drglenndoyle

“Ugh. This ‘recovery’ thing is taking forever.”

A common experience for trauma survivors working our recovery is, this is taking a lot longer than we thought. 

Mind you, we’re never quite sure how long we figured this was “supposed” to take. No one gave us a user’s manual for recovery. Or life, for that matter. 

All we know is, often we have the feeling that we’ve been grinding away at this “recovery” thing for f*ckin’ ever— and some days we’re not entirely sure we’ve made any progress at all. 

I’ve definitely been there. So has literally every survivor who has ever worked a recovery. 

The thing about recovery is, it’s not an “event” that “happens.” 

It’s not even an “accomplishment” we “earn,” although we do work plenty hard to design, execute, and support our recovery, much like we did when we were “earning” other “accomplishments.” 

What trauma recovery is, is a lifestyle. It’s a frame. 

It’s a set of tools, skills, and philosophies that we engage and develop so we can do all the OTHER in our life that matters to us. 

The reason recovery can feel like it’s going slow or taking forever is because, if we’re doing it right, aspects of recovery touch every other thing we do or think about. 

It’s not taking forever because we’re doing it wrong— it’s feeling extended because we continue to exist. And as long as we continue to exist, we’re going to be in recovery. 

And that’s actually the good news. 

Trauma recovery is a project, yes, but it’s not a project we do for its own sake. 

Nobody’s handing out medals— or demerits, for that matter— for trauma recovery. It’s not a competition. 

The best analogy I can think of when it comes to the experience of trauma recovery is, it’s like a philosophical or religious conversion. 

Recovery is not “religious” in the sense that we become devotees, or even congregants— but it’s similar to religion insofar as it is designed to help us understand and process the rest of our life. 

(Of note, recovery is significantly unlike religion insofar as there is absolutely no moral connotations to struggling with it. Nobody is going to hell for making recovery inconsistent decisions. Doing well in recovery doesn’t make us a “good” person. And the rewards of recovery show themselves in our day to day life, over time— not any kind of afterlife in which we’’ll be judged.)

Recovery can also be likened to a fitness regimen. It entails skills we must learn and endurance we must develop— but the real benefit of recovery, much like the benefit of fitness or athletic training, is in our increased day to day functionality. 

When you adopt a new religion or philosophy, or you embark upon a new, fitness-conscious lifestyle, you don’t think of it as “taking forever.” You think of it as a thing you do now— and a thing you’ll keep doing, as long as it continues to work for you. 

I completely understand that feeling of, “this is taking forever.” We want to see major difference in how we feel and function sooner, rather than later. 

We’ve been struggling for so long, and we’re f*cking sick of it. We don’t want to take on another thing in recovery with which we’ll continue to struggle. 

This is when it’s useful to shift our perspective. 

Trauma recovery isn’t a puzzle we have to solve or a competition we have to win— it’s a set of mental and behavioral tools that will help us solve every OTHER puzzle in our life, help us win every OTHER competition in our life. 

Recovery is not taking forever. Recovery is there to support us for as long as we need it. 

Recovery is friend. 

You can do this. 

drglenndoyle

The avoidance scam.

The biggest scam trauma and addiction play on us is convincing us we have to avoid. 

They tell us we have to avoid certain memories, feelings, or situations, “or else.” 

They tell us, if we “have” to be exposed to those memories, feelings or situations, we also “have” to harm ourselves or dissociate. 

Trauma and addiction play on our fear and our pain to make us believe what they say is true. 

It works— not because we’re stupid, but because we’re tired and hurting and scared. 

It is not our fault that we are so susceptible to the lies trauma and addiction are constantly telling us. 

The temptation is going to be to blame and shame ourselves for believing those lies— which, actually, is another part of why the trauma and addiction strategy to make us feel like sh*t is so ingenious: it works on multiple levels. 

We believe their lies, and feel like sh*t; then we feel like sh*t for believing their lies. 

It’s really, really hard to not blame and shame ourselves when trauma and addiction are f*cking with our head. 

It’s real important we remember: this is what trauma and addiction do. They f*ck with our head.

We could be doing everything in our life perfectly, and trauma and addiction would STILL find a way to f*ck with our head. 

The things trauma and addiction tell us have virtually NOTHING to do with us. Not really.

The things trauma and addiction tell us we “have” to do have NOTHING to do with ANYTHING we actually “have” to do. Not really. 

