Author: drglenndoyle

Lots of people reading this have experience with toxic people in our lives. 

Most complex trauma involves a relational component— we were most often hurt in our relationships with other people. Sometimes those people were in our family; sometimes they were at school; sometimes they were at church; sometimes they were at work. 

Most often it’s some combination thereof. 

Sometimes the people in our lives who turned out to be toxic, we initially invited into our lives. 

Later, when they turn out to be toxic, we often blame ourselves for their presence in our lives. 

In trauma recovery it’s really important to be realistic about “blame” and “responsibility.” 

We survivors often end up blaming ourselves for MANY things…and much of that blame is unfair. 

If the toxic people in our life were family, we didn’t “choose” to invite them into our life— most often, they were just, you know, there. 

Later in life, we may blame ourselves for not cutting off toxic family members— but the truth is, going no contact with family members is often more complicated, emotionally and logistically, than many people think. 

if it was easy to cut off toxic family members, we wouldn’t struggle with it— but the truth is, almost everybody does. 

Sometimes we HAVE invited people into our lives who turned out to be toxic— but it’s not like we knew that at the time. 

Nobody wakes up in the morning and says, “I think I’ll invite a predator into my life.” 

Predators and other toxic people rarely advertise themselves to be such. 

Most often they work hard— and often skillfully— to convince us they AREN’T toxic or predatory. 

Later on, after the sh*t hits the fan, it’s often tempting to blame ourselves for not having seen or known that they were toxic— but that blame, too, is often unfair. 

Very often we just don’t know someone is toxic until they’re already in our life— often when they’ve been entrenched in our life. 

Returning to family members for a sec: very often we don’t realize that a family member is toxic until we get a little distance from them— and very often certain family members work hard to make it difficult and impractical to GET distance from them. 

When we talk about “taking responsibly” for our choices, including the choices of who we include in our lives and how far we let them into our lives, we need to be realistic— and compassionate— with ourselves. 

Is it the case that sometimes our trauma conditioning leaves us with certain blind spots when it comes to sniffing out toxic or predatory individuals? Sure, it happens. 

But most often, if we let someone toxic or predatory into our lives, it’s because they’ve done everything they can to camouflage those traits and hide those red flags. 

Shame and self-blame just don’t help us here. 

We can’t take back past decisions in hindsight— and shame almost never helps us make future decisions more intelligently. 

After all, what is there to decide— that we’re not going to be fooled by a skilled, experienced manipulator who is committed to fooling us? 

Come on. That’s a fantasy. 

We don’t like the fact that we’re vulnerable to manipulation and coercion, so we often hide behind this fantasy that we can sniff out predators if only we try hard enough, if only we’re sharp enough…and, subsequently, when it turns out we’ve let someone destructive into our lives, we blame the shi*t out of ourselves. 

It’s not reality based— and it doesn’t help. 

The bad news is, we’re vulnerable to manipulation. You, me, “them,” everybody. 

The good news is, we CAN take realistic responsibility for who we let in our lives— but only by acknowledging that there actually are limits to how much we can know about someone at any given time. 

In other words: ease up on yourself. 

You didn’t know what you didn’t know. 

What some people call the “inner critic,” I call the “internal prosecutor.” 

I call him that for a reason. 

Critics can sometimes offer useful information. I often read critics’ reviews of movies or books before I decide to invest my money or time watching or reading them. If it wasn’t for critic’s reviews, I may not have watched some of my favorite movies or read some of my favorite books. 

Sometimes critics’ reviews can be harsh, but even negative reviews from real critics can be useful. 

The internal prosecutor, though, is not exactly a critic. 

He is an advocate. His game is persuasion. He has an outcome he wants to achieve. 

Do you know what the internal prosecutor’s outcome is? 

It’s to make you feel like sh*t. 

More to the point, it’s to induce emotional flashbacks in you. To get you feeling young, helpless, unresourceful. 

