Author: drglenndoyle

I wish we really could be “fine” by not thinking about it. Not talking about it. Not having to do things every day to recover from it. 

But we’re not. Are we. 

Oh, we say we’re. But we’re not. Not really. 

Lots of people reading this have gotten very good at pretending we’re not trauma survivors. 

We’ve gotten very good at masking dissociation. 

We’ve gotten very good at “functioning.” Such as it is. 

Some of us have gotten so good at pretending we’re not survivors, in fact, that sometimes we even buy into the illusion ourselves. 

We think we’re past the point where we even have to think about what happened, or how it affected us. 

We assume we can go full-out, push ourselves as hard as we want, because we’re not affected by triggers anymore. Right? 

If only that were the case. 

Don’t get me wrong: some of us can hide that trauma stuff from a lot of people, for a long time. As I say, we’ve often gotten very good at it. 

But the bill always comes due. Doesn’t it. 

We “function” for so long— but keeping what’s really going on, inside us, under wraps. 

It all works perfectly well— until it doesn’t. 

You can only run on a stress fracture for so long before it becomes a nasty break. 

You can only not sleep for so many nights in a row, before you literally start to develop psychotic symptoms. 

You can only starve your body for so long before it literally starts cannibalizing itself for fuel. 

Turns out: ignoring trauma isn’t a viable recovery strategy. 

When we ignore trauma, it’s essentially a form of procrastination. The only thing procrastination does is actually prolong our relationship with the task we’re trying to avoid. 

In the case of trauma recovery, denying and disowning that we are a survivor needing to work a recovery just prolongs our relationship with the symptoms and memories that are ruining our lives. 

We think we can get away with it. We think we’re the one trauma survivor, in the history of trauma survivors, who has figured out how to live a meaningful life without actually processing what happened to them.

But we’re not. Any more than we’re the one addict in the history of addiction who has figured out how to “recreationally” use, without their substance or behavior of addiction ruining their life. 

We can either deal with the past, or the past will deal with us. 

We can either deal with our pain, or it will, over time, become the thing that overwhelms and defines our life— assuming it isn’t already. 

Is trauma recovery scary and unpredictable and sometimes overwhelming? You bet. 

Can trauma recovery be a lot of work? Yes. 

But, believe it or not: it’s nowhere near as much work— or near as scary and unpredictable and overwhelming— as letting trauma kick our ass. 

There is pain in recovery. And there is pain in not being in recovery. 

Give me the pain of recovery any day. 

The bill comes due. 

Today is an EXCELLENT day to get into recovery if you’re not— and to reaffirm your commitment to recovery if you need to. 

Trauma recovery involves a LOT of talking to ourselves. 

It also involves a lot of listening to ourselves— which, believe it or not, is an even harder skill to develop. 

We talk to ourselves in trauma recovery for one basic reason: that’s the most straightforward way of communicating with ourselves. 

Much of the damage trauma does is to how we habitually talk to ourselves. 

Trauma conditions us to talk to ourselves like someone we do not like. 

It conditions us to talk to ourselves like someone we do not trust. 

Trauma often conditions us to hate and fear the “parts” of us that hold painful feelings and memories— even though it’s exactly those parts of us that are MOST committed to keeping us safe and functional. 

I’ve said it so often that I’m sure I sound like a broken record: our main job in trauma recovery is repairing our relationship with ourselves. 

It’s relearning— or maybe just learning— to like, trust, and effectively communicate with ourselves. 

It’s learning to identify, validate, and work with all the “parts” of us that hold things we were unable to consciously hold at the time. 

All of that starts with talking to ourselves. Literally, self-talk. 

When I say we need to develop new ways of talking to ourselves, I do NOT mean “positive self talk” like you might be imagining it. 

I do not mean cramming positive affirmations down our throat every morning. 

I do not mean standing in front of a mirror and making pronouncements about how good, smart, and likable you are. 

(Don’t get me wrong: everyone reading these words IS good, smart, and likable—but when I refer to shifting our self-talk, I’m not going for Stuart Smalley declaring how good, smart, and likable he is to his reflection.) 

What I mean is, we need to get in the habit of talking to ourselves like a realistic, supportive coach. 

Is an effective coach ALWAYS positive when they talk to their athlete? They are not. 