There is no denying that certain memories, feelings, and situations are highly triggering. They’re awful. Nobody WANTS to endure them. 

Every human being, if given the choice, would avoid those memories, feelings, and situations if they could. We are not weirdos for wanting to stay away from them at all costs. 

The thing is: if those memories, feelings, and situations are part of our experience, we don’t actually have the choice to avoid them. Not totally. 

Trauma and addiction, however, will lie to us and tell us we CAN effectively avoid them, or at least avoid awareness of them, by self-harming, dissociating, or relapsing. 

Believe me when I tell you: none of those options are actual mechanisms of avoidance.

They may seem like they allow us to avoid certain memories, feelings, and situations— but in the end, that avoidance is temporary and costly. 

If we want to recover, really recover, from either trauma or addiction, we need to get real about our relationship with avoidance. 

This was, and is, one of the hardest things for me, personally, in my own trauma and addiction recovery. 

I really, really want to avoid certain memories, feelings, and situations— and I am as susceptible as anyone (if not more susceptible!) to the lies trauma and addiction tell me about what I “have” to do to either avoid or tolerate exposure to those things. 

I, just like every survivor reading this, have to remember and remind myself, over and over and over again: there are absolutely zero circumstances in which I “have” to relapse. 

There are absolutely zero circumstances in which I “have” to harm myself. 

There are absolutely zero circumstances in which I “have” to avoid certain memories, feelings, or situations, “or else.” 

That is not to say tolerating these memories, feelings, or situations, is easy. It’s not. It’s the furthest thing FROM easy. If ANY of this was easy, we wouldn’t have to think about ANY of this, ever. 

But trauma and addiction were feeding me lies about my ability to withstand certain memories, feelings, and situations— which was impacting my willingness to try to withstand certain memories, feelings, and situations. 

It took me a long time, but I woke up. I was blind, but now I see. 

Trauma and addiction are never going to trick me into trying to un-see their bullsh*t, ever again. 

drglenndoyle

“Self love” is oversold.

We don’t, actually, have to “love” everything about ourselves. 

A lot of the discourse around trauma and addiction recovery tends to return to the subject of “self love,” with the message that we “have” to love ourselves if our recovery is going to succeed. 

Many survivors feel intimidated and alienated by this message— because the truth is, there are a lot of things about ourselves that we don’t love, and that we very much want to change. 

The messages we receive about the importance of self-love often seem to devolve into superficial demands that we not want or try to change anything about ourselves. 

Here’s the thing: we are working our trauma recovery explicitly because we want to change certain things about ourselves— things that have not been working for us, that have endangered or almost ruined our lives. 

If we don’t want to change anything about ourselves, why work a recovery? 

Furthermore, is it all that “loving” toward ourselves if we continue on in patterns of feeling and functioning that are miserable for us and the people and pets we care about? 

There’s also the small issue of: if we truly can’t recover “until” we love ourselves, many survivors are going to be waiting years before working or recovery— because, spoiler, most of us do not love ourselves now, and we will not develop self-love overnight. 

I do not think we “have” to love ourselves to recover from trauma or addiction. 

We DO have to AVOID behaving in self-hating or self-sabotaging ways— that is to say, we have to avoid behaving consistently with how we’ve been taught to behave— but the opposite of those behavior patterns doesn’t have to always or automatically equal “self love.” 

I think “self love,” as a feeling, is a tall order, and often a moving target. 

The truth is, we’re going to feel all kinds of different ways about ourselves at different times. 

If we can only behave toward ourselves in recovery supporting ways when we happen to feel “loving” toward ourselves, we’re depriving ourselves of resources and support in those times we need them the most: when we absolutely hate ourselves. 

The quality of our trauma or addiction recovery is proportional to our willingness and ability to show up for ourselves when we LEAST feel we deserve it.

To me it’s impractical to insist that survivors who have been taught to hate themselves, suddenly turn around and love themselves as a prerequisite to recovery. 

I actually think the opposite is usually what happens: we work our recovery with consistency, even when we don’t feel like it— and, over time, it’s showing up for ourselves again and again that produces and facilitates the emotional experience of self-love. 

That is to say: we usually don’t feel our way into loving behaviors; more often we behave our way into loving feelings. 

Many people get “love” confused with “acceptance.” 