The internal prosecutor wants you to forget who the f*ck you are. He wants to replace your belief system about who you are, with a belief system that says you are somehow too much and not enough, all at the same time. 

You know what the role of the prosecution is in a courtroom setting. It’s not, actually, the truth. 

The role of the prosecution is to get a conviction. 

A prosecutor’s success is never defined by getting to the truth. It’s not even defined by serving justice. 

Successful prosecutors gain convictions. It’s as simple as that. 

Your inner prosecutor is no different. 

He doesn’t care about “truth.” 

He wants to convict you— of being “dramatic.” Of being “weak.” Of being “gross.” 

He wants to persuade the jury— which, ironically, is also you— that you do not deserve to live, let alone to recover from what you’ve experienced. 

And, like many prosecutors in many jurisdictions, the internal prosecutor is not above playing fast and loose with the facts to persuade his jury. 

He doesn’t give a sh*t about facts. He wants that conviction. He wants you feeling like sh*t. 

So will he lie? F*ck yes, he’ll lie. 

Will he mangle the context of certain things that have happened to you, certain memories, certain feelings? Of course he will. 

Will the internal prosecutor present a one-sided, biased, unfair case that ignores any mitigating circumstance that MIGHT have you NOT feeling like sh*t? Yes, yes he will. 

The internal prosecutor is fueled by trauma. Think of trauma as the fund from which the prosecutor gets paid. 

The more trauma you’ve endured, the more committed to his goal the internal prosecutor is— and the more creative and devious he is in his arguments. 

And make no mistake: the internal prosecutor is good at his job. 

He often speaks in language and tone that we recognize from way back when. 

His arguments often sound “right” because they are familiar. Sometimes he’s been inner ear for decades, “winning” case after case by making us feel like sh*t about ourselves. 

In trauma recovery we finally learn to deal with the internal prosecutor. 

He finally wake up to the fact that the internal prosecutor, for all he can do, cannot actually “make” us feel anything. 

He can make it very EASY for us to feel certain things— but he needs us, the jury, to convict ourselves for his prosecution to be successful. 

We don’t have to do that. 

Once we realize the internal prosecutor is a f*cking shill, once we realize his arguments, eloquent and persuasive as they can sometimes be, have NOTHING to do with the truth or justice or even the facts…the jig is kind of up for him. 

He’ll keep spinning. They always do. And sometimes we’ll backslide and start to believe his bullsh*t again. 

But once we’ve got his number, once we realize the truth about the internal prosecutor, we can’t un-see or un-know it. 

Your internal prosecutor’s probably mad that I told you any of this sh*t. 

That’s a good sign. 

Neither trauma nor trauma recovery is about “reason” or “logic.” 

Is there rhyme or reason to why we were traumatized? Our brain frequently wants to know— very much. 

Sometimes our brain will kind of invent reason or logic to it, just to scratch that “I have to know” itch. Sometimes that reason or logic will make sense to us, kinda, sorta. 

But I don’t think there is reason to trauma. I don’t think there is logic. Not reason or logic that we can know in any meaningful way, anyway. 

I understand why we want to know. 

But the fact that we can’t really know is one of those things in trauma recovery we gotta accept. 

Yeah. There’s that word again that we all hate. “Accept.” Not “like;” “accept.” 

Accepting that we may not ever truly understand why what happened to us, happened, is a hard one for survivors. 

But we can’t put our recovery on hold until we get a “why.” 

Not only are we probably not getting that “why”— but we deserve more, we deserve better, than to be in limbo, at the mercy of a “why” that we’ll never really know whether it’s true or not. 

Not only does trauma frequently defy “reason” and “logic,” but I find trauma recovery often defies them, too. 

Do we have to have a “reason” to recover? I don’t think so. 

I think if you’re alive to read these words, you have as much of a “right” to trauma recovery as anyone else— and I don’t think you have to “earn” that right. 

I don’t think you have to justify, through reason or logic, “why” you “deserve” recovery. 

