Author: drglenndoyle

Visualization is not about magic. 

It’s not about imagining that the things we see in our mind, are going to appear in reality through the power of our thoughts. 

It seems a lot of people who are interested in serious coping skills, kind of discount visualization, because it has a reputation as being somewhat oversold as magical or mystical in various self-improvement traditions. 

There are absolutely traditions that believe, literally, that the things we see in our mind’s eye, take shape in the external world. That our thoughts literally, physically create our reality. 

I have no idea if that’s true or not. I know that the “science” cited by some people who teach this, who often invoke terms like “quantum physics” to back up their assertion, has been publicly questioned and debunked by people who would actually know. 

I also know that concepts such as the Law of Attraction have been HEAVILY marketed to people who are enthusiastic about self improvement, and visualization is often taught as one of the core techniques of “harnessing” the Law of Attraction. 

All of that is above my pay grade. I’m not a quantum physicist or a metaphysician. I can’t tell you if your thoughts literally create your reality. 

As a psychologist, though, I CAN tell you that what we see on the movie screen in our mind, ABSOLUTELY impacts our mood, our motivation, our self-confidence, and our behavior. 

From a psychological point of view, visualization is not about magic. It’s about attention and self-concept. 

Movies are made the way they’re made because the people who make movies want us to think about certain things, believe certain things, and feel a certain kind of way. 

Movies are made to manipulate our attention and our emotions. 

To do this, movies choose what we’re gonna see, how we’re gonna see it, how bright or dark the image is, how loud or quiet a scene is, which characters get screen time, which characters get sympathetic portrayals…and that’s to say nothing of the music that’s always playing in the background. 

Movies are really good at getting us to feel exactly what they want us to feel. 

The same processes that make movies so emotionally effective, happens in our head. All day. 

We’re telling stories to ourselves all day. We’re paying attention to certain characters. We’re looking at and remembering things from certain angles. 

And we’re very often choosing music to go along with our narratives. 

A well made movie can be inspirational— or horrifying, depending on the goal of the director. 

Very often we have let OTHER people direct the movies that play in our head. 

People who may or may not share our goals or values. 

The skill of visualization is just about becoming the director of the movies that play in our head. No more, no less— and no magic. 

We can influence how we remember certain events. 

We can influence how we expect future events to occur. 

We can turn the brightness up. We can turn the volume down. We can flip from black and white to technicolor. 

It takes attention and practice, and it’s often very helpful to have coaching. But we are NOT at the mercy of how our brain chooses to remember something, and we’re NOT at the mercy of our brain’s default interoperation of our narratives.

Many of us have been told that we are basically helpless to influence how we experience the world. Most of the time we’re told that by people who very much want us to think that we CAN’T influence what we think, what we feel, or how we function, so THEY can exert more influence over us. 

We are not helpless. 

We are not masters of the universe, either. 

We have exactly as much influence over the movies that play in our head as we do— and, as it turns out, with practice, the skill of visualization can be dramatically improved. 

That’s why reading books can be so essential in recovery. 

Books get the machinery of our imagination turning again. Books kick open the door to different ways of constructing our narratives. Books free us from the perspectives we grew up with and remind us that WE can direct the movies in our mind. 

Yes, visualization can be oversold— just like any potential skill. 

Don’t toss it out. Take it and use it for the straightforward emotional management skill it can be. 

And practice, practice, practice. 

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Listen to your gut, listen to your body. They have things to tell us that our brain can’t quite put into words. 

But remember, too: your gut and your body are meant to work together WITH your head…and sometimes any of the three can be manipulated. 

One of the reasons it’s important to check in with all three is BECAUSE any of the three can be manipulated. 

Checking in with your gut, your body, and your head can alert you to when something’s wonky with one or more of the other two. 

There have been times my body has tried to BS me. I run marathons. My body has told me PLENTY of times that I ABSOLUTELY CANNOT RUN ANOTHER STEP, that my legs are GONIG TO FALL RIGHT OFF. 

But my body was wrong in those moments. Turned out I just needed to slow my pace, hydrate a little, breathe correctly, and what do you know: there were a LOT of miles left in my legs. 

There have been times my head has tried to BS me. Sometimes something will shift, even slightly, in a relationship, and my brain will FLOOD me with thoughts about how this person no longer likes me, how this person is now mad at me, how the relationship is now OVER. 

