drglenndoyle

Trauma & “drama.”

There are many ways the culture tries, effortfully, to deny and disown the experiences of trauma survivors. 

One of the most frustrating of these ways is to refer to survivors expressing ourselves as “drama.” 

“Drama” is a radioactive word in our culture when referring to interpersonal dynamics. 

We all want to avoid being that “dramatic” person. 

We hear the word “drama,” and we are immediately exhausted and annoyed. 

There is this cultural narrative that some people are just “dramatic.” They make too big a deal out of things. They’re “oversensitive.” Everything is a a “thing” with them. 

Is it any wonder that the word “drama” gets flung at trauma survivors, if the goal is to silence or shame us? 

Here’s the thing: many trauma survivors have been through things that most of the world doesn’t believe actually happen. 

Many survivors have endured situations that most people assume only happen in movies. 

The actual, true stories of many survivors are, objectively, “dramatic”— not in the sense that they are overblown or pretentious, but in the realty that they involve stores of literal survival against daunting odds. 

It’s also the case that many survivors want absolutely nothing to do with being acknowledge for the courage, grit, or resilience they had to possess to just make it through. 

That is: we don’t want to be associated with the objective, heroic “drama” of our story. 

Thus, we are particularly sensitive to being associated with “drama.” 

Are trauma survivors sometimes highly sensitive or reactive? Absolutely. You would be too, if you were fielding the powerful fight, fight, freeze, fawn, or flop trauma responses that jack up our nervous systems 24/7. 

But people who don’t understand what trauma does to the human nervous system aren’t going to see that reactivity for what it is: an expression of injury, not a draw toward interpersonal drama. 

In addition to all this, trauma survivors often experience deep ambivalence about seeking support. We’ve often conditioned to conflate support seeking with manipulative attention seeking— usually by people who want us seeking neither support nor attention. 

Our abusers and bullies have often worked hard to keep us quiet about our experiences and our needs— thus they’ve quite purposefully tried to make us feel gross about seeking any kind of support. 

They know the very last thing we want is to be seen as manipulating or seeking attention— and they’re right. Thus, this conflation between support seeking and manipulative attention seeking is an extremely effective tactic to keep us from seeking any kind of visibility around our needs. 

All of which is to say: when people roll their eyes at the “drama” supposedly engendered by trauma survivors seeking support, they’re reinforcing a shame-based trope that keeps many, many survivors from reaching out for resources they deserve and need. 

I’ve never been fond of “they’re just dramatic” as a way of dismissing another person. 

Are there people out there who create interpersonal chaos for their own purposes? Sure. But if we’re going to call them out on that behavior, we can just call them out— we don’t have to feed into the cultural trope of the “drama queen” who shouldn’t be taken seriously. 

The more we stigmatize “drama,” the less accessible support and safety is for trauma survivors. 

Shaming “drama” plays right into the hands of bullies and abusers who count on our disdain of “drama” to keep us from listening to and supporting victims. 

Abuse survivors are less likely to come forward if they believe their experiences are going to be met with skepticism about whether they’re just “being dramatic.” 

If we really want to create a trauma informed culture, we should reconsider the use of “dramatic” as a pejorative. 

drglenndoyle

Self compassion is an irreplaceable trauma recovery tool, not a touchy feely abstraction.

In my experience, the kind of self-compassion called for in trauma recovery isn’t especially the touchy-feely kind. 

Which suits most trauma survivors just fine. We’re not particularly into that touchy feely stuff, at least when it comes to our own recovery from trauma. 

If there’s anything trauma survivors tend to hate, it’s that trope that we wish to be “coddled.” 

No trauma survivor I have EVER met has wanted to be “coddled.” 

In fact, most trauma survivors I’ve met— along with me, personally— has absolutely hated the very idea that someone might “coddle” us. 

We’re actually more likely to NOT access resources or supports we need if we think there’s even a whiff of “coddling” involved. 

All of which makes that “self compassion” part of trauma recovery tricky. 

The myth is that self-compassion is about “giving ourselves a pass.” 

Some people seem to think that in order to be more compassionate toward ourselves, we somehow have to be less accountable. 