But that’s a tough one for us, too, isn’t it? 

So many of us were raised and conditioned to believe that we do not “deserve” to feel good. 

That any “feel good” we ever experience has to be “earned.” 

There has to be a reason we “deserve” it. 

Many of us survivors are VERY familiar with the dance we often do around the “logic” of recovery and worthiness. 

Can you prove, logically, that you are a “worthy” person? 

Myself, I am not a philosopher, but I cannot “prove” via “logic” that I, or, you, or anyone, is “worthy.” Or ‘deserving.” Or…whatever. 

And honestly? I don’t care. 

We do not ask a baby to “prove” their “worthiness” before we extend them love. 

We do not demand our pets show their work when it comes to the “logic” of our care for them. 

We do not love babies and pets just because they are cute; and we do not love them because we’ve logically proven we have reasons to love them. 

We just love them. 

Our love for ourselves in trauma recovery has to be the same way. 

Realistic trauma recovery asks us to give up our dependence on “reason” and “logic.” 

It asks us to love ourselves even if we don’t happen to like ourselves right now. 

It asks us to accept ourselves, and the fact of our trauma, without demanding that the facts and flaws of either be different. 

The internal prosecutor is really good at demanding to know “why” we “deserve” a better life, based on “reason” and “logic.” 

We’re gonna have to respond to that argument with a shrug. 

I didn’t reason out my recovery. 

I didn’t decide that I “logically” could or should recover. 

Reason and logic go out the widow when we’re dealing with trauma and recovery. 

(It’s less of a loss than you think.) 

Sometimes we need to change our everyday routine to accommodate our trauma symptoms and responses. 

It doesn’t mean we’re doing recovery “wrong;” it means we’re realistic about the limitations our current functioning imposes on us. 

At certain points in your recovery, you’re not going to be able to do certain things. 

You may not be able to go certain places; or interact with certain people; or function at particular times of day without getting slammed with trauma responses. 

In the bigger picture, of course one of the goals of trauma recovery is to reduce our reactivity to trauma responses, so they become less intrusive in our everyday life. And yes, “exposure therapy” can often be part of this goal. 

However, we don’t always have time for true exposure therapy (which involves more than just exposing yourself to a trigger and hoping for the best, by the way); and there will also be times when reducing reactivity to a specific trigger isn’t going to be our top recovery priority. 

In those situations, it makes perfect sense to avoid the trigger in question if we can— and sometimes that involves changing our routine. 

Survivors often experience shame when we have to shift our daily routine to accommodate our triggers. 

The thing is, our trauma and our trauma responses aren’t anything to be ashamed of. 

If you broke your leg, you’d have to change certain things about your environment and your routine to accommodate your injury, and we wouldn’t think twice about it. 

(Well…trauma survivors might think twice about it, because we tend to feel shame for ANY display of “weakness.” But the rest of the world wouldn’t think twice about the fact that OF COURSE we’d need to change up our routine to accommodate a broken leg.)

If, right now in your trauma recovery, you can’t go certain places, do certain things, or interact with certain people without being overwhelmingly triggered, that’s just a fact. It’s not a judgment.

Our symptoms at any given time are our symptoms at that time. 

We might wish we didn’t have those symptoms; we might do our best to ignore or minimize or pretend we DON’T have those symptoms; we might be furious that we have to think about our symptoms, or any of this “trauma recovery” stuff, at all. 

But that doesn’t change the fact that our symptoms are our symptoms— and we still have al life to life here. 

Everybody reading this has probably had to shift something in their life to accommodate their current symptoms. 

And that’s okay. 

We don’t resolve post traumatic symptoms by pretending they don’t exist, or trying to plow right through them— in fact, those are EXCELLENT ways to actually PROLONG the time it’ll take to meaningfully recover. 

What we need to do in realistic recovery is make the accommodations we need to make, and keep working to resolve the symptoms that require the accommodations. 

We need to stay off the broken leg, in other words. 

