Use Your Damn Skills

One of the most common experiences in trauma recovery we don’t talk about enough is the doubt and anxiety that weighs on many survivors’ minds about whether what they remember was real at all. 

We want to think that would be obvious— we remember what we remember. 

But for many survivors, particularly survivors of complex trauma (i.e., abuse, neglect, or other trauma that occurred over time; was inescapable; and/or was entwined with their close relationships at developmentally sensitive ages), remembering and acknowledging what actually happened can be a tricky thing. 

Many survivors have the experience of “knowing” what happened to them, but not really believing it was that bad…even if they would tell anybody else that the same things happening to THEM was horrible. 

Some survivors have the experience of their memories being inconsistent or incomplete— leaving them insecure about how accurate or valid what they DO remember is. 

For many survivors, thinking about what happened to them is a sad, overwhelming experience— and the temptation can be to deny or minimize what happened as a way of managing those painful feelings. 

There are LOTS Of reasons why remembering what we went through and managing how we feel about it can be complicated. 

It subsequently makes recovery complicated, in that some survivors arrive at adulthood, wanting to heal, wanting to move past the trauma responses and other emotional and behavioral struggles that are ruining their lives…but they’re not quite sure where to start, given their complicated relationship with what they do or don’t remember. 

Even trauma survivors who have been doing recovery work for awhile fall into the trap of wanting to deny or disown what happened to them. 

Very often the culture and the people around us send us VERY mixed messages about how we “should” be thinking about or responding to what happened to us. 

We’re told that we shouldn’t “dwell on the past,” or that we should “move on”…yet, when we try to “move on” by getting clear and realistic about what happened to us, we’re told we’re “choosing” to remain “stuck” in our painful memories. 

Multiply that kind of feedback times years or decades, and you end up with many survivors having ambivalent relationships with the reality of what they went through and the appropriateness of what they’re experiencing now. 

No question: it is super frustrating for our memories to be a little (or a lot) scrambled. 

It’s hard to know how to feel about a past that doesn’t neatly fit into a coherent narrative. 

A big part of recovery is piecing together the narrative of our life in such a way that it makes sense— and allows us to relate to ourselves and our experience with compassion, instead of confusion or frustration. 

You need to know that it’s not unusual to have mixed feelings about what you do and don’t remember. 

You need to know that it’s common to go back and forth on the question of whether what you went through was “really” “all that bad.” 

You need to know that almost everybody who has experienced complex trauma has a complicated relationship with their memories— and, often, their sense of self. 

You need to know that, even if you doubt how valid your experiences, reactions, and feelings are at times, you DO deserve compassion and support. 

You need to know that acknowledging the weight of what you went through doesn’t make you “weak” or “attention seeking”— though there’s also nothing wrong with seeking care when you’re in pain. 

Yeah. It’s not fun, having to tiptoe our way through the emotional minefield that is our complicated pasts. I, too, wish it was all easier, more straightforward, less laden with anxiety and potential shame. 

Just keep coming back to your commitment to being on your side. 

To having your back. 

To not attacking yourself. 

To not picking up where your abusers and bullies left off. 

Keep coming back to the fact that you are, first and foremost, committed to your recovery— even when the voices of anxiety and doubt seem determined to drag you off course. 

Just manage today. 

This hour. This minute. 

You can do this. 

Lots of us know what it’s like to feel guilty for feeling depressed or struggling with trauma reactions. 

Many of us have gotten feedback from others that we “shouldn’t” be feeling or experiencing what we’re feeling or experiencing. 

Weirdly, such feedback never seems to support us in NOT feeling or experiencing those things. 

Rather, such feedback only makes us feel worse. 

It adds a layer of shame in top of feelings or memories that were ALREADY a struggle. 

Painful feelings ABOUT our painful feelings are a bitch. 

Feeling depressed about how depressed we are. Anxious about how anxious we are. Angry about ALL of the emotional struggles we’ve had to endure. And guilty about…well, all of it. 

It’s easy to tell ourselves that we don’t have a “good enough” reason to feel what we’re feeling. 

We may tell ourselves that our past wasn’t SO bad as to create trauma reactions now. 

We may tell ourselves that our life isn’t SO bad as to feel depressed about. 

Thing is: whatever we experienced produced whatever we ARE experiencing— whether we think it “should” or not. 

We have to deal with the reality of what we’re feeling and experiencing. 

Sometimes we can let other peoples’ judgments pull our attention away from our emotional and behavioral struggles. 

We convince ourselves we’re just being “dramatic,” and we don’t NEED to do any of that “recovery” stuff because we “shouldn’t” be feeling that stuff to begin with. 

We might tell ourselves we need to “toughen up.” 

I assure you: if you’re struggling with depression, trauma, addiction, or other emotional and behavioral struggles, it’s NOT a strategy to just ignore them because you don’t think you have a “good enough” reason to be experiencing them in the first place. 

Ignoring our emotional and behavioral struggles is an excellent way to guarantee they’ll wind up running or ruining our lives. 

You don’t need to feel guilty for being depressed. 

You don’t need to feel guilty for experiencing trauma reactions. 

You don’t need to feel guilty for struggling with addictive impulses. 

We didn’t ask for any of these. We don’t want any of these. We didn’t “choose” any of these. 

A big part of recovery is learning and relearning, again and again, that no matter what anybody thinks about what we’re going through, we still need to get through it. 

Whether anyone thinks our depression or trauma is “legitimate” or not— we still have to cope with what’s happening in our nervous system and our body. 

Whether anyone thinks we’re “choosing” our addiction— we still have to manage those impulses, cravings, and habits. 

Whether anyone thinks we “should” have an easier time changing how we think, feel, and behave, we STILL have to handle the reality that it’s EXACTLY as hard to be us as it is. 

I wish it wasn’t so easy to feel shame about what we’re feeling and experiencing. 

I wish other people wouldn’t contribute to that layer of shame. 

We CAN get into the habit of meeting our feelings and experiences with compassion and acceptance— but for most of us, it’ll take some practice. 

Many of us don’t have a lot of experience with NOT judging ourselves harshly. 

Many of us wouldn’t know what it would feel like to just feel what we feel without the layer of shame or judgment that has always been there. 

For many of us, it starts with asking: what MIGHT that feel like? 

If I REFUSED to have shame about what I’m feeling right now, what MIGHT that feel like? 

If I REFUSED to judge myself harshly for WHATEVER I’m feeling, how would that change things? 

You don’t have to have the answers now. 

I just want to put those questions in your mind, for it to chew on. 

Carry on. 

Lots of people reading this know what it’s like to question whether what we’ve experienced was “bad enough” to produce the reactions it did in us— or whether what happened to us was “bad” at all. 

Often, this doubt has been encouraged by the people or the culture around us. 

We get swept up in a narrative about how too many people are too sensitive these days— or about how we, specifically, are too sensitive or dramatic to be taken seriously. 

So we question and doubt our perceptions and experiences. 

We have constant arguments in our own head about whether that thing that upset us was “really” upsetting or not. 

We struggle with whether the reaction we’re having is “legitimate”— or the product of us making too big a deal out of something that happens to everyone. 

Sometimes we don’t really appreciate how bad something was until we see someone else put into words how much it impacted THEM. 

The fact that an event impacted someone ELSE sometimes makes it “okay” for us to acknowledge in our own head and heart how much we’d been struggling with it. 

We can fall into this trap of constantly checking our experiences and reactions against the experiences and reactions of other people, to determine whether we “should” feel what we’re feeling or not. 

Here’s the thing: regardless of what anyone— or everyone— around us is feeling or experiencing, WE are feeling and experiencing EXACTLY what we’re feeling and experiencing. 

WE have to cope with EXACTLY what we’re feeling and experiencing. 

WE have to figure out how to get up every day and function in the face of what WE’RE feeling and experiencing— not what anyone ELSE is feeling and experiencing. 

Beating ourselves over the head with the question of whether our reactions to the world and our past are “normal” or not is almost never helpful. 

“Normal” or not, we still have to cope with HOWEVER our body and mind is responding. 

If we determine that our reactions aren’t “legitimate” given what we remember, that does nothing but add a layer of frustration and shame on to what we had ALREADY been struggling with. 

It’s true that many people reading this are more sensitive than average. So is the person writing this. 

We ARE more sensitive and reactive to certain things than other people— and this fact can be embarrassing and kind of crazy-making sometimes 

We often want to be “tougher” or more “normal”— so we keep comparing ourselves to people who don’t have the highly sensitive wiring that we do. 

It’s often a recipe for feeling trapped— smothered, even— by our own shame and the expectations and standards of a culture that doesn’t particularly value compassion or empathy. 

When we find ourselves questioning whether a reaction we’re having is “correct,” “normal,” or “proportional,” it’s really important we take a step back and extend ourselves some grace. 

Whether our reactions are ANY of those things is immaterial to the fact that we’re having those reactions— and we need to manage those reactions. 

Whenever your brain— or anyone outside of you— tries to engage in a discussion of whether you’re being “overdramatic” or “oversensitive,” resist the urge to engage. That conversation goes nowhere. 

Yup, it can be extremely validating when someone else “confirms” for us that our reactions are understandable or proportional. 

But whether our reactions line up with what “they” consider understandable or proportional misses the point: we are HAVING those reactions. 

We need to extend ourselves enough compassion and commitment to make coping and soothing ourselves— not living up to anyone else’s standards or avoiding someone else’s negative judgments— our FIRST priority. 

When kids grow up neglected, they can really struggle with self-worth, relationships, and grief as adults. 

Neglect isn’t always overwhelmingly obvious. It’s not always ignoring-to-the-point-of-near-death (though it certainly can be— and that kind of thing happens more than many people would possibly believe). 

More often, neglect is a consistent failure to meet a kid’s needs, when a kid needs their needs met. 

It’s not about being an imperfect parent. Every human parent is imperfect. Imperfect parents can give their kids perfectly good enough childhoods. 

Neglect is a CONSISTENT failure on the part of a caregiver to see and meet their kids’ needs. 

Neglected children often grow up feeling invisible— because their needs often WERE invisible to the people who SHOULD have seen them MOST clearly. 

Parentified kids— kids who had to assume adult-like caretaking roles in their families— were, essentially, neglected kids. 

Kids whose caretakers formed sexual or romantic relationships with them were neglected (as well as abused) kids. Sexual or romantic relationships with kids is an utter disregard of their developmental needs and emotional safety. 

As adults, it’s hard to convince a person who grew up neglected that their needs are important. 

They’re “wired” to believe their needs “don’t count.” 

When you tell a person who was a neglected kid that their needs DO count— that they SHOULDN’T have been neglected growing up— it’ll often feel hollow or sound false to them. 

Why should ANYBODY see or prioritize their needs, when their caretakers didn’t? 

People who were neglected in childhood often struggle to know what and who to believe in adult relationships. 

People who were neglected as kids might feel they have to go out of their way, jump through flaming hoops, clear extraordinary hurdles, to “earn” basic safety and respect in their adult relationships…and even when they do wind up in respectful, relatively safe relationships, they may struggle to trust it. 

Grief and letting go can be particularly hard for people who were neglected as kids. 

We can get overwhelmingly sad or angry when someone close to us dies or leaves— and that sadness or anger can haunt us, sometimes for years. 

When we experienced neglect growing up, our adult attachments are complicated because our models for attachment from back in the day were confusing and frustrating. 

When we’re kids, we struggle with the idea that pain or problems in relationships are not always about us. 

In the course of normal, healthy development, we ideally come to terms with the fact that not everything that happens in a relationship is about us…but in order to internalize that idea, we need the consistent presence and support of adults who can help us understand its implications. 

Kids who grew up neglected didn’t have that presence and support. 

Consequently, often we just don’t internalize that idea— that maybe not all the bad things that happen in relationships are our fault. 

So we just keep on believing that. 

Fast forward to us as adults, and many of us spend all day, every day, anxious about doing something to make the people close to us hate or abandon us. 

“Are you mad at me?” is a question often asked by people who were neglected as kids. 

It’s true that neglect and abuse are often found in the same family systems, and their effects can be difficult to parse sometimes— but I’ve also worked with many people who assumed that they hadn’t had a “traumatic” childhood at all, because they were never hit or berated growing up. 

In fact, these people will often maintain, my parents barely interacted with me at all— I seemed invisible to them. Hell, they left me alone so much that my family members still regularly forget to text me on my birthday. 

Yeah. 

Neglect shapes the nervous system as surely as physical or verbal abuse— but we don’t talk about it nearly as much. 

For what it’s worth, I don’t view the work of recovering from childhood neglect as heavy on the “blame.” 

I view the most important thing as realistically acknowledging what happened, and how it affected you. 

Neglecting the fact of neglect can stall the hell out of realistic recovery. 

It’s true that if you’re reading this, you’ve survived 100% of your darkest days. 

But your survival has probably come at a cost. 

Every now and then, you’re going to get someone trying to encourage you by reminding you that you are a survivor. You’re still here. You’re “resilient.” 

But many survivors aren’t as encouraged by that language as you may think. 

For many people, being told how “resilient” they are scrapes up complicated feelings. 

We may BE resilient…but we may not FEEL very resilient. 

For that matter, many people reading this may have complicated feelings about the fact that they ARE still alive, after everything they’ve endured. 

Some people wake up every day in pain or having to cope with huge losses— and for them being reminded of their “resilience” can sound like their struggles or pain don’t “count.” 

I understand why so many people want to focus on resilience. For people on the outside of our struggles, it feels like a more “positive” emphasis than to focus on the pain we’ve endured, or the pain that we continue to endure. 

But for many people, that pain is very real and very present. 

For many people, their “resilience” is a pretty abstract concept. 

We may know we’re resilient, because we have survived a lot…but the fact of our resilience doesn’t particularly help us in dealing with our everyday pain. 

Sometimes we’re told how proud someone is of us, that we continue to endure. 

What other people sometimes don’t get is that we haven’t really had a choice. 

Many of us have HAD to do life scared. We didn’t have a choice. 

Many of us have HAD to do life anxious. We didn’t have a choice. 

Many of us have HAD to be resilient. We didn’t have a choice. 

Lots of people reading this have had enough of hearing about how “resilient” they are. 

We want a measurably improved quality of life. Not a life in which we manage to just get by, bolstered by our “resilience.” 

We want to live. 

We want to love and be loved. 

We want to thrive and flourish. 

We want to create a life that isn’t focused on managing or disguising our own pain, physical or emotional. 

People mean well when they observe or compliment the “resilience” of trauma survivors. 

People mean well when they encourage us to “do it scared.” 

But lots of us are SICK of being resilient. We’re SICK of “doing it scared.” 

All of which is to say: don’t let what other people say to you or about you— even in positive or complimentary ways— get in your head. 

Remember that the way people talk about trauma or trauma survivors is often entwined with their own reactions and feelings about the fact that bad things happen to people who don’t deserve them. 

Remember that whatever anybody says or doesn’t say about how you’ve managed your life and struggles, you still have EXACTLY the challenges you have in front of you today. 

Whatever anybody else says, your priorities today remain the same: your safety and your stability. 

Let them say whatever they’re going to say about your “resilience.” 

You stay curious, open, and proactive about what we’re going to do to actually improve your quality of life by .01% today. 

Sometimes what we want and need is going to conflict. 

This is especially true if our history includes complicated or painful relationships. 

We may want the closeness and stimulation that comes from a relationship…but our history may have convinced us that letting ourselves be close to and stimulated by another person is dangerous. 

We may want to be recognized for what we can do and what we’ve achieved…but our history may have convinced us that sticking our head up is asking for mockery or scorn. 

We may want to live and thrive…but our history may have convinced us that we have nothing to live for and it’s impossible to thrive. 

As we heal from the pain of our past and recover from our emotional and behavioral struggles, we very often become acutely aware of how contradictory some of our wants and needs are. 

This very often leads us feeling paralyzed. 

It’s hard to even explain to someone why we might be ambivalent about something most people would consider “good,” like a relationship or a promotion. 

They don’t understand that for many of us, “good” things always came with a catch. 

For many of us, our complicated history makes it difficult or impossible to set straightforward goals. 

We may want to give up a substance or behavior that is hurting us…but that substance or behavior may also be our only source of pleasure or consistency in our world right now. 

We may want to regain our functionality…but we might be incredibly intimidated by what would be expected or asked of us if we weren’t too depressed to function. 

We may want to do something as simple as leave the house…but we may be literally terrified to the point of dissociation about what we might encounter out there in the world. 

All of this makes therapy and recovery complicated. 

Many of us are very exhausted by the tug of war that is CONSTANTLY going on in our head and heart between our desires and our fears. 

It’s almost easier to stay numb— to stay depressed, hopeless, stuck— than to try to navigate the anxiety and pressure that comes with feeling and functioning better. 

Easy does it. 

We’re never going to be wholly WITHOUT these conflicting feelings, desires, and needs. 

Different parts of us are going to perceive, feel, want, and need different, and sometimes conflicting, things. 

It’s up to us to listen to the various parts of ourselves, and make sure the various versions of “us” are respected— no matter what course of action we actually end up taking. 

The truth is, NOBODY is wholly consistent with what they want and need EVERY minute of EVERY day. 

We make certain choices based on what’s best for our safety and stability— but we can stay flexible in how we approach life. 

We can listen to BOTH the part of us that wants to feel and function better— and the part of us that might be anxious about it. 

We can listen to BOTH the part of us that wants to be out in the world— and the part of us that is genuinely afraid of what we might encounter out there. 

The really important thing is that we don’t deny, disown, ignore, or neglect anything we’re aware of thinking or feeling. 

The various “parts” of us need to know that they WILL be listened to and respected— that they don’t need to “hijack” our focus or consciousness in order to get our attention. 

If we try to deny or disown “parts” of us when they try to tell us something, those “parts” WILL make their “voices” heard— often in the form of overwhelming feelings, psychological symptoms, or even physical sensations. 

Yes, the tug of war is always going to be there. Our job is not necessarily to stop that back and forth between what we want and what we fear. 

Our job is to realistically, compassionately deal with the various “parts” of ourselves, such that ANY decisions we end up making, ANY actions we end up taking, are consistent with our safety and stability— today. 

Loss is very often hard. 

But it hits harder when it’s a loss that “shouldn’t happen. 

There are certain losses that as painful as they are, we can sort of anticipate. We can kind of steel ourselves for them. 

Those losses can still hurt, very much— but at least we have some emotional warning. 

Then there are losses that come out of nowhere. 

When we lose someone or something that we “shouldn’t.” 

When we weren’t prepared— had no inkling that we’d need to be prepared to lose that person or thing at that time. 

Dealing with any kind of major loss at any time can be tough— but getting hit with an unexpected loss can really throw our emotional world into chaos. 

Many losses feel unfair. Many losses ARE unfair. 

But to get hit with a loss we “shouldn’t” have to endure— not now, not in this way— can feel infuriatingly unfair…and it can disrupt our lives in profound ways. 

We know, as a general principle, that life isn’t fair. 

We know, as a general principle, that life isn’t even guaranteed— that every day, every minute, might be our last, or the last for someone we care about. 

Nobody reading this is under the delusion that anything lasts forever. 

But there are certain losses that we’re just not ready for. 

Grieving an unexpected, unpredictable loss is a different task than normal grief. 

In addition to experiencing and expressing our feelings of pain at the loss, we’re also stuck with all of these feelings of fury and disbelief surrounding how sudden and unfair the loss was. 

You’ve likely heard of the traditional stages of grief— denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance— and it’s true that many people experiencing loss do go through these stages (though the sequence of those stages tends to be a little less rigid than we previously realized). 

When a loss is unexpected, however, we tend to spend more time in the “denial” and “anger” stages than we otherwise would. 

You’re not wrong to be angry. 

You’re not wrong to be in shock. 

You’re not wrong or immature to be “stuck” on how unfair a sudden, unpredictable loss is. 

One of my favorite song lyrics is by John Lennon, who wrote in his song “Beautiful Boy” that “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” 

It’s all too real. 

We need to know that the pain we’re experiencing is very valid. 

We need to know that there’s no rapid resolution to our grief— especially if the loss we’re grieving was sudden or unexpected. 

We ned to know that this process, of coming to terms with what we feel and need, is going to take exactly the time it takes. 

I very often write about how patience and self-compassion are non-negotiable skills in recovery— and nowhere are those skills more necessary than when we’re hit with complicated grief. 

If you’re reading this and mourning a complicated or unexpected loss, the last thing you want to hear may be “this takes the time it takes.” 

I wish I had different news for you. 

What I can tell you, however, is that you’re not the first or the last person to feel pain like this. 

Loss sucks. 

Unexpected loss sucks in a particularly awful way. 

There are no “rules” for how to navigate any of this. 

Just stay with those wounded parts of yourself— however long this takes. 

Some days it is really hard to have hope. 

Some days we really struggle to see or believe there really is light at the end of this “recovery” tunnel— at least, light that isn’t an oncoming train. 

That happens to almost everybody in recovery. It definitely happens to me. 

Hopelessness chips away at our motivation, our focus, our physical energy, our resourcefulness. 

Recovery takes a tremendous amount of energy— and, as strange as it might sound, faith. 

Lots of times we just don’t believe that there really is meaningful recovery for people like us. 

We want to, we try to…but we don’t. 

On days like that it can feel like we’re flying blind— like we’re lost in a sky full of clouds, trusting our compass and other instruments to keep us pointed in the right direction. 

When I say “faith” in this context, I’m not talking about spirituality. I’m talking about behaving as if something is true— even if we don’t have direct evidence of it. 

Some days recovery is undeniably like that. 

I don’t have proof that this “recovery” thing works out for everybody. 

I don’t have proof that recovery is even going to work out for me. 

There are days when I’m definitely of multiple minds on the subject. 

Part of me can get very hopeless at times. 

Part of me can really struggle with the idea that it’s worth it, pushing back against addiction, trauma, depression— that the stupid little skills and tools that I use and teach are nothing in the face of the emotional and behavioral hurricane that is addiction, trauma, and depression. 

Some days that part of me can be VERY persuasive. 

But then, there’s this other part of me— this part that says even if you DON’T wholeheartedly believe it right now, your recovery deserves the benefit of the doubt. 

That’s where my hope lives. 

I’ve learned, in my own recovery, that I don’t, actually, have to have COMPLETE faith in the process to keep going. 

I’ve learned that I don’t need to COMPLETELY believe in every coping tool or skill to USE that tool or skill. 

I’ve learned that some days I’m going to be frustrated or sad, and think that this is ALL bullsh*t…but that I can keep going in my recovery EVEN IF part of me thinks it’s all bullsh*t. 

I’ve learned that my hope can coexist with my hopelessness. 

I’ve learned my faith can coexist with my doubt. 

I’ve learned that I don’t have to throw my entire recovery down the garbage chute just because part of me is thoroughly convinced it’s pointless in any one moment. 

We are GOING to have not just moments, but probably DAYS where hope is in short supply— where the pain and hassle of recovery is far more real than any supposed long term benefit. 

Speaking for myself, those are the days that present the most danger to my recovery. 

On those days, the name of the game very often is surfing those thoughts instead of drowning in them. 

That hopeless part of you will try to make you overreact to its emotional reasoning— and you’re going to want to. 

But don’t. 

Let that hopeless, hurt part of you exist. Don’t demand it shut up, don’t demand it go away. Let it say its piece. 

It’s a part of you, and its voice is valid. It has a right to be heard. 

But it doesn’t have a right to derail you from a recovery you’ve worked hard to build, day by day. 

Let the hopelessness exist— but remember that, as overwhelming as it can feel at times, you are more than that hopelessness. 

The very fact that you’re reading this tells me there is a part of you that is STILL hopeful. That is STILL invested in your recovery. 

A part of you that STILL has faith. 

Give that faith and hope the benefit of the doubt. 

If you’re going to give up, you can always give up later. 

For right now— stay with us. 

To grow up bullied, abused, or neglected, is to grow up without experiencing a lot of control. 

We learn early, and all too well, that we don’t control what happens to us or how people behave toward us. 

We learn that we very often don’t control how we feel. 

To grow up feeling so overwhelmingly powerless is scary, frustrating, and sad. 

We end up not wanting to get too attached to or invested in anything or anyone— because we’ve learned that it can be yanked away from us at any moment, for no particular reason. 

We live in a constant state of anxiety, because if we “know” anything, it’s that we DON’T know what happens next…except that it will probably hurt on some level. 

At the same time, our brain is constantly looking for ways to feel even a LITTLE more in control of our life experience— specifically, how we feel. 

Many people reading this would give anything to be able to feel even slightly more in control of how we feel. 

Which is why we get vulnerable to addictive and compulsive behaviors— they present the illusion of control. 

When we’re desperately thirsty, we will absolutely crawl toward a mirage of water, on the off chance that it’s even sort of, kind of real. 

Certain behaviors and substances promise to change how we feel— and sometimes they even work. At first, anyway. For a minute, anyway. 

When those substances and behaviors DO work— even if they work imperfectly— it can feel AMAZING to a person who has felt overwhelmed and powerless their entire life. 

We get hooked not just on how those substances or behaviors make us feel…but on the idea that there might be a reliable way to change how we feel that WE choose, that WE are in control of. 

It’s such a seductive promise. 

It’s so seductive that I’m kind of tearing up right now, writing this. 

I wish it was real and lasting. 

But substances and behaviors of addiction are, in the end, liars. 

They promise us control while surreptitiously chipping away at our ability to make meaningful decisions. 

Many substances and behaviors of addiction create physical conditions that make it impossible to think clearly, set boundaries, and protect ourselves. 

But many of us will take that risk if it means having even a little control over how we feel. 

I don’t blame anyone reading this for wanting, desperately, to have control over how they feel. I know that’s what I want, more than anything in the world. 

I don’t blame anyone reading this for being willing to experiment with substances and behaviors that promise relief and control. I’ve done plenty of that. 

I just want you to read these words, so that maybe they’ll echo in your head when you need them: the “control” promised by certain substances and behaviors is illusory. 

It’s not real. 

When we are suffering, when we’ve BEEN suffering for years, we are particularly vulnerable to the promise of pleasure, relief, and control. 

That’s normal. It’s not a character flaw. We are not vulnerable to addiction because there’s something wrong or bad about us. 

I know. You just want to feel better. Me too. 

But we have to be real about what certain substances and behaviors can and can’t do for us. 

And we have to be real about the cost that those substances and behaviors will eventually extract from us— especially after we’ve become dependent upon them. 

There’s a reason why addiction is often a particular problem for people with trauma in our history. 

A history of bullying, abuse, or neglect sets us up for that vulnerability. 

It’s not our fault. 

But it’s our responsibility to manage that vulnerability. 

Even if it means giving up a promise so sweet and seductive that it virtually blinds us to everything else. 

Experiencing abuse or neglect often fosters in us a sense that we’re bad. 

Undeserving. Unlovable. Toxic. 

Why would the people who were supposed to look out for me, protect me, love me, do the exact opposite— unless I somehow wasn’t deserving of care, attention, and love? 

That’s the kind of question our traumatized brain often throws at us. 

When we’re kids, we very often assume that others’ behavior is necessarily about us. 

Part of growing up is coming to realize that, while we may influence others’ behavior toward us, we don’t control it. We’re not totally responsible for either the good OR the bad things that happen to us. 

The thing is, for us to really get this, we need the appropriate amount of support from our caretakers— the people who, in an ideal world, will be real with us about the limit of our influence on the world, but also help us cope with it. 

Lots of us didn’t get that kind of support from our caretakers. 

This isn’t about “blaming” anyone for not having had the “perfect” childhood. 

This is just being real about what NOT getting the emotional support we need at particularly vulnerable times does to our self-concept. 

As babies, we are kind of wired to try to figure out what we need to do to get the important people in our lives to interact with us. 

When we’re that young, interaction with— attention from— our caretakers really might be a matter of life or death. Infants can’t survive on their own without a LOT of care. 

If we can’t seem to figure that equation out— if we’re doing everything we can to try to get attention and care from our caregivers, and it’s just not working— it’s hard for us to escape the conclusion that we must be to blame. 

We must not be that lovable. 

If we take a step back, as adults, we can understand— at least intellectually— that there are LOTS of reasons why adult caretakers may not be able or willing to extend to their kids the kind of care and attention they need…and almost NONE of those reasons have to do with the kids. 

Competent parents don’t abuse or neglect their kids— whether or not they find them “lovable.” 

Getting the attention and care we needed to survive once upon a time should’t have been a matter of us being endearing to the adults around us. It should have been a given. 

If it wasn’t, we tend to blame ourselves. 

All of which leads us to what adult victims of childhood abuse or neglect often feel every day— unworthy. Undeserving. Inadequate. 

A big part of recovery is deciding that EVEN IF we feel unworthy, undeserving, or inadequate, we are STILL going to relate to OURSELVES with respect, kindness, and fairness. 

A big part of recovery is deciding NOT to blame and shame ourselves for the behavior of the adults around us when we were kids. 

A big part of recovery is making the commitment that, no matter how “bad” we FEEL, that we will NOT pick up where toxic people from our past left off in either abusing OR neglecting ourselves. 

You are not inherently “bad.” The fact that you may have been abused or neglected growing up is not EVIDENCE that you were bad. 

It may be evidence that the adults around you were unable or unwilling to do what they needed to do for you— but that wasn’t your responsibility and it’s not your fault. 

The kid you once were, and who you still carry around in your head and heart, needs to know that it wasn’t their fault that the adults around them did or didn’t do. 

No human being is perfect, and this isn’t about demanding “perfection” from anybody. 

This is correcting the fundamental distortion that exists at the heart of many trauma survivors— the belief that “I am bad.” 

You’re not. 

No matter what your trauma is whispering in your ear as you read this.