But my brain was wrong in those moments. When I checked in with the other person, it turns out they had something else on their mind, that didn’t involve me at all. 

There have been times my gut instincts have tried to BS me. Some nights my gut will tell me something’s just not quite right out there, and what I really need to do is take my substance of abuse, that’ll make me feel better, that’ll make the WORLD feel better. 

But my gut was wrong in those in those moments. Turns out my addiction had manipulated my gut into trying to pull me into relapse. What I actually needed in that moment was to  ignore my gut (which was, at the moment, SCREAMING that I ABSOLUTELY NEEDED TO USE in those moments)— and the urge to relapse passed. 

The point is NOT that we “can’t trust” our head, our body, or our gut instincts. 

The point is that none of these systems are meant to function on their own. 

We’re not supposed to make decisions JUST with our head, or with our gut, or by listening to our body. 

I HATE when I see people encouraging others to ignore their head and “listen to their gut.” I HATE when I see people encouraging others to block out their body’s signals and go with what they “know” is true. I HATE when I see people encouraging others to “think, don’t feel.” 

I want us listening to each of these systems— and using each of these systems to conceptualize and reality check the others. 

A LOT of recover is about tuning back into ourselves. 

Depression, anxiety, addiction, trauma— they have a way of isolating ourselves, from ourselves. 

If we get into the habit of listening to one part of ourselves, but ignoring other parts of ourselves, we’re reinforcing that isolation. 

We’re not gonna heal while denying and disowning important aspects of who we are. 

We’re not gonna integrate by throwing up walls between parts of ourselves, between intellect and instinct, between body and mind. 

All of you is in recovery: head, body, gut. 

They’ve all taken hits, and they’re all in need of healing. 

Part of coming back to ourselves means learning to tune in to our head, body, and gut— and also to recognize when those systems are more or less trustworthy. 

There’s ABSOLUTELY wisdom in every dimension of who we are. 

But we humans are integrative, multidimensional creatures. 

The more we remember that, the more effectively we heal, the better we feel, and the better we function. 

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What we need to feel and function better is often a little more complicated— and sometimes even contradictory— than we’d prefer. 

I know I, at least, would prefer that my struggles all fit neatly within one or two categories, so I could choose the most straightforward plan of action to deal with them, and not have to worry about, you know, all these NUANCES. 

Alas, nuances exist. 

Most of us have challenges that exist on multiple levels— and we have to figure out how to address them on multiple levels. 

Taking myself as an example: one level on which I struggle is my attention difficulties. I have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, inattentive subtype, and so one of the levels on which I have to center my recovery is the fact that I struggle to follow through on tasks, I struggle with planning and thinking ahead, I don’t instinctively manage time well, and I often struggle to prioritize things when they’re not sufficiently stimulating. 

All that, in itself, could be the focus of an entire treatment plan. BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!

I also have a history of having been abused. This fuels issues with self-esteem and self-image, as well as difficulties with trust, boundaries, and intimacy— not to mention strong impulses toward self-destructive behavior when those symptoms are particularly inflamed. 

Again— enough there to build an entire treatment plan around. BUT WAIT!

On top of those struggles, I struggle with depression, which is probably fed by my genes, my biochemistry, and my history. 

Oh, and on top of THAT, over the years I developed chaotic patterns of addiction behavior that seemed to overwhelm anything ELSE I happened to be struggling with or trying to manage at the time. 

An effective recovery plan for ME needs to address, in some way, all of those areas: attention, trauma, mood, addiction. 

While entwined in multiple ways, those are four distinct levels on which a recovery plan needs to touch— or else the neglected levels will likely undermine the levels that ARE addressed. 

Thing is: I’m not particularly unusual. 

MOST of us have some variant of the situation I’ve just described: For most of us, our challenges exist on multiple levels, and need multiple types of interventions. 

We can’t just decide we’re going to ignore a major chunk of what’s f*cking up our life, and hope for the best. 

We need to be realistic. Our problems are usually more complex than we want to admit. I know mine are. 

It can be intimidating. It can be disheartening. Who wants to admit that they have complicated problems? 

