Author: drglenndoyle

Our gut reactions are our gut reactions. We do not choose them; we do not have to feel shame about them; we do not have to apologize for them. 

Our feelings are our feelings. We do not choose them; we do not have to feel shame about them; we do not have to apologize for them. 

Trauma responses are nervous system reflexes. We do not choose them; we do not have to feel shame about them; we do not have to apologize for them. 

Every time I talk about the emotional and psychological reflexes we experience after enduring traumatic stress,  I get pushback. 

Invariably, someone says that we need to “take responsibility” for our trauma responses. 

I understand what they mean: the entire point of trauma recovery is to reduce our vulnerability to trauma responses and increase our ability to direct our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors after a reflexive trauma response. 

When I say “trauma responses aren’t choices,” I am not saying we are ultimately powerless over how we feel, think, and behave in trauma recovery. 

What I am saying is that our choices only come into play AFTER our gut-level, instinctive emotional and behavioral response. 

We can get horribly wrapped around the axle if we insist on blaming and shaming ourselves for thoughts, feelings, and reactions that we did not choose— that we are vulnerable to because of conditioning. 

“Responsibility,” by definition, involves volition. “Response-able.” 

If a thought, feeling, or behavioral reflex hits us without our consent— literally “hits” us— volition, or “choice” has not come into play. 

I am aware that lots of people out there in the culture assume— and say— that trauma survivors “choose” certain behaviors. I am aware that there is a cultural narrative about the “victim mindset” supposedly embraced or celebrated by trauma survivors. 

The people who think that have no idea how trauma recovery actually happens in the real world. 

In order to realistically take responsibility for what we do AFTER we get hit with a trigger and a reflexive emotional or behavioral reaction, we have to make peace with the reality that we usually do not see them coming and we certainly do no ask for them. 

That is to say: we cannot control trauma responses, any more than we can control allergy attacks. 

Can we make ourselves less vulnerable to trauma responses (much like we can also make ourselves less vulnerable to allergy attacks)? Of course. 

Can we choose how we deal with the fact that we’ve been triggered and a trauma response has been set in motion? With time and practice and support, yes. 

But we need to get very real about the fact that we are not ourselves when we are triggered— and that is not an excuse. That is a really we have to grasp in order to meaningfully change anything. 

We do not need to be “forgiven” for experiencing trauma responses. Trauma responses are not something we “do” that requires forgiveness or repentance. 

That said, in my experience, using the language of “forgiveness” can be useful in changing how we relate to our vulnerably to trauma responses— which, as everyone reading this can affirm, tends to stoke a lot of shame in many survivors. 

So: forgive yourself for being vulnerable to triggers. 

Forgive yourself for being vulnerable to trauma responses. 

Forgive yourself for things you did not choose and did not want— past and present. 

Forgive yourself for even needing to think about trauma recovery. 

There’s nothing TO forgive— but forgive yourself anyway. 

One of the reasons why passive aggressive behavior can trigger trauma survivors so badly is, it often hooks into all these doubts we have about ourselves. 

We know trauma does a real number on our feelings of self-worth and self-efficacy (which, combined, add up to what we call our “self esteem). 

We know trauma has a way of convincing us we are simply not up to life’s challenges. 

We know trauma has a way of convincing us that we are not worthy to even FACE life’s challenges— let alone conquer them. 

As we work our trauma recovery, we often confront the lies Trauma Brain and the internal prosecutor tell us about our self-worth and self-efficacy— but, as every survivor reading this will affirm, it’s often an uphill battle. 

Our nervous system didn’t get this way overnight. Changing the way we process information and relate to ourselves in recovery takes time. Trauma recovery is literally a process of reconditioning ourselves after years of harmful conditioning— in many cases, actual brainwashing. 

As we go about this project or reconditioning our nervous system, day after day, we can be particularly vulnerable to certain interpersonal patterns— and a pattern we are particularly vulnerable to is passive aggression. 

You know the behavior I mean. It’s even sometimes exhibited by people who call themselves our “friends.” 

Passive aggression is when someone seems to have a problem with us— but the don’t express their problem with us directly. 

They say hurtful things that sure seem to be about us— but maybe they say them to other people, or in a social media post, or in another context where we’re likely to see or hear it. 

And they say it just obliquely enough that it’s not an obvious attack or criticism. 

Passive aggression is nothing new in human relationships— but why can it trigger trauma survivors so badly? 

One reason is, it’s a form of gaslighting. 

When somebody obviously seems to have a problem with us, but then denies up and down they have a problem with us, it can have the effect of making us feel “crazy”— when in fact we’re having a normal response to incongruent or confusing signals. 

Another reason is, many complex trauma survivors in particular grew up in households where we had to be hyper aware of even the smallest shift in the emotional “temperature.” 

Passive aggressive behavior can set off all kinds of alarm bells for complex trauma survivors, because it reminds us of family or other contexts where we had to take signals of potential aggression or discord seriously as a matter of safety. 

A third reason why passive aggression can trigger trauma survivors so much is, it often reinforces negative narratives about ourselves that we’re already struggling to reality test and challenge. 

Many complex trauma servers hav been head-f*cked by people who said they were our frends— and then betrayed us in various ways. 

We’ve been head-f*cked by families who were supposed to have our back— but didn’t. 

We’ve been head-f*cked by churches that represented they were places of safety and spiritual truth— but then turned out to be dangerous places run by disingenuous people. 

Nobody likes passive aggression. It’s an immature, unkind way to communicate. 

But passive aggression can push particular buttons in complex trauma survivors, for reasons that become clear as we understand more about complex trauma. 

Unfortunately, there’s no easy answer to the question of what to do when a “friend” chooses to make passive aggression a main way they communicate with (or, rather, about) us. 

But first thing’s first: we have to recognize when we’re triggered, and manage the feelings of unsafely and self-reproach that can get stirred up inside. 

You know the drill. Breathe; blink; focus. 

Many people who fall prey to high control groups— many of which we would call “cults”— were conditioned to do so by their families and churches growing up. 

Vulnerability to coercive control has nothing to do with intelligence. 

It has a LOT to do with what we’ve been primed to believe and respond to. 

When we’re kids, we do not have the psychological skills or tools to evaluate claims made by the adults around us. 

When we’re kids, we instinctively seek out interpersonal safety— and that, more often than not, means fitting in with the group around us as best we can. 

We don’t know what’s “true” or “real”— but we do know what we’re “supposed” to do and say in order to fit in with our family or church. 

In certain families and churches, we learn that, in order to be relatively “safe,” we need to keep questions or criticisms to ourselves. 

In certain families and churches, we are taught that to question the adults who hold positions of authority is “sinful.” 

The mythology of many religious traditions specifically include stories about how spiritual luminaries believed their creed without question, doubt, or hesitation— and we are strongly encouraged to follow their example. 

We get this message again and again, implicitly and explicitly. We get that message so often that many people reading this know exactly the stories I’m talking about— they’re so familiar to us that they’re just part of our cultural fabric. 

All of it amounts to years of conditioning. Every day, our ideas about what “truth” looks and feels like, what “leadership” looks and feels like, what “loyalty” looks and feels like, got conditioned. 

Then there was all the conditioning we got at home— much of which reinforced and was reinforced by what we were taught at church. 

We were explicitly taught to honor and obey the “leaders” of our household— our parents or caretakers. 

In certain families, there were consequences for not honoring and obeying them— such that we developed a reflexive habit of suppressing doubts and questions. 

Fast forward to adulthood— it’s not like all that conditioning just goes away. 

There is a myth that vulnerability to high control groups or cults has something to do with some sort of psychological “weakness”— but I don’t agree with that. 

High control groups and cults certainly do prey on people who are wounded— but I think the biggest vulnerability to coercive control now, is having been raised in a form of a high control group growing up. 

Our early conditioning impacts what we understand to be appropriate in communal or spiritual contexts. 

Our early conditioning impacts what we understand to be appropriate behavior from spiritual or organizational leaders. 

Our early conditioning impacts what we understand to be “loyal” or “disloyal” behavior. 

And our early conditioning impacts our ability and inclination to leave a group when we’re no longer in sync with its message or goals. 

I’m not saying that everyone who grew up in a heavy handed familial or spiritual environment will go on to become involved in a cult. 

But I AM saying that lots more people are lots more vulnerable to cults and other high control groups than we realize.

It’s also worth noting that not every cult or high control group is spiritual in focus— but our early exposure to high control families and churches absolutely makes us more vulnerable to political and ideological cults as adults as well. 

It is not about intelligence. It is not about “strength” or “weakness.” 

It is about programming, priming, and conditioning. 

People who get swept up in cults or high control groups are victims— not just of the group they get involved with, but of their early conditioning as well. 

If we could “just let it go,” we would. 

If we could “just get over it,” we would. 

If could “just”…anything, we would. 

The fact that so many survivors struggle so much with their trauma responses means that we CAN’T “just” get over it. 

It doesn’t mean we’re “not trying hard enough.” 

It means that traumatic stress damages us in ways that we literally can’t overcome without specific skills, tools, philosophies, and support— this thing we call “trauma recovery.” 

So many survivors come to the trauma recovery paradigm as kind of a last resort. 

They feel like they’ve tried everything, and still trauma responses are kicking their ass. 

As it turns out, “trying everything” often amounts to doing what our culture often recommends trauma survives do— try, in various ways, to deny, disown, or ignore their trauma. 

Many survivors try to exercise it away. 

Many survivors try to starve it away. 

Some survivors try to f*ck it away. 

Many try to drink or drug it away. 

(I have lots of experience with those last two.)

All of which usually ends up where it has to end up— us, back at Square One, drowning in emotional and/or sensory flashbacks, wondering what we have to do to “get past it” like everybody tells us we “should.” 

One of the hardest things to accept about trauma recovery is that there s no bypass. 

There is no magic bullet.

Trauma recovery involves coping on the one hand, and processing on the other. 

Coping and processing may take lots of different forms for different people, but realistic, sustainable recovery always involves those two elements. 

In my experience, many will come along promising a bypass to the hard, often painful work of coping and processing— and those bypassing methods tend to be very seductive to survivors who tend to be burned out, tired, and hurt. 

We really want to believe there’s a way out of this without doing the work of getting through the day, one day at a time, and processing the thoughts, beliefs, memories and meanings associated with our trauma. 

But there’s not. 

There never has been. 

There’s the work of trauma recovery— and all the stuff we do to avoid the work of trauma recovery. 

Here’s the thing: we are not born knowing how to do this work. And if we grew up in the kind of families that infect complex trauma, we sure as hell weren’t taught how to do this work growing up. 

Nobody isn’t doing the work out of laziness or stubbornness. 

It is my experience that almost 100% of trauma survivors, when they are exposed to what recovery is and can be, catch on and do what they have to do to recover. 

That does not mean it is easy. And it is certainly not “quick.” 

If you are reading this, recovery IS for you. 

It is not too late. You are not “too old.” 

And you do not need a miraculous bypass. 

You are up to this challenge and this project. 

It all starts with breathe; blink; focus. One day at a time. 

Trauma often makes us hate ourselves. 

We often come through trauma disliking and distrusting ourselves. 

Trauma has a way of brainwashing us into believing we are at fault for what happened— and we deserve to be punished for what happened to us. 

Trauma often convinces us that there is nothing “normal” about our assorted trauma responses— that they are evidence of our “weakness” of mind, body, spirit, or character. 

In short, trauma CONDITIONS us in a lot of BS (Belief Systems— but the other kind of BS, too). 

(That is to say, bullsh*t.)

In my view, a significant part of the work of trauma recovery is repairing our damaged relationship with ourselves. 

Yes, it’s also about decreasing the intensity and frequency of our trauma responses, with the eventual goal of eliminating them altogether— but in my experience, our trauma repossess don’t begin to meaningfully decrease unless and until we start getting on better terms with ourselves. 

Repairing our relationship with ourselves is hard, when we’ve been taught, programmed, and conditioned to hate ourselves. 

Learning to like, trust, and eventually love ourselves takes time. We are undoing literal years of conditioning here. We’re physically rerouting neural pathways in our nervous system, and it doesn’t happen overnight. 

However, there’s a toxic positivity truism that get thrown around a lot that tells us we can’t love somebody else “until” we love ourselves— that if we don’t love ourselves first, we’re not able to love someone else in a non-toxic way. 

I understand what people mean when they say this— but it’s just not that straightforward. 

Can it be complicated to love and be loved by somebody when we have deeply negative feelings about ourselves? Of course. 

If we have deeply negative feelings about ourselves, and somebody comes along and says they love us, it can spike all kinds of doubts and insecurities and suspicions. 

Many of us were wounded by people who said they loved us. 

Some of us were even told that the wounds “they” inflicted were actually evidence of their love. 

Many of us believe, by default, that anything that comes FROM us— such as love, affection, or attraction— MUST be toxic, because, we believe, WE are “toxic.” 

So, yes: love can be complicated when we’re struggling with negative beliefs and feelings about ourselves.

But that does NOT mean our love IS toxic. 

It does NOT mean that we cannot express our love, not only in non-toxic ways, but in ways that are genuinely safe, healthy, and loving. 

It’s true that many of us do not have many healthy role models for what “love” actually looks like. 

But it does not follow that our love is inherently harmful. 

Do we have to be mindful and intentional with how we conduct relationships and allow ourselves to be vulnerable when we’re working a trauma recovery? Very much. 

Do we have to pay close attention to what in our relationships is actually in evidence, versus the fevered spinning of our trauma-driven internal prosecutor? Absolutely. 

But let me be clear, fellow trauma survivor: your love is not toxic. 

It s not harmful. 

It is not wrong. 

It is not shameful. 

Literally the best, most loving parents I know are trauma survivors working their recovery (and yes, I have specific people in mind when I say that). 

Literally he best, most loving pet owners I know are survivors working their recovery. 

The most faithful, loyal friends I have are survivors working their recovery. 

Are any of us fully healed, to the point of unconditionally “loving ourselves?” Definitely not all of us, no. 

But we’re all working our recovery, one day at a time. 

That’s all it takes. 

All meaningful trauma and/or addiction recovery is ultimately our personal project. 

It happens on our timeline. And we are ultimately responsible for it. 

Why is that important to say out loud? Er, in print? On the internet? 

Because there are people out there who really, really don’t want you to own you recovery.

These are usually people who are selling a product or service that they market as being necessary for you to recover. 

Sometimes psychotherapy is even marketed this way. 

(Scratch that. Psychotherapy is OFTEN marketed this way.)

There really are people, some of them therapists, who will try to tell you that you cannot recover without their product or service. 

What that tells me is, they don’t know how recovery happens in the real world. 

I hate to inform them, but people have been recovering from trauma and addiction since long before “psychotherapy” even existed as a field, let alone in the post-Freud form it does today. 

This matters because if we buy into their assertion that you can’t recover without their product or service, then access to that product or service becomes really important. 

And the truth is, many, many people don’t have access to the products or services that are being marketed as “essential” to trauma or addiction recovery. 

I’m writing this because I want you to see all this for the marketing trick that it is. 

Trauma and addiction chew people up and spit them out every day. Post traumatic disorders and addictions are killers if they’re allowed to just do their thing. 

If therapists and others market their products and services as the “only” way you can recover— if recovery is not your personal project, but their product or service to SELL you— then they get to put a price on your recovery. 

That is to say, they get to put a price on your life. 

It’s just not true. 

There IS no product or service, including psychotherapy or rehab, that guarantees our recovery from trauma or addiction. 

In the real world, our recovery is usually cobbled together from LOTS of sources. Sometimes therapy plays a role, for some people. Sometimes it doesn’t. 

I find it really interesting that the people who seem to advocate most loudly and consistently for the “essential” role of psychotherapy— often long term therapy the effectiveness of which is not easily measured—  in recovery tend to be the people or organizations that have the most to gain from people believing it. 

This blog entry isn’t going to do well. It’ll likely stir up certain voices who will tell me I’m trivializing the role of psychotherapy, rehab, or other products and services in peoples’ recovery from trauma and addiction. 

You can make up your mind whether that’s what I’m actually doing. 

For some people, therapy with the right therapist can be a turning point. 

For some people, therapy can keep them alive or in the game. That’s no small thing. 

But let me be super clear with what I’m saying here: your recovery is not dependent upon working with a particular therapist, doing a particular type of therapy, for a particular length of time. 

Your recovery does not depend on you being able to afford or access ANY specific product or service. 

Your recovery does not depend on you adopting a specific philosophy or believing in a specific religion or spiritual or metaphysical system. 

There are multiple roads to recovery from trauma and addiction, and you’ll probably need different approaches at tools at various points in your recovery. 

But the bottom line is: recovery is up to us. 

All healing is ultimately self-healing. 

All help is ultimately self-help. 

The care we need to make it through this is ultimately, unavoidably self-care. 

Anyone who says differently is selling something. 

Do trauma survivors “take things personally?” You bet. 

You would, too, if you’d been conditioned to believe that EVERYTHING was your fault— and EVERYTHING was your responsibility. 

As survivors, we very often struggle to separate who we are from how we perform. 

We very often struggle to separate our worth from what others think of us or how they react to use. 

Very often, trauma survivors have been conditioned to believe that our value, such as it is, depends on our ability to produce; or entertain; or arouse. 

If and when our ability to produce, or entertain, or arouse deteriorates, we get worried that we will no longer be valuable to the people around us— and that we’ll be rejected and abandoned in short order. 

When you lay it out like that, it may not sound logical or sensical. 

But in our head, it is VERY real— because that scenario very often represents actual experiences we’ve had. 

Trauma survivors have often learned, the hard way, that our value to certain people is not absolute. 

We’ve often learned, the hard way, that there really are people who will cut us loose when our presence is no longer of immediate, demonstrable value to their goals. 

We’ve learned to feel expendable— because that was how we were treated in many of our most important relationships, often very early in our lives. 

Survivors of emotional neglect especially tend to struggle with this. 

Abuse often conditions victims to believe they were made to be used and discarded. 

Neglect conditions victims to believe they’re not worth paying either positive or negative attention to. 

So survivors of neglect often grow up believing they have to work extra hard to be even remotely visible. 

They grow up believing they have to work extra hard to be even sort of valuable. 

They often grow up believing it was something about them that made their caretakers ignore them— they must not have been “special” enough, or entertaining enough, or attractive enough…not “good” enough. 

So: yes. Survivors of abuse and neglect absolutely take things personally— usually because we never got the kind of assurance we needed to believe that not everything that happens to us is a referendum on our worth or “goodness.” 

We could have, should have, received assurance that we are worthy and valuable even on days when we’re not particularly attractive; not particularly entertaining; not particularly energetic; not particularly engaged. 

But we didn’t. 

We could have, should have, received assurance that nobody’s behavior TOWARD us could, by definition, take value AWAY from us. 

But we didn’t. 

We could have, should have, received received assurance that not everything is about us. NOT everything is our fault. NOT everything is our responsibility. 

But we didn’t. 

So now, in trauma recovery, as adults, we have to kind of start over, with all that. 

We’re faced with the task of reconditioning our highly sensitive nervous system, which has been CONVINCED for years that we’re probably “the problem” in any given situation. 

It’s not a choice we’re making to believe that. It’s programming. Conditioning. 

The good news about conditioning, even trauma conditioning, is that it is reversible. Trauma recovery is the project of reconditioning our nervous system with beliefs and habits and feelings WE choose, that support the life WE’RE trying to create. 

Keep at it. Just keep chipping away. 

I remember the first time a therapist said the words “coping skills” to me— I hated it. 

I was a junior in high school. I had become the “identified patient” in m family after having a panic attack at school. 

(Do you know how f*ckng disorienting a panic attack is, when you have no idea “panic attacks” even exist? Very disorienting, is the answer.)

My parents had gotten me in to see a counselor, a family friend who would become one of my first role models in the psychotherapy field. 

(He would actually be present, along with my mother and me, at my dad’s death. But that’s a different story.)

Anyway. Yeah, I hated the words “coping skills.” 

To me, those words spoke of just getting by. 

The word “coping,” specifically, to me had some sort of…stench of desperation to it. 

I did not want to just “cope.” I wanted to succeed. I wanted to thrive. 

If this “therapy” thing was only going to equip me to “cope,” I can’t say I was very interested in it at all. 

Fast forward to now— I’m a therapist, and I spend a fair amount of my time supporting survivors in developing, you guessed it, coping skills. 

It took me years to realize that “coping” is not a bad word. 

The truth is, we have to cope BEFORE we can succeed. Before we can thrive. 

I know that now, with years of trauma and addiction recovery. But I empathize with the teenage-Glenn’s reaction. 

He couldn’t imagine a life of “just getting by” being anything he wanted to live. 

I’ve often discussed how my immersion in self-help books as a teenager helped me to not kill myself. Something I think about a lot is the fact that one of the main reasons why that worked was, self-help books usually don’t advertise themselves as “coping tools.” 

Rather, they present themselves as tools of success and thriving. 

Had those self-help books been focused on “coping,” I doubt they would have been effective, or at least as effective, for me. 

As a depressed, suicidal teenager, I didn’t yet have an appreciation for how miraculous it is to f*ckin’ cope. 

I eventually learned— but I still get why teenage-me wasn’t into “coping.” 

To be honest, while I’ve developed a powerful appreciation for the miracle of coping, I still don’t believe in trauma or addiction recovery the overarching goal of which is to just get by. To just cope. 

I don’t think you, or anyone, should be in recovery to “just get by” or “just cope.” 

To me, the promise of recovery isn’t coping. That’s just a starting point. 

To me, the promise of recovery is joy. 

It’s meaningful connection. 

It’s feeling f*cking awesome— consistently and predictably. 

Don’t get me wrong: coping is a necessary first step. But I have never, ever believed it to be the only step, or the ultimate step. 

I DO believe that if we’re serious about joy, we have to make our peace with going through the stage of just getting by. It’s kind of like how, in Twelve Step recovery, it’s not an option to jump right to Step Twelve— you have to experience and master the progressive increments of recovery, literally one step at a time. 

But don’t forget: while learning and using coping skills can be a pain in the ass, they are a necessary pain in the ass if our goal is to get PAST the “just getting by” stage. 

Recovery is not just about keeping our head above water— though it is assuredly about that. 

Recovery is about learning how to f*ckn’ waterski. 

One of the hardest things to give up in trauma recovery is that fantasy that “they” will finally be who we want or need them to be. 

That our parents will actually love us. 

That our church will actually be concerned for our spiritual well being. 

That our culture or community will accept us— even if we don’t conform to their expectations or preferences. 

We hold on to the hope that “they” will somehow, some way, become who we want them to be. Who we need them to be. Who we wanted and needed them to be when we were growing up. 

Don’t get me wrong— sometimes it happens. Not always, maybe not even often. But sure, of course it happens. 

People change, and organizations change. Sometimes institutions change dramatically when thire leadership changes. Communities and even cultures can change significantly over time. 

The thing is: we can’t hang our recovery on the idea or hope of them changing. 

We chan’t stake our recovery on our parents suddenly becoming the nurturers we wanted and needed them to be when we were growing up. 

We can’t stake our recovery on our church suddenly becoming invested in our individual spiritual or emotional well being, when for years it has prioritized its institutional survival over the well being of its individual members. 

We can’t put off our recovery hoping that the culture will come around to accepting our sexual orientation or gender identity— or even understanding it. 

All of those things would be awesome. Many of us are heavily involved in efforts to change organizations and the broader culture, with the goal of making them more caring and inclusive. 

But we can’t make our recovery contingent on anyone or anything “out there” changing or behaving in a particular way. 

If we do, we will be waiting forever. 

Many of us would absolutely find it enormously healing or gratifying if certain people or organizations DID change. 

If certain changes DID occur within individuals or institutions or within the culture at large, would that absolutely contribute to our healing and support our recovery? You bet. 

But our recovery is not continent on their epiphany. 

For a long time, many people reading this have lived their lives in reaction to other people. 

Other people have set the tone and the agenda for our lives. 

For a long time, many of us were little more than characters in other peoples’ stories. 

In recovery, we finally take charge of our own story. 

We finally become the main character in our own narrative. 

We finally embrace the fact that we get to make our story about what we want it to be about— not about the attitudes or beliefs or agenda of anybody else. 

In some ways, this is enormously empowering. 

In other ways, it can be bittersweet. 

It’s not fun giving up the fantasy that people or institutions or the culture at large will get better. Kinder. Safer. 

But we’ve spent enough time focused on and waiting for “them.” 

Now— it’s time for us. It’s time for you. 

This is your story. Your adventure. 

Whether or not “they” are ready for it or willing to play a positive role in it. 

Complex trauma is more than just “a bad thing happened.” 

It can involve catastrophic trauma or loss— but often doesn’t. 

Our culture is relatively better at recognizing catastrophic “flashbulb” trauma— the kind of trauma that is overt, observable, and changes everything— than complex trauma. 

Complex trauma is very often hidden. 

People enduring complex trauma are often effortfully trying to keep it a secret. 

Many people enduring complex trauma don’t even know that’s what is happening. 

One thing that makes complex trauma “complex” is that it is inescapable— or, at least, we experience it as inescapable. 

An example of this is the kid who is being abused at home. Very often, when we’re kids, we can’t opt out of our family— even if we’re being abused. 

Another example is if we’ve been sucked into a cult or high control community. While it may be technically, theoretically possible to escape, very often the group has social, economic, or spiritual leverage over us that makes leaving realistically impossible. 

Another characteristic of complex trauma is that it occurs over time. 

Catastrophic “flashbulb” trauma often occurs in an instant— there is an easily identifiable “before” and “after.” One minute the World Trade Center was standing; the next, it wasn’t. 

Complex trauma often doesn’t have such well defined beginnings and endings. More often it occurs over the long term. A common example is familial abuse— or spousal abuse that occurs or escalates over the course of years. 

It’s relatively easer to observe the changes in our nervous system before and after a catastrophic “flashbulb” event— but when the trauma is happening day after day, and we’re forced to adapt to it (and, often hide it) day after day, it’s harder to see how our nervous system is changing day after day, year after year. 

A third characteristic of complex trauma is that it often entwines with our most important relationships. 

One of the reasons why abuse or neglect by a parent or caretaker is particularly harmful— and complex— is because parents aren’t just anyone. They’re the people who are supposed to love and protect you, more than anyone else. 

Abuse by a spiritual guru, clergy member, therapist, or professional mentor is similarly harmful and complex, because they’re not strangers— they are people who are intimately involved with important domains in our life. 

A fourth characteristic of complex trauma— which I think is often overlooked in discussions of CPTSD— is that it almost always involves betrayal. 

The people who should have had our back, didn’t. 

The people who were supposed to give us the benefit of the doubt, didn’t. 

The people who were supposed to be on our side, weren’t. 

There are many examples of trauma of varying complexity out there, and there might be examples of complex trauma that don’t check the boxes I’ve outlined here— but for my money, these four are the most common, most important characteristics of complex trauma. 

Our culture hasn’t caught up to the differences between “classic” (catastrophic, “flashbulb”) trauma and complex trauma. 

Very often complex traumatic stressors are brushed off as consequences of “choices” made by victims. 

Our culture very much doesn’t like the idea of trauma that is not as easily identifiable or treatable as “flashbulb” trauma. 

But once you learn what complex trauma is, and you realize how embedded in the culture it is, how prevalent it is out in the world— and potentially in your own life— you can’t un-see it. 

I know. But breathe; blink; and focus.