drglenndoyle

We are not “obligated” to engage with toxic people or institutions from our past. Really we’re not.

Something that happens in realistic trauma recovery is, we realize we no longer want to be around people or institutions that hurt us. 

It can be a weird feeling. Especially if we grew up with those people or institutions. 

We might even be attached to those people or institutions on some level. 

But we often get to the point where the juice just isn’t worth the squeeze when it comes to engaging with them any longer. 

It can be bittersweet. 

It can be especially bittersweet if we have other people in our life encouraging us to reconcile with those people or institutions. 

We all know people like this— who think it’s their job to mend fences, even if they have no idea why those fences are damaged in the first place. 

Some people— including ourselves— hate the idea that there are some things that can happen in relationships that functionally mean the end of those relationships. 

But the reality is, engaging with people or institutions that hurt us exacts a cost. 

We have to expend energy to tolerate being around them. 

We have to expend energy managing the triggers they scrape up. 

We have to expend energy staying grounded, to the extent that we can stay grounded. 

We have to expend energy managing the reactions and needs of the “parts” of ourselves that hold the memories and feelings associated with the past. 

Those energy expenditures add up— and they can be exhausting. 

Add to that the fact that continuing to engage with many people or institutions from our past is simply not value added for many of us. 

We don’t get anything positive from it. We don’t need it. 

All engaging with those people or institutions does for us is allow us to pretend we’re somehow “over it.” Which, news flash, we almost never are. 

(Even if we were or are “over it,” that STILL doesn’t mean the juice is worth the squeeze when it comes to engaging with certain people and institutions from our past.)

Make no mistake: you and I are under absolutely no obligation to continue engaging with people and institutions that hurt us. 

We don’t have a “duty.” We don’t have a “responsibility.” 

And anyone who has the expectation that we’ll continue engaging with people or institutions that hurt us just because we “should” (or, at least they think we “should”) is delusional. 

We can set that limit with ourselves— “no looking back.” 

Even if it means we’ll have to break some longstanding traditions. 

Even if it means we might disappoint or confuse someone. 

Even if it means someone might decide we’re “difficult” or “high maintenance” or “dramatic” to set that limit. 

By the way, choosing to no longer engage with people or institutions that hurt us isn’t “difficult,” or “high maintenance,” or “dramatic.” 

But even if it was? F*ck it. Be “difficult.” Be “high maintenance.” Be “dramatic.” 

But do not be a human being who feels trapped or controlled by others’ expectations. 

Not anymore— not ever again. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Complex trauma, complex recovery.

You’re not struggling, with either trauma or trauma recovery, “for no reason.” 

This sh*t is hard. And complicated. And sneaky. 

How is CPTSD “sneaky?” Because it masquerades as other things. 

Often complex trauma masquerades as “personality.” 

Sometimes it masquerades as aspects of neurodivergence (that can intersect with aspects of very real neurodivergence). 

Sometimes CPTSD can masquerade as organic cognitive dysfunction (which, again, can intersect with very real organic cognitive dysfunction or brain injury). 

But the sneakiest thing of all about CPTSD is how it will pretend it has nothing to do with what we went through. 

Many of the signs and symptoms of complex trauma don’t superficially point to what happened to us. 

CPTSD is different from PTSD, insofar as many PTSD symptoms directly link back to the “main” trauma, in the form of explicit flashbacks and other intrusive memories. 

But with CPTSD, the symptoms mainly point back to us. 

To our beliefs about ourselves. 

To our reflexes in our relationships. 

To our emotional regulation in situations that don’t seem to have anything to do with our trauma. 

To our reasons to triggers that don’t seem to “make any sense” in the context of our trauma. 

This is what makes complex trauma “complex”— the fact that CPTSD struggles can engulf so much more of our life and functioning that “should” be affected. 

(One of the things this means, by the way, is that realistic RECOVERY from CPTSD has to involve more than just “processing the trauma”— it often involves rehabbing our whole life and identity.)

When we’re up against something as sneaky as CPTSD, we can’t afford to minimize. 

We can’t get up in our head about “okay, but was it really ‘TRAUMA,’ though? Am I really ‘eligible” for these terms and tools?” 

Don’t overthink it. If you’re reading this, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt: you’re “eligible” to be a member of the trauma recovery community. 

(And, even if you really don’t think you are, I’m willing to give you a pass— stick around anyway. Everybody also reading these words really wants you to recover from WHATEVER pain you’re trying to manage and heal, “traumatic” or not.)

CPTSD is sneaky, and realistic CPTSD recovery requires daily, hourly vigilance and skill. 

You’re not wrong or “weak” to be frustrated with it, exhausted by it, over it. Big same, some days. 

Acknowledge that, validate that, allow all that to exist. 

And then: do the next recovery supporting thing. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Consistency and recovery.

There is zero shame in struggling with consistency in our trauma recovery. 

Everybody struggles with consistency. I struggle with it. 

It doesn’t mean we’re not committed. It doesn’t even mean we’re not focused. 

What it means is that CPTSD tends to jerk us around a lot. Hijack us. 

If you’re reading this, you likely know exactly what I’m talking about— what it feels like to be a puppet on a string. 

One minute we can be more or less okay— then we get yanked in the direction of anxiety. Or depression. Or self-harm urges. 

There might not even seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. No particular trigger. 

Realistic, sustainable trauma recovery requires a lot of attention to our self-talk, our mental focus, and our physiology— and it’s real hard to consistently pay attention to what we’re saying to ourselves, what we’re focusing on, and what our body is doing, when we’re getting jerked around by triggers and memories. 

That’s not our fault. Nobody reading this “chooses” to get hijacked by trauma memories and trauma responses. 

Our job is to not overreact to our difficulties being consistent. 

To not overinterpret it. 

To not tell ourselves a story about how it means we “can’t do this.” 

Our job, when we struggle with consistency in our trauma recovery, is to be compassionate and realistic with ourselves. 

Maybe even gentle with ourselves. 

Maybe even (GASP) FORGIVING of ourselves, for struggling with consistency. 

What a concept, right? 

Don’t get up in your head about it. Consistency is hard. And it’s especially hard when we have CPTSD f*cking with us. 

When you get off track, push pause, breathe, blink, focus…and just do the next right thing for your recovery. Just get back on track when you can. 

Consistency is a long game. 

Keep coming back to center. To your recovery goals and your recovery values. To your recovery self. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Hero in a crisis; struggly on a Tuesday.

If you’re reading this, chances are you’re real good in a crisis. 

Maybe calm, maybe decisive, maybe organized. 

CPTSD survivors very often keep our sh*t together when the sh*t hits the fan. 

Which makes it all the more mystifying why we sometimes can’t keep our sh*t together when, you know, everyday life happens. 

So many trauma survivors get so frustrated when “everyday” things trigger us. 

Sometimes we don’t even know what triggers us— all we know is, nothing seems to be happening that “should” be activating us. 

And yet, we’re activated. 

Why can we keep our sh*t together and be absolute heroes in a crisis, but Tuesday kicks our ass? 

First thing’s first: it’s not your fault, and it’s super common. 

We trauma survivors have lots of experience managing life-or-death situations— or, at least, stations that feel like life or death. 

When our sympathetic nervous system locks in, everything else falls away— which, by the way, is how that system was designed. 

Our nervous system is supposed to let all the peripheral stuff slide when it’s time to survive. It evolved to turn down the noise, so we could focus and function. 

What we’re not so good at, though, is managing the psychochemical hangover that follows sympathetic nervous system activation. 

When we get triggered, that state of activation and focus is mediated by neurotransmitters and hormones that produce alertness and energy when they’re surging through us- but which leave us exhausted and flat when they filter on out. 

It’s a literal hangover. And it definitely feels like a hangover. 

Do you know anybody who feels and functions well while hung over? I don’t. 

Not everybody does well when their sympathetic nervous system is activated. People who haven’t experienced trauma after trauma, in particular, often don’t know what to do when they feel that surge come on. 

But we know what to do, don’t we?

Many of us have been living with sympathetic nervous system activation on the daily for years. 

So we’re good at managing it. They’re not. 

But, the flip side also applies: the “muggles” feel more calm and focused when their parasympathetic nervous system kicks back in— but we trauma “wizards” often experience that as anxiety provoking.

After all, we “know” that another stressful situation is just around the corner— so we can’t afford to be hanging out with an un-activated sympathetic nervous system, can we? 