We don’t necessarily have to love ourselves to recover from trauma— and that’s the good news, because many trauma survivors can’t wrap our head around what “self love” would even look like at this point. 

We DO have to accept ourselves— including all the stuff we don’t like, and all the stuff we want to change. 

“Accept” does not imply that we don’t try to change those things we dislike about ourselves. To the contrary: in order to realistically change things about our lives that aren’t working right now, we have to radically accept that they are as they are right now. 

Don’t get up in your head about the “self love” thing. It’s oversold, mostly because it makes for pretty sounding social media posts. 

Will you probably like, and maybe eventually love, yourself more as you work your recovery? Yes— working your recovery is the most realistic path to increased self-esteem that exists. 

But it’s real easy to let whether we do or don’t love ourselves become yet another recovery task that is associated with pressure and shame. 

Don’t let it. It’s not necessary. 

You just focus in on what you have to do, today, to realistically support your recovery and make the journey .01% easier for the “you” of tomorrow. 

That, after all, is a loving behavior. 

drglenndoyle

The how-to’s of self-love and self-acceptance in trauma recovery.

In working our trauma recovery, we have to make the deal with ourselves that ALL of our thoughts and feelings are acceptable. 

We have to commit to not attacking, shaming, punishing or abandoning ourselves over ANYTHING we think or feel. 

Our commitment to self-protection and self-love love has to be radical. Absolute. 

Mind you: we are not always going to FEEL loving toward ourselves. 

We are not always going to FEEL acceptable to ourselves. 

I’m not saying we always need to FEEL accepting or loving toward ourselves. We won’t. We can’t force feelings. 

But acceptance and love aren’t just feelings. They are behaviors— behaviors that comprise the backbone of sustainable trauma recovery. 

What do we DO when we accept someone, wholly? 

We create space for them in our life that is safe— and to which they have access without strings. 

This is what we need to do for ourselves— no questions asked. No exceptions made. 

What we DO when we love someone? 

We nurture them. We are kind to them. We protect them. We give them the benefit of the doubt .

We have their back. 

This is what we need to do for ourselves— no questions asked. No exceptions made.

The biggest threats to our self-love and self-acceptance tend to be things we think or feel. 

Every single day we are going to think and feel things that we judge to be unacceptable, and which we believe make us unlovable. 

If we only feel acceptable or lovable to ourselves when our thoughts and feelings are acceptable and lovable, we are going to develop deep anxiety— and deep shame. 

It’s real hard to work a sustainable trauma recovery when we’re wrestling with deep anxiety and deep shame. 

Why do we get so hard on ourselves about things we think and things we feel? There are many reasons, most of which have to do with our trauma conditioning. We’ve been programmed to echo and deepen our bullies’ and abusers’ attitudes and behaviors toward us. 

We don’t choose our thoughts and feelings— we experience them. And the fact that we don’t choose them often triggers shame for trauma survivors, because we believe we “should” have complete “control” over what we think and feel. 

The fact that we DON’T have complete “control”— or even all that much control, some days— over what we think and feel very often activates old, shame-bound conditioning. 

We don’t have “control” over our thoughts and feelings. We can, over time, develop INFLUENCE over what we think and feel— but that starts with a recognition that we don’t “choose” our thoughts and feelings. 

Our “choices” become relevant in our RESPONSES to what we think and feel— what we do next, AFTER we become aware of a thought or feeling. 

So what does this mean for our daily Recovery Supporting Rituals (RSR’s)?

Make a ritual out of asking the Recovery Supporting Question (RSQ): what would self-acceptance look like, right here, right now? If I radically accepted myself, my thoughts, and my feelings, what would I DO about it? How would I talk to myself? What would would I mentally focus on right here, right now? 

Likewise, an RSQ that can become a useful RSR is: if I loved myself, really loved myself, what would that look like, right here, right now? How would I talk to myself? What would would I do? What would I NOT do? 

Recovery Supporting Questions and Rituals are how we operationalize otherwise abstract concepts like “self acceptance” and “self love.” 

I’m all for feeling acceptance, love, and other warm and fuzzy feelings about ourselves. 

But I’m more interested in how we create and support those experiences through our consistent behavior. 

Easy does it. Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Your recovery is more important.

Your recovery is more important. 

More important than what just happened. 

More important than what happened back then. 

Your recovery is more important than what they say. 

More important than what they think. 

Even more important than what they may or may not do. 