The good news is: by getting clear about the various levels on which we struggle, we can actually design a recovery plan that has a chance in hell of working for us. 

Our complex problems will exist on all the levels they exist, whether we acknowledge their complexity or not. 

The only question is whether we’re gonna give ourselves a fighting chance to actually solve ‘em, or whether we’re going to let them get bigger and hairier by refusing to acknowledge they exist. 

We actually don’t have anything to fear by acknowledging how complicated our problems are. 

After all, for as complicated as they are: we’re managing them, somehow, some way, right now. 

The ONLY thing acknowledging our problems— complete with all their contradictions and complexity— will do is help us get clearer on what we need. 

I know for YEARS I tried to solve my addiction problem— while not realizing that I wasn’t gonna touch it without addressing my attention problem. 

For YEARS I tried to solve my depression problem— without realizing that it had a lot to do with the abuse stuff I wasn’t interested in looking at. 

By actually looking at our stuff and identifying their various levels, we can finally, FINALLY start to craft a life plan that WORKS. 

And we don’t have to deal with the anxiety of knowing we’re shoving part of our struggle in the closet— where it’s probably doing nothing but getting bigger, more painful, and less manageable, the longer we leave it there in the dark. 

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Something I love about working with the overwhelming majority of people I work with is, they’re incredibly motivated. 

They WANT to understand what’s happening in their nervous system. They WANT to know what the research says about the best way to change. 

A lot of the people I’ve worked with have gone out of their way to do deep dives into both the research literature and the popular literature, including media coverage, related to what they’re struggling with— depression, trauma, ADHD, addiction. 

That level of motivation is awesome. 

I strongly believe that we don’t really get good at something unless we kind of make it our hobby. 

There is kind of a downside to doing that, though. 

When you go out of your way to read as much as you can about what you’re struggling with, particularly stuff written by “experts” on the subject, it’s easy to get certain ideas in your head that may or may not be helpful— but may be hard to shake. 

The reality is, no matter how many books by “experts” you read, most of them haven’t met you. 

They don’t know your history, they don’t know your learning style, they don’t know the progression of what you’re struggling with. 

They may have helpful things to say based on their years of experience…but we need to remember that doesn’t make what they say gospel truth for you. 

Research on a condition is necessarily impacted by the culture in which that research occurs and the demographics of both the researchers and the research subjects. 

Research is also impacted by the theoretical biases of the research team. 

Researchers very often tend to publish findings that both confirm their own biases, as well as conform to the conventional wisdom in the field. 

Keep in mind that research that is considered valid and valuable is what they call “peer reviewed;” that is, to get published, it has to be vetted and critiqued by others in the field. 

While that’s good for making sure that research is rigorous and thoughtful, it also means that research that bucks what most people in the field thinks, often has a harder time getting published. 

All of which is to say: yes, do your own research. Yes, read up on what’s happening to you. Yes, read up on what professionals and experts think is helpful for people in your position. 

But don’t let it get into your head. You’re you. The only “you” who has ever existed. Even if people have struggled with similar experiences, they’re STILL not you. 

In the end, we all have to craft our own recovery program. 

We can, and I believe should, listen to people who know more than we do, who have faced similar issues, who maybe have some credentials, and who are a little more objective than we are in our own head. 

But there’s no denying that we are the architect of our own recovery. 

It has to work for us. 

Not for the hundreds of people that may have participated in a research study with an expert. 

We shouldn’t be getting so invested in what “experts” have to say that we’re getting triggered or enraged by sentences in books. 

We need to always be ready to pivot to a different perspective or approach if something isn’t working— even if it used to work for us. 

We need to remember that as we recover, we change, our needs change, and very frequently that means we need to change how we’re approaching recovery. 

Yup, it can be complicated, and kinda messy, and it forces us to back the hell off of our confidence that “KNOW” much of anything for sure. 

I think we have to approach recovery with curiosity, and respect— and, God forbid, maybe even a little humor. 

It’s a long road. Don’t sweat the small stuff. 

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The things that create a high quality of life for you, specifically, may or may not be the same things that anyone else needs to create a high quality of life for them. 

But: others will try hard to convince you that you NEED to do the same stuff THEY need to do, in order to create a high quality of life. 

It can mess with our heads. 

