drglenndoyle

Recovery work is identity work.

CPTSD shreds our identity.

This is one of the hardest things for many survivors to express or explain.

The symptoms and struggles of CPTSD are not primarily about what happened to us. They’re about what happened to us impacted how we understand ourselves, how we communicate with ourselves, what we believe about ourselves.

If CPTSD was just about what happened, we could heal that by working exclusively with the memories of what happened.

But it’s just not that simple.

We could erase or transform every trauma memory we have— and the damage of CPTSD would still be deeply entrenched.

We would still struggle with our self-esteem.

We would stills struggle with our relationships.

We would still struggle with managing our money and our time.

Those are all things linked to our identity and our relationship with ourselves— which is what CPTSD really goes after.

Realistic, sustainable recovery has to focus on not just what happened to us— but also who we are.

In realistic recovery we have to develop tools to understand and communicate with ourselves in ways that support our authenticity— instead of conforming to others’ expectations or pressure.

The reality is, we humans are not really taught how to intentionally develop our identity.

Most of us, traumatized or not, are living out someone else’s vision of who we “should” be.

For some people, that’s not a problem— if they grew up with adults around them who nurtured a positive, proactive concept of who they should be.

But we survivors of complex trauma grew up with something different, didn’t we?

Many people reading this grew up with people mocking them. Or gaslighting them. Or ignoring them.

What results is an identity that is patchwork of negative ideas and stereotypes and assumptions that has almost no relationship to who we actually are.

Then we wonder why we’re such a sh*t show in relationships, at work, in the world?

Some people are confused and frustrated that CPTSD recovery, at least as I teach and support the concept, isn’t entirely focused on eradicating trauma memories.

They don’t want to get into issues of who they are and how they relate to who they are.

But that’s where the real pain is, and that’s where the real movement in recovery is.

That’s why it’s so important in realistic trauma recovery to broaden the conversation from wha happened to us us, to who we are and what we want our personality and life to be about.

CPTSD recovery is identity work, grief work, and life development work— not just memory work.

And it all keeps coming back to, “who do you want to be?”

Breathe. Blink. Focus.

And look inward, without judgment or rush.

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery and impulse control.

CPTSD survivors can have a real hard time saying “no” to ourselves. And there are reasons for this.

Among the biggest triggers for survivors is often feeling trapped and/or controlled— because many of our experiences growing up were all about us being trapped and controlled.

It makes perfect sense that now, as adults, we’re highly sensitive to feeling trapped and controlled— and not just in overt ways.

Many of our triggers around feeling trapped and controlled are subtle.

If you haven’t noticed, CPTSD survivors’ nervous systems are overwhelmingly sensitive— so much so that many of our triggers may not seem to make sense, even to us.

But we pick up on things. We pick up on MICRO things.

Such as micro-feelings of being trapped or controlled.

When we have to rein in an impulse, say “no” to ourselves, our nervous system often processes that as tonally similar to when we were reprimanded or shamed by our bullies or abusers.

It doesn’t matter if the thing we’re saying “no” to is “bad” for us— what our inner child hears and responds to is the vibe that we’re “wrong” or “bad” for wanting or trying to do that thing.

Making healthy dietary choices gets linked to “good people don’t eat junk food.”

Avoiding intoxicating substances gets linked to “good people don’t do drugs.”

Managing our time gets linked to “responsible people don’t procrastinate.”

All of which toggle those “trapped” and “controlled” triggers in our amygdala and hippocampus— along with the third big trigger of most CPTSD survivors, feeling “in trouble.”

So, while saying “no” to ourselves, reeling in certain impulses, is super necessary to our health and safety in the real world, CPTSD survivors (and definitely survivors who have DID) are tasked with managing a cadre of rebellious internal “parts” that are hell bent on never feeling trapped, controlled, or in trouble, ever again.

Here’s the thing: the backbone of realistic trauma recovery really is the relationship we nurture with ourselves.

It’s that relationship that complex trauma shreds, and it’s the relationship with ourselves that we need to repair.

