drglenndoyle

Our islands of misfit “parts.”

It’s the “parts” of us that get muzzled every day, in real time, that need us the most. 

Those are the “parts” we’ve been conditioned to deny and disown. 

Those are very often the “parts” of ourselves we’ve been conditioned to distrust and even hate. 

We’re not making a “choice” to do that, understand. Conditioning is not “choice.” 

Why were we conditioned to deny, disown, distrust, and/or hate “parts” of ourselves? 

Often it’s because of what those “parts” hold. 

We don’t develop “parts” for the hell of it. They evolve to “hold” memories, feelings, and other patterns that we can’t integrate at the moment. 

There may be lots of reasons why we can’t integrate something— but most often it’s because it’s just too painful. 

An example of something that is often too painful to integrate is betrayal. 

Our brain just might not be able to wrap itself around the idea of someone we love and trust choosing to hurt us, especially again and again over time. 

We just reject that idea. We can’t integrate it into our model of the world, our understanding of reality. 

So we split that knowledge and experience and those feelings off into a “part,” that holds it for us. 

And there that knowledge and those experiences stay, stuck, unprocessed, unintegrated— held by that “part” of us that is also frozen in time, most often at the developmental stage we were when what happened, happened. 

It’s not exactly a mystery why we don’t love that “part” of ourselves, or what it holds. 

So we learn to deny it. Disown it. 

Over time, we learn to distrust it— to not even be sure what that “part” holds is even real, insofar as it feels so hazy to us (except when we get pistol whipped with flashbacks, which feel hyper real and overwhelming). 

And we definitely learn to hate it. Because its existence represents something we powerfully resent. 

For as painful as all of that undeniably is— it’s all pretty normal. 

Most every CPTSD survivor is walking around with “parts” of us feeling muzzled and “stuffed” every hour of every day. 

We may not love the idea of acknowledging, let alone engaging with those “parts” of ourselves that hold such pain— but it’s exactly those “parts” of us that need our patience, our validation, and our compassion the most. 

How we hold and engage with those “parts” of us determine the realism and sustainability of our recovery arc. 

Because we’re NOT getting out of this maze while also continuing to deny and disown our pain. 

We’re NOT managing or resolving our CPTSD while also “stuffing” wounded “parts” of ourselves. 

Conditioned denial and self-hate are literally what got us sick. 

They are not going to heal us. 

Don’t try to rush self-compassion. You don’t have to figure it all out today, let alone reverse decades of conditioning today. 

Just start softening toward those “parts” of you you dislike, are afraid of, or don’t understand. 

Think becoming 1% less judgmental of them. 1% less resentful. 1% more open to them. 

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

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

See it.

Not for nothing, but you and I have spent an awful lot of time focused on the wounded version of ourselves. 

That’s not our fault. We’re not voluntarily “fixated” on our wounds. We’re not making a “choice.” 

We’ve been focused on our wounds because our wounds have been our life. 

We haven’t had the option of a day without our wounds f*kcing up our job, our relationships, our life. 

People who don’t struggle with CPTSD don’t know— that’s not a “choice.” We’re not being “difficult” or “negative.” 

That’s just what we’ve been handed by life, and it’s been on us to cope with it as best we can and stay alive. 

No shame, no shade. 

And but also— if recovery is going to be realistic and sustainable for us, we need to devote some focus to the healed version of ourselves that we’re trying to create. 

I’m not talking about bullsh*t “positive thinking.” 

I’m talking about getting clear and visceral about what we’re shooting for. 

What does a “healed” version of you look like? 

What do they feel like? What sorts of experiences do they have in their life every day? 

Many trauma survivors are surprised to find we haven’t really thought much about that.

After all, why would we? A “healed” version of ourselves has seemed so unrealistic over the years, that to envision it might even be more depressing. 

Add to that the fact that many of us have been told, implicitly or explicitly, that we “can’t” meaningfully recover from what we’ve experienced. 

Many survivors reading this haven’t had a particularly robust cheering section as we’ve tried to change our life, have we? 

So— visualizing that “healed” version of us might have been bittersweet at best, or a profound bummer at worst. 

