drglenndoyle

Our abusers were not “strong” or “powerful.”

Many of us remember our bullies or abusers as larger than life. 

That has nothing to do with how big or powerful they actually were. 

It has everything to do with how vulnerable and powerless we felt— how vulnerable and powerless we were made to feel. 

The reality is, abusing or bullying someone doesn’t make someone “strong” or “powerful.” 

Some of us had abusers who were respected or celebrated by the community around them. 

Some of us had abusers who were objectively “powerful,” at least as far as cultural norms go. 

But the fact that they abused us tells the truth: they were not “strong.” 

Abuse is a behavior perpetrated by weak people. 

I don’t care if our abusers were staples of the community of the church. 

I don’t care if they will go down as relatively “powerful” people among the people who knew them. 

They were weak. 

And their “achievements” do not make up for what they did. 

Sometimes we survivors can get up in our heads about the fact that our abusers were “complicated”— and I can heavily identify with this. My father was more complicated than most. 

And, the fact that he was complicated does not take away from the fact that his hurtful behavior made him weak. 

There is nothing in abusive behavior that contributes positively to anyone’s legacy. 

There are plenty of “complicated” people in history who have not harmed other people. 

You and I can’t crawl inside the head of the people who abused us, so we’ll never quite know what their deal is. 

We can speculate all day about who they “really” are or were, but in the end, we’d just be guessing. 

Which is all for the best, because to be hoenst, I don’t especially are. 

There’s nothing I could learn about an abuser’s inner world that would make what they do acceptable. 

Even as a psychologist, someone who is utterly fascinated by the human mind and human motivation, I just don’t care. 

Abusers are weak. 

No matter how “powerful” the world may pretend they are, they are weak. 

No matter how “strong” they pretend to be, they are weak. 

Survivors are strong. 

Survivors are brave. 

Survivors working our recovery are worthy. 

And survivors working our recovery are the reason why the world continues to contain humanity and grace. 

That’s what I think, anyway. 

drglenndoyle

Getting our poop in a group.

The people you think have their sh*t together, don’t feel like they have their sh*t together. 

Trauma Brain— the internalized voices of our bullies and abusers— is particularly good at telling us we don’t have our sh*t together. 

This is true whether or not we especially have our sh*t together. 

I guarantee, you could be the most advanced, most accomplished get-sh*t-done champion of the world, and Trauma Brain would list 1,473,992 reasons why you don’t have your sh*t together— and why you should feel like garbage about it. 

The reality is, we’re all actually at various stages of having our sh*t together. 

Some of us very much have our sh*t together in some areas our lives— but our sh*t goes wildly off the rails in other areas. 

The areas in which we do or don’t have our sh*t together tend to mirror our trauma wounds. 

For example, many trauma survivors tend to be enormously emotionally intelligent— but many of us struggle to make relationships work.

That’s not “evidence” that that emotional intelligence is illusory— it’s probably evidence that there may be a complex trauma wound there. 

Similarly, many trauma survivors are incredibly “book smart”— but many of us seem to struggle with making decisions and anticipating consequences. 

That’s not “evidence” that we’re “stupid”— it’s probably evidence that CPTSD may be f*cking with our executive functioning. 

There are dozens and dozens of examples like this: trauma survivors who are smart and strong, and who have our sh*t together in some life domains, inexplicably struggling to have our sh*t together and “adult” in other domains. 

The world around us often likes to explain that disparity in terms of our “maturity” or “motivation” or “character.” 

But what’s actually going on is, the “holes” in our functioning are pointing to where our wounds are. No more; no less. 

CPTSD’s ability to make us feel like we don’t have our sh*t together, and Trauma Brian’s skill and enthusiasm for being the living snot out of us for it, is one of the hardest things for many trauma survivors to handle. 

We can handle being wounded, though we don’t love it. 

But we really, really hate feeling incompetent. 

(This is especially true if we were “parentified” kids in our family, and our identity was formed around having our sh*t together at an earlier age than we actually should have had our sh*t together.)