That means we need to handle things like saying “no” to ourselves with sensitivity, compassion and realism— especially when we get kick back from our “parts,” who bristle at restrictions or limits of any kind.

First thing’s first: no shame.

So saying “no” to ourselves and managing impulses is fraught. We need to understand that for the complex trauma symptom it is— not as a mark of immaturity or lack of “character.”

We need to understand that wrangling our own behavior is always going to be more complex than just telling ourselves, “don’t do that.”

Meeting our own resistance with compassion, patience, and realism needs to become our default setting— which is hard, when we’ve been conditioned to shame and blame and punish ourselves for being “difficult.”

Our job in CPTSD recovery, over and over again, is to push back against the internalized voices and patterns of our bullies and abusers— especially in those moments when shame and punishment feel like “natural” go-to’s to modify our behavior.

It’s absolutely true that managing our impulses, saying “no” to ourselves, is necessary to live a safe, healthy life. Self-discipline is a super necessary tool to achieving our goals.

But it’s also true that if we try to “discipline” ourselves like a drill sergeant, we’re going to end up reinforcing old patterns of abuse and neglect— and damaging the relationship we are here to repair.

I know. I wish managing our own behavior in CPTSD recovery was more straightforward and intuitive, too.

But our trauma-conditioned autopilot is what got us here. It’s not what will dig us out.

Breathe. Blink. Focus.

drglenndoyle

Functional freeze and fawning in plain sight.

“Fawn” and “freeze” in CPTSD often don’t look like we think they should.

When we hear “freeze,” we often think of literal paralysis.

Sometimes that is what “freeze” looks like— but CPTSD survivors tends to be far more familiar with “functional freeze.”

In “functional freeze,” we may not look “frozen” at all to someone observing us.

We may be going about our tasks of the day, doing the things, showing up to work, taking care of the kids.

But inside, we may be at a standstill.

We may be procrastinating on important things that we just cannot get ourselves to do.

It often feels like an internal wall we just can’t get around— and yet, we feel lots of shame about that wall, because we don’t register what’s happening as a trauma response.

It’s easy to mistake a “functional freeze” state for a “choice,” because we’re still doing certain things. We’re not literally, physically “frozen.”

But “functional freeze” is no more a “choice” than any other trauma response.

Trauma responses are not choices.

CPTSD survivors stuck in “functional freeze” would often give ANYTHING to be able to do the things they feel unable to do— even as they’re doing the things they are able to do on autopilot.

A similar thing happens with the “fawn” response.

We may not even realize we’re “fawning” when we are. We may think we’re just engaging with someone in a friendly, accommodating way.

But that line— between “friendly” and “accommodating” in an unchosen way— can be very fine.

We’re told so often to stop “people pleasing,” that we may truly believe we’re making a choice, a choice we could make differently at any moment.

But diverting from that accommodating, people-pleasing default may be harder than it seems.

Our behavior when we’re “fawning” can seem so natural, so freely chosen, that we may not register that we’re actually feeling quite coerced— and quite unable to just choose differently.

Trauma responses that don’t necessarily look like trauma responses can really f*ck with us.

We assume that we would know a trauma response when we see it or experience it— but would we?

After all, many CPTSD survivors are real good at hiding our trauma responses from others.

Who’s to say we’re not equally good at hiding them from ourselves?

It’s true that not every reaction we have is a trauma response.

But when a reaction is a trauma response, even one in disguise, it really matters that we’re able to clock that— because trauma responses can’t be just “unchosen.”

They have to be met with compassion and patience— and, more than anything, tools that create safety, inside and outside of us.

Broaden your thinking about what may be a trauma response.

Functional freezing and fawning in plain sight happen a lot more than anybody realizes.

Breathe. Blink. Focus.

drglenndoyle

It’s on us.

No one is coming to save us.

I know I don’t need to tell you that. You probably know.

But sometimes I need to remind myself.

