Use Your Damn Skills

Predators don’t care about our boundaries. 

This might seem obvious— why WOULD predators care about our boundaries? 

But it’s important to acknowledge, because in our culture there is a subset of people who will blame victims of abuse for failing to set appropriate boundaries. 

This point of view is often expressed as, “you teach people how to treat you.” 

People who find meaning in this phrase often cite it as a reminder that it’s important to set boundaries in all relationships— that if we default on our responsibility to set boundaries, then we can’t expect other people to adhere to boundaries that were never set. 

This is true— in a narrow set of circumstances. 

“You teach people how to treat you” might be valid in relationships in which there isn’t a particular power differential, and in which the people in question are already inclined to respect you and any boundaries you set. 

The problem is, many people reading this have life experience with people who are NOT inclined to respect us or our boundaries. 

Many people reading this have been victimized by predators. 

Predators benefit from our cultural assumption that pretty much anybody can set effective boundaries, and it’s everybody’s responsibility to set boundaries if they don’t want to get mistreated. 

When someone is hurt in our culture, our first response is often to ask some variant of, “Well, what were they doing to invite that hurt?” 

“What didn’t they do to stay safer?” 

“What did they do to put them at risk?’ 

Contrary to the rhapsodizing of many mental health gurus on social media, boundaries aren’t magic. 

The truth is, it’s really hard for a lot of people to set boundaries that other people will respect. 

And it’s virtually impossible to set boundaries that a committed predator will respect. 

The core assumption on which boundary setting rests is that you’re able to walk away from a situation if the other person chooses not to respect your boundary. 

We can’t FORCE anyone to respect our boundaries— all we can do is disengage and walk away if the other person fails to respect it. 

But not everybody CAN safely or easily walk away from a situation. 

Yes, boundaries can be very important— but our cultural blindness to the fact that not everybody is in a sufficient position of power to be able to set effective boundaries is MADDENING. 

It can be impossible, for all practical purposes, to walk away from a relationship on which we are economically reliant— and particularly impractical to threaten to walk away from that relationship every time you need to set a boundary. 

It can be practically impossible to walk away from a relationship with an organization or institution that all your social and familial relationships are entwined with. 

When predators are in a position where they know you are unable to realistically set boundaries, they know they can target you with impunity— and you’ll likely be blamed for whatever happens. 

Because, you know, “we teach people how to treat us.” 

Make no mistake: the victim blaming bias of our culture caters directly to predators. 

We do not “allow” predators to target us. They choose to do that. 

We do not “allow” predators to violate our boundaries. They choose to do that— and our cultural misunderstanding of how boundaries work often aids and abets them. 

It is not your fault that you were, or are, targeted by a predator. 

You cannot realistically halt a predator in their tracks by magically waving a “boundaries” wand. 

As it turns out: predators don’t give a sh*t about our boundaries. 

And our victim blaming culture will often give them cover. 

In my view, our primary tools in working to regulate our emotions after trauma are our self-talk, our inner focus, and our outer focus. 

Your mileage may vary, but I think the emotional regulation tools and techniques taught by many types of therapy all trace back to different ways of using our self-talk, our internal focus, and our external focus. 

(There are also techniques for using our breathing and our physical body to help regulate our emotions, but even these, I feel, eventually anchor back to shifting our internal and external focus.) 

Perhaps the most important thing to remember when thinking about emotional regulation is that it is not easy, and no skill, tool, or philosophy that I know of MAKES it suddenly easy. 

The goal of emotional regulation skills and tools in trauma recovery is to make it EASIER to turn the volume up or down on our emotional states— but we need to remember that post traumatic emotional dysregulation is rooted in the PHYSICAL harm that was done to our nervous system when we were traumatized. 

When we try to change how we habitually respond to emotional states that feel overwhelming or dangerous, we are making PHYSICAL changes to our nervous system— namely, rerouting neural pathways. 

The point is that this takes time. And sometimes the project of altering neural pathways can be actually, physically uncomfortable. 

Another thing to remember when working on post trauma emotional regulation is, many of the skills and tools we try in the moment may not SEEM to make much of a difference right then. 

If emotional regulation really were as simple as thinking about something specific or saying something specific or using our body in a specific way during periods of intense emotion, there wouldn’t be so many trauma survivors struggling with it. 

What I found in my own trauma recovery was, I would learn an emotional regulation technique— then, when it came time to practice it, I would try it…and it would seem pretty weak sauce. 

A LOT of things seem like weak sauce in the face of the hurricane that is post traumatic emotional dysregulation. 

The reason I even mention this is because I know, very well, that many trauma survivors are sick and tired of trying sh*t that doesn’t work. 

The flood of emotions and physical sensations that happens when we get triggered is no joke— and in that moment we’re NOT in the mood to try some weak sauce self-talk or visualization technique that might not seem to make much of a dent in what we’re experiencing right now. 

The paradox of learning post traumatic emotional regulation is that we have to push through our irritation and despair at how stupid and ineffective some of these techniques seem if we ever want them to start to work. 

The truth is, we learn to regulate our emotions in little, bite sized chunks. 

Instead of experiencing an emotion at 100% intensity, we experience it at 99%. Then maybe at 98%. 

Mind you: your trauma is going to try to tell you that a 1% downtick in how intense an emotion feels isn’t worth the hassle of learning and practicing emotional regulation techniques. 

That post traumatic hopelessness is the single biggest enemy of learning effective post traumatic emotional regulation. 

Don’t get me wrong: we arrive at that hopelessness honestly. Nobody reading this is resistant to trying emotional regulation skills and tools because they are “difficult,” or because thy are not “trying hard enough” to learn and practice emotional regulation. 

It’s just absolutely the case that, if we really want to develop this skillset, we’re GOING to need to push through that hopelessness and cynicism, and accept that this is a 1% at a time project. 

The last thing I’ll mention here about learning post traumatic emotional regulation is that there really aren’t any completely universal skills, tools, or philosophies that will work for every trauma survivor— because we all have different strengths, vulnerabilities, traumas, symptoms, resources, and memories. 

The self-talk and focus skills that help ME manage MY emotions might strike YOU as ineffective at best— because MY strategies are tailored to my cognitive and emotional “cheat code.” 

Emotional regulation is about finding YOUR unique cognitive and emotional “cheat code.” 

Post traumatic emotional dysregulation is a bitch. It is overwhelmingly the most common and most life disrupting symptom for the VAST majority of my patients. 

But, with creativity, patience, and practice— it IS a solvable problem. 

One day at a time. 

Part of being trauma informed is understanding that trauma survivors often use suicidal thoughts as a coping tool. 

If you haven’t noticed, the world sometimes freaks out if we express thoughts of suicide. 

Many people reading this have had the experience of expressing such thoughts, and a healthcare provider (or a family member, or a friend) react…poorly. 

It’s not necessarily their fault. All they hear is what they hear: that we’re possibly a step closer to ending our own life. 

It’s hard to explain to someone not in our head, let alone someone who hasn’t experienced complex trauma, that the role suicidal thoughts play in our journey can be complex. 

Do suicidal thoughts mean that there might be a desire to die? Of course. 

But can they mean a lot of things other than, or in addition to, that? Yes. 

To live with complex trauma is often to live in pain. 

That pain is almost always emotional, and not infrequently physical as well. 

It’s very frequently pan we can’t just lay down or take a break from. Sometimes it’s not even pain we can adequately distract ourselves from. 

Trauma survivors are used to getting told versions of, look, you wouldn’t be in such pain if you weren’t FOCUSING on it all the time. 

The problem with that is, trauma survivors aren’t making a “choice” to “focus” on their pain. (If only we HAD such a choice, am I right?) 

For many trauma survivors there’s quite often literally NO escape from the emotional and physical pain of post traumatic stress— especially in early recovery. 

The pain of our trauma traps us. Corners us. Does not give us an out. 

Suicidal thoughts are often that out— mentally and emotionally, anyway. 

Some people reading this might be familiar with some diets that recommend discipline on six days a week— but one “cheat day” per week, on which the dieter gets to eat anything they want, particularly the things they denied themselves the rest of the week. 

The reason diet “cheat days” often work is, fantasizing about that “cheat day” can provide a dieter with the focus to power through the “discipline” days— with the promise of something sweet ahead, if the dieter just hangs in. 

Suicidal ideation can kind of work in the same way for trauma survivors. 

We might have a perfectly awful time carrying on day to day, when there is no end to our pain in sight. 

When we feel trapped, cornered, forced to carry on, to keep living despite the enormous pain we’re in, we can REALLY go down the rabbit hole of despair. 

But if we have a potential “out”— the possibility of suicide— that transforms our “have to” to a “choose to” situation. 

We’re no longer being FORCED to endure the pain we’re in— we’re now CHOOSING to stay alive and work toward healing, because we DO have an alternative. 

All of this might sound bizarre to someone who has never experienced trauma or suicidal ideation. 

I guarantee I’m going to get at least someone yelling at me for this blog, to the tune of, “you’re not discouraging suicide strongly enough.” 

To be clear: I would strongly, strongly prefer that everybody reading these words right now stay alive. 

I think everybody reading these words right now has realistic reasons to believe that life, and they, will get better. I really do. 

But if we’re going to realistically deal with trauma OR suicidal ideation, we need to understand the function that suicidal ideation often plays in the sh*t show that is complex trauma. 

At least sometimes— if not often— we don’t fantasize about suicide because we want to die. No entirely, anyway. 

Sometimes— maybe often— we fantasize about suicide because it seems to give us OPTIONS— and that freedom might just give us enough wiggle room to keep going today. 

The “fight” trauma response might be the most misunderstood of the classic “fight,” “flight,” freeze,” and “fawn” responses. 

(I like to add two more— “flop” and “f*ck it”— but we can get into that later.) 

The “fight” response happens when we get triggered, and our impulse is to lash out. 

This happens in a lot of ways. It’s not just physically fighting (in fact, physically fighting someone might be the very LAST thing many trauma survivors would be inclined to do). 

Many trauma survivors develop a reputation among people who don’t understand trauma responses as being “difficult.” 

We get called “stubborn.” Sometimes we even get called “combative.” 

Very frequently we get blamed for behaviors that are actually instinctive manifestations of the “fight” trauma response. 

Trauma responses don’t mean we have ZERO control over what we do and say when we’re triggered— but it does mean that, in those moments, we are overwhelmed by a nervous system reflex that cannot be ignored. 

That is to say: when our “fight” response gets triggered, we struggle to do anything BUT fight in that moment. 

Sometimes our “fight” response” looks like interpersonal aggression. We snap at people. We push back more forcefully than might be expected, given the situation. 

Sometimes it looks like verbal aggression. We latch on to something that may not need elaboration, but we take the opportunity to fully articulate EXACTLY what we think of it. 

Sometimes our fight response DOES involve some form of physical aggression. We throw ourselves into a physical activity, like boxing or even running, and really go all in until we’re exhausted. 

Sometimes our “fight” response might be passive aggressive. We don’t directly “attack” someone or something, but we engage in behavior we know will cause them inconvenience or frustration. 

The “fight” trauma response gets misunderstood, because people who happen to be in our way when it gets triggered often get the brunt of it. 

It’s easy to assume a trauma survivor in “fight” mode really wants to, well, fight— and it’s not an unfair assumption, given that other people can’t read our minds. 

It can be easy for us to get down on ourselves for our “fight” responses. 

Personally, I HATE when my own “fight” trauma response kicks in. 

I can get ACIDLY sarcastic when that happens— and I do NOT like myself at those times. 

Often in psychotherapy, trauma patients will have a “fight” response triggered— and therapists who aren’t terribly trauma informed will assume that the patient is “acting out,” and get defensive.

(Unfortunately, such therapists often wind up blaming the patient for this response kicking in.) 

When we enact a trauma response that we’re not thrilled with, including the “fight” response, we need to remember: we didn’t ask for this. 

We’re not in full control of what our nervous system does when it gets triggered. 

We ARE responsible for our behavior, including “cleaning up” any hurtful situations our behavior creates— but we NEED to relate to our trauma responses, even the ones we dislike, with compassion. 

If our nervous system’s “fight” switch gets flipped on, we’re running a pattern— not making a decision. 

We are not going to shame or bully ourselves out of “fight” responses. 

We are not going to punish ourselves out of “fight” responses. 

The only way we CAN diminish the frequency and intensity of “fight” trauma responses is to create safety INSIDE our head and heart— internal safety that our nervous system truly registers. 

If we’re having “fight” trauma responses, it’s because our nervous system thinks it NEEDS to fight to survive. 

We only counter that by creating safety— outside if possible, but DEFINITELY inside. 

Easy does it. One day at a time. 

I don’t know that I have anything new or interesting to say about grief. 

That’s how you start journaling about something that you don’t know what to say about. 

Sometimes it starts with “I don’t know if I have anything to say.” 

Sometimes all we know is that we’re feeling or experiencing a thing…but we may not even be clear what we’re feeling or experiencing. 

I’m experiencing what the culture calls “grief.” 

Someone I love died. 

We’d been in a romantic relationship when we were both about 19 to 20. It was a long time ago, and we’d both moved on, romantically and in our lives. We were on good terms, and we messaged every few weeks or months, usually when something out in the world reminded us of inside jokes we shared. 

Now those inside jokes only live on the inside of my head and heart. 

Trauma and addiction recovery generally involve a lot of loss. A lot of grieving. 

In trauma and addiction recovery we lose a version of ourselves. We may lose it on purpose— we may actually set out to “lose” that version of us— but it’s still a loss. 

In trauma and addiction recovery there is plenty of grieving. Specifically grieving the life we should have had, with the people we should have had it with. 

Heather knew me at a time when I was very, very depressed. 

She was one of the main reasons I was not at greater risk of ending my life during that time. 

When you’re 19 or 20, you think you know what the rest of life is going to look like. I guess we always think we know what the rest of life is going to look like, at any age. 

But we don’t. 

Many people reading this know what it is to lose someone special to them. Death is more than an abstraction for many people reading this. 

When we lose certain people we lose a little piece of ourselves. 

There were little jokes and stories and songs that only Heather and I got. Now I have my memories of them— but I’m the only person on the planet who has those memories. 

Did Heather know that she played a part in saving me once upon a time? 

I don’t know. 

In my line of work, we talk about the future a lot, especially as it pertains to the idea of “hope.” Very often mental health providers throw a lot of energy at convincing their clients that tomorrow can, will, be better— that there is reason for hope. 

I think there are a LOT of reasons to believe that we can meaningfully change our lives. I’ve seen it happen over and over again. 

But it’s also the case that at a certain time we run out of tomorrows. 

Heather was my age. In the grand scheme, we’re relatively young. Not as young as we were, but not as old as we would be. 

Not as old as we were supposed to get. 

Turns out I knew and loved Heather at about the midpoint of her life. 

That’s not f*cking fair. 

But I don’t get to make the rules. 

I don’t even get to make the rules about how much time I have, let alone how much time anybody else has. 

It had been years since Heather and I said “I love you” to each other in a romantic sense, and at least months since we said it in a platonic sense. 

But I would have gladly given her any, or all, of my tomorrows. 

My days are spent trying to support the most courageous people I ever get to meet, my patients, to improve their lives in realistic, sustainable baby steps. 

I never, ever want them to take their tomorrows for granted— or to believe that their tomorrows don’t matter. 

Your tomorrows matter. 

You matter. 

I don’t write that lightly or flippantly. 

You f*cking matter. 

Don’t ever doubt it. Don’t ever let anyone convince you you don’t. 

Goodbye, baby. 

You’re gonna run into people who make you feel young. Anxious. Scared. 

You’re gonna run into people who make you feel like everything— and I mean EVERYTHING— is your fault. 

You’re gonna run into people who explicitly BLAME you for everything— and I mean EVERYTHING. 

When we’ve had certain experiences growing up, it’s really easy for certain people and behaviors to push our buttons. To trigger us. 

One of those buttons is shame. 

You WILL get people coming at you intentionally trying to evoke the experience of shame. 

Why? Because they know: shame tends to make us more compliant. 

When we feel shame, we very often will bend over backwards to NOT feel it.

Shame can very often be used to control us, because it WAS very often used to control us, sometimes over the course of decades and in our most important relationships. 

Shame can make us feel young. Helpless. Unresourceful. 

The people who intentionally evoke shame often do so with the intention of making us feel or believe we are dependent upon them for safety and self-esteem. 

After all, the narrative they’re trying to advance is: if you don’t do what I want you to do, I will continue making you feel this way. And you don’t WANT to keep feeling this way, do you? 

The people who try to use shame to control us are intentionally creating a power dynamic in which we necessarily feel “one down.” 

When people try to evoke shame in us, they are communicating that we are “less than;” and if we ever want to NOT be “less than,” we need to change our behavior to…whatever they’re trying to get us to do. 

Here’s the irony about those people who attempt to evoke shame in us: they’re actually the ones acting like children. 

Spoiled, petulant children. 

Kind, compassionate adults do not attempt to control other people via shame. 

Kind, compassionate adults do not throw temper tantrums when other adults don’t do what they want them to do. 

Kind, compassionate adults do not leverage their perceived interpersonal power to make other adults feel “less than.” 

That’s not grown up behavior. That is behavior that reflects the incomplete, impulsive interpersonal toolbox of a chid. 

In essence, people who attempt to evoke shame in order to control us are emotional “children” who are trying to drag us down to their developmental level. 

This is REALLY important when we get dragged into emotional flashback by these people. 

It’s REALLY important to remember that WE are not children. They are the ones behaving like children. 

It’s REALLY important to know that these people are engaging in a form of what psychologists call “projective identification:” they are projecting qualities of themselves, in this case emotional immaturity, onto others, and then they are behaving toward those others in such a way as to evoke the feelings and behavior they projected. 

In other words: they are emotional children who can be really good at making the people around them feel like emotional children. 

Setting boundaries with people who make us feel this way is essential. And hard. 

Setting boundaries with ANYONE can be fraught for trauma survivors. It’s not about you; it’s about what trauma does to our self-esteem and how primed the “fawn” trauma response is in our nervous system. 

But setting those boundaries can START with acknowledging, again and again, inside your head and heart: you are not a child. You are not lost. You are not unresourceful. You are not “bad.” 

Don’t let an emotional child turn you into an emotional child. 

Remember who you are. 

It’s easy to be frustrated with ourselves when we get triggered. 

It’s easy to be mad at our nervous system for responding as it responds. 

Like, we “know” that we’re relatively “safe” right here and now, or at least safer than we were back there and back then…so why does our nervous system insist on RESPONDING like we’re back there, back then? 

Of course, we know that trauma responses aren’t really “choices.” 

They’re more like conditioned reflexes. 

We can RECONDITION our nervous system, over time, to be LESS reactive to triggers— but that’s exactly the catch: it does tend to take time. And repetition. And support. And resources. 

But very often we’re just…mad. 

Mad at our past. Mad at our body. Mad at our nervous system. 

We feel other things, too…but so often that anger and frustration at our situation finds its way back to us. 

That’s often a result of the fact that we were blamed for our pain by other people. 

When we tried to express our pain, we were told we were being “dramatic” or “oversensitive.” 

We were told to “take responsibility” for our pain. 

(Believe me: trauma survivors tend to believe that EVERYTHING is our fault, and EVERYTHING is our responsibility. We DON’T have any problems ‘“taking responsibility”— but we do tend to have problems discerning what realistically IS our responsibility, and what isn’t.) 

We were told that no one wants to hear our “complaining.” 

So we internalized it. Swallowed it. Turned it all in on ourselves. 

Fast forward to now: we find ourselves trying like hell to be in trauma recovery…but our default setting, when we’re triggered, is to still be angry or frustrated with ourselves. 

Here’s the thing: that anger and frustration is legit. 

It has a right to exist— which is good, because it DOES exist. 

That anger and frustration is legit because it WASN’T fair that what happened to you, happened to you. 

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it was sh*tty. 

And someone does deserve to be yelled at for it. 

But that someone isn’t you. 

You did the best you could. Your body, your nervous system, found a way to survive. 

What you’re living with now is not your body’s and nervous system’s failure— it’s the collateral damage of its SUCCESS at keeping you alive. 

Your body and nervous system doesn’t deserve to be yelled at for these trauma responses. 

The people and systems who DO deserve to be yelled at are those who created the trauma in the first place. 

Not you. You didn’t ask for trauma. You didn’t invite it into your life. 

When you feel yourself tempted to come at you with that frustration or anger— purposefully attempt to redirect it. 

Direct that frustration and anger at the people and systems who REALLY deserve it. 

Direct it toward the people who should have had your back, but didn’t. 

Direct it toward the culture that misunderstands and dismisses victims of trauma. 

How many times should we reinfect our anger and frustration? 

As many times as it takes. 

Placing realistic, proportional blame WHERE IT BELONGS can be a significant milestone in our trauma recovery. 

Though it will require us to give up the fantasy that EVERYTHING that happened to us is our fault and our responsibility. 

Baby steps to giving that one up. 

Back then, we felt like an adult in a kid’s body. 

Now, we feel like a kid in an adult’s body. 

Back then, we thought we were “special” because the adults sometimes or often treated us like adults. 

Now, we know— that wasn’t the time or the place for us to have been treated like adults. 

Back then we trusted the adults around us— almost all of the adults around us. 

Now, we realize that being an adult doesn’t necessarily make someone trustworthy. 

Back then we assumed that, if something happened to us, we caused it. 

Now, we know— there really are things that happen TO people, that they can’t control, or sometimes even influence. 

Back then we were told that people who share our name and DNA “love” us, by definition. 

Now we know— love is a verb, not a given. 

Back then we figured if our parent didn’t seem interested in or attached to us, it must have been something about US— we must not be interesting or worth attaching to. 

Now we know— there are lots of reasons why humans are or aren’t interested in other humans, or do or don’t attach to them…and those reasons almost never have to do with us. 

Back then we figured there are certain things that “normal” or “competent” humans just know how to do— and if we don’t know how to do them, it must be because we’re abnormal or incompetent. 

Now we know— we can’t do what we weren’t shown how to do, taught how to do, encouraged to do, supported in learning how to do. 

Back then we assumed if we felt bad, it’s because we were bad. Broken. 

Now we know— good people can feel bad. How we feel isn’t a reflection of our worth or virtue. 

Back then we may not have known why our parent was angry all the time— but we strongly suspected it had to do with us. Hell, we might have been TOLD it was because of us. 

Now we know— chronically angry or aggressive people are likely to be chronically angry or aggressive whether or not we’re in their way or life. 

Back then we didn’t know why we were lonely— but we knew that lonely was so lonely, alone. 

Now we know— it’s entirely possible to feel very lonely, even in a crowd of people. Even n a relationship. 

Especially in a relationship. 

Back then we fantasized about someone rescuing us. 

Now we know— we rescue us. 

We rescue ourselves by turning toward that young version of us we carry around n our head and heart. 

We rescue ourselves by seeing that young version of us in ways we weren’t seen. 

We rescue ourselves by holding that young version of ourselves in ways we weren’t held. 

(There are many ways to hold someone. Sometimes it’s possible to be felt very held by someone you’ve never even physically met.) 

We rescue ourselves by refusing to shame or bully ourselves, the way we were shamed and bullied by our abusers. 

We rescue ourselves by being there for ourselves.  

By having our own back. 

By being on our own side. 

By giving ourselves the benefit of the doubt. 

By treating ourselves like someone we love. 

Because love IS a verb— not a given. 

Eh, they might misunderstand you. 

Or, worse— they might intentionally misconstrue who you are and what you’re all about. 

They might come at you, telling you you’re someone you’re not, and that you prioritize things you don’t prioritize. 

Trauma survivors get this a lot. Other people trying to tell us who we are. 

And we, being trauma survivors, have real trouble NOT taking it all very seriously— and very personally. 

When we’ve been through trauma, we very often struggle to define who we are. 

All those years when human beings are SUPPOSED to be figuring out who we are and what we’re all about, WE spent just trying to survive. 

Our developmental trajectory got thrown for a loop. 

So we often arrive in adulthood not really knowing who we are— or even feeling like a fraud or an imposter. 

We may not know exactly WHY we feel like a “fake” person— but all we know is, we feel like we’re performing a role, like a character in a play. And we’re constantly afraid other people will see that, and call us out on it. 

There’s a certain type of person who knows this— instinctively, at least— about us, and who tries to use it against us. 

Usually the people who try to exploit our insecurity about who we are are people who wants something from us. 

They want us to do what they want us to do. 

They want us to prioritize their wants, their needs, their viewpoints. 

And they will absolutely f*ck with our heads in order to get what they want. 

There are certain words that many complex trauma survivors find REALLY triggering. 

“Selfish.” “Disloyal.” “Entitled.” 

The people who want what they want might throw those words at you, to get you to respond— because they know, at least instinctively, that complex trauma survivors would rather die (sometimes literally!) than actually BE (or be thought of) as selfish, disloyal, or entitled. 

We associate those words with abusers— rightfully so. 

And survivors will do triple backflips to NOT be like those who abused us. 

We spend large chunks of our lives trying desperately to NOT be those things. 

So when someone comes at us, trying to manipulate us— throwing around words that they know will trigger us— we need to be smart. 

We need to remember that when someone who wants something from us uses that language, they are trying to push our buttons. 

We need to remember that someone SAYING something about us doesn’t make it true. 

We need to remember that we are GOING to feel reactive to those words, and we’re GOING to want to prove the person wrong— and that superficially, the path to “proving them wrong” may seem to be doing what they want us to do. 

Their game is, “prove that you’re not selfish, disloyal, or entitled, by doing what I want you to do.” 

It’s tempting. We really, really, don’t like those words. We really, really don’t want to be like an abuser. 

This type of manipulation is similar to gaslighting. 

In gaslighting, the abuser tries to make you feel crazy. 

In this, the abuser tries to make you feel sh*tty. 

Either way: the tactic has nothing to do with reality. 

It has EVERYTHING to do with an abusive person taking advantage of our identity struggles. 

Do not bite. 

And be ready to reassure the kid version of you, who you carry around in your head and heart: no matter what that person is saying, it’s not true. It’s a trick. It’s a trap. It’s a ruse. 

Easy does it. 

Sometimes we get triggered, and we’re not quite ourselves.

We may LOOK like ourselves. (Or maybe not.) 

But we’re not making decisions from who we are, what we know, what we value. Not in that moment of being triggered. 

Almost everybody reading this has been there. 

The trigger may not be a huge thing. It may not be a thing we think we “should” get triggered by. 

Turns out our nervous system doesn’t really give a sh*t about “should.” 

We get triggered, and we see red. 

Or, maybe we don’t see much of anything at all; maybe through the magic of dissociation, we’re suddenly placidly orbiting the planet Neptune, idly wondering what n the world is going on back on that little third rock from the sun they call Earth. 

Either way: everyone reading this has probably said or done something when triggered, that we weren’t so thrilled about afterward. 

And the b*tch of it is, the people around us assume that what we said or did really represented who we are, what we think, or what we want— because THEY’RE not inside our head. THEY don’t know we were triggered. 

For a subset of people, they don’t even care that we were triggered. They’ll tell us that, triggered, or not, our words and our behavior are our words and our behavior— and we have to accept responsibility for them. 

I don’t necessary disagree with that. Of course we’re always responsible for what we say and do. Though I think questions of true agency and “responsibility” get a little more complicated when trauma responses are in the mix than some people like to admit. 

Whether other people “get” what triggers are or what they do to us is kind of irrelevant. 

If they don’t get it, they don’t get it. We can’t make them get it. I WISH we could “make” anyone understand, well, anything. 

But it’s really important that WE understand that we’re not ourselves when we’re triggered. 

It’s real important that WE not pass judgment on ourselves for what we say or do when we’re triggered. 

And, yes— we can take responsibility without passing judgment. 

Lots of times we get down on ourselves for what we say and do when we’re triggered. 

We’re hard on ourselves. 

We judge ourselves— often harshly. 

We call ourselves “crazy.” 

We ask ourselves who ARE we, even if we behave like THAT? 

I’ll tell you who you are: you’re someone whose nervous system is vulnerable to post traumatic triggers. 

No more; no less. 

Do we act “crazy” sometimes, at least compared to who we are and what we’re all about when we’re in a stable, grounded place? Sure. 

Does that mean that’s “really” who we are? Of course not. 

Don’t judge yourself by what you did when you were desperate, and don’t judge yourself by what you did when you were triggered. 

Trauma reactions in response to triggers are REFLEXES. They’re part of the post traumatic INJURY you sustained. They’re not choices. 

It’s a hard pill to swallow, but maybe you DIDN’T have a choice in the moment you were triggered. 

But you DO have a choice now— how to talk to yourself about what happened, and what to do next. 

Just do the next right thing.