Nothing could be farther from the truth. 

In my experience trauma recovery is overwhelmingly about accountability— and the ACTUAL myth here is that there is some sort of conflict between compassion and accountability. 

Self-compassion doesn’t mean making excuses. 

Self-compassion doesn’t mean holding ourselves to some lesser standard of accountability or responsibility. 

What self-compassion DOES mean is making an effortful attempt to extend ourselves kindness, grace, and understanding when talking to and behaving toward ourselves— which is in no way in conflict with radical accountability. 

The truth is, most trauma survivors are far harder on ourselves than we need to be. 

We’re far harder on ourselves than we would be to anyone else in our situation. 

We’re far harder on ourselves than any set of facts about the situation would warrant. 

It’s actually very easy for trauma survivors to beat the sh*t out of ourselves— because we’ve very often been conditioned, by abuse and neglect, to feel negatively toward ourselves. 

We very often err on the side of “I deserve it”— either the trauma itself, or the  painful reactions we’re having now. 

It’s much, much harder for most survivors to extend ourselves appropriate self-compassion. 

Why is self-compassion important? It’s important because trauma recovery, fundamentally, is a process of us repairing and nurturing our relationship with ourselves. 

In trying to rebuild our bonds with our parts and inner child, we need to take into account their pain and their perspective from a position of genuine acceptance, openness, and caring— and the way we express that is self-compassion. 

Think about it: would you want to build or repair a relationship with someone who didn’t extend you compassion after having been through painful times? 

Would you want to build or repair a relationship with someone if they habitually held you “accountable” for things you didn’t cause, didn’t want, and couldn’t control? 

Would you want to build or repair a relationship with someone who didn’t experience or express empathy at what you’d been through? 

Neither would I— yet that’s unfortunate very often how we try to go about relating to our parts and inner child. 

Self-compassion in trauma recovery isn’t this abstract, touchy feely, good-vibes-only thing. 

In trauma recovery self-compassion is a practical, hard-edged tool. 

We use it like we use every tool necessary to build something durable: judiciously, appropriately, discriminately. 

Self-compassion isn’t for those wishing an easy path. If you want to stay on the easy path, keep hating on yourself— that, for trauma survivors, is often the default, “easy” route. 

Self-compassion is only for those who want to craft a realistic, sustainable recovery. 

And for those of us who do want that, it is an irreplaceable tool. 

drglenndoyle

No shame.

There is no shame in having been abused. 

Having been abused is painful— but not shameful. Toward you, anyway. 

Abuse is plenty shameful— to the perpetrator of the abuse. 

But not to you.

There is no shame in having been coerced. 

Coercion hurts— but it is not shameful to have been coerced. Smart, strong people are coerced every day. 

The only shame in a situation of coercion belongs to the perpetrator of that coercion. 

But not to you.

There is no shame in having trauma responses. 

Trauma responses suck— but there is no shame in our nervous system reacting like the human nervous system reacts to trauma. 

The only shame here belongs to the people who should have supported or protected you— but didn’t. 

They should be ashamed. 

Not you. 

There is no shame in struggling to love yourself. Survivors of trauma frequently struggle with liking, loving, and caring for themselves, due to the fact that experiencing trauma tends to seriously mess with self-esteem. 

Struggling to love or care for yourself after trauma is normal— not shameful. 

Not to you, anyway. 

Your struggles with loving and caring for yourself should evoke shame in the people whose role it was to communicate and reinforce to you that you are unconditionally loved and worthy— no matter what happens to you. 

They should be ashamed. Not you. 

This isn’t a blog about “blame.” Honestly, I’ve never gotten a lot of mileage out of blame in my own trauma recovery. Your mileage may vary. 

I have, however, gotten mileage out of reminding myself that any shame that surrounds my abuse is not, actually, mine to carry. 

That shame belongs to those who are responsible for what happened to me. 

Not that I have high hopes of an of them ever actually feeling any shame, mind you. 

In my experience, the perpetrators of abuse and neglect aren’t particular champions of taking responsibility— or feeling shame. 

But that doesn’t especially matter, at least to me. I’m not sure I’d feel much better if the people who abused me did experience shame. After all, whether or not they feel anything in particular, I still have to carry and process what’s in my head, heart, and body. 

