drglenndoyle

CPTSD and DID are injuries. Not judgments.

CPTSD is going to try to convince you your struggles and symptoms mean there’s something fundamentally “wrong” with you, personally— but you need to know that’s not true. 

CPTSD is an injury. We didn’t ask for it. We couldn’t avoid it. 

Neither CPTSD nor DID reduce to something being fundamentally “wrong” with us as people. 

We are not struggling with CPTSD or any of its symptoms— dissociation, depression, anxiety, self harm urges, suicidal ideation— because we are “weak” or “bad.” 

CPTSD and DID occur when the human psyche is subjected to specific kinds of pressure without support or escape. It’s just like what happens to a tendon or a bone when it’s subjected to certain kinds of pressure— they break. 

That’s not a design flaw with the tendon or bone— of COURSE they break when subjected to certain kinds of pressure. 

And the fact that CPTSD or DID develops when our nervous and endocrine systems are subjected to certain kids of pressure is exactly the same— it’s not due to a flaw or weakness in us. 

It’s just what happens. 

It’s tempting to get up in our head about why we developed CPTSD in response to our experience, whereas others didn’t— but what I can tell you, definitively, is that that difference has absolutely nothing to do with “character” or any other measure of “goodnesss” or “toughness.” 

We did not ask for this. 

Our vulnerability to trauma responses does NOT have a moral component. 

And we do not heal injuries by returning again and again to our insistence that we “shouldn’t” be injured. 

So we’re injured. We can’t deny or ignore our way out of it. 

We CAN care for our injury as best we know how— in the case of CPTSD, leveraging the tools of self forgiveness, self talk, mental focus, and physiology, especially our breathing. 

Yeah, I said self forgiveness. Not because we need “forgiveness” for things that happened TO us. 

But sometimes it helps to use that language with ourselves, to the tune of: “I forgive myself for being vulnerable to injury. 

I forgive myself for being human. 

I forgive myself for needing care. 

I forgive myself for every symptom and reaction today— even the ones that frustrate the hell out of me.” 

Neither CPTSD nor DID means YOU are “wrong,” or “bad,” or “weak.” 

They are injuries. Wounds. 

Care for them as such, with compassion and patience and realism. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Why recovery supporting self talk is hard.

When we fist start paying attention to our self-talk in trauma recovery, it can be kind of shocking. 

We can be really f*cking mean to ourselves. 

We can be really f*cking mean to ourselves, without intending or trying to. 

Very few trauma survivors wake up in the morning and say to ourselves, “I’m going to beat the sh*t out of myself today.” 

Most of the time, that’s just how things work out— because we, like most of humanity, navigate most of our days on autopilot. 

We let our old programming run how we talk to and behave toward ourselves— and guess how our old programming has us talking to and behaving toward ourselves? 

Most of the time our old programming has us talking to and behaving toward ourselves like our bullies and abusers did. 

Mind you: this isn’t because we WANT to be like our bullies and abusers. 

Most of the survivors reading this would actually do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING to NOT be like our bullies and abusers. 

But many of us learned how to relate to ourselves through the example our bullies and abusers set. 

We internalized it. Unwittingly “downloaded” it into our nervous system. 

That’s why it’s so easy to be so hard on ourselves: we have lots of practice at it. 

We experienced it for so long, it kind of sunk in. Became part of our operating system. 

Then kicking the sh*t out of ourselves became so second nature, we stopped noticing when we were doing it. 

Years and years of that sh*t— is it any wonder that our “parts” and inner child don’t feel safe?

That conditioning is also why it’s so hard to STOP kicking the sh*t out of ourselves— because when we start intentionally trying to talk and relate to ourselves with compassion and kindness, it feels…weird. Wrong. Awkward. 

What that feeling ACTUALLY  is is, “unfamiliar.” 

CPTSD recovery is going to ask us, over and over again, to scramble old patters. Scratch old records. 

That starts with our self-talk. 

It’s real important we get OUT of the habit of talking to ourselves like our bullies and abusers did— even (especially!) if we’re deep in that habit. 