I’ll be the first to admit, my priorities may be al little different than other mental health care providers, in that I’m not into “health” or “wellness,” in the abstract, being the primary aim of mental health care. 

I want people to have a subjectively positive QUALITY OF LIFE, regardless of how that measures up to what the rest of the world thinks is “healthy.” 

It’s not necessarily that I think the world is WRONG about what constitutes “mental health.” 

The truth is, I think the mental health community does some things right, some things less right, and a lot of things…um…a whole lot less right when it comes to actual “health.” 

But the thing is, I don’t get to tell anybody else that MY version of “mental health” “SHOULD” be THEIRS. 

I don’t get to tell YOU that MY version of “mental health” should be YOURS. 

Which is good, because I don’t particularly care if you, or anyone, agrees with what I think is “mentally healthy.” 

I want you to like your life. 

I want you to want to live your life. 

I want you to feel good about who you are, what you do, the opportunities you have available. 

I want you to feel those good things without hurting other people. 

Beyond that, who the hell am I, or anyone else, to tell you what’s “healthy?” 

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t listen to others’ opinions. There are often people who care about us, whose opinions matter. I personally get a lot of value out of listening to others’ viewpoints about what is or isn’t “healthy.” 

The point I’m trying to make, though, is that we cannot live our lives obsessed with what OTHER people think is “healthy.” 

We can’t live our lives chasing what OTHER people consider the “perfect” relationship. 

We can’t live our lives working toward what OTHER people consider a “successful” career. 

There are things that substantively improve the quality of YOUR life, that make YOUR life worth living. Other people may or may not agree or even UNDERSTAND why we like the stuff we like, or why what motivates us motivates us. 

Doesn’t matter if they get it or not. They don’t have to live our lives. We do. 

Keep what others think and say in perspective. 

We can listen to them or not, take what they say seriously or not; but in the end, we have to remember that our life is about what WE want. Experiences and feelings WE value. Goals WE find meaningful. 

We all know people who are virtual SLAVES to the opinions of others. 

They truly think that, if they do everything right, maybe they can earn EVERYBODY’S approval— and maybe THIS will make them happy. 

Hey, I like it when people approve of me, too. Who doesn’t? 

But if we make that our standard for when we’re “allowed” to be happy, we’re surrendering a vital piece of power and autonomy. Don’t do it. 

You’re allowed to find value EXACTLY where you find it. 

You’re allowed to create a high quality of life in EXACTLY the ways that come natural to you. 

Yes, we have responsibilities to other people— but we also have responsibilities to ourselves. 

And that’s not selfish. That’s reality. 

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When I was a kid, I didn’t tell anyone I was being sexually abused until years after it had happened— because I didn’t think it was a big deal. 

To hear “sexual abuse” described, you’d think it was this overtly traumatic, painful thing— and what I was experiencing did not feel traumatic or painful at the time. 

BECAUSE I didn’t feel like it was a huge deal, I figured that the abuse I was experiencing wasn’t the same thing as this apparently awful “sexual abuse”…so I kept my mouth shut. 

I didn’t want to make waves. 

My parents and the other kids already thought I was weird and an attention seeker, so I figured they would’t believe me, anyway. 

Besides, most of the attention I got, certainly from my peers at school, was negative— the times when I was being sexually abused were among the few times that i was being paid non-painful attention. Why would I want to give that up? 

Not to mention, if I told somebody, I assumed everybody would then look at me differently— specifically, that they’d look at me as someone who had been sexual with a man, and who hadn’t reacted with revulsion. I assumed this would be the first thing everybody would think about, when they thought of me…and I knew I didn’t want THAT. 

So I didn’t tell. Not for years. 

At school, they’d tell us that no adults should be sexual with kids, and no adults should ask us kids to keep secrets from other adults. Whenever they would lecture us about how bad sexual abuse was, I remembered feeling both guilty and alone— as if I had this dirty secret that, the longer I held on to it, the heavier and dirtier it got. 

It’s hard to separate out the factors that contributed to how unhappy I was as a kid. 

A certain amount of it was biology, certainly. There is depression and addiction on both sides of my family tree. 

A certain amount of it was the fact that I was a kid who was more intelligent than average, but who had undiagnosed ADHD— thus I was always struggling to follow through on academic tasks and “not living up to my potential,” and the prevailing hypothesis was that I was “lazy.” 

A certain amount of it was the negative feedback I was receiving daily from my environment. I didn’t get along well with my peers— and after awhile I developed social defenses that specifically made it difficult TO get along with my peers. 

And, along with those factors and others, was this secret I was carrying, about having been sexually abused by a grown man when I was a young kid. 

The reason I’m writing about this today is because sometimes I hear people blame themselves for not having been happier, or better adjusted as kids— for not having “tried harder” to fit in, for not asking for help, and specifically for not telling anyone they were being abused. 

When we’re kids and we’re going through a lot, we often literally don’t know what to do, where to go, who to tell.

It wasn’t your fault, any more than it was my fault. 

We were kids. We were overwhelmed, and unhappy, and had no idea what our options even were. 

Even if we COULD muster whatever we needed to muster to tell someone: would help have even been available to us? Maybe not. 

Yet, we often wind up blaming ourselves. Angry at ourselves. Down on ourselves. 

In my case, it only made sense to blame myself, because I was getting blamed for my “irresponsible” behavior anyway (much of which I now understand to have been heavily influenced by my difficulties with attention and emotional regulation). 

When we’re kids, we don’t know what we don’t know. 

Maybe the adults around us were doing their best, maybe they weren’t— but regardless, it wasn’t on us to know what to do and how to do it. 

Blaming the kid we once were for the pain we endured isn’t fair. 

If I’d known what to do to feel and function differently, I would have done so in a heartbeat. They may have called me “attention seeking,” but believe me: I did NOT want the kind of attention I was getting. 

As I write this, I’m aware of the sadness of the kid I once was. 

Easy does it, little guy. 

I’m here now. 

It wasn’t your fault. 

And you’re not gonna be left out there on your own ever again. 

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Sometimes recovery asks us to essentially build a new life. 

To be, essentially, an entirely new person. 

That’s a tall order. It’s one of the reasons why a lot of people get so intimidated at the prospect of recovery. 

We don’t know if we can build a new life. And we’re not at all sure we can be a new person. 

What would that even look like? 

Sometimes we try to compromise. We think, you know what, even if some of the people and stations in my current life contributed significantly to my depression, addiction, or trauma, I think I can swing still being involved with them or having them in my life. I’ll figure it out!

…and then we get frustrated when we get sucked back into our old patterns. 

Let me spoil neuropsychology for you: our brains REALLY, REALLY like established patterns. 

When given the choice, our brains will ALWAYS prefer old patterns to new, unfamiliar, unpracticed ones. 

I WISH we could build a recovery, and still keep certain people and situations in our lives. But we can’t. 

But, you might be thinking, I know someone who DID that! They just MODERATED their use of a substance; they just CHANGED their relationship with their family member; they just SET SOME LIMITS with their coworkers. 

Good for them. They’re not you. 

We don’t know what we don’t know about other peoples’ situations or struggles. 

Don’t guesstimate what you can handle or what’s right for you, based on what you see of others’ journey. 

The truth is, sometimes entire relationships have to go. 

Sometimes entire work situations aren’t tenable. 

Sometimes the only contact we can handle, is no contact. 

Sometimes a substance or behavior can’t be part of our life, in any way. 

We are talking loss here, and our brain doesn’t like to process loss. We will tell ourselves almost anything to avoid losing things, people, or situations that we’re used to. We will lie to ourselves all day long to avoid certain kinds of loss. 

But we’re not just talking loss. We’re talking, specifically, sacrifice. 

Giving something up to gain something. 

Your recovery from depression, addiction, or trauma, is really, really important. Your life and functioning matters. 

You, as a person, matter. It’s not just a bullsh*t psychology meme. I am writing this because I believe that you, the human being reading this, make a difference in the world, and I want you to feel good and function well. 

Our recovery is important enough that it warrants certain sacrifices. 

Even some big sacrifices. 

I hear you. Building or rebuilding something, sometimes from scratch, is often scary and overwhelming and unfamiliar and it can really, really make us feel helpless and hopeless. 

But people do it. 

People choose recovery. 

They choose sacrifice. 

They build something different. Something sustainable. They build a life worth living, even from the ashes and rubble of what was their life. 