But I’m going to ask you to put that “healed” version of yourself back on the radar. 

Our nervous system functions much better when we give it a clear goal. 

Most humans have real trouble “locking in” if a goal is abstract. Hard to hit a target you can’t really define. 

So, in your journal, on a Pinterest board, wherever: flesh that healed version of yourself out. 

What do they look like? What kinds of things do they think about? What kinds of things do they believe? 

What is it like inside the head and heart of the “healed” version of you? 

I understand: this is not an easy exercise for many survivors. We’ve been hit over the head so often and so rudely by the “toxic positivity” crew that envisioning a “healed” version of ourselves may feel silly, like a waste of time. 

But I’m telling you: the mind develops the pictures we hold in it. It’s not magic or metaphysics; it’s neuroscience. 

Dopamine flows where our focus goes. 

You are not struggling because you’ve been thinking “negatively.” That’s not at all what I’m saying. 

What I’m saying is that giving your brain something to shoot for as you design your trauma recovery is worth the effort. 

Our wounds and limitations will always be there to think about. 

But mixing our pattern of focus up to include what we’re driving toward is a value added tool. 

No pressure. Just experiment with it, like you would with any recovery tool. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

“Try harder” is not a trauma recovery strategy.

The secret to trauma recovery is not “try harder.” 

And your problem in trauma recovery is not that you haven’t been trying hard enough. 

“Try harder” is not even a strategy. It kind of sounds like one, but it’s not. 

“Try harder” is the kind of thing people say who don’t understand trauma or recovery. 

Most people reading this, especially if they’re recovering from CPTSD, already feel an enormous amount of guilt for supposedly “not trying hard enough.”

This tends to be true no matter how hard they’ve been trying. 

But this isn’t an effort problem. 

If you’re reading this, you probably didn’t have the safety or support you needed to develop effective strategies for living. 

Note I said “living”— not just “surviving.” You obviously survived, since you’re reading this.

But if you’re reading this, odds are you haven’t really been living. 

You’ve probably not had the safety or support to really define or work toward your goals. 

You’ve probably not had the safety or support to really engage and enjoy what you like. 

Hell, you may have been expending enormous bandwidth just staying alive. 

No shame, no shade— but that’s not really “living.” 

And the problem has not been you “not trying hard enough.” 

The problem has the lack of safety and support. Tools and philosophies that you should have been taught by the people who said they loved you—but you weren’t. 

It doesn’t matter how hard we want or try to build a house, if we don’t have a hammer. And a lot of other tools and materials, for that matter. 

Where did that “try harder” thing come from, anyway? 

Usually it came from someone who wanted to blame us for our own pain. 

After all, if our suffering reduces to a problem of effort, they don’t have to take any responsibility for it, do they? 

Then we survivors take that “not trying hard enough” BS (Belief System) and apply it to ourselves, because on some level we actually like the idea that we can do more or less ANYTHING if we just “try hard enough.” 

We would rather feel guilty than powerless, as an old Dialectical Behavior Therapy saying goes. 

No one, and I mean no one, is harder on trauma survivors than we ourselves are. 

It starts out with us imitating our bullies and abusers— who were often our primary caretakers and models— but we sure take it and run with it. 

We don’t do this because we “like” it. We do this we lack alternatives. We don’t relish the idea of building a house without a hammer, but we’ve never been given a hammer to work with. 

We’ve only been told “try harder.” 

Taking realistic responsibility for our trauma recovery is a good thing, a necessary thing, a beautiful thing. 

But we’re not going to “try hard” our way into building a house with our bare hands. 

We need tools. 

Think stacking your toolbox— with tools other than shame or pressure. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

What does what we like have to do with trauma recovery?

We’re not going to realistically build self-respect while also mocking or hiding the things we like. 

Many of us were taught by our bullies and abusers to do exactly that. 

We were taught that if we like something, we can’t show it. 

We were taught that if we’re passionate about something, we’d better keep it hidden. 

We were taught that liking something a lot is “cringe,” and that the only way to keep from being mocked about it is to mock it first ourselves, pretend that we like it ironically. 