How long? For as long as it takes to mend. 

I can tell you, as a distance runner who was so frustrated by a stress fracture that I returned to running WAY before it was healed and caused myself even MORE pain and time away from my sport, that we don’t do ourselves ANY favors by getting up in our head about this. 

We can, and need to be, honest with ourselves about shifts we need to make in our lives to accommodate our trauma symptoms. 

That’s how we realistically function AND heal at the same time. 

You’re not doing yourself or your trauma any favors by pretending we’re not exactly as impaired as we are right now. 

You won’t need these accommodations forever. 

But flexility and humility now will pay off in your recovery later. I promise. 

We trauma survivors often have a complicated relationship with the “fight” trauma response. 

We don’t like it. It often reminds us of angry people we grew up with— or angry people who have appeared in our lives since. 

Anger and aggressive energy have often been used to intimidate and control us— thus, when we feel the “fight” trauma response leap up inside us, we can be profoundly uncomfortable with it. 

We don’t want to be angry. We don’t want to be aggressive. We don’t want to hurt anyone. 

Speaking for myself, my “fight” trauma response is often in an effortful tug of war with my “fawn” trauma response. 

I can get just enraged when I feel I’m being treated disrespectfully or unfairly— and then, in short order, be flooded with profound anxiety that I’ve ruined a relationship or an opportunity, and scramble to make things right as fast as I can possibly backpedal. 

The thing is, I’ve come to believe it is VERY unhealthy to deny or disown the rage that I experience when I feel I’m being treated unfairly or disrespectfully. 

At the very least, it’s counterproductive to my recovery to deny or disown what’s at the core of that rage: an instance that, god dammit, I am worth being treated fairly and with respect. 

The truth is, I HAVE had people, including professionals in the mental health field who have bigger reputations in trauma psychology than I have, take advantage of me. 

I HAVE had people lie to me. 

I HAVE had people turn their back on me. 

Is my reaction to these things spiked because of my complex trauma history? Of course it is. It takes a minimum of self-awareness to realize that I’m hypervigilant to feeling unsafe or unrespected in a relationship. That’s real. 

But it’s ALSO real that that hypervigilance doesn’t come out of nowhere— and the “fight” impulse behind it is, in some ways, fundamentally healthy. 

It may not be to my advantage— or fair to the people I am in personal or professional relationships with— to come at them with undue aggression when I’m triggered and in “fight” headspace; but it’s also the case that, without the nudging of that “fight” impulse, I’m very likely to let people get away with disrespectful or unfair behavior, just to avoid making things unpleasant or awkward. 

What the “fight” impulse does, for me, is it allows me to step out of my normal anxiety about what people think about me and what they want from me— and I NEED to be able to step out of that anxiety in order to appropriately assert myself. 

The “fight” impulse, in some ways, can be our best friend. 

The truth is, all trauma responses— fight, flight, even freeze and fawn and flop, even “fuck it”— have an aspect to them that can be fundamentally healthy. 

They definitely have aspects to them that supported us in literally surviving some pretty awful sh*t once upon a time. 

We don’t want our trauma responses to be our ONLY go-to’s when the pressure is on; and we don’t want to let our trauma responses run roughshod over our consciously chosen values and priorities. 

But, returning specifically to the “fight” response, sometimes we NEED that little bit of rocket fuel to break out of a “freeze” or “fawn” pattern. 

Yes, sometimes there is internal backlash. We’ve been WELL conditioned to keep our “fight” response under wraps. 

We’ve often been shamed for getting angry— told that it is “childish.” We’re told that getting emotional, as we often are when a “fight” impulse pops in us, is a signal that we’re “immature.” 

Make no mistake: we NEED our “fight” response. 

I need my fight response. 

Do I sometimes have to course correct for it? Sure. But that doesn’t have to mean launching into a full on “fawn” response. 

That balance isn’t always easy to find. 