I find it useful to remind myself of the fact, because for a long time I had this fantasy someone would just appear to save me— from my trauma symptoms, from my addictions, from…everything.

That fantasy kept me trapped.

I remember at one time resentfully spitting at my therapist, “I’m drowning here, and you’re describing the water.” (It’s a famous line from the old movie “As Good As It Gets.”)

I was furious, having realized he wouldn’t save me.

Being a trauma survivor, I assumed that the reason no one was coming to save me was because I was unloved.

Or maybe unloveable.

Just not worth saving, I guess.

I clung on to the fantasy of being saved, because I figured if someone DID come to save me, somehow, some way, it would mean I WAS worthy, I WAS loved.

It would be the only way to be sure, really.

Now I know I was setting myself up.

The reality is, no one is coming to save us, not because we’re unlovable or unworthy— but because no one CAN save us.

We have to save ourselves.

No one can reshape our self talk for us. We have to do it.

No one can recondition our patterns of mental focus for us. We have to do it.

No one can manage our breathing and physiology for us. We have to do it.

Not because we’re unlovable or unworthy, but because, quite literally, no one else CAN engage those trauma recovery tools for us.

No one CAN commit FOR us to not attack or shame ourselves.

No one CAN commit FOR us to not harm or kill ourselves.

No one CAN commit FOR us to not relate to ourselves like our abusers and bullies did.

The irony is, once we take radical responsibility for saving ourselves from the inside out? THEN we can actually take advantage of whatever external supports we do have.

I know now I couldn’t take full advantage of my therapist’s skill UNTIL I had made the decision to save myself, no matter what.

(I also now understand that my little tantrum at him was part of that process— because, God dammit, I was angry that I had to save myself. Some days I still am.)

No one is coming to save us. Not from CPTSD, not from DID, not from self-harm, not even from suicide.

It’s on us.

And, as it turns out, that’s the good news.

Because we absolutely can save ourselves, by developing tools we already have.

I’m going to get sh*t from some readers for saying that, but I don’t care: it’s true.

You and I have versions of the tools we need. We may need to develop and strengthen them, which is what trauma recovery is all about, but saving ourselves will not require from us anything we can’t do.

To quote the Beatles, “there’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.”

No one is coming to save us.

But everyone who has ever written a book or a song or a poem about making it through hard times has handed us a tool.

drglenndoyle

Talking– and listening– to ourselves.

You’ve heard me say over and over again that the three main trauma recovery tools are self-talk, mental focus, and physiology.

The self-talk piece is often the one that’s most accessible.

We’re talking to ourselves 24/7/365.

We may not be aware we’re talking to ourselves— but we are. We are in constant communication with ourselves.

We’re constantly telling ourselves stories— some true, some less true— about who we are and what things mean.

What we communicate to ourselves really matters— but how we communicate it really, really matters.

Remember that the backbone of realistic trauma recovery really is the relationship with ourselves— because that’s what takes the hit when we endure complex trauma.

When we endure complex trauma— that is, pain that unfolds over time, is functionally inescapable, and entwines with our relationships—we almost always come out of it with a damaged relationship with ourselves.

We don’t believe we’re worthy.

We don’t believe we’re capable.

We don’t believe we have a future.

And that damaged relationship with ourselves is almost always reflected in our self-talk and other self-communication.

This often takes the form of talking to ourselves like our abusers and bullies talked to us.

We internalize both their vocabulary and their cadences.

And why wouldn’t we? For many of us, our abusers and our bullies were the people we interacted with the most, whether it was our parents or our peers.

Some survivors get skeptical that self-talk plays an big role in either trauma or recovery, because the words “self talk” sound superficial.

But I’m not talking about superficial self-talk.

I’m talking about deep self-talk— the self-communication that is a 24/7/365 live feed inside our head and nervous system. The self-communication that informs and supports our deepest belief systems.

That’s what we have to shift.

Just telling yourself “good job”— while maybe an okay start— isn’t going to do much.

Using your ability to talk to yourself to remind your “parts” and inner child, again and again, that they will not be punished or abandoned— not by you, not inside your own head and heart— can be life transforming.

