drglenndoyle

Scratch. That. Sh*tty. Record.

You are not making a “choice” to talk to yourself like your bullies and abusers talked to you. 

You are responding to conditioning. 

You are running a pattern— a pattern so familiar that it feels “right.” 

Hell, you’re running a pattern so familiar that you’re probably not even aware it’s a pattern. It’s just “the way things are.” 

A lot of trauma symptomatology is like that. 

We do these things because we were programmed to, and we do them very effectively because we have a lifetime of practice at it— not realizing that we’re actually being unkind and unfair to ourselves. 

Then, when some dork of a therapist like myself comes along and tells you it doesn’t have to be like that, you’re skeptical as hell— because in your nervous system, there’s just no other way for it to be. 

After all, what would a day without shredding yourself for the smallest mistake realistically look like? 

What would a day without fantasizing about suicide look like? 

What would a day without denying and disowning feelings and “parts” of ourselves we feel shame about actually look like? 

We don’t know. Our nervous system never really considered the possibility. 

Or, maybe our nervous system DID consider the possibility— but we decided we didn’t “deserve” a day without kicking the sh*t out of ourselves. 

Or we decided that if we failed to kick the sh*t out of ourselves today, then we’d somehow be punished for it— that life would come along and kick the sh*t out of us anyway, so we may as well do it to ourselves first. 

Because then we’d be in “control” of our own ass kicking, right? Right? 

Or something. 

Changing that pattern starts with understanding we’re not making a “choice,” and we don’t need to feel shame about it. 

No one reading this woke up this morning and just decided to talk to themselves like their bullies and abusers talked to them. 

What actually happened was, we woke up this morning, and our patterns of self-talk and mental focus were what they were, what they have been for decades— and we did what every human does, we went along with our conditioning. 

That’s how conditioning works. 

Interrupting that old conditioning means scratching the record— and I’ll spoil the suspense, that’s uncomfortable as hell. 

Every human struggles to change patterns that have been deeply conditioned and heavily reinforced in their history. Just ask any smoker. 

The good news is, patterns can be interrupted and records can be scratched— if we’re willing to pay the price, that is. 

The price of interrupting these particular patterns is called “trauma recovery.” And it’s a hassle. 

It’s often inconvenient and uncomfortable and counterintuitive, and we often end up hiring a professional to help us do it if we can. 

But you don’t have to roll with your old conditioning indefinitely. 

People have been radically changing their patterns and lives ever since ancient times. 

You are not the exception to the fact that realistic change is possible. 

You did not choose your trauma conditioning— but you can choose to scratch the f*ck out of that sh*tty record, minute by minute, choice by choice. 

Breath by intentional breath. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

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

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 checking in.

One of the hardest parts of trauma recovery for many people is the check-ins. 

Trauma recovery thrives on self-check ins. 

So many of us were taught to deny, disown and ignore what was going on with us when we were growing up— physically, emotionally, spiritually. 

It’s really hard to meaningfully recover from trauma without reversing that habit of self-avoidance. 

That is to say: we need to check in. Take our own temperature. 

We need to ask good questions of ourselves— all day, every day. 

If we leave ourselves on CPTSD autopilot, we’re going to fall back into old patterns of self-neglect. Not because we want to, but because that’s our conditioning. 

Realistic trauma recovery means taking care of ourselves— and we can’t realistically take care of ourselves if we’re not paying attention to ourselves. 

Thing is: that’s hard. Checking in with ourselves is a hassle. 

Frequently we’ve gotten into the habit of not checking in with ourselves, because we don’t love what we see when we do. 

We avoid our sh*t for a reason. 

So those self-check ins, that are so important to meaningful trauma recovery, are harder than maybe they “should” be. 

You’re not alone in being reluctant to do it. 

You’re not alone in finding it hard. 

The key to the self check-ins is to not make them harder than they have to be. 

A self check-in doesn’t have to be comprehensive. You don’t need to go down a checklist. 