The important thing is: this shame is not mine to carry. 

Neither you nor I are responsible for things that happen TO us. 

Whether we were children or adults at the time, abuse, neglect, coercion, and other trauma are not things we chose— nor are the symptoms and struggles we experience as a result. 

Our abusers and bullies may not ever experience particular shame over what they did or enabled. 

But part of working our trauma recovery is reminding ourselves, again and again: what happened to us is not shameful. 

How we are processing and reacting to it is not shameful. 

Having to work a recovery is not shameful. 

Not to us, anyway. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

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

Touch your trauma wounds with forgiveness.

One of my challenges in trauma recovery is touching my wounds with forgiveness. 

Many survivors, including me, are tempted to touch our wounds with frustration. 

We are tempted to touch our wounds with bitterness. 

We are tempted to touch our wounds with shame. 

We are tempted to touch our wounds with self-blame. 

Of course we are. These wounds that were inflicted up on us that we call “trauma” are a seemingly endless source of pain for many of us. 

It would be weird not to be tempted to touch those wounds with acrimony. 

But one of the lessons I’ve learned in my own recovery is that it doesn’t particularly matter why we are touching our wounds as we are— our wounds will absolutely respond to how we touch them. 

If we touch our trauma wounds with hostility, they will absolutely throb and deepen and reopen. 

Our trauma wounds are painful enough. They don’t need us touching them with malice. 

If we’re going to touch our trauma wounds, we need to touch them with tenderness. 

We need to touch our trauma wounds with humanity. 

We need to touch our trauma wounds with love. 

That can be totally counterintuitive for trauma survivors who have been conditioned to hate and blame and shame ourselves for our symptoms and reactions and needs. 

We were told, over and over again, that these things we feel and these reactions we have make us “weak.” 

We’ve been called “needy” for them. We’ve been told we are “oversensitive” and that we “overreact” and that we need to “let it all go.” 

Over time it only makes sense that we would get in the habit of repeating those things that we heard again and again and again— often from the very people who also claimed to “love” or “support” us— to ourselves. 

That is to say, we got in the habit of touching our trauma wounds with venom. 

But we are not going to heal or recover from our trauma with venom. 

I know how hard it is to be nice to ourselves when we’ve been conditioned to hate ourselves. 

I know hard it is to trust ourselves when we’ve been programmed to distrust ourselves. 

Every attempt we make to support and nurture ourselves in trauma recovery is going to be met with conditioning that insists— convincingly, often— that we do not deserve kindness or forgiveness or patience or compassion. 

Every single day in trauma recovery we will be working against programing that was installed and reinforced by our bullies and abusers over years. 

Touching our trauma wounds with forgiveness will not come naturally, in other words. 

It’s going to feel weird. It’s going to feel wrong. It’s going to be hard. 

But the fact that Trauma Brain does not want us to touch our wounds with forgiveness is a pretty good indication that doing so is essential to realistic, sustainable recovery. 

Touch your trauma wounds with forgiveness, even when it’s hard. 

Even when it’s awkward. 

Even when parts of you are urging you to scratch and claw and jab at those wounds.

Touch your trauma wounds with the same kind of gentleness and love you would use to touch a beloved pet that is hurting. 

If I can do it, you can do it. 

(And if I struggle with it, it’s okay for you to struggle with it.)

Patience and self-compassion are not optional accessories on this recovery journey. They are non-negotiable tools we use every day. 

And like any tool, they get easier to wield as we get more practice with them. 

Easy does it. 

Easy, easy does it. 

drglenndoyle

“Just deal with it.”

Traumatic pain and memories are not the kind of thing we can just “deal with.” 

People will tell us that, though— “just deal with them.” 

If only it was as simple as “just deal.” 

We don’t struggle to “deal with” traumatic pain and memories because we are unintelligent; or because we are weak; or because we are immature. 

We struggle with “dealing” because we have been conditioned to deny, disown, and dissociate traumatic pain and memories. 

Truly “dealing” with them requires a new skillset— and, not for nothing, it requires us to develop at least a little confidence in ourselves that we can deal with them without getting overwhelmed or wanting to harm or kill ourselves. 