A good rule of thumb to keep in mind is, you know all the stuff you needed to hear once upon a time, when you were lonely or desperate or in trouble?

You still need to hear that stuff.

But now it needs to come from you, to you— from the conscious, verbal “part” of you, to the more vulnerable, less verbal “part” of you.

(If you’re paying attention, you’ve probably already figured out that self-talk is the way most people get started with “parts” work in trauma recovery.)

Breathe. Blink. Focus.

And talk to yourself.

Talk to yourself like it matters— because it really, really does.

drglenndoyle

Getting cozy with our fear.

Fear is not the enemy.

Fear, properly understood and managed, can actually be quite useful.

Animals that lack fear don’t tend to last too long in the wild. There are definitely things worth being afraid of out there.

What we’re shooting for in trauma recovery is not to become fearless.

What we’re shooting for is to relate to our fear differently.

To not be controlled by our fear.

To not be overwhelmed by our fear.

All that is going to start by acknowledging that fear is not the enemy.

Our enemies were our bullies and abusers.

Conceptually, our enemies now are the beliefs and other conditioning our abusers and bullies have left behind in our nervous system.

That’s what we’re up against— the echoes of old voices, that spike fear responses in us in the present.

Our old conditioning will make us feel more vulnerable than we are.

Our old conditioning will make us feel less resourceful than we are.

Our old conditioning will work, hard, to make us forget who we even are, what our life is all about.

It will work to reduce us to what we’re feeling right here, right now— notably, our focus on and fear of the awful scenario we think is going to happen.

Understand: I’m not saying the awful scenario is never a risk. I’m not saying things will always work out, or any such bullsh*t. They won’t. There are definitely scenarios and situations that will suck, that will be painful— that are worth fearing.

What I am saying is, we manage those scenarios and situations by nudging our focus from our fear, to our resources. Our recovery tools and philosophies. Our safe people and pets.

The problem is not that fear doesn’t feel good.

The problem is, we’ve been conditioned to focus on the fear to the exclusion of everything else.

You, survivor, are more than your fear.

Your fear is real and valid, even if it is being “spiked” by trauma conditioning. But you are not reducible to this feeling or this experience of fear.

Let the fear exist.

Validate it. Thank it, even. It is, after all, trying to do a good thing— it’s trying to keep you alive.

I know this sounds counterintuitive, and I know it’s way, way easier said than done (much like anything anyone can say about any subject).

But embrace your fear. Meet it gently. Breathe into it gently. Acknowledge what it’s doing for you— and also acknowledge that it’s being amplified by old pain and old patterns.

What we very much don’t want is to be making decisions out of fear.

We want our decisions to reflect our goals and values— not our fear.

To do that we’re going to have to be willing to coexist with our fear, sit with it, get to know it.

I know. Easier said than done.

But it beats the hell out of the alternatives, namely, letting fear trigger “flee” and “freeze” responses that put us at even more risk.

Breathe. Blink. Focus.

And nuzzle up to your fear.

It is, after all, October.

drglenndoyle

When the little things are not so “little.”

It’s one of the most normal things in the world for trauma survivors to struggle with seemingly “little” tasks.

This includes tasks that you wouldn’t think would have anything to do with surviving trauma.

Going to the grocery store.

Keeping our space clean and organized.

Personal hygiene.

Many people take these tasks for granted— which can amplify survivors’ shame when we struggle with them.

For many CPTSD survivors, these tasks have subtle triggers embedded in them that we don’t fully appreciate.

The variety of items at the grocery store and people all around stoke anxiety.

Being at the grocery store scrapes up memories of being there with a parent when we were young.

Trying to keep our space clean and organized stokes shame and feeling trapped, controlled, or in trouble.

Attending to our personal hygiene requires looking in a mirror— which many survivors hate— or reminds us we have a physical body about which we have conflicted beliefs and feelings.