The main purpose of the self check-in is to communicate to yourself, to your nervous system and “parts.” 

We’re communicating to ourselves that our feelings matter. 

That our needs matter. 

The self-check in communicates to ourselves that, even if we were neglected for years by the people who were supposed to love us the most and pay the most attention to us, we’re no longer invisible. 


We’re no longer expendable or forgettable. 

Something I say to my patients a lot is, “recovery dies in silence.” 

What I mean by that is, we need self-communication in trauma recovery. We need to rewire and recondition how we talk to ourselves, how we direct our mental focus. 

We need to reshape our BS— our Belief Systems. 

All that requires constant, intentional communication inside. 

And that starts with the self check-in. 

“How’s everybody doing in there?” 

Don’t make it any more complicated than that. 

And don’t get discouraged if you don’t get anything back at first. 

Like every relationship, your relationship with yourself is going to take time to develop. 

Easy does it. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

And check in. 

(Now’s a good moment to start.) 

drglenndoyle

We need support when we’re struggling, not judgment.

When we’re triggered, we need support, not shame. 

We certainly don’t need to shame ourselves for struggling. 

But— that’s what many of us have been programmed to do. 

We’ve been conditioned to lead off with telling ourselves all the reasons why we “shouldn’t” be triggered. 

To tell ourselves all the reasons why this trigger “isn’t a big deal.” 

We’ve been programmed to invalidate our reactions, our feelings, and our needs— and for that to be our reflexive FIRST take when we get triggered. 

Many survivors are profoundly embarrassed that we even get triggered. 

We’ve been told over and over again, that we’re “safe now,” that a trigger is “from the past” ad therefore “shouldn’t” be evoking the reaction it is. 

Okay— let’s say for a moment that’s true. Maybe we’re having a reaction to something that is NOT right here, right now— what are we supposed to do with this understanding? 

The fact is, we’re still reacting. 

We’re still being flooded with feelings and memories. 

Our nervous system is still melting the f*ck down. 

Do we really think all that’s going to halt the minute we accept that we “shouldn’t” be having the reaction? 

I’ll tell you what happens far more often: we tell ourselves we “shouldn’t” behaving this reaction— and then not only do we have the ongoing trauma response to contend with, but we have an extra layer of guilt for experiencing something that we’ve decided is invalid. 

Don’t do that to yourself. 

The truth is, if we’re having a reaction, that reaction IS proportionate to SOMETHING— even if it doesn’t happen to be something right here, right now. 

Our triggers reflect our wounds, and our trauma responses reflect our needs. 

Both our wounds and needs are valid. 

Neither our wounds or needs disappear because we don’t want to deal with them or because we’re embarrassed by them. 

If we try to deny or disown our wounds and needs, guess what happens? They grow. 

Ignore a wound, it festers. It gets infected. What was a wound that was painful turns into a systemic threat, maybe even to our life. 

Ignore a need, it gets more urgent. It becomes harder to ignore. It grows to the point where it WILL commandeer our attention, whether or not we want it to. 

Remember: trauma responses are not “choices.” 

There is nothing shameful about experiencing trauma responses, any more than it’s “shameful” to experience the reflex of pulling our hand away from a hot stove. 

Our nervous system is designed to keep us alive— and if we’re fighting, fleeing, fawning, freezing, or flopping in response to a trigger, it’s because some “part” of us honestly believes that’s what we have to do to keep on keeping on. 

We need support in those moments, not judgment. 

Just like broken limbs need X-rays and a cast, not to “try harder” to flex. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Why naming our emotions can be a useful trauma recovery tool.

Naming our emotions can be a powerful, underused CPTSD recovery tool. 

Naming our emotions as we experience them helps pry us out from feeling overwhelmed by them, immersed in them. 

It shifts us, at least a little, to an observer of our emotions, not just who experiences them. 

Naming our emotions communicates to our nervous system and “parts” that our emotions are important, and worth identifying. That we respect and value them enough to be specific. 