We don’t deny, disown, or dissociate traumatic pain for the hell of it. 

Everybody reading this would much rather “deal with” our pain or memories, rather than experience trauma responses that interrupt our life and relationships. 

People who tell us we “should” “just deal with it” have no idea how disruptive trauma responses truly are. We would be THRILLED to “just deal with” what’s going on inside, rather than having our triggers boobytrap our nervous system in unpredictable ways every day. 

The thing is: there’s no “dealing” with ANY aspect of our trauma memories or symptoms unless and until we generate internal and external safety. 

We generate internal safety with our commitment to not attack, abandon, harm, or kill ourselves— no matter what we experience or remember. 

(Yeah. Tall order.) 

We generate external safety by having a realistic plan in place in the event our memories or symptoms get the better of us, and we find ourselves in danger of sabotaging, harming, or killing ourselves. 

(Another easier-said-than-done proposition.) 

People who tell us to “just deal” with our trauma issues don’t understand that we have been heavily conditioned to believe that our literal life depends on NOT directly dealing with them. 

Trauma recovery slowly equips us with knowledge, skills, and support to begin the process of dealing with our pain and memories— a process called “trauma processing”— but it’s a process we don’t want to rush and we don’t want to take for granted. 

Don’t get me wrong: we want to resolve our trauma memories sooner rather than later. As soon as possible, as far as I’m concerned. 

But we can’t resolve trauma memories if we’re not around to resolve them. 

Safety and stability come first.

As we get better at creating and managing our internal and external safety, we begin to approach a place where we can meaningfully “deal with”— that is to say, process— our trauma pain and memories. But that’s not a process we can take lightly, either. 

If trauma were that easy to “just deal with,” it wouldn’t have f*cked us up this much to begin with. 

We need to approach our pain and memories with respect, care, and caution. 

This is the stuff that almost killed us. This is the stuff the aftereffects of which are often still trying to kill us via trauma symptoms and responses. 

Don’t get in our head about others’ “just deal with it” feedback. This is a process we have to approach intelligently and compassionately. 

Our life depends on it. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

Recovery is about influence, not control.

Trauma recovery is not about “control.” 

But we sure want it to be. 

We want to feel “in control” of ourselves— of our feelings, our reactions, our symptoms, our story. 

We feel that “controlling” our self and our environment would surely “solve” this entire problem of trauma symptoms and struggles— right? 

The problem is: control is pretty much an illusion. 

We don’t “control” our feelings— and, what’s more, we really can’t “control” them. 

We feel feelings. They arise in us in response to internal and external stimuli, very little of which we meaningfully “control.” 

If we keep telling ourselves we need to “control” our feelings and reactions to “successfully” recover from trauma, we’re going to disappoint ourselves— again, and again, and again. 

The First Step of the Twelve Step tradition brings us face to face with the illusion of “control.” 

It encourages us to accept that we are struggling with something we can’t, by definition, “control”— and it’s not a coincidence that they made that the very first step. 

Until we was our head around the fact that “control” isn’t the key to clawing our way out of this, we’re going to stay stuck. 

I’ll spoil the suspense: nether you nor I are going to be in perfect “control” of our emotional and physical reactions. Striving to “control” them is going to solve zero problems— and create infinite problems. 

We need to stop thinking in terms of “control.” 

Try swapping out the word “control,” in your mental vocabulary, for the word “influence.” 

Our goal in trauma recovery isn’t to “control” anything— it’s to influence and manage our emotional life and behavioral choices. 

Does this distinction matter? To me, it matters a great deal. 

“Control” is all or nothing. You’re either in control— or you’re not. And for most of us human beings, let alone most of us trauma survivors, we’re going to expense ourselves as not in control approximately 100% of the time. 

We can, however, work on gaining progressively more influence over how we feel. 

Every day we can learn more and more how what we say to ourselves, what we focus on, and how we use our physiology and breathing influence the emotions we find it easy or harder to feel. 

Every day we can learn to make distinctions in how to realistically manage— not control, manage— our behaviors in the moments and hours after we’re triggered. 