The people who do this are not superhuman. 

They’re just like you. 

You can do this. 

Do the hard thing. Stay in the game. Build something new. 

Then come find me, and tell me about it. 

How do we develop a strong, stable sense of self, when we were never given the space to really be our own person? 

Lots of people have the experience of growing up without the support necessary to really learn who they even are. 

When we’re young, we don’t have a strong sense of self. We look to others to determine what a human person even is. 

Over time, with the appropriate support, we individuate— we slowly evolve a sense of personal identity that is independent of our caregivers, our siblings, and our peers. 

We realize that we have perceptions, experiences, interests, and goals that are unique. We realize that we aren’t extensions of the people around us. 

In the best of all worlds, we’re encouraged to do this. We’re rewarded for doing this. 

With the right mentorship and support, we go on to build a sense of self that we value enough to protect and nurture. 

Thing is, a lot of us don’t get that support. 

A lot of us didn’t have the breathing room, let alone the mentorship and support, to develop a sense of self. 

Maybe we were even punished, in little or big ways, for becoming our own person. 

Becoming our own person as a kid is an intimidating thing. We don’t know how to do it. We need examples. We need encouragement. We need safety. 

And when we don’t get it, we often assume that it’s our fault. 

What’s wrong with us, we ask ourselves, that we didn’t get that support that we needed? 

Over time we often just decide we must not be “worthy” enough to be our own person. 

We must not be strong enough. We must not be smart enough. 

The truth of the matter, however, is that it has nothing to do with strength or intelligence; no matter how strong or smart we are, we can’t give OURSELVES what we need at that crucial developmental point. 

After all, we were just kids. 

How the hell were we supposed to know what was going on, or what we needed? 

We needed attentive, responsive adults to show us what to do. 

We didn’t need the adults around us to be perfect— but we did need them to be, well, adults. 

So we grow up without a strong, stable sense of self. And very often we blame ourselves. 

Fast forward to adulthood, when we have low self-esteem and a shaky sense of self— and a feeling of inferiority and guilt about the whole thing. 

Where do we even begin to put the pieces back together? 

We start with acknowledging that what we experienced was not our fault. 

The fact that we’re struggling now, as adults, is not evidence of inferiority or stupidity or weakness. 

We were dealt the hand we were dealt. We didn’t ask for any of it. 

All we can do is what we can do— start where we are, with what we have. 

Those examples of how to be a strong, stable individual? We can seek them out now. 

The mentorship we needed? We can see it out now. 

The developmental tasks that were on our plate then, are still on our plate now. They’re not going away, and there’s no skipping over them. 

So let’s get to work. 

Now is not then. 

Let’s do what we CAN do— now. 

Redirecting our focus after we’ve taken a hit usually isn’t a matter of will. It’s a matter of skill. 

Most everybody I’ve ever worked with desperately WANTS to be able to redirect their attention from the painful thing that happened in the past, to the productive thing they can do now. 

But it takes more than just willpower. 

We have to actually know how to DO it. 

The thing about our focus is, it’s usually drawn to the strongest stimulus. 

Our focus gets drawn to loud things, shiny things, attractive things. 

It also gets drawn to sad things, infuriating things, threatening things, and grotesque things. 

Whatever is most stimulating, grabs our attention. 

(If, like me, you have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, your brain is so held hostage to these stimulating things that shifting your focus can be literally painful. I thought this was an overstatement until a psychiatrist called my attention to it, and it turns out to be literally true.) 

The problem with the last terrible thing to happen to us— or even terrible things that happened to us years ago— is that they are very stimulating. They’re emblazoned on our mind. 

If we screwed up, and we have a self-defeating belief structure that says “I ALWAYS SCREW UP WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME,” then our screw-ups hold our attention hostage as well. 

Focusing on the NEXT right thing— the thing we can do now, compared to the thing we can’t change because it’s in the past— isn’t as inherently stimulating or captivating as ruminating on the past, negative stuff. 

Our brain is wired for drama. 

Rebuilding isn’t dramatic. Usually it’s work. Often it’s boring. 

Especially if we have to start over from square one, it can be overwhelming and off-putting to think about. 

So OF COURSE our brain doesn’t want to focus on it. 

How do we overcome our brain’s reluctance to let go of the past, and focus on the next right thing? 