But welcome to trauma recovery— where everything is nuanced and mistakes don’t matter. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

Lots of people don’t take advantage of the skills, tools, and philosophies of trauma recovery, because they don’t want to “identify” as “traumatized.” 

They tell themselves what they experienced wasn’t “that bad.” 

They tell themselves that trauma hasn’t completely derailed their lives, so they’re not REALLY a “trauma survivor” in need of “recovery.” 

They tell themselves that to think of themselves as a “trauma survivor” is “dramatic”— the kind of thing people only do when they’re “seeking attention.” 

I’ve seen the same kind of conversations happens around addiction. 

People refuse to learn about or use the paradigm of addiction recovery to address their painful behavior, because what they’re struggling with isn’t always thought of as a “real” addiction. 

““Real” addictions are to alcohol and drugs, and maybe SOME behaviors like gambling or sex, right? What I’m struggling with OBVIOUSLY doesn’t qualify, so I really “shouldn’t” fill my head with “addiction recovery” metaphors and skills, right?” 

I’ll tell you something that maybe not every therapist or trauma survivor or addict in recovery— of which I am all three— would agree with: I just…don’t care. 

I don’t care if you want to use the word “trauma” to describe what happened to you. 

I don’t care if you want to use the concept of “addiction” to explain what you’re struggling with. 

I don’t care if the idea of calling yourself a survivor gives you the willies. 

In fact, I get it. I get all of that. I really do. 

But I don’t care. 

What I DO care is that you find some way of thinking about what you’re struggling with that will allow you to access, adapt, and use the skills, tools, and philosophies of trauma recovery. 

I do not at all care about the semantics. I care about you having access to ideas that might very well save your life. 

You don’t wanna call yourself a trauma survivor? Then don’t. Call yourself a purple people eater. But don’t let either the words “trauma” or “survivor” keep you from learning about the day to day basics of trauma recovery. 

Don’t wanna call your behavioral patterns “addiction?” Then don’t. Call them Monty Python’s Flying Circus. But don’t let the word “addiction” keep you from learning about how addiction works and how t’s realistically managed. 

The culture around us works hard to hang us up on semantics. 

It encourages us to strongly identify with certain words, and dis-identify with others. 

Not a day goes by when I don’t get someone in my social media mentions or inbox huffily demanding that I “define” “trauma”— as if MY personal definition of the concept matters. 

Let me tell you something: if you think you MIGHT be a survivor of abuse, neglect, or other trauma, then you probably have something to learn from the trauma recovery paradigm. 

If you think your behavior pattern even RESEMBLES addiction, you probably have something to learn from the addiction recovery paradigm. 

The thing is: trauma will try, hard, to get you to NOT investigate what trauma recovery is all about, by whispering in your ear that you “really” don’t “have” trauma. 

It’ll tell you you’re being dramatic. Wasting this trauma therapist’s time. Consuming resources that are better extended to a “real” trauma survivor. 

Addiction famously does the same thing. It’ll get in your ear and whisper that you don’t “really” have a problem— that “they” might have addiction problems, but you? YOU can quit any time you want. 

I don’t know about you, but I don’t have time to play semantic games with either my trauma OR my addiction. 

I have a life to get back to. 

Call your struggles whatever you want. Use, or don’t use, whatever terms you need to. 

But learn about recovery. 

Learn the philosophies, the skills, the tools. 

Don’t let uncomfortable labels keep you from accessing the stuff that’s gonna save your life. 

That fear of abandonment and/or rejection that so many trauma survivors have can keep us in not-right relationships for…years, sometimes. 

Not just relationships with people, either. We’ll stick with jobs that aren’t right, living situations that aren’t right, and religious communities that aren’t right, because we cannot wrap our head around ending the relationship. 

Complex trauma survivors in particular often experience the endings of relationships as almost unbearably difficult— no matter how they’re ending. 

It’s very common for trauma survivors to find themselves limping along in certain relationships that they know they probably “should” end…but we just can’t wrap our head around cutting the cord. 