Yeah. Easier said than done. 

But real important to do, if we want our trauma recovery to be realistic and sustainable. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

Just start by paying attention to your inner monologue. 

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

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

What “they” see is not the whole story of your CPTSD recovery.

What people see of our CPTSD recovery in public is only going to be a teeny, tiny percentage of the real story. 

The real story of trauma recovery happens in private. 

Private moments of doubt. 

Private moments of pain. 

Private moments of really, really wanting to hurt ourselves. 

Private moments of wanting to give up. 

Navigating those hard private moments, day after day and, especially, night after night— that’s what CPTSD recovery is really all about. 

The stuff other people see— us looking better, functioning better, showing up, engaging more— that stuff is all kind of gravy. 

For that matter, many of us survivors have lots of practice doing all that public stuff, even when we’re circling the drain. 

The truth is, nobody really knows how we’re leveraging our tools. 

How we’re talking to ourselves. 

How we’re using our mental focus. What we’re visualizing. The mental safe spaces we’ve created for ourselves, our “parts,” and our inner child. 

Nobody knows how we’re relating to our body and using our breathing to stay grounded and soothe ourselves. 

Only we know the full story. 

Only we know how hard we’re working. 

Only we know the real journey we’ve been on— and what point on that journey our current state represents. 

Don’t confuse what other people see with what’s really going on. 

They won’t see it all. 

They probably won’t see the most important aspects of our CPTSD recovery. 

But those milestones really, really f*cking matter. 

Whether or not I, personally, can see them,  I want you to know I understand how much work is happening beneath the surface. 

And I want you to know how overwhelmingly proud of you I am. 

That’s true whether or not I personally know you. 

Even if I don’t know you— I know you. 

We’re all in the same fight tonight. 

Keep on keeping on. 

Breathe; blink; focus— one minute at a time.  

drglenndoyle

Experiencing anger doesn’t make you an “angry person.” But denying and disowning it…

You’re going to hear it said that anger is just “sadness’s bodyguard”— but I don’t believe that. 

I believe that anger, while it frequently occurs alongside sadness, is its own thing— as real and valid and independent as any experience, emotional or otherwise. 

Remember that anger evolved for a reason. 

The cave-people who could get angry when other cave-people tried to encroach upon their territory and steal their mates and wooly mammoths and stuff, had a survival advantage over those cave-people who couldn’t. 

Anger, evolutionarily speaking, gives us a rush of focus and energy to defend our territory. 

Anger is important. Anger is valid. Anger matters. 

It it sometimes the case that our anger in a specific situation is actually about a different situation, maybe from the past? Sure— but that doesn’t make it invalid. 

The worst thing we can do for and with our anger is to dismiss it as nothing more than the “bodyguard” of another feeling. 

Anger, properly understood and responsibly managed, can be one of our most important trauma recovery tools. 

Of course, denied, disowned, misunderstood, and mismanaged, our anger can be as destructive to us as our abusers’ anger was back then. 

That’s why it’s so important that we take time to understand, validate, and manage our anger— precisely so we DON’T become our abusers in how we react (instead of respond) to our anger. 

Sometimes I get sh*t for being pro-anger— but I don’t know what to tell you. Anger is as important and valid as anything else we can experience. 

Meeting our anger with denial or shame is psychologically and even physically harmful to us. 

I recommend meeting anger just like we meet anything and everything else in trauma recovery: with compassion, patience, realism, and respect. 

Experiencing anger doesn’t make you an “angry person.” 

But denying and disowning your anger probably will. 

drglenndoyle

All we can do, is what we can do.

All we can today, is what we can do today. 

We can’t go back and re-do yesterday. Or last year. Or ten or twenty years ago. 

Have you ever made decisions you’ve regretted? I have. 

Have you ever been your not-best self? Same. 

Are there things you’d do differently, all the way up to this last minute, if you had a time machine and could re-do them? There absolutely are, for me. 

But— we can’t. 

Our past was what it was. 

Our choices in the past were what they were. 

We have to accept that what has happened up until now, has happened. 

We don’t have to LIKE that fact— but we have to accept it, because it IS a fact. 

All we can do is the next right thing. The next thng that is aligned with our goals and values. The next authentic thing. 

My own Trauma Brain gets absolutely vicious with me about decisions I made in the past— about the person I was in the past. 

It’s real easy to get into a spiral about how I “deserve” to be punished for it all— and how I don’t “deserve” the opportunity to feel good or better here, now, in the present. 

Sound familiar? 

Here’s the thing: punishing myself now does not erase what happened then. 

It doesn’t erase any of the things that happened to me, and it doesn’t erase any of the not-so-great decisions I made. 

The me-of-back-then was doing the best he could with the tools he had— and while I wish he had different tools and more support than he did, that doesn’t change how things actually happened. 

All we can do is what we can do, now. 

All we can do is get really clear about who we are and what we want out of our life, day by day, now. 

All we can do is make the next decision in front of us in as goals-and-values aligned way as we can, with the tools and support we have, now. 

I was not perfect in the past, and I am not perfect now. There’s a very good chance I won’t be perfect tomorrow, either. 

But that doesn’t mean I, or anybody else shouldering regret about the past, deserve open ended punishment going forward. 

That doesn’t help anyone. That doesn’t make anything “right.”

I will never feel good about some past decisions or some past versions of myself.

But I don’t have to feel good about them, to extend myself grace. 

All we can do is what we can do. 

We create our future one day, one minute, one decision at a time. 

Real accountability is not self punishment; it is changed behavior. 

Everybody reading this could stand to extend themselves a little more grace— and to focus on making amends, if they need to, by doing the next right thing. Not agonizing over their last not-great choice.

drglenndoyle

CPTSD and DID do not exist for the hell of it.

You need to know you didn’t develop these CPTSD patterns or DID patterns for the hell of it. 

That’s what CPTSD and DID are: patterns. Conditioned patterns of attention, experience, and reflexive behavior. 

CPTSD and DID are NOT “incurable diseases.” 

CPTSD and DID are NOT who you are or your “personality.” 

CPTSD and DID are NOT “choices.” 

They are patterns that have been conditioned in you, likely for years or even decades— meaning you may not even remember a time when those patterns didn’t define your life experience. 

Patterns that have been conditioned, can be unconditioned and reconditioned. 

That doesn’t mean it’s “easy.” That means it’s possible— with consistency and commitment and support and strategy. 

The patterns of thinking, believing, feeling, and behaving that add up to CPTSD and DID developed for reasons— most often, to keep us safe on some level. 

What many people don’t understand is, the overwhelming majority of trauma “symptoms” have their roots in self-protection. 

What WE need to understand is that giving up those “symptoms”— up to and including self-harm and suicidal ideation— is probably going to feel UNSAFE on some level, especially at first. 

We do not develop CPTSD or DID to be “difficult.” 

Nobody reading this “chose” CPTSD or DID. (Given the actual “choice,” literally everyone who struggles with either would absolutely choose differently 10 times out of 10.)

The most painful, frustrating trauma “symptoms” we experience are purposeful. 

And if we’re going to realistically reduce our vulnerability to them, we need to understand and respect what they’re all about. 

We have to give them their due. 

All of this is part of a larger project of steadfastly refusing to hate or reject “parts” of ourselves or our experience. 

For as ashamed or confused as we are by aspects of what we’re experiencing, realistic recovery is going to ask us to deal with our “parts” and our experiences with respect, patience, and openness. 

CPTSD and DID do not exist, either in general or in us, “for no reason.” 

And if we’re going to ask our nervous system to run new, different unfamiliar patterns, instead of the patterns we’ve been running for years, we’d better be prepared to demonstrate that we understand what a significant “ask” that is. 

drglenndoyle

Every day in trauma recovery– and every survivor– is a mixed bag.

Every day in trauma recovery, including today, is going to be a mixed bag. 

What that means for you is that if you happen to be having a garbage day today, that’s okay. 

It’s not preferable, we don’t love it— but it’s okay. 