An effective coach is, above all, REALISTIC— and if an athlete is behind on the scorecards, they need to know that. 

Is an effective coach ALWAYS a hard ass? No, they are not. 

An effective coach does need to push their athlete sometimes— but coaches that actually achieve results strike a balance between knowing when to push, and knowing when to reel their athlete in. 

THIS is the kind of self-talk survivors in trauma recovery need: realistic self-coaching that strikes a balance between push and pull, optimism and realism. 

And then: we have to listen. 

We have to listen to what our body says. 

We have to listen to what our emotions say. 

We have to listen to what our parts say. 

After all, coaching relationships that are all one-way are never effective. Never. 

Effective coaching and successful performance are symbiotic. They feed off of and enhance each other. Communication between coaches and athletes is mutually reinforcing, a constant feedback loop. 

That’s how we need to talk to ourselves in trauma recovery. 

Spoiler: it’s very different from how we’re probably USED to talking to ourselves. 

And that’s why it’s effective. 

Your trauma is going to try to tell you many of your thoughts and needs are “bad.” 

For that matter, your trauma will frequently try to tell you YOU are “bad.” 

Every human reading this has a lot of thoughts and very human needs— and none of them, by themselves, are “bad.” 

We might have thoughts that might be inconsistent with our values and goals; and we might have needs that we’re not comfortable with or conflicted about. 

But that doesn’t make them “bad.” 

A trick trauma often tries to pull on us is, convincing ourselves that embarrassment MUST lead to shame. 

It tries to tell us that if we don’t like something we think or need, it MUST be shameful. It MUST be “bad.” 

One of our most important tasks in trauma recovery s steering away from that conclusion— that things we don’t like to think or feel are “bad,” or make us “bad.” 

I, like most trauma survivors— like most HUMANS— have thoughts and needs that I wish I didn’t have. 

Some of the thoughts I have have absolutely been influenced by the things I’ve been through. 

The things I’ve been trough have absolutely shaped the way some of my needs manifest. 

But that doesn’t make them “bad.” It doesn’t make them “shameful.” 

One of the most complicated symptoms of complex trauma happens when our brain viciously turns on us, tell us we’re awful— maybe even “evil”— for thinking certain things or wanting certain things. 

It takes a real trauma recovery Jedi to cope with those times. 

The temptation is to judge the living sh*t out of ourselves— largely because many of us spent YEARS getting the living sh*t judged out of us by the very people who were “supposed” to be on our side. 

It only feels NATURAL to blame and shame ourselves, especially when we think or want something we’re not “supposed” to. 

Trauma recovery asks us to reel in that instinctive judgment. 

Trauma recovery asks us to meet our compulsion to shame and judge ourselves with compassion. 

The truth is, the reason shame and judgment feels “right” ISN’T because it IS right— it’s because that sh*t feels FAMILIAR. 

It’s what we know. 

Relating to ourselves with compassion and patience feels awkward because it is UNFAMILIAR. 

When we experience compassion and patience, it might even feel anxiety provoking— because we don’t trust it. 

We’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

We’re waiting for someone to come along and inform us that we were suckers for buying in. 

We’re waiting for someone to come along and tell us that we’re out of line, expecting anything BUT shame and judgment. 

We’re waiting to be in trouble— and/or punished. 

Make no mistake: trauma recovery is an inside out job. 

We need to START on the inside, with how we relate to what we think, feel, and need. 

We need to notice and intentionally reframe when we’re tempted to judge and shame ourselves. 

We need to talk to ourselves like we’d talk to someone we respect and love— someone who we want to see recover and thrive. 

Yeah. We need to be the adults now, who we needed back then. 

Easy does it. This is a marathon, not a sprint. 

Take it from me: you only complete a marathon one step at a time. 

Also, eat, Brit.

Breakups often suck under the best of circumstances. 

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes they don’t suck, at least not entirely. If a relationship is stagnant or painful enough to end, breaking up might be the first bit of relatively good news n awhile. 

But in general, breakups are recognized as one of the more painful human experiences out there. 

Breakups often suck— but when we’ve survived trauma, breakups are often especially complicated, emotionally. 

No mater how gentle or mutual a breakup is, for complex trauma survivors, they often scrape up feelings of rejection and abandonment from “back then.”