We have to coax it along. 

We have to learn to frame the next right thing as something that has the potential to feel good or be interesting. 

We have to visualize the next right thing making us feel 1% better. 

We have to talk to ourselves in a way that encourages us to look forward, not back. 

And more than anything, we need to gently, supportively redirect our focus forward, as many times as it takes. 

That’s where a lot of us get into trouble. 

We’re willing to redirect our focus once or twice— but more than that, and it starts to get old. 

The thing is, if we KEEP redirecting our focus from the unchangeable thing in our past, to the next realistic step we can take now, if we stay consistent with it, if we turn ourselves around EVERY SINGLE TIME we notice ourselves perseverating on the past…it’ll get easier. 

We’ll get better at it. 

In fact, we can make perseverating on the past our cue to refocus in the present, to identify the next right thing. 

In my own mind, I installed a music cue. When I feel my brain looking back on the past with chagrin, I play some movie music— the music that tells the audience the hero’s about to turn things around. 

I find it’s helpful to give my head a few quick shakes. To take a few breaths. To blink a few times— and come back to focus on the center of my chest. 

It used to be painful to have to go through all that just go get focused forward. 

Now it’s second nature. 

You can come up with your own ritual for looking forward. 

Just make sure you stay consistent and persistent with it. 

Your brain’s gonna try to stay stuck in the past, because that’s where it thinks color and drama exist. 

You need to use your imagination to convince it there’s color and drama— and victory— ahead. 

There is only one sane reason to be in recovery, to work on your emotional and behavioral struggles: to feel better. 

Not to please somebody else. Not because you “should.” 

The truth is, nobody HAS to be in recovery. 

Yeah, sometimes we’re pressured to work on our issues by an external situation— we want to keep our job, or we want to save a relationship, or we want to avoid a legal consequence. 

But the real reason any of those things are meaningful to us in the first place is because we want to feel good, and we want to avoid feeling bad. 

A lot of the stuff recovery asks of us is a huge pain in the ass. 

It asks us to not do stuff we want to do in the moment. 

It asks us to develop coping skills and tools that are often lame compared to what we REALLY want to do. 

Recovery asks us to set goals and make plans— and goal-setting and planning can often be intimidating or boring. 

When we get into recovery, some of the spontaneity is necessary sucked out of life. We have to think ahead, which we often don’t like to do— and we often kind of resent doing. 

Why bother with any of this “recovery” nonsense at all? 

There’s only one good reason: because working a recovery program will help us feel and function better. 

Feeling better has to be a realistic goal of recovery. 

If realistically feeling better isn’t on the table, recovery’s not gonna work. Our brain will reject it. 

Not only does feeling better have to be an explicit goal of recovery, the PATH to feeling better through our recovery plan has to be straightforward and believable. 

We can’t be like, “I’ll do all this stuff, change my behavior, direct my mental focus, make changes to my social circe and daily routines, and then…somehow…things will get better? I guess?” 

The stuff recovery asks of us is too difficult to NOT have a clear path to feeling better laid out. 

Then, when that path IS laid out, we need to remind ourselves, as many times as necessary, where that path will lead us. 

Recovery is not just about giving things up. It’s about gaining things we really want. 

Recovery is not just about working hard. It’s about enjoying— what a concept!— the rewards of our hard work. 

The temptation is going to be, when we’re designing and working a recovery program, to focus on all the things that need to change— which necessarily means focusing on a lot of work. 

In order to realistically recover from depression, anxiety, addiction, or trauma, we need to change a lot of our mental and behavioral habits— and those habits have been over rehearsed for a long time. 

We have literal grooves in our brain because we’ve been doing and thinking and feeling the same stuff, year after year, for decades. 

Changing our lives means changing our brain— and our brain does not WANT to change. 

Our brain specifically makes habit change painful, because it wants us to keep on keeping on. 

This is why recovery is such a pain. 

It’s also why we need to remember and focus on— intentionally, vividly, emphatically— the upside of why we are doing this. 

We need that new movie— the movie of what our better feeling, better functioning life will look and feel like— playing on the movie screen inside our head. 

We need to make that movie exciting and dramatic. 

We deserve to feel and function better. 

Which is why we deserve recovery. 

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