Your recovery is more important than what you feel. I know that may sound strange, but often we might feel as if we can’t do this, as if we don’t deserve this, as if there’s no point to this. 

That’s all trauma conditioning BS (Belief Systems)— and your recovery is more important than trauma BS. 

Your recovery is more important than your grief. I know that might sound strange, too, but we very often experience our grief as overwhelming, and get the idea in our head that we can’t continue on in recovery because our grief is so overwhelming. 

Your grief is important. Your grief matters. Your grief needs to be acknowledged and honored and mourned. 

But your recovery is still more important. 

Your recovery is more important than all of these things, because it’s your recovery that enables you to functionally care about any of these things. 

Your recovery is more important than anything that might come along trying to derail your recovery— and, believe me, there will absolutely be people and events that are going to try, effortfully, to derail your recovery. 

They will try to convince you you “have no choice” but to put your recovery on hold. Put it on the back burner. 

That’s simply not true. 

I don’t care what the person or event is that is trying to convince you to disrespect your recovery — it’s wrong. 

You don’t “have to” pause or give up on your recovery for anybody or anything. 

Your recovery does not take bandwidth away from any relationship or any project you care about. 

That said, your recovery absolutely will take bandwidth away from certain projects and relationships— namely, projects and relationships that are detrimental to your authenticity, safety, or stability. 

Yeah. Your recovery is not consistent with THOSE things— and that’s the good news, actually. 

Your recovery is more important than your past. 

Your recovery is more important than your fear. 

Your fear is real, and, much like your grief, it deserves to be acknowledged with respect and clarity. 

But there is no fear that is worth abandoning your recovery over. 

There is no news that is worth abandoning your recovery over. 

There is no loss, or potential loss, that is worth abandoning your recovery over. 

Even if you’re looking at losing the most important, most treasured, most loved thing in your world, that loss is not worth abandoning your recovery over. 

To the contrary: that loss or potential loss is worth honoring and maintaining your recovery over. 

No reason or excuse or heartache is a “good” reason to abandon your recovery. 

There s no NEED to abandon your recovery. 

Breathe. Blink. Focus. 

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

drglenndoyle

Trauma recovery means living intentionally AF.

Trauma recovery demands that we be very intentional. 

Intentional about our time. About our focus. About our mental “diet.”

We are not going to realistically recover from trauma on autopilot. 

Remember: our autopilot was programmed by trauma. By abusive and neglectful people and institutions. 

If we could live a functional and meaningful life on autopilot, we would have by now. 

But if we’re serous about trauma recovery, we have to take it off autopilot— which is easier said than done. 

When we take our life off of autopilot, we’re forced to be way more intentional. We’re forced to choose our focus. We’re forced to manage our time. 

We’re forced to manage what I call our mental “diet”— what goes in to our head via what we watch and what we read and who we follow on social media. 

Mental “junk food” leads to feeling and functioning about as good emotionally as actual junk food leads to feeling and functioning physically. 

Having to be this intentional about life can be exhausting. 

When survivors struggle with trauma recovery, it’s almost never because we don’t “want” to recover— it’s almost always because we are so. Goddamn. Tired. All. The goddamn. Time. 

I’ll spoil the suspense: there are absolutely going to be times when you and I are just not up to living as intentionally as recovery demands. 

There are absolutely going to be times when we don’t feel like it— and there are going to be times when we are not physically or mentally or spiritually up to it. 

There are going to be times when we resent the hell out of all this super intentional living, and we go back on autopilot out of exhaustion— and maybe even a little spite. 

Then, our trauma-programmed autopilot does its thing— and we wind up where we wind up. 

No shame. It happens to all of us. Most definitely including me. 

What we need to remember is, there’s no shame in being tired. 

There’s no shame in being exhausted, even. 

Trauma recovery is one of the hardest things you and I will ever, ever do. It’s one of the hardest things humans ever do. 

It’s okay to be exhausted. It’s okay to not feel like working your recovery today. It’s not evidence of “cowardice” or “weakness” or anything else Trauma Brain is accusing you of when you have a day when you’re just not feeling this “recovery” thing. 

What we’re shooting for, in trauma recovery, is building up our capacity to live intentionally. 

What we’re shooting for is living intentionally more days than not. Making decisions intentionally more often than not. Day by day, upping the percentage of intentionality with which we live. 