We fear we’ll be yelled at. 

We fear that, once the relationship is over, we’ll become “the bad guy.” That they’ll talk about us. Maybe that they’ll attack us. 

Sometimes we fear that us ending the relationship will have the kind of devastating effect on them that relationship endings tend to have on us— and we can’t bear to inflict that kind of pain on anyone. 

Sometimes we fear that if we end a relationship, even if it’s not going well, we’re dooming ourselves to never finding another relationship (and, again, this applies to all kinds of relationships, including relationships with jobs and communities— we might fear that, if we leave a position or a community, we’ll never get a job or find another group again). 

The thing is, almost none if this is about “logic.” 

“Logically” we know, all relationships end, eventually. 

“Logically” we know that people, jobs, and communities outgrow each other. 

“Logically” we know that it’s unreasonable to expect that the needs, talents, and personality traits hat drew us TO a particular person, job, or community, would simply stay static year after year after year. 

“Logically” we know that it’s not the end of the world for a relationship to end. 

“Logically” we know that, especially if things aren’t gong well, ending a relationship is really the best thing to do; the kind thing to do; the grown up thing to do. 

And yet, we just. Can’t. Do it. 

We get stuck somewhere between the post traumatic “freeze” and “fawn” response. 

Logic doesn’t permeate trauma responses. 

We don’t logic our way out of fight, flight, freeze, fawn, flop, or f*ck it. 

We get triggered as hell by the idea of making someone mad. 

We get triggered as hell by the idea of abandoning someone.

We get triggered as hell by the idea of making someone sad. 

And we get triggered as hell at the idea of possibly being alone or unwanted ourselves. 

The low self-esteem that so many trauma survivors struggle with keeps us from truly believing that, if we end this relationship, new and better relationships (or jobs, or communities) WILL come our way. 

We convince ourselves that we HAVE to hold on to what we have— or else we’ll be lost. 

Or attacked. Or hated. 

Many trauma survivors feel we’re ALREADY overwhelmingly vulnerable to being alone, or attacked, or hated…so we can’t IMAGINE purposefully DOING something that might lead to those outcomes. 

If this is you, you need to know you’re not alone. 

It’s not a weakness. It’s a symptom. 

It’s not a character flaw. It’s a symptom. 

It’s not permanent. It’s a symptom— and symptoms can and are worked through. 

Easy does it. One day at a time. 

It can be really hard for complex trauma survivors to find compassion for the kid we once were. 

One of the big struggles of trauma recovery is finding patience and compassion for that kid we were once upon a time— and it’s often not easy. 

But, with enough patience and consistency in our recovery, we can often get there— and start to experience tender feelings for the kid we once were, who never should have experienced so much of what they did experience. 

However, even survivors who DO manage to feel some sympathy, or even forgiveness, for that kid we once were, often struggle to extend that SAME sympathy or forgiveness to their adult self. 

Feeling compassion for our adult self often feels…just beyond us. 

MAYBE we can find some sympathy for the kid we once were— because, you know, kids are kids. They’re young, they’re small. They’re not supposed to know any better. 

But adults? Well, adults are “supposed” to know better. 

That’s what we tell ourselves, anyway. 

Why on earth SHOULD I feel “patience” or “sympathy” or “compassion” for myself as an ADULT, when obviously I “should” be impervious to the factors that made me vulnerable as a child? 

That’s what we often think, anyway. 

Finding compassion for the adult we are, or the younger adult who we were, is often really, really hard for trauma survivors. 

We don’t like to think we’re vulnerable to complex trauma as adults. 

We don’t like to think we’re vulnerable to manipulation or gaslighting as adults. As kids, sure, maybe it makes sense that we’d be vulnerable to mind f*ckery back then. But as an adult? C’mon. 

Or so we say to ourselves. 

Here’s the thing; adults ARE vulnerable to complex trauma, because EVERYONE is vulnerable to complex trauma. 

Complex trauma results from traumatic stressors that occur over time; that are entwined in our important relationships; and that we experience as inescapable. 

We don’t “age out” of any of those risk factors. We’re as vulnerable to them as adults, as we were when we were kids. 

Are we vulnerable to complex trauma in the same ways as we were when we were kids? In a lot of ways, no. 

But “differently vulnerable” is not necessarily the same as “less vulnerable.” 

Adults are absolutely vulnerable to complex trauma. Nether age nor intelligence necessarily makes us less vulnerable. 

There are, in fact, multiple types of complex trauma that adults are MORE vulnerable to than kids. 

Ask cult survivors. 

Ask survivors of abusive romantic or sexual relationships. 

Ask survivors of religious abuse, who got involved with heir churches as a cults. 

Ask ex-members of certain political movements. 

Ask survivors of financial exploitation. 

The younger adult we were, who experienced complex trauma, is as deserving of love, compassion, and forgiveness as the kid we once were, who experienced abuse or neglect. 

And the younger adult we once were NEEDS that love, compassion, and forgiveness as much as that kid we once were. 

Be cool to kid-you— and younger-adult-you. 

They are ALL you— and, if trauma recovery is going to realistically fly, they ALL need you. 

Being handed responsibility we’re not ready for, especially when we’re kids, does a real number on our self-esteem. 

When we struggle to handle the responsibility we were handed, but which we shouldn’t’ have been handed— not because there was anything wrong or inadequate about us, but because kids shouldn’t be handed certain responsibilities, especially within the family structure— we often blame ourselves. 

After all, we were “trusted” with this responsibility, because we were so “mature,” right? And we failed. 

We don’t stop to think, it wasn’t fair to be handed this responsibility in the FIRST place. 

We don’t stop to think, kids can’t be marriage counselors for their parents. 

We don’t stop to think, kids REALLY can’t be adult relationship partners to their parents. 

We don’t stop to think that the fact that we were kids put very real intellectual, emotional, and even physical constraints on our ability to fulfill the responsibilities we were being handed— constraints that we couldn’t just ignore or “push through.” 

Kids can’t be adults, and shouldn’t be expected to be adults. 

But the f*ckd up thing is, in our culture, kids are often rewarded for being as adult-like as possible. 

We’re rewarded for being self-possessed. Or seeming to be self-possessed, anyway. 

We’re rewarded for handling our emotions, Or seeming to handle our emotions, anyway. 

We’re rewarded for looking and behaving like adults at every turn— while the truth is, we’re just…not. 

That fact can get lost on the adults around us. 

Adults seem to very often find it DELIGHTFUL when kids act like adults. 

We get rewarded and reinforced again and again for being adult-like in how we look and behave. 

But when we were kids, we were simply not adults. And we’re REALLY not our parents’ peers, emotionally, relationally, or otherwise. 

It’s harmful when the adults around us, forgot— or didn’t care— about that. 

You need to know that there was nothing wrong with you, that you couldn’t handle the adult expectations that were handed to you when you were a kid. 

There’s nothing shameful about not having been an adult, when you were a kid. 

Even if the adults around you were disappointed that you couldn’t do what they asked you to do. 

Even if you felt it was your responsibility to “save” the adults around you, or their relationships. 

Even if you’re convinced that you were, or are, “the exception”— that you “should” have been the one kid in the history of kids who “could” have lived up to the expectations of being an adult without serious emotional or behavioral consequences. 

It wasn’t your fault. 

And the fact that even now, AS an adult, you’re struggling with what was expected of you as a kid? That’s not your fault, either. 

When we were harmed as kids, we were harmed. That damage remains— and often intensifies— until it’s treated. 

Complex post traumatic stress doesn’t heal by accident. 

You should not have been in the position you were. 

You should have been understood and protected. Your role in the family system should have been respected. 

You should have been allowed to be a kid— without any shame for having to BE a kid. 

It wasn’t your fault. 

Really. 

Emotional regulation is about focus, how we use our body, and our willingness and ability to wait. 

Any and all emotional regulation tips or techniques come town to some combination of these three. 

Even emotional regulation techniques that draw upon neurofeedback or come packaged with cool sounding names and/or alphabet soup abbreviations, boil down to SOME combination of our mental focus, how we use our body, and how we manage our time. 

I’ve noticed something interesting about myself as a therapist (well, I think it’s interesting, anyway): I’m reluctant to frame what i do in terms of coaching “emotional regulation.” 

Yes, emotional DYSREGULATION is one of the most common and most debilitating symptoms of complex trauma; and it may even the the top problem survivors seek out psychotherapy for trauma. 

It’s definitely the case that I teach, coach, support, whatever word you wanna use, people in developing emotional regulation skills— but I’ve noticed that I don’t like SAYING that’s what I do. 

I’m not quite sure why. I think it’s because I don’t want patients to get it in their head that emotional regulation is “the thing” in trauma recovery. It’s certainly part of trauma recovery, and a problem EVERY survivor in recovery has to confront— but I don’t want people coming to me thinking that I’m an expert in emotional regulation. (I’m assuredly not.)

Maybe I worry that an overemphasis on emotional regulation will lead to an under-emphasis on trauma processing, which is what needs to happen in order for the emotional dysregulation of complex trauma to dissipate. 

(This is one of my issues with Dialectical Behavior Therapy— as useful as it can be for many survivors in staying alive and reducing self-harm, I haven’t seen DBT be particularly helpful in actually RESOLVING trauma memories or symptoms.) 

But it’s also the case that we’re not READY for trauma processing UNTIL we’ve built up some emotional regulation skills and tools— which leads us right back to where we started. 

How do we regulate our emotions when they’re all over the place, flooding us one moment, completely locked away behind dissociative barriers the next? 

In my view, we can’t rely on anything EXTERNAL to manage our emotions for us. For as helpful as certain tools outside of us can be— up to and including medication— we’re only going to develop true CONFIDENCE in our ability to manage our emotions when we can do so using skills we can whip out in ANY situation, regardless of our resources or supports in the moment. 

What does that leave us with? 

It leaves us with mental focus— notably self-talk and visualization. 

We know language impacts the nervous system. Just ask any survivor of verbal abuse. 

If words can hurt us, words can heal us— and specific words, chosen with care and put in the right order (much like a combination lock), can and do have a soothing impact on our overheated, jacked up nervous system. 

We know images impact the nervous system. It’s why even WITNESSING trauma can be damaging. 

If images can damage us, they can also heal us— and specific images, chosen with care and utilized in the right order (all you film editors out there know EXACTLY what I’m talking about), can and do have a soothing impact on our overheated, jacked up nervous system. 

How we use our body involves everything from our breathing— including “box breathing” and the technique so many of my patients will recognize, “smoking the oxygen joint”— to how we use our eyes (blink blink blink), to specific gestures we’ve attached specific meaning to (again, many of my patients will recognize post hypnotic cues we’ve attached to certain gestures). 

When we combine our mental focus with targeted use of our physical body, we’re then confronted with the variable of time. The research tells us that for ANY emotional regulation skill to be effective, we have to give it 90 to 180 seconds at minimum. 

That’s right. We have to wait. 

(Even if we don’t engage a particular emotional regulatory routine at all, some research suggests just sitting with an emotion non-judgmentally for at least 90 seconds very often leads to that emotion beginning to dissipate.) 

You may have realized, reading this, that within these general guidelines, there are HUNDREDS of variations. The reason why I don’t give super specific advice on the internet is because EVERYBODY reading this is a combination lock with a SPECIFIC cheat code. What works for any one survivor is going to be just that: what works for THEM. 

Yeah. In our trauma recovery, we are ultimately on our own. 

But certain broad rules do apply. 

When you’re working on emotional regulation, remember: mental focus, use of body, use of time. 

Everything starts there.