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 old thing and the new thing.

You don’t need to figure it all out today. 

You don’t need to do everything perfectly, or even competently, today. 

You don’t need to be particularly “productive” today. 

You don’t need to face every memory or feeling you’ve ever struggled with, today. 

You don’t need to confront everyone who ever bullied or abused you, today. 

There may be times and places for some or all of these in your trauma recovery— but all you have to do today, is manage today. 

One of our biggest vulnerabilities in trauma recovery is getting overwhelmed. 

We look at all that’s on our plate, everything that would need for change for us to consider our recovery “successful,” and we surmise— probably accurately— that we can’t do all of that today. Maybe we can’t do ANY of that today. 

The goal isn’t to all of a sudden be able to do any and every recovery task immediately. 

The goal is to nudge, nudge, nudge closer to realistically being able to do the most important of those tasks. 

To get clear on what, realistically, needs to happen for us to do the most important of those tasks. 

Whatever else trauma recovery is about for us, it is absolutely about our safety and stability today. Sustainably shifting how we feel and function so we are not at high risk of hurting or killing ourselves today. 

The big tasks on our plate in trauma recovery are probably going to require a skillset that we just don’t have yet— and that’s okay. Truly. 

Chances are, if you’re reading this, you’re very used to being shamed, or even punished, for not being able to do something yet. 

Chances are, if you’re reading this, you’re pretty hard on yourself for not being able to do something yet— because that’s what we do. We take on the attitudes of our bullies and abusers, talk to ourselves and behave toward ourselves like they did— which means plenty of shame and impatience with ourselves. 

It’s real important, in trauma recovery that we clearly understand and remind ourselves: that was the old thing. This is the new thing. 

The new thing is accepting exactly where we are in this process, with no judgment or self-aggression. 

The new thing is meeting our struggles today, big or small, with compassion and patience. 

The new thing is commenting to ourselves, including our “parts” and our inner child, that we are unequivocally on our own side— that we will not take our frustration and embarrassment to on ourselves, physically or emotionally. Not if we can help it. 

If you’re reading this, you may struggle with feeing like you’re “not doing enough” to move your trauma recovery forward. 

That has nothing to do with whether you objectively are or aren’t doing “enough”— chances are it has to do with old conditioning, which has programmed you to call yourself “lazy” and punish you for any and all delays or setbacks. 

Just going with the flow of old, shame bound, self-aggressive conditioning was the old thing. 

Leveraging the tools of self-talk, mental focus, and physiology to interrupt old patterns— even partially, even imperfectly, even inelegantly— is the new thing. 

Neither you nor I need to play out our entire trauma recovery today. Really we don’t. 

We just have to identify the next teeny, tiny baby step forward. The next teeny, tiny micro decision that supports our recovery. 

The next thing we CAN influence, as opposed to the many, many, many (many!) things that are emphatically, demonstrably out of our control. 

We can do that. 

You can do that. 

Yes, you can. No matter what Trauma Brain is telling you right now. 

Breathe; blink; focus. 

drglenndoyle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

drglenndoyle

Our trauma responses are not “stupid.”

Our trauma responses are not “stupid.” 

Calling our trauma responses “stupid” doesn’t help us resolve or transform them— in fact, it does the opposite. 

We cannot resolve trauma responses we belittle. 

Our trauma responses doesn’t come out of nowhere. They don’t exist to frustrate us— even though they are definitely frustrating. 

Belittling our trauma responses is essentially telling our nervous system that we “shouldn’t” be experiencing them— it’s essentially invalidating our nervous system’s experience. 

We’re not going to resolve symptoms and invalidate them at the same time. 

Why do we reflexively invalidate our trauma responses? Mostly because we’ve been conditioned to. 

We’ve had our feelings and responses mocked and invalidated by others— so that’s what we’ve seen modeled, and that’s what we’ve internalized. 

We’ve also often come to believe the very fact that we have feelings is the problem. 

But the problem is not, and has never been, that we have feelings, or even reactions. 

The truth is, our nervous system is reacting the way human nervous systems react to trauma. Those reactions may be painful and inconvenient— but they are not “disordered.” 

What is “disordered” is the trauma that produced them in the first place. 

What is “disordered” is the mockery and other cruelty that we experienced because of our feelings and reactions— and that we’ve been tricked into recycling on our own time. 

What is “disordered” is that we’ve been conditioned by our culture to believe that our normal human reactions to trauma are pathological. 

YOU are not “disordered.” You are injured. 

We heal injuries by caring for them, not by belittling them. 

Trauma responses are many things— sad, infuriating, scary— but calling them “stupid” nudges us dangerously close to calling ourselves “stupid.” 

And you are definitely not “stupid”— especially not for experiencing or struggling with trauma responses. 

One of the undeniably hardest tasks of trauma recovery is rebuilding our self-esteem. 

Multiple variables affect how we think about ourselves, what we believe about ourselves, and how we relate to ourselves— but one of the most important of those variables is literally how we talk to ourselves. 

Abuse survivors very often grow up being told versions of “we’re stupid.” 

We’re told we’re stupid, our feelings are stupid, our reactions are stupid, our needs are stupid. 

That’s very often the script that has sunk into our bones. That’s our baseline. Believing we’re stupid, feeling like we’re stupid, calling ourselves stupid. 

That’s what we’re up against. 

That’s the programming we have to take great care not to play along with. 

It may seem like a semantic point, but calling our trauma responses “stupid” is moving in the wrong direction.

Compassion and care over casual cruelty. 

I don’t love my trauma responses, either. 

But I don’t call them “stupid.” 

The normal responses of my nervous system deserve better than that. 

drglenndoyle

No contact, no shade.

No one goes “no contact” for the hell of it. 

I’ve never met a survivor who went “no contact” with family “impulsively.” 

The vast majority of survivors know perfectly well how profound a step going “no contact” is. 

We are not oblivious or callous. We know what a big deal it is. 

Which is what makes it so frustrating when people insist on reminding us what a big step going “no contact” is— and suggesting that we take time to think about it. 

Believe me: few humans think about anything as often or as deeply as trauma survivors who are considering going “no contact” with family members or others with whom they have established relationships. 

If someone is going “no contact,” that is not evidence that they are letting their emotions get the bette of them. 

To the contrary: it’s usually evidence that a relationship has become intolerable. 

Many people cannot imagine the level of pain or unsafety that would make going “no contact” a viable option for them— so they assume such a level must not exist. 

They then assume that if someone else has set a “no contact” limit, that person must be mistaken or exaggerating. 

Trauma survivors, as a group, are not prone to exaggeration. 

And almost always, when someone is thinking about going “no contact,” they’ve already tolerated a painful, unsafe relationship for for longer than they should have.

That is to say: they are not “mistaken.” 

Nobody gets to decide for you what appropriate boundaries in any given relationship “should” look like. 

Nobody but you knows what it’s like to be you in a relationship. 

Nobody but you knows what being in a particular relationship does to your safety and stability. 

Nobody but you knows the specific challenges engaging with particular people evoke for your nervous system. 

That is to say: nobody else’s opinion on how you “should” handle particular relationships is valid— and that doesn’t change even when somebody has very strong feelings about the subject. 

If you need to set a strong limit in a relationship that is putting your recovery at risk, you get to do that. 

You don’t have to explain. 

You don’t have to justify. 

You don’t have to defend. 

You can choose to do any or all of these— but you don’t HAVE to. 

Going “no contact” with family members or others who compromise your safety, stability, or recovery isn’t “breaking up a family.” 

Their behavior did that. Their choices did that. Your self-protective, recovery supporting response did not. 

Nobody goes “no contact” for the hell of it. 

And nobody should be made to feel the incredibly difficult, culturally stigmatized step of going “no contact” is impulsive, immature, or a bigger problem than an abuser’s behavior. 

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.