It’s not going to be perfect. And that’s okay. 

Let me repeat that. It’s not going to be perfect— and that’s okay. That’s normal. That’s all part of recovery. 

It’s not going to be perfect— but it’s going to get better. We get better at it. 

We get incrementally more used to it. 

Day by day, we develop the habit of living more and more intentionally— and when I tell you living intentionally is the absolute bedrock of realistic, sustainable recovery, I’m telling you something I believe more than anything else about trauma recovery. 

People often ask me what practical, on the ground trauma recovery looks like— and it’s not an easy question to answer, insofar as the details of everyone’s recovery tend to look a little, or a lot, different.

But one thing I can tell you is that nobody recovers without getting good and intentional about their focus, their time, and their mental “diet.” 

Living intentionally doesn’t solve all our problems. But it’s necessary to solving any of our problems. 

drglenndoyle

Why I chose– and choose– recovery.

I would not have chosen trauma. Or addiction, for that matter. 

I would not have chosen it for you, and I would not have chosen it for me. 

Your mileage may vary, but I don’t believe “things happen for a reason.” 

(It’s perfectly okay if you do— I just don’t happen to believe that.) 

I don’t believe God, or anyone else, “gives” us challenges to “test” us. 

(Again, your mileage may vary— it’s perfect okay if you believe this; I jus don’t happen to.)

I think certain things happen to us just because we got enormously, extraordinarily unlucky. 

We were in the wrong place, at the wrong time, around the wrong people. We don’t ask for any of it, we don’t “choose” it, and most of the time we could not realistically opt out of it. 

I don’t believe we “chose” our parents, or what happened to us in this lifetime via “karma.” 

Here’s the thing, though: I understand why many people do believe all of those things. 

I completely understand the urge to try to give our trauma meaning. To try to convince ourselves that we somehow “caused” or “deserved” what happened to us. 

The alternative is truly awful: that terrible things can happen to innocent people, and we can’t control our vulnerability to certain kinds of trauma. 

Many people, including me, HATE that idea. We would rather feel guilty than helpless— so we bend over backwards trying to devise ways we somehow “caused” or “deserved” our trauma. 

I get it. But  don’t believe it. Not anymore, anyway. 

I don’t think God “tests” us with pain or challenges. And I definitely don’t believe we “have” to create or find meaning in our pain. 

We don’t “have” to do anything, necessarily, in response to our pain— including work a recovery. No one reading this “has” to work a recovery.  I would never suggest they do. 

All that said: I choose to work a recovery. 

And I choose to find— or, rather, create— meaning from my pain. 

This is not toxic positivity bullsh*t. This is what I choose to do with my pain, my trauma, my history. Your mileage may vary. 

I decided, at a certain point, that I was not going to waste my pain. 

The pain I endured may have been as random and meaningless as any pain that is inflicted on anyone, anywhere— but I decided that I am going to use it. 

How? By working my recovery. 

Working our recovery demands we get serious about things like values and goals and accountability in ways that people who aren’t working a recovery program will never, ever understand. 

Working a recovery means we wake up every day and choose recovery. It means no more going on autopilot. 

No more passively accepting what somebody else wants or expects from me. 

No more letting my mood, as opposed to my goals and values, determine my behavior. 

Recovery is how I decided to manufacture meaning from my pain. 

No one forced it on me. 

I could have kept on keeping on. Though at the rate I was going, I probably wouldn’t be alive to write these words if I’d done that. 

No one “has” to create meaning from their trauma by working a recovery. 

But it’s a choice we can make. 

No matter how exhausted we are, no matter how alone we feel, no matter how wounded we are. It’s not a matter of “character” or “intelligence” or any bullsh*t like that. 

Our trauma may not have had any rhyme or reason or meaning. 

But our recovery can. 

drglenndoyle

There are no “failures;” there are only results.

A lot of trauma recovery is starting over, and a lot of trauma recovery is reinventing ourselves. 

How many times? As many times as it takes. 

Trauma has this way of trying to convince us that we are limited in the number of times we can try again. 

That might be true in some specific contexts— but, in the grand scheme? We never actually run out of chances to work our recovery. 

That thing, where our trauma conditioning tries to convince us we’re “done” because we’ve “failed” a certain number of times? That’s just our trauma conditioning fishing for a way to discourage us and get us to quit. 