I was once criticized by a well-known (at least, in his mind) psychoanalytic therapist on Twitter for writing one of these blogs about the abandonment fears of trauma survivors. His position was, everybody has abandonment issues— why emphasize the particular abandonment issues of trauma survivors? 

My response— which got me blocked by him— was that, sure, maybe a lot of people have abandonment issues…but THIS particular blog was about the specific abandonment issues of trauma survivors. 

Because the rejection and abandonment issues that arise from complex trauma aren’t quite the same as the universal, abstract “abandonment issues” experienced by everyone, are they? 

Many complex trauma survivors struggle with NEVER feeling wanted. 

Many survivors struggle with NEVER feeling like enough. 

Many survivors struggle with feeling misunderstood— especially by those who are “supposed” to understand them. 

And many survivors struggle with feeling unloved— especially by those who were “supposed” to love them the most. 

When all that forms our basic programming, our base layer of conditioning about ourselves and relationships, relationship endings in adulthood can trigger particularly strong feelings and reactions. 

No matter how amicable or mutual— or not— a breakup is, for a complex trauma survivor it can trigger strong emotional flashbacks. 

We can feel small. 

We can feel alone. 

We can feel unwanted. 

We can feel unworthy. 

Our “adult” brain might know all of that is “irrational.” As adults, we know that relationships end— that relatively few relationships last indefinitely, and breakups are a fact of life for even the most desirable, “together” people. 

But our Trauma Brain may not know that. 

Our Trauma Brain might be holding up this breakup as evidence that we’ll never get it together. 

It might be pointing to this breakup as evidence that no one will EVER want us. Not really. 

When we’ve survived complex trauma, we need to be compassionate and patient with ourselves every day— but particularly when we go through something like a breakup. 

The temptation is going to be to beat the sh*t out of ourselves. 

The temptation is going to be to relapse. 

The temptation is going to be to act out. 

The temptation is going to be to list all the reasons why we are unlovable and will be forever alone. 

We need to rest that temptation. 

We need to work our recovery even as we work through our breakup. 

It’s not easy. Just like every f*cking recovery task. 

But the fact is, even if you’ve been dumped or had to dump someone, it doesn’t mean what your inner prosecutor wants to claim it means. 

Really. 

There are gonna be times in trauma recovery when we feel overwhelmed, overstimulated— when we feel like we need some space. 

So we take some space, spend some time alone…and then we feel, well, lonely. 

We get lonely and sad and a little dissociative, and we regret distancing ourselves from our friends or others, at least right then. 

Then we get frustrated with ourselves, for the whole “Goldilocks” thing: we don’t want too much stimulation, but we don’t want too LITTLE interaction; what the hell DOES our too-hot, too-cold nervous system actually WANT from us, anyway? 

Managing the traumatized nervous system very often does feel like Goldilocks trying to find the right temperature of porridge. 

It’s true that our traumatized nervous system can be very easily overwhelmed. 

And it’s true that our inner child can be very sensitive to feeling isolated and lonely. 

And our job in trauma recovery is often to navigate between the two— which can seem maddening on some days (or, especially, some nights). 

No doubt about it: managing our competing needs for support and stimulation on the one hand, and quiet and space on the other, can be a struggle. 

Sometimes the effort involved in managing those competing needs can be so frustrating that we fall into blaming and shaming ourselves for what seems like an impossible balance we need to somehow find, day after day after day. 

We begin to think, maybe “they” were right. 

Maybe I AM too “high maintenance.” 

Maybe I’m “too needy.” 

Maybe I’m experiencing all these needs, and all this discontent, because I’m immature. I haven’t learned to “grow up” and accept the fact that we can’t always get what we want. 

It can be real easy to go down a self-critical rabbit hole when we come face to face with our complex needs as trauma survivors. 

As easy as it can be to go down that rabbit hole: resist. 

When the inner prosecutor tries to tell you you’re “too needy,” respond, calmly and evenly: “Human beings have needs. I’m exactly as needy as I am. No more; no less.” 

When the inner prosecutor tries to tell you no one will possibly put up with your neediness, respond, calmly and evenly: “I may not be for everyone— but not everyone is for me. I am not the first, last, or only person to experience these needs. My needs don’t make me bad or unlovable.” 