Non-CPTSD survivors may be oblivious to those sorts of triggers— but for CPTSD survivors, they’re the kind of thing that rules our world.

They’re also the kind of thing that is virtually impossible to explain to someone not in our head or our nervous system.

You need to know there’s zero shame in struggling with these kinds of “little” things.

You need to know that just because you can’t immediately or directly trace a trigger back to what happened to you, doesn’t mean your reaction is invalid or not a trauma response.

We meet any and every symptom spike we experience with compassion and patience and realism— including those symptoms we don’t quite understand, and especially those symptoms about which we feel reflexive shame.

There is no symptom that indicates we’re “too broken” to recover. Really.

We do not choose trauma responses or other symptoms.

Trauma responses and other symptoms are not resolved or managed by insisting we “suck it up” or “get our sh*t together.”

For each “little” task you struggle with, break it down into its smallest component tasks, then use the tool of self talk to supportively, realistically talk yourself through it.

Imagine I’m there, on your shoulder, in the grocery store. What would I say?

Probably not “suck it up.”

I’d remind you to breathe. To blink blink blink. To focus on just the next thing.

And I’d also remind you that this is not your fault— and that this will get better with practice and self-compassion.

Easy does it.

You are not the first, last or only CPTSD survivor for whom the supposedly “little” things are not so little.

drglenndoyle

It was not on you to change them. Even if you wanted to.

Something many CPTSD survivors have in common is our strong desire to fix things we couldn’t possibly fix if we tried. 

You know, like our families of origin. 

Something many CPTSD survivors also have in common is the steadfast belief that the only reason we “couldn’t” fix those things is because we didn’t try hard enough. 

Again and again, we survivors tend to blame ourselves. 

I’m not talking about taking realistic responsibility. 

I’m talking about constantly erring on the side of assuming that it was our fault things weren’t different in our family or environment growing up.

The difficult truth is, most of us did not choose the environment in which we grew up. 

We certainly didn’t choose the parents to whom we were born. 

And if that environment or those parents were f*cked up, there was realistically very little— in fact, usually nothing— we could do about it. 

This is true even if we fell into “parentified” roles in our family— being expected to function as adults, despite the fact we were children. 

This is overwhelmingly common among CPTSD survivors. 

Despite the actual, literal fact we were kids, we might have been expected to care for either the adults or other kids in our environment— often, both. 

And the fact that we could kind of pull it off might have f*cked with our head about fault and responsibility. 

I have ment so many survivors who, even if they can concede the fact that they were expected to be “adults” in their childhood environment, struggle to see the harm it caused them. 

They truly think they were the one kid that didn’t affect. The one kid who could or did pull it off. 

The fact that you were put in the position of being a caretaker or problem solver for your family growing up doesn’t mean that level of responsibility was appropriate. 

And it certainly doesn’t mean that you had the power the meaningfully change how your family or environment operated back then. 

You were a kid. 

Your family and the environment were happening TO you. 

That’s not an “excuse;” that’s reality. 

Here, now, as an adult working your trauma recovery, you’re working to be proactive and accountable— to no longer let life happen TO you, but rather FOR you. 

But that’s hard when you’ve been made to feel, over and over again, that you “failed” to change what you “should” have been able to change in the past. 

I truly believe that if we could have changed it, we would have. 

If we didn’t, it’s because we didn’t— and by the way, that’s not weird, considering the fact that we were kids. 

Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know, and not being able to do what you couldn’t do, back then. 

I understand that what I’m saying right now is going to make a subset of survivors roll their eyes. It’s a little touchy feely for some. 

What I need you to understand is, that’s as much of a CPTSD symptom as anything else— specifically, an artifact of trauma conditioning. 

It was not on you to change them. 

It was not on you to change that world. 

You couldn’t have, if you wanted to. 

And that’s not a “failure,” in any sense of the word. 

Sad— but not a “failure.” 

drglenndoyle

Feeling good is a recovery priority.

A trauma recovery priority that not enough sources talk about is developing ways to feel good without hurting ourselves. 

You don’t hear much about feeling good in trauma work. 