These “failures?” Aren’t even usually failures. Though, I must confess, I’m not an authority on the subject of “failure,” because I don’t actually believe in it. 

To me, there, are no “failures.” There are only results. 

They may not be the results we prefer, or the results we expect, or the results that are consistent with our larger goals— but we always “succeed” in producing a result. 

Trauma Brain, however, very much wants you and me to believe in “failure.” 

It wants us to believe that a bad day is way more than a bad day— it wants us to believe that a bad day is “clearly” indicative of the fact that we’re doing recovery “wrong.” 

Believe me, there are lots of ways to “fail” in trauma recovery— if you believe in that kind of thing. 

We’re gonna have days when our mood sucks. 

We’re gonna have days when our motivation is zero. 

We’re gonna have days when we cry in situations where we’d very much prefer not to cry. 

And, sure, we could process all of those as “failures.” But to me it’s just not that straightforward. 

There are lots of reasons why our mood might suck, or our motivation is zero, or the water works happened to be turned on in inopportune times or places today— and chances are we don’t actually have perfect control over all those reasons. 

But even if we do have some control over some of those reasons, and even if we could have made adjustments to how we managed our feelings or responses, I still don’t consider those “failures.” They’re results. They’re data. 

No more; no less. 

Your milage may vary about all of this. Maybe you really do believe in the concept of “failure.” The question to ask, always, is: “does the belief or way of thinking about this support or chip away at my recovery?” 

Most of the “failures” we think are devastating in trauma recovery are setbacks due to moments of exhaustion or confusion. Many of those setbacks are the result of a specific skill deficit in a specific moment. 

They do not represent a generalized “failure” in recovering from trauma. 

If you’re reading this right now, even if you’re coming off of an experience of “failure”— or, as I would call it, unexpected or unwanted results— you’re still in the game. 

I know this, because you have eyes to read this and a brain to decode it and another day to work your recovery. 

How we explain what happens to us, matters. The language we use matters. The metaphors we use matter. The labels we affix to unexpected or unwanted results, matter. 

If you’re still breathing, there is no “failure” catastrophic enough to disqualify you from starting over and working your recovery today. You don’t even have to wait until tomorrow. You can work your recovery for the rest of today. 

Oh, and one more thing: Trauma Brain is very likely absolutely howling at you as you read this. 

That should be an indication that we’re on to something recovery supporting here. 

Breathe; blink; focus; and do the next right thing. 

drglenndoyle

Recovery is our lifeline, not our burden.

You can think about all this in terms of, “I have to work my trauma recovery every single f*cking day for the rest of my life”— but I wouldn’t recommend it. 

Rather, I would recommend you think in terms of, “every day, for the rest of my life, the tools, skills, and philosophies I’ve developed in my recovery are there for me. I’m not alone in this.” 

Trauma Brain is going to try to get you to think of recovery as something you “have” to do— but which would you would’t choose to do if you didn’t “have” to. 

Here’s the thing: no one “has” to work a trauma recovery. 

We do “have” to somehow deal with what’s happened to us in our life, and we do “have” to somehow manage the feelings, memories, and reactions we’re experiencing. We don’t get a choice about any of that. 

But we do get a choice about whether or not to work a recovery. No one can “make” us. 

The only difference will be whether we’re trying to handle the overwhelming symptoms and struggles of trauma on our own, with no plan or coherent approach— or whether we’re meeting our symptoms with a blueprint, a realistic game plan, and tools for the task that we’re constantly upgrading. 

I know which alternative I prefer. Because for a long time I tried to wing it, and that got me exactly where it got me. 

As long as we think of recovery as a burden, instead of an opportunity, we are going to resent it. 

The truth is, trauma recovery is not a burden. Trauma is a burden. 

Flashbacks are a burden. 

Body memories are a burden. 

Dissociative splitting that interferes with our ability to function and relate is a burden. 

Recovery is nothing or less than a commitment to meeting our symptoms and needs with radical presence, radical compassion, and a realistic acknowledgement that we are, and probably always will be, vulnerable in certain ways. 

You don’t want to go into a fight not having trained, not having scouted out your opponent, and not having devised a game plan for when sh*t goes sideways. 

That’s what trauma recovery is: your training program for the fight that is your life. 

I would not wish traumatic experiences on anyone. If I had my druthers, my job as a trauma specialist wouldn’t exist. I’d be making a living helping people quit smoking or something. 