I almost never see this discussed in “trauma treatment” circles— how the stuff we like, the stuff we’re passionate about, is integral to our trauma recovery. 

After all, what are we recovering for? 

We need something to think about, to dig into, to celebrate. 

We need our lives to be ABOUT something other than trauma. 

I don’t believe we like the stuff we like “for no reason.” 

The stuff we like, the stuff that resonates with us— stories, music, movies, shows, plays, art, characters— speak to us for reasons. And I choose to believe those reasons are important. 

One of the reasons I can’t design a generalized trauma recovery plan for everybody reading this is because we’re all individuals. What heals me, may not heal you; and what heals you, may not resonate with me.

And make no mistake: the art that resonates with us, heals us. In profound, sometimes inexplicable ways. 

Just like we’re not finding our way out of this CPTSD maze while also mocking and denigrating ourselves, like we were conditioned to do by our bullies and abusers, we’re also not finding our way out of this labyrinth while mocking and denigrating the things we love. 

The things we like and love and invest in— those are part of us. 

Pay attention to what you like and love and get interested in and get passionate about. 

Notice what resonates with you, what catches your attention, what tugs at your heart. 

Treat the things you like and love with respect. Don’t let anyone con or coerce you into denying or disowning them just to be one of the “cool kids.” 

Let me tell you something about real “cool kids:” they don’t actually try to pressure or shame anyone into not liking or celebrating what they like. 

Not every resource that supports your trauma recovery is going to explicitly be a trauma recovery resource. 

But what every resource that supports your trauma recovery will have in common is, it will “grab” you in a positive way. 

Instead of denying and disowning those things that “grab” us, we need to nurture them, collect them, invest in them. 

The stuff we like and love and get passionate about are clues. 

They point the way home. 

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

Sick and f*cking tired.

Getting sick and f*cking tired is a tool. 

It’s often a very necessary tool. 

Sometimes we don’t actually change anything until we’re sick and f*cking tired. 

I don’t love feeling sick and f*cking tired, understand. And I imagine you don’t, either. 

I also imagine there are plenty of people reading this who are so f*cking sick and tired that they literally can’t express it. 

If there’s one thing almost all of the survivors who have come to me for support in their journey have had in common, it’s that they are sick and f*cking tired. 

And if there’s another thing many of them have in common is, they often have very mixed feelings about being sick and f*cking tired. 

Many survivors don’t feel we have the “right” to feel sick and f*cking tired. 

Many survivors are ambivalent about whether what we’re feeling is “enough” to affect us like it has. 

Many survivors tell themselves over and over again that what they’ve been through isn’t “bad enough” to either produce the symptoms they’re experiencing— or to require them to work a trauma recovery. 

On, and on, and on…we very often invalidate and minimize and deny and disown our experience and our needs. 

None of which changes the fact that we’re actually quite sick and f*cking tired of all of this. 

The reality is, we need to meet that sick-and-f*cking-tired experience with radical acceptance— it is happening, whether we love it or not and whether we feel we have a “right” to experience it or not— with enormous compassion, patience, and realism. 

And I also find it helpful to think of sick and f*cking tired as a tool. I think of it as fuel. 

When I get sick and f*cking tired, I remind myself that if nothing changes, nothing changes. 

If I keep doing what I’ve always done, I’ll keep getting what I’ve always gotten. 

None of that is to shame or blame myself for my pain. That’s not the point of thinking of sick and f*cking tired as a tool. 

That’s to face the reality that I can only influence— not “control”— finite corners of my experience, notably my self talk, mental focus, and physiology…and that if I am truly sick to death of living the same day over and over again, “Groundhog Day” style, I’m going to need to realistically leverage the wiggle room I DO have. 

The truth is, I am sick and f*cking tired of dreading feeling sick and f*cking tired. So I insist on doing something with it. Turning that feeling into a tool. Into rocket fuel for my recovery. 

Your mileage may vary. 

But I do not recommend just sitting in the sick and f*cking tiredness of it all. 

I recommend using it as a tool to focus and propel you. 

Because f*ck this, you know? 

drglenndoyle

You’re not “too much.” That’s just Trauma Brain f*cking with you.

Let’s be clear: the respect you’re asking for, the respect you’re entitled to, is not asking for anything unusual. 

We trauma survivors can lose perspective on that. 

We’ve been conditioned to believe most ANY boundary we assert is “mean.” 

We’ve been conditioned to believe that basic respect— for our physical body, for our time, for our needs, for our boundaries— is “too much.” 

We’ve often been conditioned to believe that WE are “too much.” 

The truth is, we actually deserve lots of things we’ve been programmed to believe we don’t. 

We do, actually, deserve respect. 

We do, actually, deserve privacy. 

We do, actually, deserve to be taken seriously. 

And believe me when I tell you that a not-small subset of survivors just read that and thought some version of, “he’s not talking about me. Maybe everybody ELSE deserves those things; but I don’t.” 

That’s how deep the conditioning goes. 

It goes so deep that smart, self-aware survivors all read what I just wrote, and actually believe that they are somehow The Exception to it all. 

You are not The Exception. 

It’s actually not hard to extend basic respect to other human beings. 

It’s actually not hard to be broadly kind to other human beings. 

When we want and need respect and kindness from other people, it’s important we keep in mind that we’re not asking for something that requires a ton of effort. 

We’re not asking for the moon, here. 

We’re asking for the courtesy and thoughtfulness that most people would extend to basically any creature. Most people would be nice to a dog they don’t know by default. 

It’s real important we reprogram ourselves around this subject as we work our trauma recovery. 

It’s real important we remember— that we remind ourselves— that asking for basics from other human beings does not make us “high maintenance.” 

That feeling— that belief— that having ANY need or boundary makes us “too much” is just that: a feeling, a belief. It’s not reality. 

I find the expression “feelings are not facts” to be more than a little reductionistic, but this is one of those situations where it applies. 

And but also: let’s say our basic boundaries and needs really are “too much” for someone— that sounds like a “them” issue, don’t you think? 

Remember: if you’re “too much” for them, they are always welcome to go find less. 

But you just existing does not make you “too much.” Really. 

Don’t let Trauma Brain convince you otherwise. It just wants you to feel bad— for existing, for breathing, for anything. 

drglenndoyle

Conditional value isn’t “love.”

People who only value you as long as you’re playing along with their narrative, don’t value you. 

They value your function— as “evidence” that their story is true. 

This happens all the time in abusive or neglectful families. 

The minute you stop playing along with their story, their attitude and energy toward you changes. 

These are often the same families that claim “family should come first” or “family is everything.” 

If “family should come first,” then why is their positive attention contingent upon you affirming them as “good parents?” 

If “family is everything,” then why do they blame and shame the family “scapegoat” over and over again instead of taking responsibly for their limitations? 

Their own behavior proves their words are empty. 

Here’s the thing: we don’t need “perfect” parents. 

No one reading this is hurting because our parents weren’t “perfect.” 

No one reading this is “mad” because our parents weren’t “perfect.” 

What we needed were parents who were trying. 

What we needed were parents who were attuned— or, at least, doing their best to attune to us. 

CPTSD and DID do not result from “imperfect parents” or childhood pain that “everybody” experiences. When you hear someone say some version of “everyone has childhood trauma,” they are wrong.

It’s not easy to know we weren’t, or aren’t, valued by the people who were supposed to love and protect us the most. 

And it’s very easy to assume, to believe, that it was somehow our fault. 

It wasn’t. 

It wasn’t on us to “make” them love us. To be “lovable” enough for them to do what parents are actually supposed to do. 

It wasn’t your fault. 

And it’s still not. 

So they only value us conditionally, instrumentally. So what. 

What they do or don’t value, what they can or can’t do emotionally, has zero to do with us. Less than zero. 

I wish I didn’t have to say any of this, and I wish none of it applied to you or me. 

But here we are. 

And we have the option of creating a life going forward that has nothing to do with them. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

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

drglenndoyle

Why compliments can be tricky for trauma survivors.

To many trauma survivors, compliments often are not compliments. 

To many trauma survivors, compliments feel like traps. 

They feel like setups. 

They feel like someone trying to get us emotionally vulnerable. 

It doesn’t particularly matter how sincere the compliment, or how trustworthy the complimenter— compliments can trigger us. 

To understand what’s going on, you need to know that many CPTSD survivors only ever received backhanded compliments growing up. 

For many of us, the people closest to us only ever complimented us for the purpose of somehow making us feel bad. 

Do you know what a “neg” is? 

A “neg” is a manipulation tactic, wherein someone gives you a backhanded compliment for the purpose of kicking you in the self-esteem. 

Why would somebody do that? Because many people— and especially trauma survivors— will respond to that kind of thing by feeling a need to earn that person’s respect or approval. 

That is: “negs” work because they evoke a “fawn” trauma response. 

Do you know the kind of psychological harm that results from a parent “negging” a child, over and over again, at some of the most developmentally sensitive periods of that kid’s life? 

Actually, I suppose you might. 

Anyway— compliments often feel suspicious to us. And we come by that skepticism honestly. 

We’ve come to understand compliments as potential manipulation. 

We’re not “choosing” to be “difficult” about compliments. We’re not “ungrateful.” 

We’re not trying to push people away— though sometimes pushing people away does feel safer, doesn’t it? 

That sensitivity to compliments won’t last forever. Though many of us do struggle with wondering when the other shoe will drop, or when we’ll be “found out” for the “imposter” we are, for awhile. 

Don’t get up in your head about it. 

Just work your recovery today. 

Self-talk, mental focus, physiology. Micro choices. 

(I’d tell you “good job,” but…you know.) 

drglenndoyle

Quit trying to make self-punishment work.

Stop trying to make self-punishment work as a trauma recovery strategy. 

It doesn’t. 

And you’re not the first trauma survivor who’s going to make it work. 

You’re DEFINITELY not the first trauma survivor to TRY to make it work. 

We trauma survivors really love that idea— that we’re going to punish ourselves into feeling and functioning better. 

Of course we love it. Punishment is very frequently how our behavior was “managed” growing up. 

Many of our most formative experiences revolved around punishment— and not just at home, either. 

My father was a dangerous, addicted, narcissistic man, and many of my damaging early experiences involved him— but many of them also revolved around peer group bullying I experienced for years (and years), primarily at school. 

Abuse at home— physical, verbal, and emotional— and bullying at school are punishing experiences. They’re painful experiences, inflicted by someone else, that shape our behavior. 

And even when we’ve left those experiences behind, we often pick right up where our abusers and bullies left off, in trying to shape our own behavior via punishment. 

Maybe it’s what we feel we “deserve.” 

Often it’s what we feel we “need.” 

We just cannot imagine a world in which any force other than pain or threats or humiliation shapes our behavior. 

Many survivors reading this truly think the only way we realistically manage or adjust our behavior is through shame, pressure, or humiliation. 

Understand: it’s not our fault we think this. 

We’re just doing what we know. We’re using the “tool” we have, that was programmed into us. 

The truth about punishment, at least from a behavioral science perspective, is actually pretty well-established: punishment does not change behavior. Not long term. 

If punishment reliably changed behavior, crime recidivism rates would be very different— but they’re not. 

There are two was punishment DOES change behavior: it makes people sneaky about behavior they’re not “supposed” to do; and it makes people resent whatever entity is dishing out the punishment. 

So what happens when we’re the ones punishing ourselves? 

It means “parts” of us get “sneaky”— that is to say, we’re way more vulnerable to dissociatively “hiding” things from ourselves. 

It also means we come to resent ourselves. 

Does that sound like a combination that is supportive of trauma recovery? 

I understand: the urge to punish ourselves can be strong. I struggle with it, especially when my behavior falls short of my values and goals. 

But we need to resist. 

Self-punishment is a distraction from our goals. It’s a layer of stress and self-conflict we don’t need and we can’t afford in trauma recovery. 

Quit trying to make it work just because it’s familiar. 

Breathe; blink; focus.