It’s not evidence you’re “failing.” 

It’s not evidence you’re screwed. 

Why does this matter? Because you, like me and every other trauma survivor, are likely super vulnerable to perfectionism. 

We truly believe that if today doesn’t go exactly to plan, we’re in trouble. 

We’ve been CONDITIONED to think in very black and white terms about things like “success” and “failure.” 

Just today I worked with multiple survivors who thought that because their sessions weren’t picture perfect, they “must” have “failed” me, or themselves, or their recovery. 

What BS. (Belief Systems— but also, you know, bullsh*t.)

The truth is, some of the most ultimately productive therapy sessions are wildly unpredictable and imperfect. 

The broader truth is that some of the most productive recovery days are wildly unpredictable and imperfect. 

It’s okay. 

What I want to communicate to every trauma survivor reading these words is, you are working a real world recovery. We want it to be realistic and sustainable— and that means we have to give up these fantasies about having “perfect” recovery days. 

Trauma recovery does not have perfect days because life does not have perfect days. 

If you or I happen to have a “perfect” recovery day in terms of choosing and using our tools and skills, that’s completely accidental, insofar as humans almost NEVER have “perfect” days. 

(No, you are not The Exception.”) 

Acknowledging that nearly 100% of our recovery days will be a mixed bag is not “making excuses” for underperforming. 

It’s acknowledging reality— which we survivors can struggle with, when reality isn’t great. 

When reality isn’t great, our default is often shame and self-blame— which makes perfect sense, insofar as we were often shamed and blamed growing up for…well, a lot of things, very few of which we actually our fault or responsibility. 

Trauma recovery asks us to scramble that pattern of reflexively shaming or blaming ourselves when our day or our choices are imperfect. 

Trauma recovery is a mixed bag. You and I are mixed bags. 

And that’s okay. 

The task in font of us is still the same: baby steps that are congruent with our recovery goals and values. 

Just do the next right thing— and forgive yourself. 

Again ,and again, and again. 

drglenndoyle

Did you say “the future,” Conan?

CPTSD does a real number on our ability to believe in a future that is anything but sh*tty. 

For that matter, CPTSD does a real number on our ability to think about the future at all. 

Part of is is depression— we just have zero motivation or focus to think about the future. 

Part of is is learned helplessness (which isn’t our fault, despite it being “learned”)— we’ve been conditioned by CPTSD do believe there’s nothing we can do to positively affect the future, so why bother? 

Yet another part of it is the cognitive distortion of “fortune telling”— that is, CPTSD has convinced us that we “know” what all is coming, and it’s all “obviously” sh*tty, so why think about any of it at all? 

Here’s the thing: when we’ve been kneecapped by CPTSD in our ability to think about the future, we’re also not that interested in doing anything right here, right now, to feel or function better. 

That is to say: we feel profoundly stuck. 

I don’t actually need you to believe that the future is going to be awesome. After all, how would I know? I don’t have any knowledge about the future that any other human lacks. 

I’ll tell you what I do know, though: CPTSD lies. 

CPTSD lies about fault and responsibility. 

CPTSD lies about how capable we are. 

And CPTSD lies about what we deserve. 

I don’t know what the future holds— but I do know that CPTSD’s insistence that it’s nothing but sh*t is probably not true, simply because of how full of sh*t CPTSD tends to be. 

Look, I’m not some raging, unrealistic optimist. I don’t believe in toxic positivity. 

But I also don’t believe in making sweeping judgments about what a situation will or won’t be based on the feelings and fears of this moment. 

I believe in planing. 

I believe in consistency and incremental change. 

I believe in trajectory over speed. 

I believe in habits. 

All of which is to say: I believe in creating the future, not waiting for it to happen or dreading it. 

Maybe we can or can’t impact the future— but if we can’t, we’ve lost nothing by choosing to believe we can. 

And if we can actually impact the future? Then approaching it decision by decision, with clarity and certainty about our goals and values, will realistically create a quality of life that CPTSD doesn’t want us to believe exists. 

I’m willing to make that bet. 

Breathe; blink; focus.