Demanding of ourselves that we be “in control” of ourselves is unrealistic and counterproductive. 

Getting curious and proactive about how we can influence ourselves is the way change actually happens in the real world. 

Trauma Brain is gong to tell us, if we’re not “in control,” that means we’re undisciplined, we’re sh*tty, we’re lazy, we’re immature. 

As we work our recovery, we come to realize: imagining that we NEED to be “in control” is a trap— a trap laid for us by Trauma Brain, which wants to keep us stuck and discouraged. 

We trauma servers can get absolutely obsessive about control. Trauma Brain will insist to us that the only way to be truly “safe,” is by controlling everything and everyone around us. And because we literally can’t do that, it will conclude that no place and nobody is, or can ever be, “safe.” 

“Control” is kind of a garbage concept, when it comes to realistic, sustainable trauma recovery. 

Yeet “control.” 

Start getting real curious and real serious about influence. 

drglenndoyle

My favorite Recovery Supporting Question

The Recovery Supporting Question (RSQ) I, personally, get the most mileage out of on a daily basis is: “does this support the life I’m trying to create?” 

That might sound simple, and it is— but, in my experience, it’s the simple tools that I’m most likely to use on a consistent basis. So I keep it simple when I can. 

That RSQ— “does this support the life I’m trying to create?”— can apply to decisions, entertainment choices, time management, relationships…almost anything and everything we encounter during the day. 

I don’t know about you, but one of my biggest vulnerabilities in my trauma and addiction recovery is missing opportunities to make recovery supporting micro decisions. 

I tend to go on autopilot more than is helpful— and my autopilot, probably like yours, was programmed by people and situations that do not prioritize my safety and stability. 

We need to remember this isn’t our fault. Everyone reading this is a victim (yes, I said “victim”— it’s not a bad word, guys) of our old conditioning. Our autopilot defaults to Trauma Brain— and that’s not a “choice” we’re making. 

Consciously looking for opportunities to ask, “does this support the life I’m trying to create?” helps keep me present. 

It’s comparatively difficult to go on autopilot if you’e consciously, intentionally looking for chances to ask any RSQ— but especially that one. 

There might be a small subset of times we really won’t know if what we’re looking at in this moment does or doesn’t support the life we’re trying to create— but the vast majority of the time, we’ll know. 

If we can think to ask the question, the answer will probably be fairly straightforward. 

It’s remembering, and being willing, to ask the question that can be the tricky part. 

Sometimes our hopelessness can get in the way of asking RSQ’s. 

Sometimes we get distracted— by anxiety, by triggers, by symptoms. 

Sometimes I’ve even been in the position of not asking RSQ’s, because Trauma Brain gets to whispering in my ear that I don’t “deserve” to make distinctions between what will and won’t support the life I’m trying to create— that I should just shut up and take what life gives me, because “other people have it worse.” 

Understand: Trauma Brain will do everything in its power to keep us from consistently asking Recovery Supporting Questions. 

Trauma Brain knows that if we get in the habit of asking RSQ’s, its BS (Belief Systems— but the other kind of BS, too) won’t hold up. 

We cannot let the fact that asking RSQ’s is often hard, keep ups from asking RSQ’s. 

Questions are one of the most useful recovery tools we can leverage in our healing. Questions are literally how we think. 

Right now, I’m asking myself questions: how can I express this so my audience will find meaning and support in my words? 

Right now, you’re asking yourself questions: is what he saying correct? Relevant to me? Helpful in my recovery? 

See? We think by asking and answering questions. Questions are the primary focus tool of our conscious and unconscious mind. 

Making sure we consistently ask Recovery Supporting Questions is how we scramble old patterns of thinking, and redirect our focus to Recovery Supporting Rituals and Recovery Supporting Behaviors. 

Make no mistake: Trauma Brain is going to do everything it can to get us asking sh*tty questions, that can only have sh*tty, recovery interfering answers. 

Don’t let it. Assert influence over the tools of self-talk and mental focus by inserting the RSQ, “does this support the life I’m trying to create?”, at every opportunity.

Shoot to ask it at least three times for the rest of your day today— for starters.  

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.