When you experience that shame and frustration at not having your sh*t together, remember that you’re probably doing better than you think you are— and you’re certainly doing better than Trauma Brain is letting you believe. 

No, you’re not doing perfectly. No, you don’t have your sh*t together in every way.

But you’re certainly not the train wreck CPTSD is trying to convince you you are. 

You’re like all of us: a work in progress, with strengths, weaknesses, wounds, and possibilities. 

Do not fall into the trap of trying to punish or shame yourself for those areas in which you don’t have your sh*t together. 

After all: even if you don’t have your sh*t together in certain ways, GIVING yourself sh*t isn’t the strategy for changing that. That just gives you MORE sh*t to try to manage, and if you’re already mismanaging your sh*t, where does that leave you? 

I’d like to take this opportunity to welcome new readers to the Dr. Glenn Patrick Doyle Facebook community, where trauma recovery meets colorful metaphors. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

“Coercion” can be more than just physical.

Because you were not physically threatened, doesn’t mean you weren’t coerced. 

Because no one had a physical gun to your head doesn’t mean you made a “choice.” 

Because your body responded doesn’t mean you “wanted” or “enjoyed” it. 

You’re going to run into many people who have a very narrow definition of “force” or “coercion.” 

They are going to assume that if there wasn’t physical force or threat directly involved, then behavior must have been a free “choice.” 

These are the people who are going to ask you “why didn’t you just leave?”

They’re the same people who will say, “why didn’t you just set a boundary?” 

They’re the same people who say, “if you hated it so much, why did you repeat the pattern, over and over and over again?” 

That worldview has nothing to do with reality. 

That worldview has everything to do with those peoples’ wishes that reality be that simple. 

You see, if reality was that simple, those people would feel safer. 

They don’t like the idea that we can be forced to do things in ways that have nothing to do with physical coercion. 

They don’t like for example, the fact that true, unforced “choice” only actually exists if all the alternatives are survivable. 

That is to say: if someone “chooses” something because the alternative was not survivable, they haven’t really made a “choice.” 

Those people also don’t like the fact that there are types of survival in addition to physical survival. 

Sometimes we may “choose” something not because our physical life is in danger, but because the alternative was not realistically survivable socially, financially, or even spiritually. 

The actual fact of the matter is, there are dozens of ways to make human beings do things that do not involve threats to physical survival. 

Pretending that physical threat or coercion is the only way “choice” can be taken away from us opens the door to us feeling shame about many things we “chose” for the sake or survival along the way— but which, upon examination, were not actually “free” choices. 

I get it: you don’t love some of the things you did once upon a time. Neither do I. 

We don’t have to love all our “choices.” 

But we also don’t have to pretend all of those choices were truly “free.” 

You and I did plenty of things to survive— again, not just physically— that don’t particularly align with our values or self-concept now. And again, we don’t have to love that. 

But we don’t have to hold those “choices” against ourselves, either. 

We can realistically and self-compassionately acknowledge the truth: that we were forced to do sh*t we don’t love and wouldn’t “freely” choose. 

I know, that can feel helpless. And many people would rather feel ashamed than helpless. 

I’m going to ask you to sit with the helplessness that comes with acknowledging we haven’t, actually been “in control” of our “choices” for a very long time. 

That’s not an excuse. That’s reality. 

And that’s the starting point to actually making some real, values-congruent choices: forgiving ourselves for not being as “in control” as we thought we were. 

Easy does it. None of this is easy. 

And, we deserve a recovery that restores our autonomy and dignity. No matter what “choices” we did or didn’t have in the past. 

Breathe; blink; focus.  

drglenndoyle

“Needy” is not an insult. Or it shouldn’t be, anyway.

Yes: as we work our trauma recovery, we will get better at identifying and expressing our needs. And that’s awesome. 

It’s also not a guarantee others will be at all interested in meeting our needs. 

Unfortunately, there’s no magic to expressing our needs. I wish there was. 

But we’re going to run into plenty of people who just don’t care. 

Not everyone, mind you. We’ll also run into people who will be supportive and invested. 

But we want to be realistic. That won’t be everyone. 

Does that mean there’s no point to expressing our needs? 

No, it does not. 

Identifying and expressing our needs is vital to our self-esteem. 

Identifying and expressing our needs is important to our self-respect. 

Identifying and expressing our needs is necessary to identify the subset of people who actually WILL help us get our needs met. 

If there’s anything you take away from my writing about trauma recovery, it’s that recovery needs to be realistic and sustainable. 

That means we can’t be hanging on to fantasies that the world is kinder than it is. 

The world is not kind. 

But some people in the world can be kind. 

It may not be the case that we’ll have people lining up to help us get our needs met, even if we identify and express those needs. 

But it is the case that if we’re going to realistically recover from CPTSD, WE need to be in touch with those needs—especially if years of abuse and neglect have made us believe we “can’t” or “shouldn’t” be clear and expressive about our needs. 

What the hell are our needs, anyway? 

The theory I like about human needs is that there are six basics: predictability, novelty, significance, connection, growth, and contribution. 

In my experience, most human needs reduce to one or a combination of those. 

Abuse and neglect sever our connection with our needs. 

Which leaves us no less “needy”— just less able to make a realistic plan to meet our needs. 

Your needs are not “bad” or “weak.”

“Needy” is not an insult. Or it shouldn’t be, anyway. 

Get clear about what you need. Put words to your needs. 

Not because there’s “magic” to any of this— but because things that matter deserve specificity and expression. 

And make no mistake, your needs matter— because you matter. 

drglenndoyle

“Love” and “safety” shouldn’t be conditional.

Trauma survivors know: it is exhausting to constantly feel we have to earn, and re-earn, and re-earn again, love or safety. 

In fact, it can be so exhausting that we figure it’s not even worth it. 

The belief that love or safety is conditional, that we have to keep earning and re-earning it, often comes from childhood neglect— and it hooks hard into our “fawn” trauma response. 

When we’re kids, we’re not wired to understand that what we’re getting— or not getting— is not our fault. 

We assume that, if we’re starved for our basic needs (emotional or physical), that it probably has to do with us. 

Hell, sometimes we’re basically told as much by our abusers or bullies, especially when the needs in question are emotional. 

We don’t grow up believing that our caretakers had blocks of their own or made choices that resulted in us not being loved— we assume it was us who wasn’t “lovable.” 

This pattern has lots of variations. For example, if we grew up feeling invisible, we may assume that we simply weren’t attractive or entertaining enough to “deserve” attention— not that our caretakers just didn’t do their job. 

There are, of course, some things that are conditional. We choose our playmates, and later our friends, based at least partially on how they make us feel— and we’re not “unconditional” in it. We’re very conditional. 

But a parent taking care of a kid and providing for that kid’s needs should be held to a different standard than a kid choosing their playmates or friends. 

The bottom line, though, is that may CPTSD survivors arrive in adulthood feeling the crushing weight of what we think is our “failure” to “earn” the love and safety that we should have been entitled to growing up. 

Consequently we rarely feel secure or calm when it comes to love or safety, no matter what happens to be going on— because our nervous system is thoroughly convinced that there IS no such thing as “secure” love or safety. 

Our traumatized nervous system thinks it can never rest, because to do so would be to risk losing the love and safety we have. 

This is how the trauma symptom of “hypervigilance” shows up in CPTSD: never being able to relax, for fear of loss. 

The reality is, “love” or “safety” we have to earn, and re-earn, and re-earn again, is not actual “love” or “safety.” 

“Love” is not the same as affinity or attraction, both of which can vary. But “love” is a deeper level of investment and commitment, that cannot be “lost” that easily. 

Similarly, “safety” should not, cannot be dependent on someone else— we have to create it for ourselves and inside ourselves first and foremost. Otherwise it’s never truly “safe.” 

Do not let your early conditioning convince you you have to exhaust yourself “earning” love or safety. 

There are plenty of tasks in trauma recovery that require plenty of effort— but if someone says they love you, they don’t get to make you feel like you’re constantly auditioning for their love. 

And if someone represents that they’re a “safe” person, that safety should not be contingent upon their attitude toward you today. 

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

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

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.