Use Your Damn Skills

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I HAVE had people lie to me. 

I HAVE had people turn their back on me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need my fight response. 

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

That balance isn’t always easy to find. 

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

Breathe; blink; focus. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I don’t care. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have a life to get back to. 

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

But learn about recovery. 

Learn the philosophies, the skills, the tools. 

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

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

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

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

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

We fear we’ll be yelled at. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, we just. Can’t. Do it. 

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

Logic doesn’t permeate trauma responses. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or attacked. Or hated. 

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

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

It’s not a weakness. It’s a symptom. 

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

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

Easy does it. One day at a time. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what we tell ourselves, anyway. 

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

That’s what we often think, anyway. 

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

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

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

Or so we say to ourselves. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ask cult survivors. 

Ask survivors of abusive romantic or sexual relationships. 

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

Ask ex-members of certain political movements. 

Ask survivors of financial exploitation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That fact can get lost on the adults around us. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t your fault. 

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

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

Complex post traumatic stress doesn’t heal by accident. 

You should not have been in the position you were. 

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

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

It wasn’t your fault. 

Really. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does that leave us with? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s right. We have to wait. 

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

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

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

But certain broad rules do apply. 

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

Everything starts there. 

Sometimes— a lot of the time, actually— a flashback isn’t what we traditionally think of as a “flashback.” 

We often think of a flashback as, like, an immersive movie— and often, it is like that. 

We feel yanked from the here-and-now, and deposited back-there, back-then— and every sense modality we have is pulled into reinforcing the experience. 

We see what we saw then; we hear what we heard then; and, in emotional flashbacks, we very much feel what we felt then. 

This type of flashback is very much like being trapped in a movie theater. The surround sound is cranked up, the screen in front of us is huge (maybe even 3D!), and sometimes the seat beneath is even rumbling with the intensity of the scene. 

Those flashbacks suck. They can be scary, disorienting, and even physically painful, as our physical body lurches into fight or flight mode in response. 

But there are types of flashbacks that don’t involve that intensive, immersive visual component. 

One of the most impactful of these flashbacks are olfactory flashbacks— literally, smelling things. 

Scent has particular power in sending us back to certain times and places. 

Almost everybody reading this can think of specific scents that yank them right back into the past. 

Sometimes we’re not even sure what a particular scent IS— but we know that on whiff sends us on a magic carpet ride (one that we didn’t necessarily choose). 

I can still smell my high school. I couldn’t tell you what that particular scent IS; but I know it when I smell it. 

I can still smell my grandparents’ house. Again, who knows what combination of things I’m actually remembering as that scent— but I know it when I smell it. 

Scent is actually DESIGNED, in the nervous system, to be an especially primal emotional trigger. The neural structures that carry scent information to the brain literally bypass neural architecture that the other senses need to check in with. 

That means when we smell something, we have less opportunity to interpret or process it. It hits us raw. Hard. 

When an olfactory trigger hits us, raw and hard, it often touches off an olfactory flashback— which isn’t visual, as we imagine traditional “flashbacks” to be. 

What happens is, we get flooded with smells from the past. 

If you’re reading this, you very likely know exactly what I mean. 

Even if the trigger is here-and-now, we’re actually smelling things from back-there, back-then…and the worst part is, we may very much not know what the hell it is we ARE smelling. 

We just know the feelings associated with those smells. 

Our nervous system knows full well what those smells are linked to. 

Olfactory flashbacks are particularly problematic because, unlike visual or auditory flashbacks, we can’t look around and readily identify the fact that we’re smelling something not-here, not-now. 

How many times we have smelled something, and had no idea where it was actually coming from? 

It’s thus really hard to reality check olfactory flashbacks. It’s hard to get grounded and contain what’s coming up. Often we don’t even realize we’re in a flashback— because no one told us a flashback can “look” like getting flooded with a smell. 

Our front line defenses against olfactory flashbacks are competing, chosen scents. Lots of survivors seem to like citrus scents for this purpose. Many survivors swear by essential oils, scented markers, or scented erasers that they can unobtrusively carry around. 

Olfactory flashbacks are an inconvenient, frustrating, often confusing symptom of post traumatic stress— but they are, like every symptom, understandable and manageable with patience and self-compassion. 

I know. Those are tall orders, some days. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

One day at a time. 

Many trauma survivors arrive in adulthood with a lot built up inside them. 

A lot of feelings. 

A lot of memories that just…won’t…fade. 

A lot of words they’ve never had the space or safety to speak out loud. 

So many words. 

One of the things that very often happens when somebody begins trauma focused therapy is they start talking…and the words start flowing. 

And then they REALLY start flowing. 

Which then leads the survivor in therapy to suddenly feel anxiety and/or shame. 

You get a lot of apologies. A lot of “I’m sorry I’m rambling.” “I’m sorry I’m ranting.” “I’m sorry I’m talking in circles.” 

Mind you: almost never is the survivor in therapy ACTUALLY “rambling” or “talking in circles.” 

And if they are “ranting,” it’s usually a rant that is long-delayed, and well-deserved. 

We want to apologize for talking in therapy not because we’re ACTUALLY doing anything wrong— but because we’ve been conditioned to believe talking is bad. 

We’ve been conditioned to believe talking, especially about what happened, will get us in trouble. 

We’ve been conditioned to believe that talking, especially about our pain, is shameful. 

Very often we’ve been raised to believe that the “honorable” way to deal with pain is to never talk about it. To bear it silently. To quietly endure. 

We’ve been conditioned to believe that acknowledging our pain, let alone talking about it at length, let alone FEELING anything about it, is “weak.” Perhaps a sign of “self centeredness.” 

We’ve been conditioned to believe that expressing anger about what happened to us or what we didn’t get is tantamount to going on an “unhinged” rant…and THAT is the sign of a person who is not emotionally “disciplined” or “mature.” 

What a bunch of BS (Belief Systems— but the OTHER kind of BS, too). 

One of the most important tasks of trauma recovery is known as “unburdening.”

Unburdening is exactly what it sounds like. 

We— you— have been carrying things that you should never have been asked to carry. 

Very often you’e been carrying them alone. Even if people have WANTED to help you carry them, there was no safe, straightforward way for them to actually assume some of your burden. 

Over time, if we keep carrying things that are so heavy— and that get added to every year, every day, we’re NOT in active trauma recovery— we get tired. 

We get exhausted— in every way possible for a human being to feel exhausted. 

And when we feel exhausted, it becomes very easy to feel hopeless. 

That’s why unburdening is so important. 

It doesn’t always have to happen in a therapist’s office— but it does need to happen. 

The core of trauma recovery is creating a different relationship with our past and with ourselves. 

We can’t do that and continue carrying what we’ve been carrying, in the same way we’ve been carrying it. 

So we have to take some risks. 

Usually that means talking. 

It might even mean singing, or creating art, or digging through sand in a tray. 

And, yes, there’s usually crying involved, too. 

It’s okay. 

In fact, it’s more than okay. 

It’s f*cking beautiful, and I’m so f*cking proud of you. 

So much of trauma recovery is about improvisation and adaptation. 

It’s not that we lack confidence in Plan A. Make Plan A as realistic and ambitious as you need it to be. 

It’s that if trauma recovery has taught us anything, it’s that sh*t goes sideways. A lot. 

Triggers pop up that we didn’t anticipate and don’t understand. 

Memories and feelings flood us out of nowhere. 

Symptoms we thought we’d “handled” reemerge— even after months or years of stability. 

Trauma recovery is a lot of things but “predictable” is often not one of them. 

In realistic trauma recovery, Plan A is often toast before we get to the first check in. 

So we need Plan B. And Plans C, D, and E. 

Here’s the thing about trauma recovery: not even the “experts” understand it perfectly. 

And NO expert who ISN’T you, perfectly understands YOUR trauma recovery trajectory and needs. 

I certainly have MY ideas about what TENDS to make for successful trauma recovery— but my perspective is HEAVILY biased by my own struggles and recovery. 

One of the reasons I don’t make super explicit recommendations on my social media pages (I know, much to the extreme frustration to some of my readers) is that I DON’T know you. I DON’T know exactly how applicable the tips, tricks, and tools that worked for me, are to you. 

What I DON’T want is somebody trying what I recommend, realizing it’s not a perfect for THEIR recovery, and tossing the baby out with the bathwater. 

(This actually is a problem with “experts” who try to convince their large audiences that their specific recovery ideas are the ONLY route to recovery. This is never, ever true.) 

None if this s about trauma THERAPY, per se. It’s about trauma RECOVERY. 

And trauma recovery is always, in the end, Do It Yourself. DIY. 

In realistic, sustainable trauma recovery, we improvise. We adapt. We riff. We experiment. 

Psychotherapy CAN be a helpful tool in trauma recovery— but even the best psychotherapy is ONLY effective when we take what we learn and work in in the therapy hour, and adapt it to our everyday life. 

I’ve never had much patience for people who insist on elegant, perfect models or treatment plans for trauma recovery. 

Real recovery just doesn’t work like that. 

It’s very often not elegant or predictable or even linear. 

Trauma recovery in the real world is often messy. It’s often counterintuitive. 

Our recovery needs very often change— not just year by year, but week by week, even hour by hour. 

That’s why we have to be willing and able to switch it up. 

We can’t get over reliant on certain skills, tools, or philosophy. 

And we DAMN sure can’t get over reliant on the ideas or care of a specific therapist— “expert” or not. 

Having a Plan B (and C, and D, and…) doesn’t mean we lack faith or confidence in Plan A. The problem with Plan A is very rarely that we just don’t “believe” in it hard enough. 

It’s that things change— out there in the world, and inside our head and heart. Often suddenly. 

A realistic trauma recovery is a flexible, adaptive trauma recovery. 

The best trauma recovery tools, skills, and philosophies are ones that are open to revision as we change and grow and encounter new problems and challenges. 

Do not listen to anyone who tries to get you too wedded to any one set of skills, tools, or philosophies. And do NOT listen to anyone who INSISTS their bag of tricks is the “only” way to recover. 

We are not in this for brand loyalty. 

We are in this to realistically feel and function better. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

For a lot of trauma survivors reading this, the perfectionism and/or drive toward people-pleasing may have been our main source of “motivation” for…years, sometimes. 

We can’t imagine having the drive to achieve WITHOUT perfectionism or people-pleasing. 

Then, we get into therapy or recovery, and we’re told that we should lighten up— that we don’t NEED to be perfect, and that people-pleasing is often a manifestation of the “fawn” trauma response. 

Which, of course, sounds all good in theory. Of course we shouldn’t be driven or haunted by perfectionism. Of course we shouldn’t be held hostage to people-pleasing. 

Learning how to give those up can only result in us being happier and healthier…right? 

Sure. In theory. 

In reality, learning to give up perfectionism and people pleasing in trauma recovery often presents us with a very practical problem: how the hell do we motivate ourselves to do…well…anything? 

We’re told that we “should” want to achieve just for the joy of achieving…but many of us don’t have a whole lot of experience associating “joy” with achievement. 

Rather, we associate achievement with stress. We associate it with a fear of failure. 

We often associate achievement with exhausting, fruitless attempts to “earn” the approval or love of someone in our family, or even a romantic or sexual partner. 

The idea of achieving something just for the “joy” of it is just a bizarre concept to us. 

The achievement paradox experienced by many complex trauma survivors is part of a larger problem many survivors face: when we’ve been living our entire life in survival mode, we frequently have very little idea what our live can or “should” look like when we’re NOT in survival mode. 

What do we even like? 

Who even ARE we? 

The idea of achieving something for the sake of achieving it begs the question of, what would I even DO, what would I TRY to achieve, if someone else’s approval (or, alternately, their potential disdain) wasn’t on the line? 

Who are we, outside of others’ plans for or expectations of us? 

For people who didn’t grow up in high control environments, these questions might sound weird. After all, who arrives in adulthood with virtually no idea who they are or what they like? 

People who were raised or enmeshed in high control environments, that’s who.

That is to say, people who struggle with complex trauma. 

This is why I so often return to the fact that the big thing we “recover” in trauma “recovery” really is ourselves. 

We “recover” our right to exist independently of the people and institutions that dominated our early lives. 

We “recover” the right to CHOOSE our interests, goals, and even our personalities. 

And when I say “recover,” I’m very aware that for MANY of us there isn’t any pre-complex trauma “us” to go back to— so what I REALLY mean is “recreate.” 

(But, for obvious reasons, “trauma recreation” doesn’t work as a replacement term for “trauma recovery.”) 

Struggling to find or maintain motivation AFTER giving up perfectionism and/or people pleasing is a real thing. You’re NOT the first or last survivor to run headlong into this dilemma. 

For awhile, we gotta do the things WITHOUT being particularly motivated. Which, yes, sucks. 

But the good news is: we DO eventually find— that is, create— ourselves. 

We WILL eventually feel motivated on OUR terms. 

And when we hit that point, something almost miraculous happens: we find ourselves not PUSHED toward our goals by others’ expectations or our own anxiety— but rather PULLED toward our goals by how meaningful and interesting and beautiful WE find them. 

I know. It all sounds improbable to you now. Don’t worry about that. 

You just worry about YOUR recovery goals, today. 

You know the drill. One day at a time.