You hear a lot about coping with feeling bad— but not so much about feeling good. 

I happen to think learning non-toxic, non-self-destructive ways to feel good is really important. 

We trauma survivors often have a fraught relationship with feeling good. 

Some of us get suspicious of feeling good. We don’t trust it. 

If we start to feel too good, we get anxious— wondering when the other shoe will drop. 

Other trauma survivors were taught that feeling good leaves us vulnerable. We let down our guard. 

Still other trauma survivors were taught that it was “selfish” to feel good. 

Who are we to feel good, after all, when other people are so miserable? 

Yet other trauma survivors get all up in our head about feeling good to the tune of, “could it really have been abuse or trauma, if I’m feeling good in this moment?” 

Our complicated relationship with feeling good often leads to us trying to stay away from it entirely. 

Which, in turn, has us feeling all these trauma-driven states— depression, anxiety, fear— without anything to even sort of balance them out or take the edge off. 

I happen to think feeling good is more than just nice— it’s a human need. 

And to the extent that trauma recovery is about more than just coping with trauma symptoms or resolving trauma— it’s actually about restoring and enhancing our quality of life— we really, really need to develop ways to feel good that are accessible and sustainable. 

This is why I believe it’s so important we incorporate more than just talking or writing about our trauma or symptoms into our recovery. 

I believe we need pleasure and release, too. 

We need art. 

We need music. 

We need poetry. 

We need movies and shows that make us laugh, make us cry, make us think. 

We need books that keep us up all night reading because we just HAVE to find out what’s going to happen next. 

Feeling good can get trivialized and overlooked in a culture that tends to overly medicalize mental health care. 

For many of us, the only “tools” we’ve learned to help us feel good put us at risk. 

But we deserve pathways to pleasure and release that don’t harm us. 

Coping skills are important. Trauma processing is important. I’m not telling you to avoid those in favor of chasing dopamine or serotonin. 

But I absolutely think if were realistically going to cope or process trauma, we need tools standing by that can take the edge off. 

Prioritize feeling good. 

You deserve it and you need it. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery is hard. But not impossible.

Yes, trauma recovery is hard. 

But Trauma Brain, the internalized voices of your abusers and bullies, is trying to tell you it’s “impossible.” 

Trauma recovery is not impossible. 

There have been survivors recovering from their trauma for centuries. Long before therapy or Twelve Step were things. 

And, there will be survivors recovering from trauma long after therapy, Twelve Step, or any other recovery tool we use today is long forgotten. 

You, working your trauma recovery, are in some incredible company. 

Some of the most brilliant, important people in history were survivors who figured out the “combination lock” to their own trauma recovery. 

Hell, some of the greatest human accomplishments have been achieved specifically because survivors took their recovery seriously. 

Trauma recovery is hard. 

But it is possible. 

And the extent to which we do recover is largely within our control.

Do not, do not, do not misunderstand me to be saying that all we ever have to do is work on ourselves. That’s not what I believe. 

The world absolutely needs working on, too. 

There are ongoing traumatic situations in the world that, I believe, can only be meaningfully altered by survivors working our recovery. 

Because who else is going to do it? 

Who else has the tools and the focus and the determination to do it? 

It’s going to be trauma survivors working our recovery. That’s who will change things. That’s almost always who changes things. 

But my point is, I’m not trying to see you some version of radical personal responsibility (though I do lean toward the “radical personal responsibility” in my own, personal recovery frame, for what it’s worth). 

I’m not trying to see you some bootstraps fantasy. 

Of course there are things outside of us that come to bear on our recovery. It’s not all up to us. It’s not all about our choices. 

But a lot of it is. 

And it’s our job to find that proportion of trauma recovery that we can meaningfully influence (not “control”). 

That’s why we start with self talk, mental focus, and physiology. 

That’s why we keep turning back toward self-esteem and our relationship with ourselves. 

Trauma recovery is hard. 

But it is not impossible. 

And it starts as an inside-out job. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus.