drglenndoyle

Why are trauma survivors so hard on ourselves?

Why is it so hard for trauma survivors to give ourselves a break? 

Why is our first instinct always, always, always to beat the sh*t out of ourselves? 

It’s not because we love it. 

It’s usually because we’ve been CONDITIONED to do it— and to be afraid of what would happen if we didn’t do it. 

Our self-aggression very often happens so instinctively, so reflexively, that we don’t even know we’re doing it much of the time. 

Many of my patients tell me they don’t even realize how hard they’re being on themselves until I have them track their self talk for a day, or even a couple hours. 

But even after we realize how hard we’re being on ourselves, we get anxious when we think of NOT being so mean to ourselves. 

We get to thinking that we “need” to be hard on ourselves— or else we won’t be “motivated.” 

We get to thinking not being so hard on ourselves will result in us getting “soft.” 

We get to thinking we “have” to be so hard on ourselves, because “self-compassion” is this touchy feely concept that isn’t REALLY important— that “real” adults talk to themselves harshly. 

“That’s just the way it is,” we tell ourselves. 

We might even tell ourselves that OTHER people might “deserve” more compassionate treatment— but not us. 

We deserve the “tough love,” maybe minus the love. 

That’s what our conditioning tells us. And most CPTSD survivors have been conditioned, over and over, year after year, to talk to ourselves in very specific, very harsh ways. 

If we stay on autopilot, we don’t stand a chance against that conditioning. That programming. 

The good news is, we don’t have to stay on autopilot. 

The bad news, or mixed news, anyway, is that going off autopilot is a b*tch. 

It’s tiring. It’s annoying. It’s a distraction from the other sh*t we have to do in our life, like work, raising kids, and caring for pets. 

Our brain will keep trying to drag us back to our old conditioning, our old programming, because that’s the pattern it knows. That’s the pattern that is etched into our nervous system. That’s the path of least resistance. 

Working our recovery means turning away from that familiar path of least resistance. 

That’s why I say trauma recovery requires courage and determination and focus that most non-survivors can’t even fathom. 

We can change our habitual self talk, as surely as we can unlearn any old way of being and learn any new way of being. Humans unlearn and learn new patterns every day, every year. 

Once upon a time it was the most natural, normal pattern to go to the bathroom in our diapers. In order to learn to use the actual toilet, we had to change everything that was “natural” to us once upon a time through repeated practice. 

Changing our brain in trauma recovery is no different. 

We’re just a little older now, and saddled with more BS— Belief Systems— than we were then. 

drglenndoyle

Does recovery “have” to be the most important thing ?

Something that was, and is, hard for me to wrap my head around in my own trauma and addiction recovery is, recovery simultaneously does and does not have to be the most important thing in my life at any given time. 

Many survivors struggle with recovery because it feels like this overwhelming, all consuming project— and it surely is. 

Done right, trauma and/or addiction recovery will absolutely touch and inform everything and anything we do. 

We do not get days— or even hours— “off” from being survivors and/or addicts in recovery. 

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it hundreds of times: trauma and addiction recovery aren’t just about trauma and/or addiction: recovery is actually about succeeding in life. 

It’s about self awareness. And time management. And goal setting. And self-care. You know, those things that every truly successful human being in the history of the species has more or less figured out. 

So, yes— the tools we develop to recover from trauma and/or addiction will and do absolutely serve us in everything we do, whether or not it’s directly related to our recovery proper. 

That said: I, and probably you, have things we want to do in our lives that have nothing to do with recovery. 

We have goals that go beyond safety and stability and sobriety. 

We have, or want, relationships that do not always revolve around recovery. 

We want to create times and spaces in which we can functionally forget that this big project called “recovery” is even a thing. 

And all that is legit. 

Make no mistake: I do not recommend trying to “forget” you’re a survivor or addict in recovery. That’s not going to end well. (Ask me how I know.) 

But I understand wanting and needing projects in your life that do not center recovery. 