But: none of us, not you reading this nor me writing this, had the option of trauma not existing, did we? 

None of us asked for this. The very fact that any of us have to think about the words “trauma” or “recovery” is utterly unfair. 

We can’t change that. 

We can’t deny or disown the utter f*cking unfairness of all of this— nor can we deny or disown the reality of it. 

Trauma recovery is about embracing reality, because we have things to do with our life that have nothing to do with trauma. 

We have relationships that we want to deepen. 

We have have careers we want to advance. 

Some of us even have a world to change. 

If we’re going to realistically do any of that, we need a coherent, effective set of tools, skills, and philosophies that guide how we respond to our trauma symptoms. 

That s to say: we need to work a recovery. 

How long will we need to work our trauma recovery? I honestly don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to live my life without learning into a recovery paradigm for my own safety and stability. 

Your mileage may vary. But I’m not sure “how long will have I have to do this” is a particularly useful question. 

Instead, maybe try, “do I need to work my recovery today?”

In my experience, if you need to ask, the answer is very often, “yes.” 

And that’s okay. 

Recovery is not your burden. Recovery is your lifeline. 

Don’t get it twisted. 

drglenndoyle

Recovery isn’t recovery unless it’s realistic & sustainable.

Something that holds many survivors back in trauma recovery is, we can’t imagine a recovery that is consistent with the life we’re living now. 

I know, we’re working a trauma recovery to create a new life, that doesn’t particularly resemble the life we’re living now. 

But in the short term, if we can only envision trauma recovery as something that entails a drastic departure from our current reality, it’s likely going to affect our levels of motivation and belief. 

We’ve been around long enough to know that dramatic leaps rarely happen. They do happen, sometimes— but they tend to be the exception, not the norm. 

We’ve been around long enough to know that tomorrow is probably going to look a lot like today. Much like today looked a lot like yesterday. 

In trauma recovery, we are always swimming upstream against hopelessness and our vulnerability to becoming overwhelmed. Trying to envision our recovery as a whole new life, entirely incompatible with or removed from what we’re living now, makes us especially vulnerable to both. 

This is is why I sound like a broken record when it comes to taking baby steps. 

This is why I sound like a broken record when it comes to focusing on .01% shifts. 

This is why I sound like a broken record when it comes to setting recovery goals so small they feel stupid— goals so small it’d almost be harder NOT to achieve them. 

The truth is, I very much want a dramatically different life for you. That’s the only reason I do this work— because I love watching people completely remake themselves and their lives. 

But I want that transformation to be realistic. I want it to actually happen. I don’t want it to remain a fantasy that sounds awesome and is temporarily motivating— but which evaporates when it’s exposed to the pressures and obligations of our current life. 

Something we know very well in the behavioral sciences is that change that takes us dramatically out of our comfort zone is usually unsustainable without a massive level of support. 

I don’t know about you, but I don’t know many trauma survivors working our recovery who have a “massive level of support” handy. 

So: when I say start small, I’m not just talking about making changes you already have the strength and skill to make, although that’s obviously part of the equation. 

I say start small to avoid freaking out your nervous system. 

(If you’re a survivor working your recovery, chances are your nervous system exists at a baseline level of “freaked out”— we don’t particularly need to add to that with unrealistic expectations of recovery, you know?)

What I want for you in your recovery is to make consistent, manageable changes over time. I want, in six months, you to be able to look back on changes that you’ve made in how you think, feel, and behave, and realize, huh, it’s been six months— I didn’t think I could keep any of that up for six DAYS. 

What we think, feel, and do has a lot to do with neural pathways that have been shaped and conditioned over time. If we try to rip out every neural network we have all at once, our nervous system is going to respond to that feeling of chaos and unfamiliarity by reverting back to and doubling down on its old programming. 

That is to say, trying to make too many changes, too fast, not only won’t serve our trauma recovery— it’ll likely set us back.

Again, I don’t know about you, but I don’t have time to be set back in my trauma recovery. 

So: if you want to make radical changes in how you think, feel, and behave in the long term, I’m gonna ask you to make teeny, tiny, barely noticeable— but very consistent and very purposeful— changes in how you talk to yourself, direct your mental focus, breathe, and use your body day by day. 

This is how we realistically rebuild ourselves and our lives. 

This is how we sustainably recover. 

This is how we actually make it happen.