Naming emotions can help reduce their intensity. There’s a difference between feeling “sadness” or “fear,” for example, and “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” 

Naming our emotions enlists the left hemisphere of the brain. Anything that gets us using words when we’re overwhelmed hooks into that left hemisphere— which is the “coolant” to the “nuclear reactor” that is our overheated right cerebral hemisphere. 

(This is one reason talking in therapy or to a friend when we’re emotional often calms us down— using words and giving structure to what we’re experiencing taps into that “cooling” left hemisphere, instead of leaving us stranded with a right hemisphere that is melting down.)

Naming our emotions gives us a chance to actually devise a realistic strategy for processing and responding to them. Sadness requires a different strategy than fear, requires a different strategy than anger. 

What we’re experiencing matters when it comes to realistic strategy and tool selection. 

Naming our emotions can be a step toward validating them— and validation needs to be worked into any and every effective CPTSD recovery tool and strategy. 

Naming our emotions might take practice and patience, especially if we’ve been conditioned to deny and disown our emotional life— as most CPTSD survivors have been. 

So— don’t pressure yourself. 

Maybe even start with an emotion chart or wheel. Think of getting to know your emotional world like learning a language— you might need some vocabulary “flash cards” at first. 

But people learn languages. 

Just like survivors can get good at naming our emotions. 

It’s a straightforward, free recovery tool that we have nothing to lose, and potentially a lot to gain, by trying. 

drglenndoyle

F*ck judging our thoughts and feelings.

Judging the sh*t out of ourselves is going to make every “sticky” thought or feeling we have, “stickier.” 

Trauma survivors are very often conditioned to show ourselves no mercy when it comes to what we “should” and “shouldn’t” think or feel. 

Barely a thought crosses our mind without us passing a harsh judgment on it. 

Barely a feeling touches our heart without us excoriating ourselves for feeing things, or feeling things more intensely, than we “should.” 

The truth is, there are no “shoulds” when it comes to thoughts or feelings— we think what we think and we feel what we feel. We like some thoughts and feelings more than others— but none of them are “evidence” that we’re doing this whole “being a human” thing “wrong.” 

But that’s not what Trauma Brain is going to tell us. 

Trauma Brain, what I call the internalized voices of our bullies and abusers that we play on repeat for decades, will tell us we “have” to judge and obsess over what we think and feel. 

Trauma Brain especially likes to tell us that we’re feeling “too much.” That we’re “too sensitive.” That the intensity with which we feel things is evidence we’re “weak” or “broken.” 

That is straight Trauma Brain BS (Belief Systems— but also, you know, the other kind of “BS”). 

Here’s the thing: those thoughts and feelings that we don’t love? Judging ourselves for them is going to make them hang out in our brain and body for much longer than they otherwise would. 

Judgment makes “sticky” thoughts and feelings much “stickier.” 

Nobody reading this judges their thoughts and feelings for the hell of it. We are responding to conditioning. We were programmed to relate to ourselves harshly. 

We do need to decide that we’re tong to change how we relate to ourselves— but changing that pattern requires more than a “decision.” 

It requires us to catch ourselves when we’re doing it, push pause, and choose to talk to ourselves differently. 

To scratch that old record— again, and again, and again. 

Not easy. Worth the effort— but not easy. 

Remember, when you’re tempted to beat the sh*t out of yourself for something you’re thinking or feeling, “this is only going to prolong my relationship with this thought or feeling I hate.” 

Then I recommend inserting this well-validated, very clinical turn of phrase into your self-talk: “F*ck that.” 

Because f*ck judging your thoughts and feelings, you know? 

drglenndoyle

Gratitude.

You’re going to meet people in this trauma recovery process who will try to convince you that “gratitude” is kind of a “cheat code” to recovery. 

I’ve never believed that. 

Especially on days like today, you’re going to hear a lot about gratitude. 