All of which is to say: there are lots of reasons why we’re good in crises— but we’re confused and disoriented when we don’t have the adrenaline and cortisol flowing. 

Part of trauma recovery is getting good at functioning, no matter what our nervous and endocrine systems are dong in the moment— which takes patience, realism, and self-compassion. 

You know— like every other trauma recovery skillset. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery and the zen of not overreacting.

If you’re reading this, you know that one of the hardest parts of trauma recovery is not overreacting. 

We don’t “choose” to overreact— we’re conditioned into it. 

We’re conditioned to believe we “have” to massively respond to many thoughts, feelings, and sensations. 

We’re conditioned to believe we “have” to punish ourselves for failures. 

We’re conditioned to believe we “have” to give up when we hit certain speed bumps or pot holes. 

The truth is, we don’t “have” to do nearly as much as our nervous system is convinced we “have” to— but we struggle to believe that, because so many of our reactions feel so urgent and unmanageable. 

Learning to not overreact, to not panic, takes a minute. 

And it also takes a steadfast willingness to not shame ourselves for the overreactions we’ve been conditioned into in the past. 

We didn’t ask for this conditioning. We don’t want it. 

The fact that we were conditioned to overreact to body sensations, thoughts, memories, or stimuli out there in the world— triggers— doesn’t make us “dramatic.” 

It makes us vulnerable to conditioning— just like every other human. 

So much of early trauma recovery especially is meeting our overreactions with acceptance, compassion, patience— and reminding ourselves that while there is no shame in this reaction, we can sit with it, breathe into it, manage it, and not amplify it. 

We don’t choose our reflexes. 

But we have some choices when we clock what’s going on. 

We don’t often have the choice to simply shut the reaction down— but we can choose how we talk to ourselves about it, how we explain it to ourselves, how we meet it, and what we do with our body and breathing in response to it. 

“Easy does it. Don’t overreact,” is one of my go-to self-talk statements. 

Putting some time and space between trigger, reflex, and reaction is a game changer for many trauma survivors. 

It all starts with acknowledging our vulnerability to overreaction— and getting curious about how we can reel it in, without getting judgmental or aggressive with ourselves.

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

This is your brain on CPTSD. Any questions?

Trauma responses literally scramble our brains. 

Well, “scramble” may not be exactly right. But trauma responses really do hijack specific areas of our brain— specifically the hippocampus (memory central) and the prefrontal cortex (decision making central). 

Most brain functions and areas aren’t quite as well understood as many sources seem to advertise— but we do know a few things about how fight, fight, freeze, fawn, and flop seem to impact our brain. 

For example, we know that when triggers slam into us, the hippocampus doesn’t process, consolidate, or retrieve memories particularly effectively. 

It’s one reason why post traumatic memory seems to “behave” so much differently than other memories— it’s being “regulated” and filtered by a brain structure that is on the fritz after being triggered. 

We also know that, when the sympathetic nervous system— the branch of our nervous system that throws the switch on trauma responses— is active, the prefrontal cortex seems to go largely offline. 

That is to say: we literally can’t think straight when we’re gripped by fight, fight, freeze, fawn, or flop. 

I’m not, actually, a believer that neurobiology can explain everything we need to know about trauma or recovery— but I do think a baseline knowledge of what CPTSD physically, chemically does to our brain can be helpful in easing off the self blame. 

How we feel and behave in the midst of trauma responses really are not “choices.” 

They’re the product of cortisol and adrenaline and dopamine surging through our most sensitive tissues, and knee-caping the organ that creates and consolidates our integrated experience of identity. 

Nobody’s “choosing” their way out of that neurochemical onslaught. 

Give yourself a break. 

You’re up against alterations in brain chemistry, structure, and function that ANY human, regardless of intelligence or “character,” would have trouble managing. 

The situation is not hopeless— but we need to be realistic where we actually have choices, and where we really, really don’t. 

Focus on the moments right AFTER you realize a trauma response has kicked in— when you start to regain some meaningful influence over your self-talk, mental focus, and physiology. 

That’s where your wiggle room is. 

That’s where we can start hacking back into our brain. Not before. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Just notice.

As we work our trauma recovery, we get less attached to who we’ve had to be and what we’ve had to do to survive. And that can be bittersweet. 

It’s not that we necessarily “like” those patterns and coping mechanisms. Some of them we very much dislike, actually. 

But we feel somehow…loyal to them. 

After all, those patterns and coping mechanisms got us through some gnarly sh*t. 

It’s one reason why we can get more than a little defensive when people get on our case about our habits— it’s not that we necessarily like those habits either, but those people don’t understand how important those habits have been to us. 

Nor do those people often understand how afraid we are to give those patterns and coping mechanisms up.

You’re going to run into plenty of people who will try to tell you that giving up old patters that no longer serve us “should” be easy, or at last straightforward. 

After all, if it’s not serving us anymore, if it’s creating more problems than it solves, why are we hanging on to it? 

 Because loyalty. And more than a little bit of fear. 

The reality is, shifting away from old patterns and tools and habits is complicated. And we have to let it be complicated. 

It’s not going to work to try to shame or pressure ourselves out of those old patterns. 

What we can do is just notice as we start to be less attached to them. 

What we can do is meet our own complicated and bittersweet feelings with compassion and patience. Which, I know, isn’t always the biggest strength of us trauma survivors. 

Go easy on yourself. 

None of this “recovery” thing is particularly easy or obvious. And that very much applies to how we surrender old patterns. 

Just pay attention. Just notice. 

Just notice as those old patterns and coping mechanisms and habits feel less like you— day by day, hour by hour. 

No pressure. No rush. 

It’s a long walk back to Eden. Don’t sweat the small stuff. 

drglenndoyle

Recovery takes the time it takes. And that’s the good news.

Oh, I get it: you are frustrated as f*ck with how long this trauma recovery thing is taking. 

That’s very normal— both for it to take the time it takes, and for survivors to be frustrated by it. 

The reason trauma recovery is taking so long is not because you’re doing it wrong. Or because  you’re “stupid.” Or because you’re “lazy.” Or because you’re “weak.” 

Trauma recovery takes the time it takes because it’s not a bullshit quick fix. 

Trauma recovery isn’t even a “fix,” per se. It’s not something that happens TO us, like our abuse or neglect were. 

Trauma recovery is a lifestyle. 

It’s a series of choices we make anew, every day. 

Choices about what? About how to talk to ourselves. 

About where to direct our mental focus, even in the small ways we can. (You are leveraging the tool of mental focus right now, by reading this— so you have at least SOME influence over it.)

About how to breathe and move and otherwise use our body. 

Getting realistic about trauma recovery means getting realistic about how trauma wounded us— and the reality is, trauma wounded us by conditioning us. By programming us. By driving certain beliefs and habits deep into our nervous system. 

That’s not the kind of damage we un-do quickly or easily. 

But it IS the kind of damage we CAN un-do— if we’re realistic about how that’s done, and consistent about using our recovery skills, tools, and philosophies. 

A trauma recovery SKILL is something we can do. 

A trauma recovery TOOL is something we can us. 

A trauma recovery PHILOSOPHY is an framework that informs how and when we use our skills and tools. 

We are making choices about self-talk, mental focus, and physiology all day, every day— and within those choices, we are either using or not using specific skills, tools, and philosophies to support our recovery. 

If, day by day, day after day, we use our trauma recovery skills, tools, and philosophies to guide our self talk, mental focus, and physiology, we WILL change our nervous system. 

That is to say: we WILL recover. 

The human nervous system is demonstrably plastic—changeable— and recovery is inevitable with the right blueprint. 

But it does to happen overnight. 

Thank goodness for that. 

Because I want your and my trauma recovery to stick. 

I want us to realistically, sustainably change our nervous systems— not just to feel better, but to function better. 

It takes the time it takes and it’s frustrating as f*ck. 

But the fact it takes the time it takes is also the good news. 

drglenndoyle

“They” will try.

“They” will try to influence you. All day. 

They don’t actually want you to recover from CPTSD or DID. Hell, some of them don’t even believe in CPTSD or DID. 

They don’t especially care what you actually need to recover from your trauma. 

What they do want, is for you to behave in ways they find understandable, predictable, and controllable. 

That’s not being negative; that’s reality. 

What most people want from you is predictability and controllability. And they want your motives and choices to make sense to them. 

Anything else threatens or inconveniences them. 

That’s not to say “they” are necessary ill-intentioned. Some of “them” actually think they’re helping— they think all this “trauma” stuff is bullsh*t, and it’s keeping you from “letting go” or “moving on.” 

They’re going to think what they’re going to think. 

It’s not your job to educate them. 

It IS your job to work your recovery, regardless of what they think or how they try to influence you. 

The fact is, your recovery will ask things of you that they won’t understand. 

It’ll ask things of you that won’t make you particularly predictable to them— that is, you won’t be behaving like the version of you that they knew before. 

And recovery will definitely ask things of you that will make you difficult to control. 

“They” won’t love it. 

They’ll try to pressure and shame you into abandoning your recovery. 

“Why can’t you just be normal?” 

“Why can’t you just let it go?” 

“Why are you always talking about ‘recovery?’” 

Yes, they’ll try all of that— and what they’re really trying is to force you back into that box you were in pre-recovery. 

It’s going to be up to you, every day, to not let them get in your head. 

“Their” skepticism about trauma and recovery might mirror your own skepticism— that is, Trauma Brain’s insistence that you’re just a “drama queen” and none of this actually all that big a deal. 

Even if what they say has teeth or resonates with you— it’s on you to stay on target. 

You’re not working your recovery to please or impress them. 

You’re doing this to save your life. 

You’re doing this to protect your goals. 

You’re doing this to actually live you values. 

So “they” will try to influence you. 

You keep your recovery tools, recovery mission statement, and recovery blueprint handy. 

You stay true to yourself and your needs. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

CPTSD and humor.

There are lots of things CPTSD tries to take away from us— notably humor and laughter. 

Our CPTSD conditioning often makes it complicated to laugh. 

Sometimes when we survivors laugh, we get the thought in our head: if our trauma was ACTUALLY legitimate, ACTUALLY “trauma,” how on earth could we possibly smile or laugh? 

That can often snowball into: “I must not be REALLY traumatized. I must just be making it up. Faking it. Exaggerating. Otherwise, how could I POSSIBLY smile or laugh?” 

Sound familiar? 

It goes had in hand with that gaslighting bullsh*t our abusers and bullies pulled on us to weasel out of taking accountability for their behavior. 

“Was it REALLY that bad? Or are you just being dramatic?” 

“Was it REALLY that bad? Or are you just attention seeking?” 

“If it was REALLY that bad, how can you possibly joke or laugh about it? Faker.” 

On, and on, and on. You know how Trauma Brain is. 

The thing is: it is not only entirely normal for trauma survivors to be able to joke and laugh about our experiences— sometimes humor is one of our most important survival tools. 

When trauma survivors joke about our experiences, we’re not denying or disowning how serious or painful they were. 

We’re actually joking about them BECAUSE they were so serious and painful. 

Humor gives us a tool to process and engage with those painful experiences in a way that doesn’t have us drowning in sadness or horror. 

Humor gives us a way to markedly change our physiology as we engage with those traumatic experiences— it’s well documented that laugher can “goose” the production of endorphins, serotonin, and dopamine, “feel good” chemicals in the body. 

Humor can give us a way to engage with our pain while kind of stepping outside of our memory  of it all— because jokes, by definition, require us to see ourselves as a character in a little story, at last for a second. 

All of which is to say: it’s perfectly okay to joke and laugh, even amidst the sh*t show of having survived trauma. 

It doesn’t mean you weren’t “really” hurt. It doesn’t mean you’re “over” that hurt now. 

All it means is that your nervous system has found a tool to cope and create a little snatch of “feel good”— which, when we’re in pain or a suicidal crisis, can be literally life saving. 

Here’s the catch, though: when we use humor to cope with or process CPTSD, we don’t want to fall into the trap of turning that tool against ourselves. 

Humor is like any tool. It’s like a hammer. A hammer can help build a house— in fact, it’s pretty difficult to build a house WITHOUT a hammer— but it can also mash our fingers if we use it carelessly. 

So— use humor as a CPTSD recovery tool, if it resonates with you. 

Just be mindful that Trauma Brain doesn’t hijack that ver useful tool and turn it against you. 

Breathe; blink; focus.