drglenndoyle

On a rough night.

Some nights you’re going to be in a terrible mood. 

Some nights words won’t even seem to make sense. 

Some nights your motivation is going to be garbage. 

And, let me spoil the suspense: Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our bullies and abusers, is going to use how we struggle on some nights to try to tell us WE’RE garbage. 

Mind you, that doesn’t mean we’re garbage. It means we’ve been CONDITIONED to feel like garbage when we struggle. 

It means we’ve been CONDITIONED to attribute the fact that we struggle to some inherent quality of our being— or the supposed “fact” that we’re just “failing” at life. 

I don’t care if you feel like garbage tonight, if you feel scattered tonight, if you’re in a terrible mood tonight, or if your motivation is dog sh*t tonight— none of that means you’re “failing,” at trauma recovery or life. 

It means what it means. It’s a rough night. They happen. 

What we say to ourselves really, really matters— ESPECIALLY on a rough night. 

It’s when we struggle, when we’re triggered, that our trauma conditioning really kicks in. 

Trauma Brain can do a reasonable job of quietly lurking in the background much of the time, only to rear right up when we’re having a tough night. 

Know why that is? Because rough nights make us vulnerable. 

We tend to go on autopilot when we’re having a rough night. 

And guess who and what experiences programmed our autopilot? That’s right— our abusers and bullies. 

Trauma Brain, in other words, does exactly what abusers and bullies always do: attacks us when we’re the most vulnerable. 

We need to remember that on our rough nights. 

We need to remember how we’re feeling on a a rough night is not the same as how we’re DOING, overall, in our recovery. 

(An old mentor named Andy taught me that: “don’t confuse how you’re FEELING with how you’re DOING.”)

On a rough night we need to remember that there is no rule that says we MUST feel good or better. We’re not going to be in trouble for having a rough night. 

On a rough night we need to remember that our biochemistry and psychological functioning fluctuates throughout the day and night— and the fact that we happen to be feeling like crap right now is part of that fluctuation.

On a rough night we need to remember that there is nothing in the world wrong with just getting by, leveraging the recovery tools of distraction and containment. 

If there is anything that is universal to EVERY survivor’s experience of trauma recovery, it’s that we are GOING to have rough nights. Not “maybe;” we absolutely will. 

It doesn’t mean what Trauma Brain wants you to think it means. 

So you’re feeling like sh*t. It happens. 

Don’t overreact. Don’t make long term decisions. Don’t make short term choices that will leave you feeling sh*tty tomorrow. You know the kind of decisions I’m talking about. Play the tape forward. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; and focus. 

Get through tonight. 

Then push the “reset” button tomorrow. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery is a multitude of little choices. Dammit.

The bitch of trauma recovery is, we have to it ourselves. 

No one’s going to do it for us. 

No one can do it TO us. 

We actually have to make choices and endure discomfort to realistically recover from trauma— which, I don’t know about you, pisses me the hell off. 

After all, we’re only IN this position because we’re ALREADY enduring a rather HIGH level of discomfort. 

For that matter, we’ve been conditioned to believe that it’s often our fault that we’re suffering— which, we understand in recovery, is just BS (Belief Systems— but also, you know bullsh*t), but many survivors still struggle with feelings of shame and self-blame about our symptoms. 

To me, it f*cking rankles to be told that the key to recovery is making choices. 

The truth is, the choices we have to make in order to realistically recover from trauma are choices that cut against and scramble our trauma conditioning. 

We have to become aware of how exactly CPTSD is f*cking with us, and we have to consciously, purposefully, consistently make choices that scratch that old record. 

Before someone says it in the comments, let me: “easier said than done.” 

OF COURSE it’s “easier said than done.” Literally everything is “easier said than done.” 

This is especially true when we’re talking about conditioning. 

Conditioning, programming, brainwashing— the way these all work is by making it easy, almost effortless, to think, feel, and act in certain ways. 

Trauma conditioning, for example, makes beating the sh*t out of ourselves feel “normal,” “natural.” 

Trauma conditioning makes talking sh*t to ourselves and kicking our own ass seem like the easiest, most effortless thing in the world. 

Pushing AGAINST trauma conditioning, in how we talk to ourselves, how we direct our mental focus, and how we use our physiology? That seems hard, exhausting, and pointless. 

This is exactly how CPTSD traps and tortures us. It makes the old sh*t seem effortless, if painful— and the stuff we need to do to recover, hard. 

There is no doubt: doing trauma recovery sh*t IS hard. Especially at first, and especially when we’re triggered. 

 I will never lie to you and tell you ANY of this is supposed to be easy. 

But the realistic way we rewire, recondition, reshape our nervous system, is by noticing when we’re on CPTSD autopilot, and consciously CHOOSE to do something different. 

We’re just not going to recover on autopilot. 

I know. It sucks exactly as much as it sucks. 

Anybody who tells you trauma recovery is without suck, especially when it comes to making new, uncomfortable choices, is selling something. 

Selling something that smells, methinks. 

drglenndoyle

About that “safe relationships heal trauma” thing…

You’re going to hear it said again and again that you need to experience safe relationships in order to heal trauma— and, yes, safe relationships can sure help heal trauma. 

But I wouldn’t go so far as to say safe relationships are “the” thing that heals trauma. 

There isn’t really one universal thing that does heal trauma, unfortunately. 

But specifically when it comes to safe relationships: you can have all the safe relationships in the world, but they won’t help heal trauma unless you can internalize that safety. 

That is to say: unless you can use those relationships as a model for how to relate to yourself. 

The essence of CPTSD is that we don’t feel safe in our own skin. 

Yes, that lack of safety inside does mirror the lack of safety outside, especially in the past— but it’s the lack of internal safety that we’re carrying around, into every situation, into every relationship. 

It’s the lack of INTERNAL safety that drives our trauma responses, irrespective of how much safety does or does not exist around us. 

(Mind you, I’m NOT saying that external safety “doesn’t matter.” It’s just not what I’m talking about here.) 

If we’re going to realistically recover from our CPTSD, we have to find a way to internalize a feeling of safety— and that can only be generated by how we talk to ourselves, how we consistently leverage our mental focus, and how we use our physiology, notably our breathing. 

Safe relationships can HELP us develop self talk, mental focus, and physiology that support us feeling safe in our own skin— but I get real annoyed whenever I see someone pretending that “safe relationships” in themselves “heal” trauma. 

Why does this matter? It matters because if we try to put all our recovery eggs in the basket of “safe relationships,” we’re misunderstanding the task in front of us— and we’re setting ourselves up for potentially unhealthy dependence on others. 

I used to have a therapist to whom I felt very positively attached. He offered a great deal of modeling when it came to consistency, honesty, and kindness. But for a long time, even with this experienced, skilled therapist, I stayed stuck— because I had this idea that it was something about him that would somehow “heal” me. 

I now understand that that therapy relationship, like any healing relationship, was a tool— useful, but not in itself what was going to complete the project. 

The project is a DIY project— a Do It Yourself one. 

Many people don’t love hearing that, but it’s the f*ckin’ truth. 

I want everybody to have safe relationships. Everybody reading this DESERVES safe relationships. There is no denying the power of safe relationships to support us in learning and practicing new ways of relating to ourselves. 

But we need to be crystal clear on the fact that it’s the “relating to ourselves” part that does the heavy lifting. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

You are not “lazy.” That’s Trauma Brain f*cking with you.

You are not “lazy.” That’s Trauma Brain f*cking with you. 

Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our abusers and bullies, is real good at giving us pat explanations for our behavior like that— “you’re just lazy”— that chalks what we do up to who or what we ARE. 

Oh, and it usually gets us feeling like garbage. 

Here’s the thing: Trauma Brain is not interested in reality. 

It’s not interested in helping you live a productive, happy life. 

Trauma Brain is mostly interested in you feeling exactly like you did when you were being abused: small. Helpless. Hopeless. 

It’s true that many trauma survivors struggle with motivation— but that has zero to do with “laziness.” 

Often, our struggles with motivation have to do with a “freeze” response. 

When we’re triggered, our nervous system might reflexively default to standing still— which, from the outside, might LOOK like a “choice.” 

But believe me when I tell you: trauma responses are not choices. 

When we’re stuck in a “freeze” response, the very idea of taking action might seem overwhelming— and it’s almost impossible to “think” or “will” our way out. 

Trauma survivors can get sh*t for lacking motivation, procrastination, missing deadlines— when the fact is, we’re “frozen” in a state of sympathetic nervous system activation. 

And we’re not going to bully ourselves out of it. 

Here’s the other thing about Trauma Brain calling us “lazy:” it’s not just sh*tty because it makes us feel like garbage. 

It’s also sh*tty because calling ourselves “lazy” doesn’t actually help us solve the problem. 

Say we accept Trauma Brain’s label of “lazy.” Okay, what then? What’s the solution? “Quit being lazy?” 

That’s about as effective as a therapist responding to a patient’s pain with, “have you considered just not feeling that way?” 

Trauma Brain— or anyone else— calling us “lazy” doesn’t help us design a solution. 

Considering whether we’re in a functional “freeze” state— perhaps exacerbated by what I call Post Traumatic Exhaustion— actually helps us understand both what’s actually going on and what we actually need to do about it. 

Trauma responses only diminish when we feel safer— specifically when we take realistic steps to help our inner child and “parts” feel safe. 

There are many ways to approach that, but they all involve self talk, mental focus, and physiology, especially breathing. 

Do not accept Trauma Brain’s blithe assertion that you’re “lazy.” You’re not. 

Most trauma survivors are among the hardest working humans on the planet. We have to be, just to exist in our skin. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Pain sucks.

You’re not wrong or crazy to try to escape pain. 

Trying to escape pain does not make you “weak” or “cowardly.” 

The vast majority of us try to escape pain whenever practical. Of course we do. 

You can let yourself off the hook for trying to escape pain. It’s okay. It’s normal. 

Why am I bothering to say this? Because you’re going to get a lot of sh*t for trying to escape pain from various sources.

You’re going to get Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our bullies and abusers, calling us “weak.” 

You might even get therapists telling you that trying to avoid pain will only ever create more pain. 

It’s true that making avoidance our go-to reflex is going to create more problems than it solves in the long term— but the way these conversations are often framed can leave trauma survivors feeling shamed and child like for trying to escape pain. 

It’s not true that “trying to avoid pain only ever creates more pain.” 

There’s a huge difference between pain that can be productively faced, processed, integrated, and transformed— and pain that just sucks. 

CPTSD is full of the pain that just sucks. 

Not all pain is meaningful. Not all pain leads to growth. 

Some people in our culture absolutely fetishize pain as an “opportunity for growth.” 

Your milage may vary, but I’ve never “grown” as the result of having a headache. 

Trauma survivors often have a complicated relationship with pain. 

Some of us get conditioned to believe we “deserve” it. 

Some of us get convinced we’ll never be able to avoid or reduce our pain, so we stop trying. 

Some of us develop an oddly codependent relationship with pain, and come to believe we can’t function or exist without it. 

Here’s the thing: you don’t have to apologize or feel shame for wanting less pain in your life, or doing what you can to escape pain. 

Nobody is handing out medals for enduring pain without flinching. 

Nobody expects you to love pain or embrace all pain as a “growth opportunity.” 

CPTSD survivors have to approach pain with gentleness and compassion and patience— like we approach all our struggles and symptoms in recovery— but it’s real important we not get in our head about what pain does or doesn’t “mean.” 

In my experience, most pain doesn’t actually have an existential “meaning.” 

You’re not “weak” for experiencing pain. 

You’re not “childish” or “whiny” for wanting less pain in your life. 

You are not under no obligation to cheerfully endure pain just to prove you can take it. 

Nobody is questioning your resilience or toughness. Nobody who matters, anyway. 

Pain sucks. 

And it’s okay to to just stay that flat out. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Teeny, tiny steps toward the future.

The irony of trauma recovery, and the thing a lot of people don’t understand, is that it doesn’t, actually, mean thinking about the past every day. 

It means thinking about the future— every day. 

That’s harder than it seems for trauma survivors. 

We’ve often been conditioned to explicitly NOT think about the future. 

Why would we, after all? We’ve had experience with that “hope” thing— and our experience is that the universe, or at least our bullies and abusers, happy wield that “hope” thing to hurt us. 

We know better than to get our hopes up. 

At least, that’s what our conditioning has us thinking, repeating to ourselves. 

The truth of the matter is, in trauma recovery we often have to learn new ways of thinking and talking to ourselves about the future. 

Because it’s true that blind, generalized “hope” isn’t much help to us in trauma recovery. 

What is helpful to us is thinking about our values and specific goals— and when it comes to goals, the shorter term and more realistically achievable, the better. 

Part of what trauma steals from us is our sense of self-efficacy— our feeling and belief that we can actually do things in the world. That we are up to what the world asks of us every day. 

How do we take our self efficacy back? 

By setting and achieving goals— notably teeny, tiny, steppingstone goals. 

Realistic, practical self-care goals. 

Realistic, practical personal development goals. 

And when I say “teeny tiny,” I very much mean it: I mean start out with your personal development goal being a page— MAYBE two— of a book today. 

THAT’S the kind of future thinking I’m talking about. Not climbing Everest. 

Maybe your self care goal today is washing your face or brushing your teeth. Maybe. 

Teeny, tiny. Baby steps. 

Remember: in sustainable trauma recovery, trajectory matters more than speed. I want you heading in a healing direction, even if the steps you are taking are teeny tiny. 

Teeny tiny steps, baby steps, add up. 

In your trauma recovery today, you may or may not think about your past, or your abuse, or your abusers. 

But you WILL think about the next baby step you need to take. 

I want you thinking about baby stepping to the end of today, to the end of this week. Not really any further than that. 

I want you thinking about self-care— not so much in the “spa day” sense, but in the sense of little gestures that communicate to your nervous system that you are in the business of valuing and protecting yourself today. 

Even if it is just in teeny, tiny gestures. 

Take it from a marathon runner: distance races are completed one step at a time. 

Focus on the future— but not the distant future or the ultimate future. Not the future that trauma has conditioned you to fear and doubt. 

Focus on the rest of this hour. Then the rest of this day. Then the rest of this week. 

This is realistically how we recover. 

This is realistically how we win. 

drglenndoyle

Don’t hate on your sensitivity.

Highly sensitive humans are more vulnerable to trauma than less sensitive humans, it’s true. 

But that doesn’t mean our sensitivity “attracted” or “allowed” our abuse to happen. 

It’s true that sometimes sensitive people— not just kids— are targeted by those who would hurt us. 

But that doesn’t make our trauma or “fault.” 

That rather explicitly makes it “their” fault, actually— they’re the ones who did the targeting and the abusing. 

Don’t get it twisted. 

Trauma Brain is going to give you extensive lists of why some characteristic of yours drew traumatic experiences to you— but that’s not, actually, how that works. 

Abusers are responsible for abuse. Full stop. 

(Notice how Trauma Brain is right now in your ear, trying to argue with that statement— that “abusers are responsible for abuse. Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of our abusers and bullies, is heavily invested in you believing you “played a part” in your trauma— even if that “part” you supposedly “played” was just you being you.) 

Being highly sensitive can be a real pain in the ass. 

It can also be beautiful and useful and even profitable— but most of the time we’re mainly aware of how much it sucks to feel everything so overwhelmingly. 

It can get real easy to get down on ourselves for our sensitivity. 

Meeting our sensitivity with compassion and curiosity and grace can sound like a tall order some days, especially when our nervous system feels like it’s ready to physically jump out of our goddamn body. 

How we relate to our sensitivity matters in trauma recovery, because how we relate to everything about ourselves matters. 

CPTSD is going to try, hard, to get us to hate on ourselves— everything about ourselves. 

Our appearance. Our intelligence. Our choices. How sensitive we are or aren’t. 

You need to remember: the sh*t that CPTSD gives us about being highly sensitive— or anything else— is not about reality. 

It’s about making us feel a certain kind of way. Notably, like garbage. 

You don’t have to love being highly sensitive all the time. I don’t. 

But you and I do have to accept we are exactly as sensitive as we are— and that’s not evidence of anything “bad,” “weak,” or “immature.” 

We also have accept that there is nothing a victim can do that can “make” someone abuse them. 

No matter what Trauma Brain is whispering in your ear right now. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

What can’t be said will be felt– physically.

Our bodies often say what our words can’t. 

That’s one reason why CPTSD survivors often experience pain and other chronic health problems.

It’s not that physical problems are CAUSED by our mental distress— it’s that our mental distress makes us incredibly vulnerable to any and every source of pain and dysfunction out there. 

It’s hard for a body to fight things off when it’s been fighting off feelings and memories all day and night. 

But it’s also the case that the cells of our body have memories. 

They keep track. They “keep the score,” as the title of an obscure book put it. 

You may have heard the expression “what cannot be said will be wept?” 

It’s also true that what cannot be said, will be FELT— literally, physically. 

It’s one reason why developing the capacity to put words to our feelings and needs and memories and pain really, really matters in realistic trauma recovery. 

It’s hard to explain to others how “stuck” CPTSD survivors can feel in our body. 

Utterly stuck— and yet, somehow, not in our body at all. 

It’s hard to explain to others how CPTSD makes going to the doctor— even the dentist (especially the dentist, actually) about 10,000 times harder than it “should” be. 

Then many CPTSD survivors run into the reality that many of our physical problems don’t “behave” like “normal” medical problems do. 

They can be mysterious and difficult to diagnose— and they can often be less than responsive to modalities of care that seem to work for everyone else. 

There are survivors reading this more tired than they should be. 

There are survivors reading this physically sicker than they should be. 

There are survivors reading this experiencing pain— that they will never bring to the attention of a medical provider, because experience has taught them that the juice isn’t worth the squeeze. 

If that’s you, you’re not alone. 

Realistic, sustainable trauma recovery has to account not only for our relationship with our “parts,” but our physical body as well. 

Trauma recovery that ignores the somatic component of CPTSD is incomplete. 

(And also, recovery that pretends CPTSD is ONLY about somatics is incomplete.)

Realistic recovery is holistic, in the sense that it accounts for how body, mind, and spirit interact and influence each other. 

But for now, realize: you’re not crazy. 

This really is taking a toll on your body. 

You’re not imagining it. 

And shame and self-blame is not the answer. Ever. 

drglenndoyle

None of this is “fun” or “easy.”

CPTSD is hard to get our arms around. Not everyone has heard of it.

If you asked five random strangers on the street what it is, four of them probably couldn’t tell you. 

Many CPTSD survivors themselves have misconceptions about what it is and how it develops. 

Because CPTSD isn’t as widely talked about in the culture as PTSD is, it’s easy to miss or misunderstand. (Just ask everyone who has been misdiagnosed with a “personality disorder” instead of CPTSD.)

Add to that the fact that dissociation is an incredibly common occurrence in CPTSD, but also an overwhelmingly misunderstood concept in our culture, and the “what is CPTSD” picture gets even hazier for the average person. 

All of this very often leaves CPTSD survivors feeling isolated. 

Alone. 

Kind of “crazy.” 

The thing about CPTSD is that it is an injury— not a “mental illness,” but an injury— that engenders lots of contradictions. 

Many CPTSD survivors are real good at convincingly pretending there’s nothing wrong. 

Hell, many CPTSD survivors achieve success in their academic or professional lives, leading others to assume that they couldn’t POSSIBLY have a serious psychological or behavioral wound. 

There are plenty of people who assume the collection of symptoms and struggles that define CPTSD simply don’t exist. Who believe that survivors can simply “let the past go” if they have enough “character.” 

It all makes recovering from CPTSD complicated. 

My own view is that CPTSD recovery is as involved and long term as recovery from addiction. 

It’s not so much a thing we do, as a lifestyle we live. 

Much like healing a broken bone takes time and care, recovery from CPTSD takes time and care— and we’re not going to think, talk, or “willpower” our way out of it. 

Realistic recovery from CPTSD almost always involves shifting how we relate to ourselves. 

It involves confronting what we were conditioned to believe about ourselves and our lives, and “scratching the record” of that conditioning— again, and again, and again. 

The truth is, you are not alone. Though, I get it— you feel alone. 

There are other CPTSD survivors out there, who are developing their own recovery routines and rituals and tools, just like you. 

No one is having a fun or easy time of this. 

This is not fun or easy. 

But this is doable. 

Yeah. You can do this “trauma recovery” thing. 

And, yeah: it’s going to take an open mind and a committed heart— and the willingness to meet each minute of your recovery on its own terms, one minute at a time. 

But you can do this. 

I swear to you, you can. 

drglenndoyle

Avoiding CPTSD overwhelm.

Remember: a day is just twenty four hours strung together. 

An hour is just sixty minutes strung together. 

A minute is just sixty teeny, tiny seconds strung together. 

All we need to do is figure out a way to be safe and focused for a second. This second. 

CPTSD, if you haven’t noticed, does its very best to overwhelm us. To make us truly believe we have to handle EVERY f*cking thing in our life, RIGHT NOW. 

CPTSD tries to make us believe we HAVE to solve EVERY problem we have, NOW. 

And what’s more: CPTSD make us believe that if we can’t solve every problem we have RIGHT NOW, then we can’t solve ANY of our problems. 

It makes us believe we are a failure for feeling overwhelmed. 

You are not “failure” for feeling overwhelmed. 


CPTSD is one of the most overwhelming experiences human beings can experience. 

Hell, the very reason CPTSD and, especially, dissociation exist is because we’ve experienced things that overwhelmed our nervous system. 

That’s not a knock on our nervous system, by the way. Every nervous system has its breaking point, just like every bone has its breaking point. 

We don’t shame bones for breaking when they’ve been subjected to the kind of pressure that breaks bones; and we shouldn’t shame our nervous system for dissociating or developing complex trauma responses when subjected to the kind of pressure that produces CPTSD. 

You are not “crazy” for developing these responses. 

Complex trauma is overwhelming, by definition— and that’s true whether or not you happen to remember, or remember clearly, what happened to you. 

Realistic trauma recovery is all about bringing it back to basics, every day. 

Twenty four hours in a day. 

Sixty minutes in an hour. 

Sixty seconds in a minute. 

And we’re back to using the tools of self talk, mental focus, and physiology, especially breathing, to find a way to make THIS sixty seconds safe. 

Don’t get rushed, bullied, or discouraged by Trauma Brain. 

Reel it in, and focus on this sixty seconds. 

Let the following sixty seconds take care of themselves.