On days like today, the culture is not particularly sensitive to people whose life experiences, especially their family experiences, have been painful or complicated. 

You may or may not feel like you have a lot to be “thankful” for today— and that’s okay. 

Acknowledging how painful or complicated your life has been does not make you “ungrateful.” 

My father, a narcissistic addict, frequently weaponized the word “gratitude” against me. 

To this day my trauma conditioning comes at me, telling me that I am not sufficiently “grateful.” 

I’ll tell you right now that I am overwhelming grateful— but maybe not for the things the culture tells me I “should” be. 

I am grateful I survived— though I wasn’t always. 

Some days I was quite ambivalent about the fact that I was still alive. 

Today I am grateful for recovery— but that has nothing to do with my family of origin. 

I am overwhelmingly grateful for some of the books and music I stumbled across that saved my life. 

I am overwhelmingly grateful for the Siamese cat that overwhelmingly enhanced my life for thirteen years— and that her passing last April was as peaceful as I could have asked for. 

I am overwhelmingly grateful for a little orange kitten who has held my grieving heart as tenderly as I could ever hope for, and for the life saving songwriters who are his namesake. 

I am overwhelmingly grateful for the humans whose voices I am listening to as I am writing this. A writer and an artist and a dancer and an adventurer who allow me the privilege of being in their lives. 

I am grateful to be sober today. 

I am grateful I did not believe trauma’s lies about whether I deserve to live. 

I am grateful I can write. That I have this platform. That my words reach even one person, let alone as many as they do. 

Believe me, I’m plenty grateful. 

But I don’t tell anyone the “have” to be grateful— or anything else, for that matter. 

Gratitude might be a tool in your recovery— or it might not. You get to decide that. 

No one gets to tell you you “have’ to be grateful, or anything else, to “deserve” recovery. 

Your mileage will vary when it comes to how useful a tool gratitude is or isn’t in your recovery. 

Don’t get up in your head about it. Really. 

Today is a day in recovery. No more; no less. 

If you are reading this, I am grateful for you. 

Yes, you. Person reading this who thinks I’m not talking about you. 

I am. 

drglenndoyle

How not to get hijacked by the “fawn” reflex.

Many trauma survivors, every day, are vulnerable to interactions with people who will, purposefully or not, hijack our focus. 

We’ve all experienced this— entering into a conversation or other interaction with someone, and suddenly feeling yanked away from who we are and what we’re all about. 

This can happen when somebody’s vibe or behavior triggers us; or it can happen when the content of the conversation or interaction is distressing or distracting to us; or it can happen for reasons we may not be able to identify in the moment. 

All we know is: we don’t feel like ourselves when we’re interacting with this person— and, often, we don’t like how we feel. 

Sometimes this “hijacking” happens unpredictably— that is, we find ourselves quite unexpectedly off our game when we engage with a person. 

Other times, however, we know from past experience with a person that they’re highly likely going to trigger us, or that interacting with them is likely to evoke feelings and responses in us that we do not love (or 100% choose, for that matter). 

There’s no shame to any of this, by the way. It happens to everyone. 

I DEFINITELY have interactions with people that yank me quite away from who I am and what I’m all about. 

I DEFINITELY find myself responding in ways I don’t love to dynamics I didn’t anticipate in certain conversations or interactions. 

Very often what’s happening to us in these moments is a form of flashback and/or dissociation. Somebody’s vibe or behavior has triggered us, because it’s punched a “replay” button installed in us from the past. 

We may not fully realize that’s what’s happening, because we think of flashbacks as fully immersive sensory experiences, or dissociation as “switching” between “parts”— but the truth is, both flashbacks and dissociation occur along a spectrum, and many survivors hang out in the mild-to-moderate range of that spectrum every day without being aware of it. 

It’s real important, when we can, that we prepare ourselves for conversations or interactions that are highly likely to trigger us. 

Remember that managing trauma responses always involves a combination of three basic tools: self-talk, mental focus, and physiology. 

When we know we’re headed into a potentially triggering conversation or interaction, we can leverage all three of those tools in order to minimize the chances we’ll get “hijacked.” 

We can remind ourselves, via our self-talk, of who we are, what we’re all about, what our goal is in the interaction, and what to pay attention to. 

We can use our mental focus to reinforce our identity, our own vibe, and our interactional goal with this person, so we don’t get caught up in their personalty or their goals. 

We can utilize our breathing and physiology to stay grounded and somatically present in thee conversation, instead of letting the anxiety or other emotions of the moment jack up our sympathetic nervous system and make it harder for us to be ourselves. 

The reason I feel it’s important that you know about these kinds of vulnerabilities and these kinds of tools is, these are exactly the kinds of things I wish someone had told me as a teenager. 

I remember, vividly, feeling at the complete mercy of every situation I was in— especially social situations. 

I felt like my identity as basically malleable, depending on who I was interacting with and what they wanted from me— and it was hell on my self-esteem. 

Taking a few minutes to utilize our recovery tools to affirm our identity, our values, and our goals for the interaction can help us stay grounded in and focused on who we are and what we need. 

That is: it can help us manage our vulnerability to the “fawn” response— and give us valuable experience in wrangling flashbacks and dissociation that aren’t obvious or overwhelming. 

It’s never the wrong call to leverage self-talk, mental focus, and physiology to remind ourselves who we are and what we’re all about. 

And it’s never the wrong time to do whatever we need to do to not accidentally lose ourselves in someone else’s vibe. 

drglenndoyle

The quality of our recovery is the quality of our relationship with ourselves.

The quality of our trauma recovery is the quality of our relationship and communication with ourselves. 

If we’re struggling with recovery, it’s almost always because that relationship and communication has broken down somehow. 

We’ve lost touch with ourselves. 

We’re not checking in. 

We’re not listening. 

We’re not open to whatever our body and our parts are trying to tell us. 

There can be lots of reasons why our relationship and communication with ourselves can get blocked, and many of them aren’t our fault. It’s almost never the case that we struggle with recovery because we’re “not trying hard enough.” 

Usually, we’ve gotten scared or overwhelmed. 

We’ve gotten distracted by all the noise. All the chaos— inside and out. 

When we are overwhelmed, it’s hard to relate to ourselves with compassion and patience— and it’s especially hard when for years we’ve been conditioned by trauma to dislike and distrust ourselves.

During times of fear or overwhelm, we tend to regress. 

We fall back into our default patterns of relating and communicating to ourselves. 

That’s one of the main reasons why, when we’re badly triggered, we can feel like we’re back at Square One: we’re aware of having regressed. 

It can FEEL like we’ve lost all our progress— but we haven’t. 

It can FEEL like all the tools and skills we’ve ever developed have abandoned us— but they haven’t. 

When we’re scared and overwhelmed, it can take a minute to remember that recovery is about how we relate and communicate to ourselves. 

Sometimes it takes even longer to remember, because we feel embarrassed or ashamed that we’re struggling. 

Fear, overwhelm, embarrassment, shame, dissociation— they all make it hard to get back on track with relating and communicating with ourselves in recovery supporting ways. 

But we can get back on track. 

We can plug back in to our experiences and our needs with compassion and patience. 

We can start reaching out and listening to our parts again. 

We can remember and remind ourselves who we are, and what we’re all about. 

The trick is staying out of shame and self-blame. 

Not assuming that because we’re struggling, we’ve lost the fight. 

Not telling ourselves a story, over and over again, about how we suck, how we’re hopeless, how we can’t recover, how it’s not worth even trying. 

Trauma robs us of many choices— but there are some choices we do have, even in moments of fear and overwhelm. 

The most important of those choices is how we relate and communicate to ourselves. 

The quality of our recovery is the quality of that relationship and that communication. 

And it’s never too late— never the wrong moment— to pay attention to it with acceptance and love.