Use Your Damn Skills

Anyone recovering from trauma is going to have some limitations out there in the world. 

These limitations aren’t anything to be ashamed of. They’re not “choices” we’re making to be “difficult” or “weak.” 

It’s just the case that our nervous system is sensitized in such a way that, for the time being, we need to avoid or limit our exposure to certain people and other triggers for the sake of our safety and stability. 

Does this mean avoiding triggers indefinitely? No. 

Does this mean that we’ll never again be able to do the stuff that right now we can’t? No. 

Does this mean that trauma has “won,” in that it has interrupted our “normal” life or preferred activities? Definitely not. 

The truth is, every human being has certain limitations— and injuries, such a post traumatic stress symptoms and struggles, bring specific limitations. 

There is no human being in this world who can get injured, and just go on living life like they were. 

An injury, by definition, impacts how we feel and function— and, if we want to heal that injury, we need to acknowledge and respect the limitations it imposes on us. 

It is not “weak” to acknowledge the impact of an injury— or to curtail our routine in order to accommodate its healing. 

The realistic management of an injury such as post traumatic stress necessitates that we honor the limitations it imposes upon us. 

Can we work on shifting those limitations as we heal? Of course we can. That’s what physical therapy for physical injuries, and psychotherapy and recovery work for psychoemotional and behavioral injuries, is all about. 

But even if we’re working to change the limitations our injuries impose upon us, we don’t simply ignore those limitations— and we take great care not to push too far, too fast. 

What kind of limitations, specifically, are we talking about acknowledging and honoring when it coms to post traumatic stress? 

We may want to go to certain places— but we just can’t, not right now. 

We may want to go to certain functions (including, but not limited to, family functions)— but we can’t not right now. 

We may want to accept or pursue or return to certain job opportunities— but we can’t, not right now. 

We may want to resume or take up certain hobbies— but we can’t, not right now. 

We may want to watch certain TV shows or go to certain movies or listen to certain podcasts or listen to certain music— but we can’t. Not right now. 

None of this is to say that avoiding things that trigger and otherwise destabilize us indefinitely is the way to heal post traumatic stress. To the contrary, healing trauma almost always involves some form of exposure therapy. 

(By the by, “exposure therapy” is almost never what most people envision when they hear that term— but that’s for another blog.)

But intelligent trauma recovery involves realistically managing our exposure to people, media, and situations that have the potential to compromise our safety and stability. 

This is not about “weakness.” 

This is not about “letting the trauma win” or “letting our abusers win.” 

Managing the limitations our trauma symptoms and struggles impose upon us isn’t even a defeat. Far from it. 

If we’re gonna win in the end, we have to rein in our desire to do too much, too soon. 

When you break a leg, you need to wait for it to heal. It is inadvisable to try to run a race before you’re ready. 

But it’s also inadvisable to not move your leg at all while you’re waiting for it to heal. 

This is not about perpetual avoidance. This is about realistic, intelligent exposure. 

Easy does it. 

Very often, trauma survivors feel as if we’re not expressing ourselves well. 

We feel that no mater what words we use, in what order, we’re just not saying what we really mean— or, at least, saying it in a way that will be truly heard. 

Often we worry that we’re communicating in such a way that, not only will we be misunderstood, but we’re also almost sure to be harshly judged. 

It’s very common for survivors to stop mid-sentence and— no matter how clear or concise we’ve been with what we were saying— say, “I don’t feel like I’m making any sense.” 

More than occasionally, dissociation and/or intrusive thoughts will derail our train of thought. 

Other times, our anxiety about being misunderstood or judged will overwhelm us, even as we’re speaking, and we just can’t continue. 

Communication can be tricky for trauma survivors. We’ve very often had the experience of our own words used against us. 

It’s a common abuse tactic, adjacent to gaslighting, to have someone twist what we actually said into something that sounds nonsensical. 

Sometimes, when we feel misunderstood, we lean in, and try even HARDER to communicate what we mean— but that often just leads to us feeling even MORE mired in quicksand. 

There are times when communication can feel so fraught, that we just want to shut down. Not even try to communicate. 

I know this definitely happens to me, when I’m feeling misunderstood or misrepresented— I shut down. I flash back to the futility of “debating” with my father, and I veer toward a freeze and fawn trauma response, where I’ll say very little— except what I think I need to say to make peace. 

To be not in trouble.

A thing that can make communication especially tricky for trauma survivors is, our nervous system is often vigilant to whether we’re being taken seriously, or patronized or mocked. 

Many trauma survivors are so used to being made fun of when we’re trying to communicate sincerely, that it becomes hard to NOT hear sarcasm or cruelty in almost everything someone says to us. 

When we’re trying to communicate in relationships, we really need to keep an eye on our trauma responses— and we need to be realistic about our go-to trauma responses. 

We need to know when our own expressiveness is being choked off by a “freeze” response; or hijacked by a “fawn” response; or when a “fight” response is adding more “pop” to a verbalization than is warranted at that moment. 

We can’t manage our trauma responses if we don’t know what they look like, and if we’re not on the lookout for them. 

We need to know that relationships generally, and relationship communication in particular, can be rife with triggers for complex trauma survivors. 

Even when we’re interacting with someone we like and trust, old patterns and old triggers can die hard. 

We also need to be prepared to give ourselves the benefit of the doubt when communication goes sideways. 

It doesn’t help ANYONE to blame and shame ourselves for when we just can’t wrangle exactly what we want to say, in exactly the way we want to say it. 

Communication tends to be complicated and fraught for human beings in general, human beings in relationships in particular, and traumatized human beings in relationships specifically. 

The good news is, we can get much better at both expressive and receptive communication in relationships if we approach communication with awareness, intentionality, and compassion. 

That is: if we treat relationship communication like every other task in trauma recovery. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

Kids who grew up neglected often become adults who feel we have to show our work at all times. 

Kids who grew up neglected often become adults who feel guilty for enjoying…well, anything, actually, but specifically entertainment that some might consider “mindless.” 

You know the entertainment I mean. Comfort shows. Popcorn movies. Bops on the radio. 

We so often feel guilty for watching a show we like or— HORROR!— a show we’ve seen before, maybe many times before. 

We tell ourselves we should be “productive.” 

We tell ourselves we shouldn’t watch such “stupid” stuff. 

We tell ourselves we must actually BE “lazy” and “stupid,” if we actually like shows like this, shows many people like.

(We wouldn’t call anyone ELSE “lazy” or “stupid” for liking a show— but, as with all things, we trauma survivors consider ourselves The Exception.)

Feeling shame about liking the things we like is a very common experience for trauma survivors— but you need to know that the shows, music, movies, and other entertainment you like is nothing to be ashamed of. 

I don’t care how “mindless” it is. 

I don’t care how often you’ve watched or listened to it before. 

Here’s the thing about trauma survivors and our entertainment: we very often turn to those shows and movies and songs to express and experience feelings we don’t feel we’re “allowed” to express and experience. 

Maybe we struggle to feel certain things. Maybe we worry that we’ll be “in trouble” if we feel or express certain things. 

Maybe we’ve dissociated certain feelings and needs so thoroughly, that watching them play out in a show or movie or hearing them expressed in a song is like hearing a different language— but one that somehow feels familiar. 

So our shows, our movies, our music? They turn into more than just entrainment. They turn into opportunities for trauma survivors to feel human— in a culture and a world where we very often feel like aliens. 

This is especially true of our “comfort shows.” 

Lots of people reading this— and the person writing this— have shows that they’ve watched EVERY episode of, possibly multiple times…and yet they still put it on in times of trouble. 

(These shows include “Mad Men” and “The Office” for me.) 

Why do we do this? It’s not because we’ve forgotten what’s going to happen. Quite the contrary, actually. 

In times of chaos and unpredictability, “comfort shows” can be incredibly soothing to the traumatized nervous system. 

If you’ve had to spend your life guessing at what the people around you are thinking, feeing, or about to say, it can be REALLY nice to have someplace you can go where you clearly understand the motives of the characters and the next step of the journey. 

On comfort shows, people don’t behave unpredictably. 

With comfort shows, we know which episodes and story beats we might have to skip in order to avoid triggers. 

Comfort shows give us the opportunity to emotionally invest in stories and people that we know won’t attack or betray us. The stakes are low. 

It’s true that trauma survivors like TV shows and movies and pop music for many of the same reasons the rest of the world does— but our emotional wounds and needs often lead us to become more attached to and invested in our entertainment than is common. 

And that’s okay. No shame. 

Comfort shows and popcorn flicks and radio bops can ABSOLUTELY be tools of trauma recovery— maybe secret weapons. 

Feeling misunderstood is a very common trigger for many complex trauma survivors. 

We will do deep back bends, behaviorally and emotionally, to try to prevent being misunderstood. 

We will overexplain. A lot. Like, a lot, a lot. 

We can get very defensive, very quickly, if we feel someone is misunderstanding where we’re coming from, what we’re saying, what we want.

Much of this stems from being not listened to when we were growing up. 

Many of us have convinced ourselves that the problem was, actually, in us— that we didn’t communicate well enough, or we weren’t assertive enough. 

As a result, when we’re misunderstood as adults, it can make us feel ashamed. 

We assume that if we’re being misunderstood, it’s because of our failure. Our inadequacy. Maybe our “weakness” or “stupidity.” 

Feeling misunderstood is a huge trigger for me, personally. 

It brings me back to conversations with my dad, who loved “debate” as a form of communication and entertainment. 

One of his favorite tactics was to reframe whatever you were arguing with the phrase, “so, what you’re saying is…” or “so, to be clear…” 

Of course, this was never an attempt to “be clear.” This was an attempt to get you to agree to his framing of your argument. And his framing of your argument was always designed to make you feel stupid. 

I don’t mind losing debates. (I don’t especially care if I win them, either, actually. As you might guess, my experiences with my father profoundly soured me on all things “debate.”) 

But it makes me crazy to think that somebody thinks I think or feel something I don’t think or feel. 

I want to argue. I want to correct them. I want to explain. 

This is a problem when— as sometimes happens in the world— I’m in an exchange with someone who isn’t, actually, interested in understanding where I’m coming from. 

As I’ve worked my own trauma recovery, I’ve gotten better— sort of— at letting it go when I realize that I’m just going to be misunderstood by a person, and there’s functionally nothing I can do about it. 

But it still makes me crazy. And it leads me to shut down. 

For many complex trauma survivors, feeling misunderstood essentially feels like an attack— because, in certain relationships in our past, that’s functionally what it was. 

You need to know that it’s normal to shut down when you feel attacked. 

You also need to know that there are going to b LOTS of people who want to argue with you in this world for reasons other than whatever the subject at hand is. 

We have to do what we can to not let it get in our head or under our skin. 

For me, feeling attacked and misunderstood keys right into a “freeze” trauma response. Your mileage may vary. 

Letting go of the fantasy that we can make everyone— or anyone— perfectly understand us is hard. 

Trauma Brain tries to tell us we just need to try harder. 

Trauma Brain tries to tell us that, if we just explained it well enough, we wouldn’t be misunderstood. 

It’s not true. You’re going to be misunderstood. I’m going to be misunderstood. It’s going to happen. 

It’s a bummer. Depending on who we’re talking about, it might be a big bummer. Sad. Maddening. Depressing. 

I know. But breathe into it. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

This is where that “radical acceptance” thing comes in handy. 

Complex trauma survivors are very often in the position of wondering, “Do I exist?” 

It might sound strange— but it’s not. Not given what we’ve been through. 

Many complex trauma survivors have been treated like we don’t exist— often by the people to whom we should have been the MOST visible. 

It’s a real mind f*ck to get all these messages from the culture about how our parents or caretakers “should” be the ones who love us unconditionally— but to then have them treat us like we’re a piece of furniture. 

(Sometimes an inconvenient piece of furniture, at that.) 

It’s painful when parents or caretakers treat us like we don’t exist— like we don’t have feelings or needs or perceptions or preferences— but it can be especially painful when we’re made to feel guilty for having feelings about it. 

The truth is, it’s normal to feel empty and sad when the people who “should” love us, don’t— but often, we’re not “allowed” to have those feelings. 

We’re told having those feelings makes us “self centered.” 

We’re sometimes told it’s silly or immature to want to be wanted. 

It is not silly or immature to want to be wanted. 

It’s not silly or immature to be sad when we’re not wanted— especially by those to whom we were the most attached from a very early age. 

Our want to be wanted can be confusing when the people we want to be wanted by, were or are abusive or neglectful to us. 

We can get it in our head that we must be really “f*cked up” to even WANT to be wanted by someone who doesn’t seem to be particularly attached to us. 

This is where complex trauma gets “complex.” 

When we’re young, we don’t get to choose our attachments, any more than we get to choose our parents and caregivers. 

We literally have no choice BUT to attach to whoever is available. 

As we develop psychologically, we get it in our head that their reciprocal attachment to— and their judgment of— us is how we “should’ estimate our own worth. 

It’s all Trauma Brain BS (Belief Systems— but the other kind of BS, too)— but we don’t know that. We CAN’T know that back then.

So— we become dependent (emotionally, or physically, or both) upon people who hurt us. 

This is what’s called a “trauma bond”— and it’s both confusing and psychologically “sticky.” 

Very often, a foundational part of trauma recovery is affirming that we do exist. 

If you’ve struggled with dissociation, you know that may not be as “crazy” as it sounds. 

It doesn’t work to just remind ourselves once we exist, either: we have to repeatedly affirm it. And we have to affirm it in our thoughts, in our words, and in our actions. 

In trauma recovery it’s real important we treat ourselves as if we really do exist, and our existence really does matter. 

Even if we don’t feel it in this moment. Even if we weren’t treated by our caretakers (or teachers, or clergy) like we exist or that our existence matters. 

We need to develop, shape, and contour our neural pathways before the thoughts, feelings, and behaviors associated with them feel natural. 

So: treat yourself as if you exist. 

Affirm that you exist. 

Affirm that it matters that you exist— that the world is a better place BECAUSE you exist. 

I know. Tall order, when trauma conditioning has been kicking our ass for years. 

But we gotta start somewhere to get somewhere. 

Because the people who gave birth to you or raised you, didn’t seem to want you, does not mean there is something wrong with you. 

Because the people who were “supposed” to love and support you, doesn’t mean you’re not lovable or worthy of support. 

There are thousands of people who have the experience of not feeling wanted, loved, or supported by their family of origin. 

We tend to internalize this experience— to assume that it “must” be something about us that “causes” them to respond to us like that. 

After all, family is “supposed” to “unconditionally” want, love, and support you, right? 

Here’s the thing: it’s not anything about you that “cause” that reaction in them. 

We CAN’T “make” someone love us, or not love us. 

We CAN’T “make’ someone want us, or not want us. 

We CAN’T “make” someone support us, or not support us. 

There are all sorts of reasons why people don’t seem to want, love, or support their family members— but it’s never a reflection on your basic worth. 

Yeah. I said “never.” (Cue someone arguing in the comments that “well, SOMETIMES…”)

It is not on you, as either a child or adult, to “earn” someone’s love. 

At this time of year, so many adults are headed into family situations where relatives will superficially go through the motions of wanting, loving, or supporting them— but they’ll feel like a Martian trying to fit in at those occasions. 

Certain family functions in adulthood seem almost fiendishly designed to induce emotional flashbacks, specially in survivors of abuse or neglect. 

We flash back to feeling unwanted. Unloved. Unsupported. 

And we frequently flash back to our absolute conviction that if we just try hard enough; if we say just the right thing; if we just achieve enough…maybe we’ll be “worthy” of “their” love. 

Maybe if our body is just the right shape or size this year. 

Maybe if we bring along just the right romantic partner. 

Maybe…maybe…maybe.

Emotional flashbacks around the holidays are particularly insidious, because they dredge up feelings that we very often try to bury during the rest of the year. 

This feelings often include the conviction that we’ve disappointed and failed our family of origin— that whatever we’ve done with our lives, hasn’t been enough. 

That we’ve failed to “earn” the “right” to be wanted, loved, and supported. That we’ve somehow forfeited that right. 

You need to know that no matter how strongly you might be feeling that right now, it’s bullsh*t. 

We don’t “earn” or “forfeit” our lovability. 

There will always be part of us that thinks we can “solve for (X)” in the equation of “how can I get my family to want, love and support me?” 

We want to think it’s a solvable equation. 

We want to think we can fawn our way into feeling comfortable and safe within our family. 

But that’s an illusion. There is no solution to that equation, because there can’t be. 

And that is not your fault. 

It’s not about you. 

Maybe you are or aren’t wanted, loved, or supported by your family of origin. You need to know that you’re definitely not alone— and it has ZERO to do with your worth or the value of your life. 

It sucks. But it does not mean what Trauma Brain is trying right now to convince you it means. 

I know. But breathe into the grief. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

Chronic pain complicates trauma recovery, because it replicates exactly what makes complex trauma so devastating. 

That is to say: chronic pain is a textbook complex traumatic stressor. 

Complex trauma is “complex” because it happens over time; it’s difficult or impossible to escape; and it gets entwined with many, or all, of our important relationships. 

The same could be said for chronic pain as well. 

Chronic pain isn’t the type of pain that is experienced, and then passes. By definition, it lingers and persists, even if it varies in intensity. 

That is to say, the experience of chronic pain stretches over time— just like complex trauma generally.

Chronic pain sufferers don’t think back to “that one time” they were in pain; many or all of their memories are accompanied by recollections of how their pain was affecting them at the time. 

Similarly, chronic pain is difficult or impossible to escape, even with pain management medications. 

(This is something many people seem to misunderstand about the experience and treatment of chronic pain— pain meds don’t “solve” the problem of chronic pain. They may, under the best of circumstances, make chronic pain more manageable— but at no time do they negate the withering impact of chronic pain.)

And, as sufferers of chronic pan can attest, the experience of chronic pain seems to invade every important relationship in their lives, from work relationships, to friendships, to romantic and sexual relationships. 

It’s just impossible to experience chronic pain without that pain becoming central to our life experience. 

The experience of chronic pain is very often overwhelming. 

One of the things that makes traumatic stressors “traumatic” is, they overwhelm a survivor’s ability to cope— and chronic pain is one of the most overwhelming experiences a human being can endure, day after day, year after year. 

Many people don’t understand that the experience of trauma isn’t just about what happens to us who we’re hit with a traumatic stressor. Trauma, especially complex trauma, is also about the overwhelming, painful experience of living with the impact of a traumatic stressor over time. 

Living with trauma is, itself, a complex traumatic stressor— and living with chronic pain is definitely a complex traumatic stressor. 

That means managing chronic pain necessarily needs to incorporate trauma recovery tools, skills, and philosophies. 

Living with chronic pain very often stokes negative beliefs and attitudes about ourselves— about our worthiness, our ability, our lovability. 

Living with chronic pain very often leaves us feeling hopeless and helpless. 

Living with chronic pain very often distorts our own relationship with ourselves, and our thoughts, beliefs, and behaviors surrounding relationships with others. 

That is to say: all the complex trauma symptoms and struggles that also afflict survivors of childhood abuse, childhood neglect, domestic violence, spiritual abuse, or any other form of complex trauma. 

Why is this important? It’s important because very often chronic pain management skips the part about it being a complex traumatic stressor. 

The medical community often thinks of pain as a primary “physical” problem, and any psychological problems that stem from it are treated like afterthoughts. 

Anyone who struggles with complex trauma knows that, when complex trauma is present, it is no afterthought. It dominates your life— as surely as chronic pain itself does. 

Trauma recovery skills, tools, and philosophies have a lot to offer chronic pain sufferers. 

Not the least of which is the assurance that they are not alone in the psychological and behavioral symptoms they’re experiencing— even though almost every trauma survivor tends to feel very alone at some point in their journey. 

For trauma recovery to be sustainable, it’s real important we approach our symptoms and struggles as if they make sense— somehow, some way. 

Many survivors get in the habit of approaching our symptoms and struggles with disdain or frustration— and I get it. We hate these symptoms and struggles They’re literally running and/or ruining our life. 

But if our goal is to manage and reduce those symptoms and struggles, we need to understand them. 

We often need to sit with them for a minute, while they “tell” us what they’re all about. 

Many of our symptoms and struggles in trauma recovery will seem mysterious to us. Reactions and triggers won’t seem connected to anything that happened to us. Trauma symptoms and responses might seem to come out of nowhere. 

The thing is: no trauma symptom occurs “for no reason.” 

Even those symptoms that seem mysterious or nonsensical serve some sort of purpose. 

We may not be able to discern how our symptoms are related to our trauma right away— and, the “good” news is, we don’t have to completely understand a reaction in order to manage it. 

But we do need to approach whatever we’re experiencing with compassion and respect. 

That can be a tall order when we’re sick to death of getting our ass kicked by trauma symptoms and responses. 

It’s a game changer when we develop enough perspective in trauma recovery to meet our trauma responses calmly and evenly. “Okay. This is happening. Let’s deal with this.” 

It’s a game changer when we approach our responses trough the lens of, “I may not get it just now— but this makes sense to some part of me, and I’m going to deal with this on its own terms.” 

We get into all kinds of trouble in recovery when we try to insist or demand that we feel something other than what we’re feeling. 

Our nervous system doesn’t especially care if we like what we’re feeling, or if we’d prefer to feel something else. It evolved to keep us alive, not to cater to our preferences. 

Trauma recovery is about repairing and developing out relationship with ourselves— and that includes our relationship with our various symptoms and struggles. 

It’s very easy, when we’re struggling, to get frustrated with or angry at the “part” of us that seems freaked out by a trigger. 

We wanna yell at it. We want to tell it to get over this. We want to roll our eyes and ignore what’s happening, because it “shouldn’t” be happening. 

But none of that will actually help us manage a trauma response. 

Trauma responses aren’t “choices,” and our nervous system doesn’t activate them to frustrate or inconvenience us. 

It can be frustrating, inconvenient, and overwhelming to get hit with trauma responses over and over again. That’s real. You get to be exactly as frustrated as you are— with all of it. 

But we can’t take that frustration out on ourselves. We can’t take it out on the “part” of us that is fueling or experiencing that trauma response. 

We’re already getting our ass kicked by trauma responses. 

We don’t need to kick our own ass in frustration or shame ABOUT experiencing trauma responses. 

For trauma recovery to be realistic and sustainable, we need to develop an attitude of radical acceptance toward our symptoms and struggles. 

We don’t have to like ‘em. 

But we have to accept that we’re struggling exactly as much as we are, experiencing exactly what we are— and that our symptoms and struggles make sense. They are connected to reality. 

They are understandable— and important. 

It matters how we think and talk about our symptoms and struggles. 

We are going to run into plenty of people who will blame us for making “poor choices.” 

We’ll meet plenty of people who will tell us the way others behave toward us is a function of what we “tolerate.” 

We’ll meet plenty of people who will attribute our feelings and behaviors to our “character.” 

It’s very easy to let all of that get in our head, and kind of marinate in our own shame. 

Trauma conditions us to feel shame about almost everything we think, feel, and do. 

Abuse and neglect in particular condition us to blame ourselves, often in the harshest possible terms, for any pain or dysfunction we experience. 

Don’t get me wrong: we are humans, and humans sometimes contribute to our own pain. It happens. 

But t’s also the case that trauma tries to bully us into taking way more “responsibility” for our pain and dysfunction than is realistic or useful. 

Sustainable trauma recovery is not about either accepting or denying “responsibility” for our symptoms and struggles. 

It’s about actually understanding why we’re feeling and functioning as we are— and identifying realistic ways to feel and function better. 

Harsh self-blame gets in the way of that. 

No elite athlete has ever been motivated, long term, by harsh criticism. 

No elite athlete continues to perform, long term, for a coach who dos nothing but rip them to shreds. 

We cannot expect ourselves to be motivated, creative, or consistent in trauma recovery if the main way we interact with ourselves is through harsh criticism. 

Many people reading this don’t experience their harsh self-criticism as a “choice.” It’s simply how they talk to themselves. How they learned to talk to themselves. How they’ve been talking to themselves since forever. 

A huge part of trauma recovery is getting very aware of how we talk to ourselves— and shifting our self-talk to be consistent with realistic, sustainable recovery. 

That doesn’t mean flooding ourselves with unrealistic, over the top, optimistic self-talk. 

It does mean talking to ourselves supportively and realistically. 

In trauma recovery, above all else, we are honest with ourselves— and, sure that includes times when we’re not thrilled with ourselves. 

Trauma recovery self-talk isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. 

What trauma recovery self-talk is, is balanced, respectful, and patient. 

Do we have to be “nice” to ourselves at all times in trauma recovery? Eh, to me, this question kind of misses the point. We have to be respectful and realistic with ourselves at all times— and, yes, I find it’s usually more productive to speak more or less “nicely” to myself. 

The core of trauma recovery is repairing and developing our relationship with ourselves. 

We’re not going to do that if we’re talking to and behaving toward ourselves like we’re someone we hate. 

I get it: you may not be feeling self-love just now. Been there. And the good news is, we don’t always have to “feel” the self-love. 

But we do always have to behave toward ourselves as if we’re on our own side. 

We do always have to talk to ourselves in ways that are starkly different from how our bullies and abusers talked to us. 

We don’t always have to be gentle and “positive” with ourselves. 

But our self-talk needs to reflect our goals in our trauma recovery and our relationship with ourselves— even if we’re not “there” just yet. 

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

Trauma does this thing to us, where it makes “basic” human behaviors really difficult— then we feel shame for struggling with those “basics.” 

When we’ve survived trauma, things like eating can be hard. 

Sleeping can be really hard. Almost impossible, some nights. 

Relating to people can be really hard after trauma. Sustaining romanic and platonic relationships can get really complicated. 

And post traumatic symptoms and struggles famously interfere with many survivors’ ability to hold down a job and/or otherwise provide for themselves financially. 

Here’s the thing: once you understand how trauma impacts our nervous system and develop an appreciation for why it does what it does, all of those difficulties make sense. 

But many survivors still feel shame for struggling with what the world tells us “should” be “basic” human behaviors— which, unfortunately, many people understand to me “easy.” 

The truth is, behaviors like eating, sleeping, relationships, and maintaining economic stability, can actually be way more complicated— even for non-trauma  survivors— than our culture is willing to concede. 

But trauma takes many things our culture takes for granted— many things our culture assumes “should” be easier than they are— and turns them into a minefield. 

You are not “detective” because you struggle with things that the culture says “should” be easy. 

You are not irreparably “broken.” 

You are, in fact, experiencing struggles and symptoms that an overwhelming majority of trauma survivors have also experienced over the years— but which many survivors don’t talk about, because of the shame. 

Ah, yes. The shame. 

Our culture often sends us messages to the tune of, if you struggle with “basic” human behaviors, it’s likely because you’re “bad.” 

The culture likes to tell us that struggling with “the basics” is often a result of  simply “not having our sh*t together.” 

Many trauma survivors, having been flooded with similar messages our entire lives, internalize the gist of that message— and we end up framing our difficulties as needing to “make our lives work.” 

The thing about all THAT, however, is that struggling with “the basics” has nothing to do with you being “bad”— or “good,” for that matter— as a person. 

How well we feel or function every day is not reflective of our worth. It is not an indication of “character.” It is not a matter of “will.” 

Our basic functioning— including eating, sleeping, relationships, and economic stability— is largely a function of where we are in our trauma recovery, and how consistently we’re working our recovery. And a lot of other factors, like our external safety and our access to resources. 

The point is: we need to resist the habit to blame and shame ourselves for our symptoms and struggles. 

So you’re struggling with something you think is “basic.” So what? 

We struggle with what we struggle with. We didn’t ask for these struggles. We’re as frustrated by them as anyone. 

Realistic, sustainable trauma recovery is never built on shame. 

So you’re struggling with “the basics.” Welcome to trauma recovery, we ALL struggle with the basics. 

And we’re all as deserving of compassion and support as any human being who has ever struggled— with anything. 

Easy does it.