of us get into so much trouble with triggering situations. 

We WANT to “conquer” them. 

We don’t WANT to feel like we’re at the mercy of our post traumatic struggles and symptoms— and I’m not telling you you are. 

I’m telling you that in trauma recovery, we have to take the juice and the squeeze seriously. 

I’m telling you that not every risk is worth taking. 

I’m telling you that Trauma Brain will absolutely lie to you about whether and how well you can handle any particular trigger. 

Do I think you have to go through life scared of triggers, ready to run away at a moment’s notice. Not at all. To the contrary, I acknowledge that triggers are going to be part of your everyday life, and part of our everyday existence is managing triggers that we never saw coming. 

I do think, though, we trauma survivors have to be at least as intelligent as the alcoholic who declines to hang out in a bar just to “prove” to himself that he can. 

Trust me: that triggering person or situation will still exist when you’re a little further along in your recovery. 

When you are safer and more stable, you can go charging into as many triggering situations as you want, if that’s what you feel called to do. 

But right here, right now, is the juice worth the squeeze? 

When in doubt, err on the side of getting the hell out of there. 

Intelligent trauma recovery has zero problem walking away when the juice isn’t worth the squeeze. 

You’re not weird, “gross,” or “immature” for wanting hugs or other physical contact. 

And, you’re not particularly weird if you really, really DON’T want physical contact— even from people you actually like, love, and/or trust. 

This is true whether or not your trauma revolves mostly around physical violation OR emotional, verbal, or other less physical kinds of harm. 

The essence of complex trauma is that it head-f*cked us about autonomy and attachment. 

Complex trauma, by definition, was trauma that was functionally inescapable— like our families and other social systems when we’re kids. 

We couldn’t just “opt out” of them. 

When we’re repeatedly exposed to pain we cannot escape, a psychological phenomenon called “learned helplessness” sets in: we lose any kind of faith in our ability to escape or meaningfully control ANY aspect of our situation. 

Also by definition, complex trauma was entwined with our important relationships. 

It wasn’t just about the fact that we were being hurt— WHO did the hurting really mattered, especially to our self-esteem and self-concept. 

Complex trauma tended to maul any kind of boundaries or limits we might have been able to set in a healthier environment. 

Survivors of complex trauma are VERY familiar with essentially ANY kind of privacy or physical safety they EVER had, being ignored. 

Fast forward to being a survivor in recovery: it would be really weird if we DIDN’T have strong feelings about and reactions to being touched. 

For all of this therapy work and self-exploration work and personal growth that we’re asked to do in trauma recovery— all of this objectively exhausting work— sometimes we really feel that all we actually want, all we actually need, is to be hugged. 

More than hugged. Held. 

Sometimes we want that safe, soothing physical touch we didn’t get in childhood. The touch of someone who we could trust to both pay attention to and respect our bodily autonomy and boundaries. 

On the flip side of that, sometimes physical touch triggers us in a very specific way. 

Even when physical touch is meant well, and even when we feel nothing negative about the person potentially touching us, our nervous system very often registers physical intimacy as a potential violation of our safe space. 

In trauma recovery it’s real important we honor what our nervous system is telling us— even if it seems “reactive” or “irrational” in the moment. 

Sometimes we’re going to be shamed— and often we might shame ourselves— for even wanting to be hugged, let alone held. 

We’ll tell ourselves that that’s the kind of thing children want. The kind of thing babies want. 

Yes, that’s true— children and babies DO frequently want to be touched and held by someone safe. 

But it’s also true that it makes perfect sense for a survivor who didn’t get that safe, reliable touch growing up to crave it, think about it…to even “miss” it, even if it’s something they never experienced in the first place. 

It also makes perfect sense for us to respect our nervous system’s insistence that physical touch just isn’t something we can tolerate right now. 

We are not going to shame or bully ourselves into any kind of successful recovery. 

We’re not going to recovery by calling our basic physical attachment needs” “stupid” or “gross” or “childish.” 

We’re not going to strong-arm ourselves into accepting physical touch if it’s just no something our nervous system can tolerate right now. 