Spoiler alert: some of what you respond to the inner prosecutor with, will sound…well, kind of stupid. 

We’re not going to believe everything we say back to the inner prosecutor— but that doesn’t actually matter. 

The point in responding to the inner prosecutor at all is to declare that we have no intention of either debating him or being persuaded by him. 

Your lovability is actually not dependent upon you being “low maintenance.” 

Peoples’ needs, and their “neediness,” vary tremendously during the course of trauma recovery. 

You may or may not be particularly “needy” now— but as you continue to work your recovery, that will change. 

Some days, weeks, even years, will be “needier” than others.

And that’s okay. 

Our needs as trauma survivors are often intense and contradictory— and that’s a pain in the ass, but ultimately it’s okay, too. 

We experience what we experience. We need what we need. Shaming and blaming ourselves won’t change any of it. 

What we actually need, more than anything else, is to communicate to our inner self that we are committed to accepting and meeting our needs— whatever they are. 

Some days we won’t do it perfectly— but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that our nervous system comes to trust our commitment to being there for ourselves. 

Trauma recovery is about repairing our damaged relationship with ourselves. 

And we don’t do that by hating on our own needs— even when they’re inconvenient or inconsistent. 

Trauma survivors are told “you’re wrong” dozens of times, in dozens of ways, every day. 

We’re told we’re wrong about what we remember. 

We’re told we’re wrong about whether it was “trauma” or not. 

We’re told that our reactions are wrong. 

We’re told our feelings are wrong. 

We’re told we “should” feel certain ways about family members— and that certain feelings about family just aren’t okay. 

After all— they’re FAMILY. How can you feel THAT way about them? 

We’re told we “should” feel certain ways about the church— that the church “deserves” our respect and, literally, our reverence. 

After all— it’s the CHURCH. How DARE we think or feel THAT about it? 

Over and over and over again, we’re told, in little ways and big was, implicitly and explicitly, that what we feel, how we react, what we need, is “wrong.” 

Is it any wonder that suicidality is one of the most common symptoms of chronic complex trauma? 

We’re told that MOST of the things we experience and feel aren’t “okay”— and then we’re often blamed for experiencing and feeling those things. 

We’re told to consider our role in what happened to us. 

We’re told to “forgive.” 

We’re told that the reason we’re having such a strong reaction to what happened to us is because we have a “negative mindset.” A “victim mindset.” 

We’re told we are wrong and/or at fault so often, that after awhile it becomes really, really hard to see our situation in any way that ISN’T blaming and shaming us. 

Here’s the thing: the culture doesn’t blame and shame us for what we went through and how it affected us for the hell of it. It does this because if we’re to blame for our pain, than the culture doesn’t have to reconsider its relationship with certain of its institutions— including the family and the church. 

The truth is, some pretty awful things happen in some families. More families than you think. 

Some pretty awful things happen in churches. More churches than you think. 

But many survivors struggle to acknowledge how painful their experiences were with their families and/or their churches, because our culture bends over backwards to exonerate both from fault or responsibility for complex trauma. 

Why does any of this matter? 

Because, if we’re going to realistically recover from complex trauma, we have to tap the brakes on the relentless blaming and shaming of ourselves that we learned “out there.” 

We have to start going ourselves the benefit of the doubt. 

We have to be on our own side. 

We have to acknowledge, as painful as it may be, that maybe we didn’t, and don’t, have complete control over what happened or happens to us out there. 

The reason why our culture is so big on victim blaming is because lots of people really, really don’t want to admit how vulnerable they are. 

The truth is, EVERYBODY is vulnerable to coercion and abuse— and families and churches are in unique position to victimize people and get away with it. 

We don’t like that. So we deny and disown it. Hence, a culture steeped in victim blaming. 

Realistic trauma recovery requires us to expel that culture of victim blaming from our head. 

If we really want to take responsibility for our life and recovery, it needs so start with acknowledging what we were NOT responsible for. 

If you’re reading this, you are likely told how “wrong” you are when it comes to your trauma and your reactions, day after day after day. 

But you’re not wrong. 

You’re not crazy. 

It happened. 

And it hurt. 

It affected you. 

Start there. 

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.