Here’s the thing: I believe we do recovery specifically so that we DON’T have to focus on trauma or addiction 24/7. 

We’re not doing recovery just to do recovery. 

We’re doing recovery because we want to live. 

And the irony about that is, the more we prioritize recovery, the greater our opportunities to live actually are. 

Here’s the way I’ve come to think of it: recovery does not have to be the subject of your every waking thought. 

Recovery does, however, need to become the lens through which we see the world. 

All the other stuff in our life, all our other goals, all our decisions about time and energy management— we have to see them all in the context of recovery. 

Think of recovery as a project, yes— but maybe more importantly, as a tool. 

A master key. 

A key that will allow doors to open to us that do not have to do with the key, per se— but which, without the key, would remain closed to us. 

So— do we have to think about recovery every day? Yes— but only in the way that we “have” to think about any philosophical lens through which we see the world every day.

Recovery does have to be a non-negotiable in our life. We will surely die if we kid ourselves about that. 

And also: our trauma and addiction recovery does not have to become our identity. 

It becomes the TOOL through which we can safely and authentically express and explore our identity. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

CPTSD recovery and others’ reflexive negativity.

Spoiler: you are going to run into plenty of people out there who want to do nothing but criticize. 

You’re going to run into plenty of people who will have nothing constructive to contribute to your trauma recovery journey. 

You’re going to run into plenty of people who can and will do nothing but project their own conflicts and history onto everything you say or do. 

Not “maybe.” It will happen. 

I wish everybody we meet would be understanding and supportive of our trauma recovery journey— but they won’t. 

I wish everyone who felt the need to insert their voice into our trauma recovery efforts used that voice to be supportive or, at the very least, raise questions in constructive ways— but they won’t. 

What’s actually going to happen is, some people we meet along the way will be negative. 

Not “negative” in the sense that “everything that isn’t blindly, over the top enthusiastic is ‘negative;’” but negative in the sense of, they will find something in literally everything to criticize. 

Don’t get me wrong: everybody is entitled to their own attitude and their own energy. Neither you nor I get to tell them how to conduct their life or respond to what they’re experiencing today. 

And we definitely don’t need the people in our life to be unwaveringly, unrealistically, or toxically “positive.” Toxic positivity, in fact, can be a b*tch of a trigger for many trauma survivors. 

This isn’t even about “negative” versus “positive” people, per se. 

This is about who we choose to let into our circle and let into our head in trauma recovery. 

Trauma recovery is the hardest thing most of us will ever do in our lifetime. 

Most of us will feel overwhelmed by what trauma recovery asks of us at multiple points in our journey. 

Many of us will struggle with feelings of hopelessness and helplessness along the way— the voice of Trauma Brain telling us we can’t do this, and we shouldn’t even bother trying. 

While we don’t need toxically positive people in our life to help balance out Trauma Brain’s BS (Belief Systems), we do need to limit, to the extent we’re able, our exposure to people whose reflexive negativity reinforces Trauma Brain’s propaganda about everything we “can’t” do. 

We need to realize that many people’s pessimism about whether trauma recovery is possible or realistic for us is rooted in their own pain and past experiences, and has little or nothing to do with us. 

I believe, strongly, in having people in our life and inner circle who will be real with us and tell us the truth. 

But part of being real and truth telling is being real and telling the truth about what we CAN do and what IS possible for us— not just the rough stuff. 

The further I get into my own recovery, the less patience I have for people who are only here to complain and blame and shame. 

Most of us trauma survivors have had enough complaining, blaming, and shaming from the people who hurt us and the people who enabled them. 

We need people around us now who will support us in undoing the bleak, toxic conditioning that was programmed into us over years. 

It would be great if everyone we met fit that description. 

Unfortunately, they won’t. 

Remember: that has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with them. 

Mental focus, along with self-talk and physiology, is one of the core components of every trauma recovery tool that works. 

To the extent that you can today— even if it’s just a little— leverage your mental focus in ways that realistically support your recovery. Whether or not the people around you understand or care what you’re doing or what you need. 

drglenndoyle

The lies trauma and addiction tell us.

Trauma and addiction make us vulnerable to believing lies. 

What kind of lies? Lies about ourselves, mostly. 

Trauma makes it very easy to believe that we are worthless. 

That we are powerless. 

That we are helpless. Hopeless. 

Addiction makes it very easy to believe that we have few, or no, options. 

Addiction makes it very easy to believe we “have” to do certain things or consume certain things, in response to certain thoughts or feeling states. 

People talk about trauma as if it’s something that happened “in the past”— but many trauma survivors don’t experience it that way. 

Yes, trauma is something that happened in the past, or it might also be happening in the present— but the trauma responses we struggle with are a reflection of how what happened to us wormed its way into our beliefs and reflexes. 

People talk about addiction as if it’s this “character flaw”— but, in my view, this isn’t a particularly accurate or useful way to think about it. 

Yes, addiction has to do with our decisions and values— what may be said to define our “character”— but the addiction cravings and patterns we struggle with are a reflection of how the experience of addiction has wormed its way into our beliefs and reflexes. 

I’m sometimes asked why I so often discuss trauma and addiction in many of the same terms— and the answer is not just, “because I struggle with both.” 

The real reason is, I have never, ever, seen a case of complex trauma that has not also had significant symptomatology of addiction— and I have really never, ever seen a case of addiction that has not been fundamentally rooted in trauma. 

Trauma and addiction conditioning are entwined with each other. They mirror and feed and enable and support each other— especially when it comes to the lies both tell us about ourselves. 

The truth is, almost none of whet trauma or addiction condition us to believe about ourselves is true— but it all feels very, very true. 

Trauma and addiction make us very vulnerable to what cognitive therapists call “emotional reasoning”— the belief that if something FEELS very true, it “must” be true. 

Most of us hear that and are like, I mean, of course it’s not true that something “must” be true just because it FEELS true— but when it comes to things trauma and addiction whisper into our ear? We are complete suckers for it. 

We often can’t even imagine challenging the sh*t trauma and addiction tell us, in our own head, all day— because, well, it just FEELS true. 

Emotional reasoning. It’s sneaky, and it’s sticky. 

The reason why neither trauma nor addiction recovery is simple or straightforward is because it’s more than just “don’t do that.” 

Trauma and addiction beliefs are constantly gnawing at our self-esteem, our relationships, our motivation, and even our physical health. If we could just “choose” to “opt out” of them, we would— but that’s not how beliefs change. 

Beliefs only change when they are consistently, effortfully challenged and reality checked. 

Beliefs change when we construct and reinforce an alternative set of beliefs— in this case, recovery beliefs— to swap out for them. 

Beliefs change when we finally wrap out head around ideas like “acceptance” and “surrender” as tools of change— not staying stuck. 

Make no mistake: trauma and addiction are some of the most panful things that human beings experience— and recovery from trauma and addiction is one of the hardest projects many humans ever attempt. 

(Ask me how I know.) 

And but also: meaningful, sustainable recovery from both trauma and addiction is absolutely possible— if we prioritize recognizing and effectively challenging the lies our conditioning tells us every day to keep us hating and harming ourselves. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

You are not alone in this.

There’s no denying it— trauma and addiction recovery can be incredibly lonely. 

They’re not lonely because we somehow don’t “deserve” support— we do deserve support. 

They’re not lonely because we are unlovable or unlikeable— although Trauma Brain will definitely try to tell us exactly that. 

No, trauma and addiction recovery tend to be lonely because trauma and addiction tend to be lonely. 

It’s ironic— the experiences of both trauma and addiction are incredibly common. More unbelievably common than many people reading this would even believe. 

And yet, both trauma and addiction are extremely private, individual experiences— no two trauma survivors or addicts have exactly the same experience, the same wounds, the same needs.

Trauma and addiction are, by definition, painful— and no two humans carry quite the same pain. 

Consequently, no two survivors or addicts require the same recovery resources. There is no “one size fits all” approach to trauma or addiction recovery. 

(This is one of the main reasons I do not offer super specific advice or recovery programs on my social media— because for the hundreds of thousands of survivors reading my content, every single one needs and deserves an individualized path that I could not mass produce if I wanted to.)

This means we’re functionally doing recovery on our own— even if we do happen to have the support of a therapist, sponsor, or community behind us. 

Trauma and addiction recovery are among the most private— and, subsequently, most lonely— things we’ll ever attempt. 

And make no mistake: that loneliness can get to us. 

There are times when we’re going to feel as if we’re the only survivor or addict on the planet carrying the pain we’re carrying or working the recovery we’re working— and, in a sense, that’s true. 

No one IS carrying our specific pain, or called to work our specific recovery. 

That can be lonely. 

But it does not mean we’re alone. 

No one knows our specific pain, and no one is working exactly the recovery we need to work to stay safe and stable— but there are literally millions who feel just as alone and just as overwhelmed as we do, in any given moment. 

Throughout history, there have been hundreds of millions— literally!— of survivors and addicts who have also believed they, too, were all alone in their pain and in their struggle. 

Trauma Brain and the Addiction Beast have this way of convincing us that we are the first, last, or only person in the history of the universe to struggle with this loneliness— but it just isn’t true. 

History is full of survivors and addicts who have worked successful recoveries. 

Trauma survivors and addicts in recovery have been figuring out how to take back their lives, survive and thrive, long before there was a mental health field. 

I predict that trauma survivors and addicts in recovery will be figuring out how to take back their lives, survive, and thrive, long after the mental health field is no longer a thing, too. 

Even if you are lonely in this fight— you are not alone. 

You are part of a tradition and siblinghood of survivors and addicts in recovery that reaches across the globe, back into history, and far into the future. 

You are one of us. 

Your pain and your recovery needs are unquestionably unique— but you are one of us. 

And it’s because you’re one of us that I can confidently say: you can do this. No matter what Trauma Brain or the Addiction Beast are telling you at this second: you can do this. 

Yes, recovery is a lonely project. 

But you are never alone. 

drglenndoyle

“Struggling” does not equal “failing.”

Struggling is not “failing.” 

Being in pain is not “failing.” 

Being ambivalent about recovery is not “failing.” 

Being unsure what the next step is is not “failing.” 

Those are all normal things that happen in trauma and addiction recovery. Every survivor or addict in recovery is going to experience versions of all of them. 

We don’t need to overreact to them. 

We don’t want to make judgments about our entire recovery arc when we experience them. 

Our old programming, however, is very much going to want us to believe anything negative we experience in recovery is a “failure.” 

Our old programming wants us to believe this, not because it’s true, but because it really, really wants us to give up— and it knows how sensitive we are to the sense that we are “failing.” 

Many of us have been told, straight up, that we’re a “failure.” 

Many more of us have been made to feel like we’re a failure, even if it hasn’t been explicitly stated. 

The culture does a fantastic— that is, horrible— job of making us feel like a failure when we’re not succeeding to its standard or conforming to its norms. 

Media and social media in particular are full of images and stories about people who “succeed.” 

Media and social media LOVE to bombard us with images of people who are conventionally attractive, economically successful, and/or talented in their field— and they invite us to compare ourselves to them. 

Turns out, most humans feel pretty sh*tty when compared to hot, rich celebrities. 

But trauma survivors also tend to compare ourselves, not just to celebrities, but also to the other human beings around us— who we invariably imagine to be feeling and functioning far “better” than we are. 

Much of the time we really have no idea how anyone else is really feeling or functioning— but nonetheless Trauma Brain is right there, cheerfully listing all the ways we’re falling short in comparison to our neighbor across the hall. 

It’s important we understand that Trauma Brian will never run out of ways to unfavorably compare us to literally any other human we encounter— and also that we understand, this is mostly propaganda. 

Don’t get me wrong: we survivors and addicts in recovery absolutely do experience comparably more pain and heartache than many people who have not been wounded as we have. It’s not a competition, but that is a fact. 

But that doesn’t mean we are “failing.” 

That doesn’t mean we are “hopeless.” 

That doesn’t mean we’re doing recovery “wrong.” 

And it certainly doesn’t mean we are “weak,” “stupid,” or any of the other colorful pejoratives Trauma Brain likes to toss at us when we’re down. 

Even being ambivalent about recovery, or for that matter staying alive, is not an indicator of “failure.” 

It’s an indicator of exactly what it’s an indicator of: we’re struggling. 

Of course we’re struggling. This is recovery. 

If you’re alive to read this, you’re not done. You haven’t “failed.” You haven’t “screwed up” your recovery. 

Even if you’re at a point in your recovery arc where the thing to do is press the “reset” button and functionally start over, that’s not a failure— that’s a necessary adjustment. 

Struggling does not equal “failing.” 

No matter how Trauma Brain tries to spin it.

drglenndoyle

The price of admission to recovery.

One of my biggest struggles in both trauma and addiction recovery has been my reluctance to feel like a beginner. 

Because, spoiler: in any flavor of recovery, all of us are going to feel like a beginner— and not just in the beginning of our journey. 

Trauma and addiction recovery is one of the most intense, ongoing learning experiences known to humans. 

Recovery requires a level of honesty and openness that most humans never have to think about. And don’t get me wrong— I’m very glad that many humans don’t need to think about the things we survivors in recovery need to think about every day. 

Recovery requires that level of honesty and openness explicitly and emphatically. We can’t half-ass either the honesty or the openness. Recovery simply does not work otherwise. 

Why is honesty so important to recovery? Simply put: trauma and addiction lie. 

They lie most frequently to us, about us. 

Trauma and addiction lie to us about who we are, what we’re all about, and what we “deserve.” 

Trauma and addiction lie to is about what w can and can’t do, and about whether we are worth the hassle that goes along with working a recovery. 

The only true antidote to the caliber and consistency of lies trauma and addiction tell us, is radical, uncompromising truth. Self-honesty. 

Self-honesty can be really hard for trauma survivors, because it means admitting that we were, and are, helpless at certain points— and we hate, hate, hate feeling helpless. 

Most of the lies trauma survivors and addicts tell ourselves, in fact, are to avoid feeling helpless. 

We would MUCH rather feel guilty or “bad” than feel helpless— so we tell ourselves stories about how all of this is our fault, and we “deserve” to suffer, and we “can’t” recover anyway, and we’re “the exception” to the rule that all humans deserve safety and dignity…and..and..and…

It’s all BS. Belief Systems. But also, you know. Bullsh*t. 

Why is openness so important to trauma and addiction recovery? 

Because so much of what we have to say to ourselves, focus on, and do in trauma recovery is going to feel wildly unfamiliar. 

We have been conditioned to NOT say fair, realistic, supportive things to ourselves. We have been conditioned to NOT focus on strengths and possibilities and solutions. We have been conditioned to NOT do things that will support our safety and stability. 

Thus, doing the recovery stuff is gong to feel awkward. We’re barely going to know how to even do it, and we’re sure as hell not going to feel comfortable and competent doing it. 

That is: we’re constantly going to feel like a beginner. Especially after we’ve relapsed and we’re ending to pivot back to our recovery path. 

That’s been my hang-up. I HATE feeling like a beginner. I want to feel like a Jedi, not a padawan. Like a master, not a novice. 

Here’s the thing I’ve learned, though: masters BECOME masters not despite, but because, of their willingness to embrace being students. Beginners. 

Stuff we avoid because we don’t feel competent at, we’ll NEVER get competent at. We don’t get competent through avoidance. 

I can tell you something I’ve definitively learned, as someone with a reasonable amount of experience in recovery, and reasonable experience running marathons: the most advanced people you meet in recovery and the most fit runners you meet out on the course are never, ever impressed with their own level of skill. 

I’ve come to understand that getting up in my own head about my supposed “expertise” is a huge red flag for my recovery. 

If we’re doing recovery right, we’re always going to feel like a beginner— and we’ll come to understand that as the good news. 

Honesty and openness are not luxuries in trauma recovery. They are the price of admission. 

And it’s a price that is emphatically worth it. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Our strengths are real, and they count.

Our strengths are real, and they count. 

Our vulnerabilities are real, and they matter, too— but most people reading this don’t need validation of our vulnerabilities. 

Chances are we’ve had our vulnerabilities laid out for us in excruciating detail, for years. 

In fact, chances are we’ve had our vulnerabilities amplified and elaborated upon for us— often by the very people who should have been helping us see and understand our strengths. 

It’s staggering how often complex trauma survivors reach adulthood with innumerable experiences of their limitations and vulnerabilities being emphasized and fixated upon— but very few, if any, experiences of their strengths being identified and developed. 

A big part of the damage complex trauma inflicts upon us is, it keeps us distracted with survival instead of doing the things we would otherwise do to develop who we are. 

So much of our early lifespan supposed to be occupied by figuring out who we are, what we’re all about, and what we do well. 

We’re supposed to have the support of attentive, non-toxic adults as we do this— because we’re literal children, we have no way of knowing how to do any of it. 

Growing up we ONLY have the feedback from our environment to inform our beliefs about ourselves. 

As children, we’re not in the position to reality test what the people and situations we’re exposed to “teach” us about ourselves.

We don’t have the capacity— or the safety— to arrive at conclusions like “what they’re saying or doing is about them, not me.” 

Or “what they told me about me isn’t true.” 

Or “I don’t deserve what they are doing to me.” 

Not only do we not have the capacity or the safety to realty test those things when we’re children— many of us were told, explicitly, that what we were told and what we were feeling WAS our fault. 

Many abuse survivors believe our abuse was our fault, not just because that’s how it felt, but because it’s what we were TOLD— often by the people in our lives who were, in our world, the ultimate arbiters of “truth” or “reality.” The adults around us. Our caretakers. 

So we arrive in adulthood truly believing all the destructive, toxic messages about ourselves that we were fed growing up. We internalize those messages, and put them on repeat. 

Those messages become what I call “Trauma Brain”— and Trauma Brain becomes our baseline. 

Messages that contradict what Trauma Brain tells us— such as the fact that we have strengths that are just as real an important as our vulnerabilities— don’t resonate. Not because they’re untrue— but because they’re unfamiliar. 


They don’t feel “right.” 

Here’s the thing, though: our strengths really, really matter. 

Why? Because it’s our strengths that we’re going to build on as we design our trauma recovery and our new life. 

We can’t “build down.” We can only build up. So we need to be clear and real about our strengths— even if and when Trauma Brain is telling us we have no strengths that “count.” 

As you may imagine, this involves a certain amount of what we call in Twelve Step recovery “acting as if.” 

I don’t see “acting as if” as “fake it till you make it,” exactly, though some people use that language to describe it, too. 

(I don’t like “fake it till you make it” because I don’t think there’s anything “fake” about acknowledging our strengths— but I understand why people us that phrase. It FEELS fake— until it doesn’t.)

Don’t believe you have strengths that matter? Act as if you do. 

Ask yourself the Recovery Supporting Question (RSQ): if I HAD strengths, what would they be— hypothetically? 

Give yourself something to build up. Give yourself something to develop. 

Just like we can’t regulate emotions we deny exist, we can’t build on strengths we don’t acknowledge— even hypothetically. 

Our strengths matter. 

There is no one reading this who made it this far without tremendous strength and skill. 

Maybe you don’t believe that right now, and I get it. 

Don’t sweat it. I’ll believe it enough for both of us until you’re ready to get on board. 

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.