As with everything in recovery, the key is self-compassion. 

We literally have to give ourselves, our needs, and our reactions the attention and patience they never got— that we never got— growing up. 

That means no sham. Grace over guilt. Patience with and listening to and caring for ourselves. 

Whether touch is good or bad for you right now— your job is to listen to you. 

Easy does it. 

Trauma Brain says a lot of mean, untrue sh*t. A sampling:

“You’re being dramatic.” 

“You shouldn’t feel that.” 

“If you don’t remember it clearly, you have no right to speculate that it happened.” 

“You’re going to be in trouble if you say anything else.” 

“You don’t need that much time.” 

“You don’t need that much space.” 

“You don’t need that much sleep.” 

“You don’t need that much food.” 

“It’s stupid to form such attachments to a fictional character.” 

“You’re stupid.” 

“The number on the scale says you have no discipline.” 

“It was your fault.” 

“You didn’t tell anybody, so you must have liked it.” 

“But they’re family.” 

“But he’s a priest.” 

“If anybody finds out, they’re going to look at you differently.” 

“Your body responded, so you must have liked it.” 

“You didn’t leave, so it must not have been THAT bad.” 

“People have bad things happen to them all the time— doesn’t mean it’s ‘trauma.’” 

“EVERYONE says they have ‘trauma’ these days, you just want attention.” 

“You shouldn’t cry at that.” 

“You shouldn’t cry.” 

“They say they love you, but they don’t mean it. They’re just saying it to be nice.” 

“They say they love you, but they don’t know you very well. Once they get to know you, they obviously won’t love you.” 

“They’re not responding to you because they’re sick of you.” 

“You’re not funny enough.” 

“You’re not smart enough.” 

“You’re not attractive enough.” 

“The world would be better if you weren’t here.” 

“They would be better off without you.” 

“You’re just a burden who doesn’t contribute anything.” 

“You’re choosing to feel bad.” 

“You’re only triggered because you’re not trying hard enough to manage it.” 

“You’re only triggered because you’re too stupid to remember how to manage it.” 

“You can’t handle recovery.” 

“You can’t handle remembering.” 

“You can’t handle life.” 

What a bunch of B.S.. You know, Belief Systems. But the other kind of BS, too. 

For many trauma survivors, it’s not a given that we get to feel what we feel. 

Many of us have been made to feel shame about our feelings— again and again, for years. 

Many of us have been made to feel shame about our feelings by the very people who “should” have created and protected an emotionally safe space for us growing up. 

Our culture doesn’t do a great job of validating feelings. 

It’s so bad that just the word, “validation,” almost carries a stigma. If you go around talking about the importance of “validating feelings,” it’s likely someone will accuse you of being an “oversensitive snowflake.” 

Out there in the culture, the consensus is that it might be okay to feel something— as long as you have a “good reason” to feel it. 

The thing about that is, very often we have no idea why we’re feeling what we’re feeling— all we know is, we’re feeling it. 

Trauma survivors can especially struggle to identify why we’re feeling what we’re feeling, due to years of denying, disowning, and dissociating our feelings. 

(Trauma survivors may even struggle to identify WHAT we’re feeling, let alone “why.”)

The truth of the matter is, feelings are mostly reflexive. We don’t “choose” them. 

Most often our feelings reflect our conditioning and unconscious beliefs about what is or isn’t dangerous, or what does or doesn’t aid in our survival. 

That is to say: there is very little, if any “choice” involved in what we feel. 

Yet, we’re told that consistently feeling painful things indicates something wrong with us. 

Sometimes we’re told that negative feelings indicate a lack of “gratitude.” 

Sometimes we’re told that negative feelings indicate a willfully negative “attitude.” 

Conversely, if someone is consistently feeling positive things, the cultural consensus is that they must be doing something “right” with their life. 

By the time we reach adulthood, we’ve absorbed THOUSANDS of messages about what good or bad feelings mean— and whether we “should” be feeling what we’re feeling. 

An important, core part of trauma recovery is affirming that we don’t need “permission” to feel what we’re feeling. 

We don’t need to apologize for what we’re feeling. 

We don’t need to try to change what we’re feeling just because what we’re feeling makes someone uncomfortable. 

We get to feel what we feel. Full stop. 

What we feel is not a reflection on our character or our work ethic. 

No one feels negatively because they’re “not trying hard enough” to feel good. 

No one feels good because they’re “a better person” than anyone else. 

There are lots of factors that contribute to why we feel what we feel— and the complexity of our emotional lives cannot be surmised in any simplistic judgment. 

We’re not going to realistically, sustainably recover from trauma if we’re busy denying and disowning what we’re feeling. 

Realistic trauma recovery asks us to meet our feelings— WHATEVER they are— with compassion, patience, and curiosity. 

Our feelings are important because we are important. 

Our feelings are inextricably entwined with our needs— and our needs are important. 

Yes, I know— you may not feel it now. That’s common in early trauma recovery especially. We struggle to feel important. 

So, right now, the tool to use might be “act as if.” 

ASSUME your feelings are important. ACT AS IF you and your needs are important. 

Think of it as practice for your nervous system. 

You’re not a burden in relationships. That is, you’re not any more of a burden than ANY of us are in relationships. 

Because the truth is, we’re kind of ALL burdens. 

We kind of ALL have special needs. 

Is it true that those of us who are in trauma recovery have particularly special needs? I suppose— but our needs aren’t all that much more “special” or “burdensome” than many other peoples’ relationship needs. 

Part of the point of getting into relationships is to assume part of our partners’ burdens— to take on at least some of their burdensomeness. 

Have you ever been in a relationship where the other person was hell bent on NOT letting you take on ANY of their “burden?” They’re not particularly satisfying.

If I enter into a relationship with you, I WANT to assume at least some of the burden that is you. 

I WANT to worry about you, at least some. 

I WANT to share your pain. 

I WANT to help you feel and function better than you otherwise would without me. 

Is it “burdensome” to get into relationships at all? You bet— but that’s a feature, not a glitch. 

Many trauma survivors— myself included— do this thing where we think we are nothing BUT burdens to our partners. Many of us avoid relationships because we HATE feeling like burdens. 

I’ll spoil the suspense: you ARE a burden— and so am I. So is every human being on the planet. We ALL have needs— and sharing those needs is a big part of what EVERY relationship, personal or professional, is about. 

We trauma survivors hate that part of relationships, though— sharing our burdens and needs— because we’re often ashamed of our burdens and needs. 

Many trauma survivors are thoroughly convinced that we are nothing BUT burdensome in relationships— that we bring nothing to the table in compensation for or balance with our burdens and needs. 

That’s not reality. That’s Trauma Brain bullsh*t. 

Don’t get me wrong: I believe you when you say you thoroughly BELIEVE yourself to be all burden, all cost and no benefit, all downside and no upside. That’s very often what we survivors very throughly do believe about ourselves. 

But it just ain’t so. 

By trying to minimize or hide our needs to reduce the “burden” we supposedly inflict on our relationship partners, we’re depriving them of one of the most important relationship experiences possible: to give of themselves. 

I know, I know. We HATE the idea of “making” someone give of themselves— but the good news about that is, we can’t “make” anyone do anything. 

If someone is in a relationship with us, that’s part of the deal. 

We don’t get all the fun of caring for our partner— we have to let our partner have the fun of caring for us in some ways, too. 

(Yes, I said “fun”— because caring for a partner you love can be one of the most enjoyable experiences there is.) 

You bring things to the table in relationships. Yes, you. Wonderful things. 

One of those wonderful things is your neediness. Your burdensomeness. 

Letting someone love us is on of the most loving— and, for trauma survivors, one of the most complicated— things we can ever do. 

Escaping an abusive family is a lot like escaping a cult. 

That may sound dramatic— but I believe it’s true. 

Abusive families, like cults, often require members to adhere to a code of silence— especially to anyone outside the group. 

Abusive families, like cults, often require members to pretend to anyone outside the group that not only is everything “fine” on the inside— everything is GREAT. 

(Many people who grew up in abusive families can tell you about the pressure they often felt to affirm their family’s goodness to others.)

Abusive families, like cults, are often subject to the direction of a powerful leader. 

In abusive families, as in cults, questioning the leader is often a ticket to punishment and ostracism. 

Abusive families, like cults, function because their members are dependent upon them. 

For a very long time, most of could not “opt out” of our families— just like it’s not practical or realistic for many cult members to opt out of their involvement with their group. 

Like cults, abusive families often exploit members’ economic dependence on the group specifically. 

Like cults, abusive families often go out of their way to become members’ main, or only, social network or support. 

Abusive families, like cults, often have their own “lore”— stories about why the group is the way it is, and why people outside of the group “wouldn’t understand” what’s actually happening in the group. 

The “leaders” of abusive families, much like the leaders of cults, often claim that their “authority” to dominate and control members comes from God— and to question this authority is to question the divinely inspired, divinely endorsed “plan.” 

Like cults, abusive families tend to limit the information available to members. 

Like cults, abusive families often limit the opportunities for members to socialize or interact with people not in the group— and, like cults, abusive families often frame this as being for members’ “own good.” 

Abusive families, like cults, cultivate the belief that loyalty to the group is the top priority in members’ lives— and if members have a problem with that, it demonstrates a problem with their “character.” 

Escaping from an abusive family, like escaping from a cult, is more difficult than it may seem. 

When trying to escape from an abusive family, members may experience feelings of guilt, shame, or fear— much like when devotees escape a cult. 

When distancing themselves from an abusive family, members might find their economic or social resources very suddenly, very drastically limited. 

Much like devotees escaping a cult, people distancing themselves from an abusive family may feel shame for not having escaped, or tried to escape, earlier— but the truth is, escaping ether an abusive family OR a cult is simply not that easy or straightforward. 

After escaping from an abusive family or a cult, survivors often experience extreme anxiety about EVER getting into another relationship— because they’ve had their loyalty used to hurt them. 

Growing up in an abusive family or getting sucked into a cult leaves emotional scars. 

Those scars are not your fault. Even if you were an adult when you joined a cult.

(No one “joins a cult,” by the way. We join groups or churches that we have every reason to think will enhance our lives— and which are often working effortfully to make red flags appear green.) 

When we’ve grown up in an abusive family, and/or been part of a cult, we can’t pretend that’s NOT a part of our history. 

We need to do what we need to do to recover. 

No shame. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your choice. 

But recovery, is. 

Anyone recovering from trauma is going to have some limitations out there in the world. 

These limitations aren’t anything to be ashamed of. They’re not “choices” we’re making to be “difficult” or “weak.” 

It’s just the case that our nervous system is sensitized in such a way that, for the time being, we need to avoid or limit our exposure to certain people and other triggers for the sake of our safety and stability. 

Does this mean avoiding triggers indefinitely? No. 

Does this mean that we’ll never again be able to do the stuff that right now we can’t? No. 

Does this mean that trauma has “won,” in that it has interrupted our “normal” life or preferred activities? Definitely not. 

The truth is, every human being has certain limitations— and injuries, such a post traumatic stress symptoms and struggles, bring specific limitations. 

There is no human being in this world who can get injured, and just go on living life like they were. 

An injury, by definition, impacts how we feel and function— and, if we want to heal that injury, we need to acknowledge and respect the limitations it imposes on us. 

It is not “weak” to acknowledge the impact of an injury— or to curtail our routine in order to accommodate its healing. 

The realistic management of an injury such as post traumatic stress necessitates that we honor the limitations it imposes upon us. 

Can we work on shifting those limitations as we heal? Of course we can. That’s what physical therapy for physical injuries, and psychotherapy and recovery work for psychoemotional and behavioral injuries, is all about. 

But even if we’re working to change the limitations our injuries impose upon us, we don’t simply ignore those limitations— and we take great care not to push too far, too fast. 

What kind of limitations, specifically, are we talking about acknowledging and honoring when it coms to post traumatic stress? 

We may want to go to certain places— but we just can’t, not right now. 

We may want to go to certain functions (including, but not limited to, family functions)— but we can’t not right now. 

