Use Your Damn Skills

We don’t know better until we know better. We can’t do better until we can. 

We’re not ready until we’re ready. And there’s no shame in not having been ready when we weren’t ready. 

If we’re not in a place where we can ask for help, we’re not in that place. It happens. 

If we’re not in a place where we can leave a an abusive or painful relationship with a person, a church, or a community, we’re not in that place. It happens. 

If we’re struggling with dissociation, we’re struggling with dissociation. That happens, too. 

If we’re struggling with self-harm or other addictions, we’re struggling with self-harm or other addictions. That happens a lot. 

If we’re struggling to eat, we’re struggling to eat. It’s a thing. 

If we’re cranky, we’re cranky. This too is a thing. 

If we’re sad, we’re sad. Very much a thing. 

If we need to cry, we need to cry. Sometimes we need to cry. 

We are where we are. We are who we are. 

We’re as hurt as we are. We’re as tired as we are. 

We’re as hopeful as we are. We’re as hopeless as we are. 

No more, no less. 

If we’re freaked out, we’re freaked out. Everybody gets freaked out. 

If we’re struggling to get out of bed, we’re struggling to get out of bed. Sometimes the bad grabs us. You know. 

If we don’t remember, we don’t remember. Memory’s complicated. 

If we remember all too well, we remember all too well. As I say, memory’s complicated. 

If we don’t feel like doing our therapy session, we don’t feel like doing our therapy session— but we can still do it. 

If we don’t feel like staying alive today, we don’t feel like staying alive— but we can stay alive. We can avoid making a permanent decision based on a temporary feeling state. 

There is no need to shame anything we’re experiencing or feeling. 

I said “anything.” 

I guarantee, you are not the first, last, or only person to experience or feel what you’re experiencing and feeling right now. No, no one has had exactly the life you’ve had; but that feeling of being utterly, exquisitely alone in the universe? So many people reading this are feeling exactly that right now, that you truly would’t believe it. 

We are where we are. 

We can accept it. 

Doesn’t mean we have to like it. 

Doesn’t mean we can’t or don’t work to change it. 

Doesn’t mean anything other than it means. 

You’re you, and I’m me, and we are exactly as we are. No more; no less; no different. 

And we deserve to live. 

We deserve safety. 

We deserve support. 

We deserve a shot at a life. 

Recovery happens— but not by accident. 

As it turns out, we don’t get days off from recovery. That includes days when the everyday world is stressing us the hell out. 

I’m not talking about trauma triggers per se. I’m talking about the stuff that happens in everybody’s life. 

Bills. 

Relationship stress. 

Pet health problems. 

So often, we trauma survivors are so used to dealing with huge, scary, immersive triggers, that we somehow almost forget that the everyday world comes loaded with stressors as well— some of which can dovetail perfectly (that is to say, perfectly horribly) with our trauma triggers. 

For example, everybody has bills. Almost every adult human being experiences some level of stress over our financial situation. 

Trauma survivors, when we experience stress about finances, are often aware of a whole different level of reactivity— because, as “normally” stressful as financial stuff is, for us is can often hook into issues of shame, dependence, autonomy, and survival. 

Another example: every pet owner stresses, at least a little, over the health and welfare of their pet. For many people, their pet is one of, if not the, most beloved creatures and highest priorities in their life. 

Trauma survivors, when we experience stress around our pets’ health and welfare, are, again, often aware of a different level of reactivity— because, as “normally” stressful as issues surrounding our pets’ health can be, we’re also hooked into issues of responsibility and helplessness and the desire to never let another creature suffer like we did. 

Part of trauma recovery is getting real about how “everyday” stressors hook into our trauma triggers and reactions— and develop realistic expectations, skills, and strategies for when this happens. (Not “if”— “when.”)

Because, when an “everyday” stressor occurs, we can’t just suddenly pretend we’re not in recovery anymore. 

Recovery can’t take a “back seat” to any stressor or trigger, no matter how impactful, no matter how devastating— or no matter how mundane. 

I’ll spoil the suspense: Trauma Brain will absolutely use “everyday” stressors as a potential excuse for you to abandon recovery. 

“You don’t have the bandwidth for all this ‘recovery” nonsense today,” Trauma Brain will say; “you need to focus on paying your bills.” 

“You don’t have time to focus on this ‘recovery” stuff today,” it’ll tell you, “you need to get the cat into the vet.” 

It’s absolutely true that we need to handle what we need to handle in the everyday world. The fact that we happen to be working a trauma or addiction recovery doesn’t make us immune to everyday stressors. They will occur, I assure you. 

But we very much can’t make our focus on trauma or addiction recovery a function of stressors that happen to be prevalent in our life today. 

Your cat, who you need to get to the vet, wants you to stay in recovery. 

Everyday stressors will always be there, and they’ll always be exactly as stressful as they are. 

What we can’t do is let everyday stressors become The Thing that leads us to an emotional or behavioral spiral because we thought we could take the day off of recovery. 

Recovery is our commitment to ourselves, especially our “parts” and our “inner child,” that we will not abandon or betray ourselves. 

That commitment is most important on those days when things other than recovery are vying for our attention. 

Make recovery the lens or filter through which you process all your other commitments and stressors. 

I promise you, the skills, tools, and philosophies you’re developing in recovery are going to help you deal with any and every stressor you encounter in your life. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

It does not take “discipline” to starve yourself. 

It does take discipline to feed yourself, when you’re literally afraid of what eating would feel like or mean. 

It is not “accountability” to belittle yourself. 

It is accountability to be kind to and supportive of yourself even when you feel like garbage. 

It is not “taking responsibility” to blame yourself for things you didn’t choose and couldn’t opt out of. 

It is taking responsibility to reject shame and self-blame from back then, so we can focus on what we can control now. 

Many people reading this have an absolutely toxic relationship with the concepts of discipline, accountability, and responsibility. 

Those are words that have been used to shame and demoralize us, sometimes for years. 

We are often told in this culture that to acknowledge our pain indicates a “victim mindset.” 

We’re told that to place blame anywhere but ourselves is rejecting “personal responsibility” for how we feel and function. 

I’ve worked with hundreds of trauma survivors, and literally none of them have been the least interested in rejecting “responsibility” for how they feel and function— most of them have been very, very eager to accept way more “responsibility” for their life than is realistic. 

The truth is, we can’t control everything. We couldn’t then, and we can’t now. 

Trying to “take responsibility” for events and reactions we didn’t choose and can’t control is a recipe for burnout and learned helplessness. 

More importantly, focusing on “responsibility” for things that we are not, in fact, responsible for distracts us from investing our focus and energy in places and projects where we can, actually, move the needle. 

Remember: trauma’s instrument of choice to control us is shame. 

Bullies and abusers use shame to control what we think, how we feel, and what we do. 

Trauma conditioning is fueled by shame. Shame can get us to hurt and sabotage ourselves, even in the physical absence of an abuser or after we’ve left a destructive church or community. 

Don’t get me wrong: discipline, accountability, and responsibility are useful tools. Powerful tools. I would even say that trauma and addiction recovery are almost entirely about discipline, accountability, and responsibility— but REAL discipline, accountability, and responsibility. 

Not that “tough love” bullsh*t. 

We need discipline to keep us on track when we don’t feel like it— especially when we don’t feel like being supportive and fair to ourselves. 

We need accountability to keep us faithful to our values and our goals— especially when our values and goals seem out of reach in the moment. 

We need responsibility to remind us that, above all, recovery is a set of ACTIONS we take, in our head and in our behavior— “responsible” literally breaks down to “response able,” i.e., able and willing to respond. To act. 

Real world discipline, accountability, and responsibility rarely match up with how those words were hurled at us by abusers and bullies. 

It does not take discipline, accountability, or responsibility to go along with our old conditioning. 

It does take discipline, accountability, and responsibility to talk to ourselves, visualize, and behave in ways that defy our old conditioning. 

Oh— and it also takes courage. Because this sh*t is scary. I don’t need to tell you that. 

But there is no courage without fear. 

And there is no true discipline, accountability, or responsibility without opposing what is “natural” or “comfortable.” 

We don’t recover from trauma or addiction by accident. 

Don’t worry— I’m not about to lay some trite “recovery tales work” spiel on you here. If you’re reading this, or remotely familiar with my work, you know recovery takes work. 

Recovery does take work— but it also takes planning. 

Nobody told me this. Which is why I’m telling you this. 

Recovery isn’t an event— it’s a lifestyle. To really succeed in recovery, you need to think of  it as a lifestyle— one that needs to be thoughtfully, purposefully maintained. 

We don’t fall into any lifestyle worth nurturing by accident. 

To live the recovery lifestyle, we need to design our life around recovery. 

We’re not going to be able to think and do things that are inconsistent with recovery, and live a recovery lifestyle. 

To live a recovery lifestyle we need to make time for recovery and devote resources to recovery. 

To live a recovery lifestyle we need to limit or avoid, to the extent that we can, people and others influences that are hell bent on dragging us away from a recovery lifestyle. 

I’m not saying that recovery is what you have to think about all day, every day. Speaking for myself, I have plenty of things I want and need to think about OTHER than recovery. 

What I am saying is that making time for recovery can’t be left up to chance. 

The truth is, recovery is what’s going to let you do all the other things you want to do with your life— whereas, make no mistake, trauma and addiction want nothing more or less than to take over your life, consume every scrap of your attention and energy. 

How do we develop and maintain a lifestyle? Not by doing one thing, one time. 

We develop and maintain a lifestyle with our habits and rituals. 

We develop daily patterns that support our lifestyle. 

We set aside time every day to do things that sustain and develop our lifestyle. 

We don’t, actually, need “perfect” tools or skills, or resources to live a recovery lifestyle. There are plenty of people who have successfully recovered from trauma and/or addiction with imperfect tools. 

We do, however, need to utilize whatever tools, skills, or resources we DO have access to, consistently. 

Lifestyles are defined by habits and rituals. We know we’re living a lifestyle when the goals and prioritize of that lifestyle become not what we think about all day, every day— but rather, they become the lens through which we think about everything ELSE all day, every day. 

That means consistently asking ourselves the simple question: “is this going to support or sabotage my recovery?” 

We need to ask that about choices, opportunities, and people. 

If I want to know how successfully someone is living a recovery lifestyle, I’m less interested in their skills, tools, and resources than I am with their habits, rituals, and the people they’re surrounding themselves with. 

Profound breakthroughs in trauma therapy are great— but you don’t need profound breakthroughs to sustainably recover from trauma or addiction. 

You need consistency. 

You need realism. 

You need structure to your day that will support you to stick with recovery, even when you’re sick of thinking about recovery. Especially then, actually. 

That is to say: you need to develop a recovery lifestyle. 

You don’t need recovery to be a thing you do— you need recovery to be the way you do your things. 

Don’t think about this project as a goal with an end date. Thank of this project, recovery, as a paradigm that will keep trauma and/or addiction from f*cking up every goal you care about. 

Things you need to know, in no particular order: 

You need to know being abused was not your fault. No amount of shame you feel now means it was your fault. 

You need to know that the way anybody treats you has way more to do with them, than with you. 

You need to know that everybody who has ever struggled with trauma symptoms and responses has sincerely doubted their ability to recover. 

You need to know that everybody who has ever meaningfully recovered from trauma did so over time, not all at once. 

You need to know that feeling like you can’t do this doesn’t mean you can’t do this. 

You need to know that sometimes you’re going to very much want to be touched— and other times you’re going to very much not want to be touched. And both of those are okay. 

You need to know that desiring sex doesn’t make you a freak, a weirdo, or a pervert. 

You need to know that having experienced sexual feelings while you were being abused does not mean you “liked” it. 

You need to know that traumatic memory functions differently from non-traumatic memory— and there may be many very valid reasons why your memories of what happened are incomplete or missing. 

You need to know that it’s normal and okay to feel scared. 

You need to know that feeling scared doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in danger. 

You need to know that skipping meals or starving yourself isn’t as helpful as Trauma Brain insists it is. 

You need to know you have exactly as much right to safety and happiness as anyone who has ever existed. 

You need to know, if you’re reading this, you’re already on your recovery journey— because exposing yourself to and reading recovery material is how we plant the mental seeds of our recovery. 

You need to know the more good stuff you read and otherwise upload into your brain, the more material your Recovery Brain has to work with. 

You need to know that after we’ve been through trauma, it becomes hard for our nervous system to distinguish actual danger, perceived danger, fictional danger, and/or danger from the past that isn’t still threatening in the same way. 

You need to know you’re not hopeless. 

You need to know you’re not pathetic. 

You need to know I am thinking about you and rooting for you every single day of your recovery. 

Yes, even if I don’t know you personally. 

(I’m quite serious about this. I spend large chunks of my day thinking about and directing good vibes toward people in recovery I have never met. This includes you, if I haven’t met you.)

You need to know you’re not a loser for experiencing symptoms or struggling to manage them. You need to know that even people deep into very successful recovery can experience symptoms and struggle to manage them. (Ask me know I know.)

You need to know it’s not too late. 

You need to know you’re not too far gone. You’re not too damaged. You’re not “destined” for anything, good or bad. 

You need to know that if you can read these words, you have what it takes to rebuild your life. 

Maybe not rebuild it in the way you thought it would look like; maybe not in the way you hoped once up on a time. 

But you need to know that there amazing things ahead for you. 

Things you can’t possibly imagine now. 

Things that you are going to create, realistically and sustainably, over time, with the skills, tools, philosophies, and resources you’re developing in this thing we call “recovery.” 

You need to know I 100% believe everything I’ve written here. 

And you need to know I’m not wrong about things like this. 

You need to know we do recover. 

Yes, I, too, doubted it once upon a time. I’m not even supposed to be here right now, writing this, breathing air. 

But I am. And you’re here reading it. 

You need to know it’s along walk back to Eden, so it’s not worth sweating the small stuff. 

You need to know even the Mona Lisa’s falling apart. 

You need to know I care if you make though tonight. 

That’s true no matter what day or night you happen to be reading this. 

Trauma can make us feel stupid. But we’re not. 

It makes us feel stupid for supposedly making “choices” that weren’t, actually, meaningful choices. 

It makes us feel stupid for struggling with feelings and experience that we imagine other people aren’t struggling with. 

It makes us feel stupid for needing certain types of support that other people don’t seem to need. 

Not only can trauma make us feel stupid— it can make us feel lazy, too. 

When we’re struggling with our symptoms, often times our default setting is to shame and blame ourselves for “not trying hard enough.” 

Many of us maintain a cherished fantasy that we could overcome our symptoms and struggles if we were just smarter or had a better work ethic. 

In addition to making us feel stupid and lazy, trauma can make us feel spiritually or morally unworthy. “Bad.” 

Very often we assume that, since “everything happens for a reason” (ugh), the “reason” we were “selected” for this pain, for these struggles, is because we “deserve” them. We must be “bad.” We must be made to suffer. 

Trauma means literally none of those things. Having been abused, even horribly abused, does not make us “stupid.” It does not make us “lazy.” It does not make us “bad.” 

When we’re exposed to traumatic stress, our decision making very often goes to sh*t. It has nothing to do with intelligence, and everything to do with how we reflexively respond to our conditioning.

When we’re exposed to traumatic stress, we very quickly lose perspective on whether we have options, and what options we have. 

When we’re exposed to traumatic stress, we very often lose motivation. It has nothing to do with “laziness” or “work ethic.” It has everything to do with the learned helplessness and hopelessness that characterizes trauma conditioning.

None of this is our fault. None of of this is anything we can avoid if we were just smarter; or a harder worker; or more spiritually pure. Trauma is about psychology and biology— no less, but no more. 

Trauma gets to us with this cognitive distortion called “emotional reasoning.” In emotional reasoning, we strongly FEEL something to be true— so we assume it’s true. 

I’ll spoil the suspense: when we’ve been through trauma, we’re going to FEEL plenty of things are true, that are pure and utter BS (Belief Systems— but the other kind of BS, too). 

You’re going to FEEL worthless. 

You’re going to FEEL lazy. 

You’re going to FEEL stupid. 

You’re going to FEEL bad. 

None of that is true. Trauma doesn’t MAKE any of that true. Having been abused or neglected doesn’t make any of that true. People treating us like garbage does not, in fact, make us garbage. 

A big part of trauma recovery is pushing back on emotional reasoning— learning to say to ourselves, “because this awful thing about myself FEELS true, that doesn’t MAKE it true.” 

It’s not easy. We’re used to believing the bad stuff. We’ve been told the bad stuff over and over again, often by people we love, often by people we trust. Trauma bonds are very real. 

But when it comes to how we view ourselves and what we deserve, feelings are not facts. 

Don’t get me wrong: our feelings about a lot of things are perfectly valid, and often insightful. But it’s part of the injury of PTSD that our feelings about ourselves are often distorted in absurdly negative ways. 

Don’t believe everything you think about yourself after you’ve experienced trauma. 

Remember the trauma responses have nothing— zero, zilch, nada, zip— to do with intelligence, industriousness, or morality. 

No symptom can make you a “bad person.” 

As we recover from trauma or addiction, there will definitely be symptoms we don’t like. We won’t like experiencing them, and we won’t like the impact those symptoms have on our mood, energy level, or behavior. 

But experiencing a symptom doesn’t make us “bad.” 

Your milage may vary on what behaviors might make someone a “bad” person— though, in my experience, many trauma survivors work hard to convince ourselves that we’re “bad” for behaviors that, in anyone else, we’d have sympathy or empathy for. 

But depressions, for example, doesn’t make us “bad.” Nor does it make us “weak”— either “weak minded” or “weak willed.” 

Experiencing anger does not make us “bad.” Anger is a very normal response to some of the things we’ve been through. It would be very weird if we went through some of those things and weren’t angry on the other side of them. 

But anger, itself, does not make us “bad.” There are behaviors we might engage in to manage our anger that we’re not thrilled by or that do not conform to our values— but anger, itself, does not make us a “bad person.” 

So many of us are so used to considering ourselves “bad” when we feel bad.

Many trauma survivors, especially before we effortfully started working our recovery, feel bad a lot. We walk around feeling like garbage. Our mood is garbage; many of our compensatory behaviors are not our favorite choices in retrospect. 

Many of us were sold a story that “good” people are rewarded by consistently feeling good— but the truth is, feeling good rarely has anything to do with how morally “good” we are. 

There are lots of reasons people may feel good or bad— but feeling good or bad has zero to with how “good” or “bad” of a person we are. We all know examples of “bad” people who have no problem sleeping at night. We all know examples of “good” people who struggle with sadness or anxiety. 

Many of the thoughts, beliefs, and reactions we experience after traumatic stress are best understood as post traumatic symptoms— and they don’t reflect on our “goodness” or “badness,” either. 

Suicidality and self-harm urges are symptoms. They don’t make you “bad,” either. 

Everyone’s mileage is going to vary when it comes to whether the choices we make in reaction or response to what we’re feeling contributes to us being a “good” or “bad” person, but it’s my experience that even those choices are heavily informed by our beliefs about how “good” or “bad” we are, based on our symptoms. 

That is to say: it’s real important that we not condemn ourselves because we’re experiencing symptoms. 

It’s real important we get clear on what symptoms of traumatic stress actually look like, so we don’t confuse our symptoms with our personality or our basic nature. 

Everyone reading this is humans, and humans experience reactions and symptoms in response to certain events. It’s how we’re designed. It has nothing to do with how virtuous or not we are.

Many of us fall into the trap of believe that, because we’re unhappy with ourselves, we must be “bad.” Because we hate what we’re experiencing, we assume we must have done something “bad,” or we must be “bad”— otherwise, why would we be struggling with this? 

Humans struggle. The world doesn’t pick and choose who struggles based on how “good” or “bad” we are. Those of us who experienced trauma got enormously unlucky. It wasn’t our fault. It wasn’t our “choice.” 

Even if you made what seemed to be “choices” that you think contributed to your trauma or symptoms, you’re STILL not experiencing those symptoms because you’re “bad”— and you’re not “bad” because you’re experiencing those symptoms. 

The best people I’ve ever met, I’ve met in trauma recovery— and almost all of them thought they were “bad.” A “bad  person.” A “bad mother.” A “bad friend.” A “bad therapist.” 

None of that’s true. Our symptoms do not make us “bad,” or reflect on our “badness.”

You are as deserving of support, resources, compassion, and kindness as anyone who has ever existed. 

Yes, you. I’m talking to you. 

An under appreciated trigger for many trauma survivors can be something simple: our name. 

Many people don’t understand how something as simple as our name can be a trigger— but our name, or certain nicknames, can yank us right back to very painful times in our life. 

It’s a common joke that kids know they’re in trouble when their parent uses their full name, or their first and middle name. But the reason the “joke” resonates with so many people is, it’s actually true. 

For many abuse survivors, hearing their name meant they were in trouble. 

For some survivors, only abusers used certain forms of their names or nicknames. 

For some survivors who were abused by family members, their name represents a decision that was made for them by their abusers— and sometimes their name is the same as, or a form of, the actual name of their abuser.

This is the kind of trigger many in the broader culture might mock. But for trauma survivors who are triggered by their name, it’s enormously inconvenient and painful— and a situation they often can’t easily escape. 

Yes, it’s often possible to change one’s name— but it’s also the case that, for multiple reasons, changing one’s name isn’t as simple as it seems. 

Often legal or financial identities are inextricably tied to one’s legal name, and educational accomplishments have been recorded under their name. 

Just leaving our name behind is often not a simple matter, emotionally or logistically. 

Many trauma survivors are in this position a lot: they’re triggered by something that the culture considers unimportant and/or something we can’t avoid— so they wind up low-to-medium key triggered all the goddamn time. 

One of the main reasons so many trauma survivors under appreciate how dissociative they are on a daily basis is, they’ve HAD to develop dissociative defenses of varying levels of opacity— just to get through the day. 

For some survivors, hearing their name is inextricably linked to hearing the voice of their abuser. 

For some survivors, hearing their name is linked to being in legal or financial trouble. 

For some survivors, their name is a permanent link to a family who didn’t support them, a relative who abused them, or a parent they’ve tried desperately to not be like. 

You need to know there’s no shame in being triggered by your name. 

Yes, it’s an enormously inconvenient trigger, given how much of our daily lives involve us interacting with our legal name. 

But it’s not silly, or even all that weird. 

Our name necessarily evokes our childhood. It’s one of the few unchanged things we carry directly from our childhood. 

One of the boundaries we often need to set with the people around us is asking them to call us the name we prefer— but, as you probably know if you’re reading this, boundaries aren’t exactly easy for many survivors to set. 

But you do, actually, get to set that boundary. ‘

Safe relationships are ones in which your preferences for things as fundamental as your name are acknowledged and respected. 

There’s literally no reason anyone “needs” to call you by your legal name. 

And there’s absolutely no reason why you “shouldn’t” be triggered by your name, especially if you grew up in the kind of family that makes you want to forget you share anything with those people.

You don’t have to share anything with your abuser— including your name. Especially your name. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

Many trauma survivors have been told we’re strong. And we are. 

The thing is, many people seem to think that acknowledging trauma survivors’ strength is all we need in order to feel and function better. 

They seem to think that because we’re so strong— so “resilient” (ugh, that word)— we don’t, or shouldn’t, need additional support to recover from what happened to us. 

Many people seem to think that because what traumatized us is entirely or mostly in the past, “the worst is over.” 

Those people haven’t suffered from complex trauma. 

It’s often— but not always— the case that our initial trauma is in the past. 

But what people don’t understand is that living with complex trauma s itself a traumatic stressor— one that itself meets every criteria of complex trauma (it occurs over time; it’s functionally inescapable; it entwines with all of our important relationships). 

Yes, complex trauma survivors are strong. But here’s the thing: we shouldn’t have had to be. 

And, going forward, we shouldn’t have to be as strong as we were back then just to build a life we don’t to end every day. 

You there, reading this, are strong. 

But I think your strength is meant for something more than just survival. 

I think your strength was meant for creation. 

I think your strength was meant for love. 

I think your strength was meant for supporting people and causes you care passionately about. 

I don’t think the destiny of anybody reading this is to just get by. 

Coping is really important— but I don’t believe it’s the end all, be all of trauma recovery. 

We are not doing this in order to cope. 

We have to cope in order to do the things we really want to do. The things we were meant to do. 

The things that our bullies and abusers tried to take away from us. 

Trauma has this way of dragging us away from the things we love. 

Not just the people we love— though it does that, too— but the interests and passions and journeys that make life meaningful. 

Trauma has this way of consuming us such that every single day becomes about trauma. 

I don’t think we were meant to live like that. 

I don’t think that’s an ideal use of your strength; or your creativity; or your life. 

There is a myth out there that committing to trauma recovery means you make surviving trauma your identity— but nothing could be farther from the truth. 

We commit to trauma recovery precisely because we DON’T want trauma reactions and symptoms to become our identity. 

In the best possible version of trauma recovery, we get so adept at using the skills, tools, and philosophies of trauma recovery that we can, paradoxically, kind of forget about them. They’re just second nature to us. 

When trauma recovery becomes the lens through which we live our lives, trauma ceases to be the centerpiece of our lives. 

When, then, is the centerpiece of our lives, if not trauma?

It’s whatever and whoever you want it to be. 

Your strength was not meant to bear suffering. 

Your strength was meant to create your unique life and legacy. 

That’s what I think, anyway. 

When you’re tempted to apologize for feeling a feeling: tap the brake. 

When you’re tempted to apologize for having a need: tap the brake. 

You are going to feel pressure from your trauma programming to apologize for all kinds of things. 

The truth is, your trauma programming doesn’t think you should exist, let alone have feelings or needs. 

Your trauma programming, if followed to its logical conclusion, will have you disappearing from the planet entirely. 

However, since you haven’t disappeared from the planet entirely, your trauma programming will flood you with feelings of guilt, blame, and shame for taking up space. 

Your trauma programming will try to tell you everything you experience our need is a burden on someone else. 

Your trauma programming will try to tell you nothing you feel, need, or have to say is important. 

Your trauma programming will try to tell you that there is something fundamentally wrong, something fundamentally flawed or gross or otherwise f*cked up, about everything that makes you, you— especially your feelings and needs. 

Thus, every time a feeling or need escapes our brain in the form of words, we very often feel this need to apologize. 

It can be hard for someone whose nervous system has not been crispy fried by traumatic stress, to understand why we’re apologizing for so many things. 

They don’t realize that many of the things we hear ourselves saying or asking for or otherwise expressing sound, to us, dramatic and stupid. 

They don’t understand that we very often feel like we’re about to be in trouble, we’re about to be yelled at, or we’re about to be mocked, for any utterance that escapes us. 

For many of us, expressing feelings or needs makes us feel insufferably vulnerable. 

We often apologize because part of us, at least, thinks we can limit our vulnerability if we communicate, via our apology, that we too are annoyed by and impatient with our own “stupid” feelings or “burdensome” needs. 

It’s a maneuver Trauma Brain often tries to trick us into: agreeing with, or getting on the same side of, our abusers, by trashing ourselves. 

The thing is: apologies never work to limit our vulnerability. They don’t. They might soothe our anxiety— for a minute— but if we’re vulnerable in the presence of somebody, an apology isn’t going to make us less so. 

What constant apologies DO do, however, is shred our self esteem. 

Constantly apologizing communicates to our inner child that we are bad, and we need to apologize. 

Constantly apologizing reinforces the belief that so many survivors struggle with: that we are burdensome, and we need to compensate for that burden. 

Don’t get me wrong: many trauma survivors, myself included, are, in point of fact, an acquired taste. No, we’re not for everybody. 

But that’s not the same thing as “every feeling or need we experience is necessarily a burden we need to apologize for.” 

Catching yourself when you’re tempted to apologize for a feeling or need is a habit worth getting into. 

Communicating to yourself in those moments that, actually, you have nothing to apologize for, is also a habit worth getting into. 

You’ve had decades of programming that have entrenched the idea that your feelings and needs are stupid and embarrassing. That programming probably isn’t going to dramatically shift overnight. 

But it will shift if, every time it rears its head, you meaningfully, consistently, compassionately talk back to it. 

Scratch the record.