We may want to accept or pursue or return to certain job opportunities— but we can’t, not right now. 

We may want to resume or take up certain hobbies— but we can’t, not right now. 

We may want to watch certain TV shows or go to certain movies or listen to certain podcasts or listen to certain music— but we can’t. Not right now. 

None of this is to say that avoiding things that trigger and otherwise destabilize us indefinitely is the way to heal post traumatic stress. To the contrary, healing trauma almost always involves some form of exposure therapy. 

(By the by, “exposure therapy” is almost never what most people envision when they hear that term— but that’s for another blog.)

But intelligent trauma recovery involves realistically managing our exposure to people, media, and situations that have the potential to compromise our safety and stability. 

This is not about “weakness.” 

This is not about “letting the trauma win” or “letting our abusers win.” 

Managing the limitations our trauma symptoms and struggles impose upon us isn’t even a defeat. Far from it. 

If we’re gonna win in the end, we have to rein in our desire to do too much, too soon. 

When you break a leg, you need to wait for it to heal. It is inadvisable to try to run a race before you’re ready. 

But it’s also inadvisable to not move your leg at all while you’re waiting for it to heal. 

This is not about perpetual avoidance. This is about realistic, intelligent exposure. 

Easy does it. 

Very often, trauma survivors feel as if we’re not expressing ourselves well. 

We feel that no mater what words we use, in what order, we’re just not saying what we really mean— or, at least, saying it in a way that will be truly heard. 

Often we worry that we’re communicating in such a way that, not only will we be misunderstood, but we’re also almost sure to be harshly judged. 

It’s very common for survivors to stop mid-sentence and— no matter how clear or concise we’ve been with what we were saying— say, “I don’t feel like I’m making any sense.” 

More than occasionally, dissociation and/or intrusive thoughts will derail our train of thought. 

Other times, our anxiety about being misunderstood or judged will overwhelm us, even as we’re speaking, and we just can’t continue. 

Communication can be tricky for trauma survivors. We’ve very often had the experience of our own words used against us. 

It’s a common abuse tactic, adjacent to gaslighting, to have someone twist what we actually said into something that sounds nonsensical. 

Sometimes, when we feel misunderstood, we lean in, and try even HARDER to communicate what we mean— but that often just leads to us feeling even MORE mired in quicksand. 

There are times when communication can feel so fraught, that we just want to shut down. Not even try to communicate. 

I know this definitely happens to me, when I’m feeling misunderstood or misrepresented— I shut down. I flash back to the futility of “debating” with my father, and I veer toward a freeze and fawn trauma response, where I’ll say very little— except what I think I need to say to make peace. 

To be not in trouble.

A thing that can make communication especially tricky for trauma survivors is, our nervous system is often vigilant to whether we’re being taken seriously, or patronized or mocked. 

Many trauma survivors are so used to being made fun of when we’re trying to communicate sincerely, that it becomes hard to NOT hear sarcasm or cruelty in almost everything someone says to us. 

When we’re trying to communicate in relationships, we really need to keep an eye on our trauma responses— and we need to be realistic about our go-to trauma responses. 

We need to know when our own expressiveness is being choked off by a “freeze” response; or hijacked by a “fawn” response; or when a “fight” response is adding more “pop” to a verbalization than is warranted at that moment. 

We can’t manage our trauma responses if we don’t know what they look like, and if we’re not on the lookout for them. 

We need to know that relationships generally, and relationship communication in particular, can be rife with triggers for complex trauma survivors. 

Even when we’re interacting with someone we like and trust, old patterns and old triggers can die hard. 

We also need to be prepared to give ourselves the benefit of the doubt when communication goes sideways. 

It doesn’t help ANYONE to blame and shame ourselves for when we just can’t wrangle exactly what we want to say, in exactly the way we want to say it. 

Communication tends to be complicated and fraught for human beings in general, human beings in relationships in particular, and traumatized human beings in relationships specifically. 

The good news is, we can get much better at both expressive and receptive communication in relationships if we approach communication with awareness, intentionality, and compassion. 

That is: if we treat relationship communication like every other task in trauma recovery. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus.