What Does It Mean to Be an Ally?

Being an ally means more than expressing support—it means actively standing with and advocating for LGBTQ+ individuals in a way that uplifts, protects, and respects their identities. In the context of therapy and mental health, allyship also means creating affirming spaces where people of all gender identities and sexual orientations feel welcomed and understood.

Mental Health Disparities in the LGBTQ+ Community

LGBTQ+ individuals face significantly higher rates of mental health challenges, including depression, anxiety, PTSD, and suicidality. According to The Trevor Project, 41% of LGBTQ+ youth seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year. These aren’t just statistics—they’re reflections of the real-world pain that stems from marginalization, bullying, family rejection, and lack of access to affirming care.

Being an ally can help disrupt these harmful patterns.

Why Allyship Matters in Therapy

Therapists hold a unique responsibility—and opportunity—to foster trust and safety. For LGBTQ+ clients, a validating therapist can be life-changing. Affirming care can reduce mental health risks, increase self-acceptance, and build resilience. On the flip side, experiences with non-affirming professionals can retraumatize clients or push them away from seeking care altogether.

This means being an ally in therapy isn’t just “nice to have”—it’s necessary.

Here are a few ways allyship shows up in therapeutic settings:

• Using inclusive language and asking for (and respecting) pronouns.
• Educating ourselves continuously about LGBTQ+ issues, terminology, and lived experiences.
• Challenging biases, both our own and those present in systems or structures that affect our clients.
• Creating a safe and welcoming physical space, including visible signs of support like inclusive literature, Pride symbols, or nondiscrimination policies.

How Everyone Can Be an Ally

Allyship isn’t only for therapists or mental health professionals. Friends, family, coworkers, and community members all have a role to play. Here are some simple but powerful actions:

• Listen without judgment and believe people when they share their identity with you.
• Speak up against anti-LGBTQ+ comments, jokes, or policies—even when it’s uncomfortable.
• Support LGBTQ+ rights through advocacy, education, and voting.
• Celebrate LGBTQ+ joy, not just struggle.

A Commitment to Inclusive Care

At Brickel and Associates, we are committed to providing inclusive, trauma-informed care for LGBTQ+ individuals and families. Whether you’re seeking support as an individual, a couple, or a parent navigating questions around identity, you are welcome here. Our team continues to learn, grow, and advocate—because allyship is not a destination. It’s an ongoing practice rooted in compassion, humility, and action.

We see you. We support you. And we’re honored to walk with you.

If you’re looking for affirming therapy or would like to learn more about our approach to inclusive care, reach out to our team. We’re here to help.

Robyn Brickel

Robyn is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with 20+ years of experience providing psychotherapy, as well as the founder and clinical director of a private practice, Brickel and Associates, LLC in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia. She and her team bring a strengths-based, trauma-informed, systems approach to the treatment of individuals (adolescents and adults), couples and families. She specializes in trauma (including attachment trauma) and the use of dissociative mechanisms; such as: self-harm, eating disorders and addictions. She also approaches treatment of perinatal mental health from a trauma-informed lens.

Robyn also guides clients and clinicians who wish to better understand the impact of trauma on mental health and relationships. She has a wide range of post graduate trauma and addictions education and is trained in numerous relational models of practice, including Emotionally Focused Couple Therapy (EFT), the Psychobiological Approach to Couple Therapy (PACT), and Imago therapy. She is a trained Sensorimotor Psychotherapist and is a Certified EMDRIA therapist and Approved Consultant. Utilizing all of these tools, along with mindfulness and ego state work to provide the best care to her clients. She prides herself in always learning and expanding her knowledge on a daily basis about the intricacies of treating complex trauma and trauma’s impact on perinatal distress.

She frequently shares insights, resources and links to mental health news on Facebook and Twitter as well as in her blog at BrickelandAssociates.com

To contact Robyn directly:

Robyn@RobynBrickel.com

www.BrickelandAssociates.com

brickelandassociates.com/

A Dragonfly Mosaic: My Journey from Fear to Love is the working title of the memoir I’m currently writing. It chronicles a lifetime shaped by complex trauma and my ongoing path toward healing. The sudden death of my mother when I was fifteen was the primary event that fractured my sense of safety, but it was not the only one. I grew up in a chaotic household dominated by my father’s severe alcoholism. Over time, I also experienced the premature deaths of my brother, sister, and longtime best friend. My life included domestic violence, police brutality, being struck by a truck while crossing the street, and a near-fatal reaction to medication. Of all these experiences, profound loss and abandonment cut the deepest.

I was eventually diagnosed with complex PTSD. For years, I lived with symptoms that shaped every aspect of my life: nightmares so intense that I had to scream myself awake, panic attacks, intrusive thoughts, and severe depression that led to suicidal ideation. I lived in a constant state of hypervigilance, plagued by anxiety and somatic symptoms, particularly digestive issues. I never felt safe.

The pain I carried felt unbearable. When it tried to surface, I did everything I could to suppress or escape it. Fantasy, emotional withdrawal, and constant movement became my coping strategies. Throughout my twenties and early thirties, I moved from place to place, believing that if I just kept going, I could outrun what lived inside me. Fear kept my pain alive, and fear kept me running. Even after I eventually settled down, the struggle continued. I tried to escape my pain by leaning heavily on others—calling, crying, seeking relief outside myself. Over the years, I explored a wide range of therapeutic approaches, both conventional and alternative. Slowly and often painfully, I moved from a life ruled by fear, addiction, and suicidal ideation toward learning how to sit with pain, integrate it, and ultimately meet it with compassion and love.

What Didn’t Work

Along the way, I tried many healing modalities that did not help me. These included energy-based practices, such as Reiki, which aim to balance the body’s energy centers. I tried homeopathy, based on the idea that “like heals like” through highly diluted substances. I tried Rolfing, a bodywork approach that attempts to release trauma through manipulation of the body’s fascia. While these practices may help others, they were ineffective for me. Some talk therapy experiences were also unhelpful, particularly those with counselors who were not trained in trauma-informed care. I spent years talking about my pain without learning how to process it. I also explored Internal Family Systems (IFS), which views the psyche as a system of “parts” guided by a core, compassionate Self. While this framework gave me valuable insight and language for understanding myself, it did not reduce my trauma symptoms. Each unsuccessful attempt left me more discouraged, reinforcing the belief that I was broken or beyond repair.

What Worked

One therapy that made a meaningful difference was EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). EMDR involves processing traumatic memories through guided eye movements, allowing the brain to refile them in a less distressing way. I was able to enter the altered, almost hypnotic state this therapy requires with relative ease. During sessions, my mind would move fluidly between memories, linking past experiences in unexpected ways. Often, an older, wiser version of myself would appear, offering comfort and re-parenting the younger me. In this sense, EMDR allowed me to retell my life story. While EMDR helped me significantly over time, in the short term, my symptoms intensified, especially my nightmares. Healing, I learned, is rarely linear. Another form of therapy that has helped—and that I continue to use—is Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT). ACT taught me something I had never learned before: how to stop fighting my pain. Instead of trying to eliminate difficult thoughts and emotions, ACT encourages acceptance while committing to a life guided by values. What I love about ACT is its practicality. It gave me concrete tools to sit with pain rather than flee from it. Over time, this approach freed me from relying on others for emotional regulation. I became more grounded, more independent, and more compassionate toward myself.

Medication was another critical piece of my healing, though I resisted it for years. Doctors, friends, and family members encouraged me to try antidepressants, but I was in deep denial about needing them. When I finally started Prozac at twenty-nine, it made a profound difference. It quieted my relentless mental loops and helped me to feel a sense of calm and clarity. I was fortunate not to experience significant side effects. Of the medications I’ve tried, Zoloft—the only SSRI FDA-approved for PTSD—has been the most effective for me. In more recent years, I participated in a guided psilocybin journey that helped me in ways that feel almost beyond language. It softened a deep, pervasive fear that had lived in my body for decades. Importantly, this experience did not replace my medication; it complemented the foundation I had already built.

Alongside professional support, I developed personal practices that continue to sustain me: meditation, prayer, exercise—especially yoga—time in nature, and nourishing my body with whole foods. I learned to see food as medicine, cut out alcohol and caffeine, limit sugar, and listen to what my body truly needed.

My Insights

My healing truly began when I stopped searching for one magical answer. I let go of the fantasy that there was a single cure, healer, or method that would make me whole. Instead, I accepted that healing from complex trauma is complex—it requires many tools, used together, over time. I stopped viewing conventional and alternative approaches as opposing camps and began embracing whatever genuinely helped. Even as psilocybin brought profound insight and relief, and as I continue to do occasional self-guided psilocybin journeys, I chose to remain on Zoloft, resisting the cultural pressure to abandon medication. Healing, I learned, does not have to follow someone else’s ideology.

For a long time, I believed I needed to be fixed. I was chasing perfection, a common trait among those with CPTSD. I wanted my pain to disappear, as if a magician could erase it and leave me unscarred. Eventually, I realized that my pain was not a defect—it was a part of me shaped by survival. I no longer demonize my pain or run from it in fear. I meet it. I sit with it. I listen to it. I love it. In doing so, I’ve become more whole—not by erasing the broken pieces, but by assembling them into something meaningful. I see myself now as a mosaic: fragments once shattered, carefully pieced together into a work of art that symbolizes resilience, growth, and transformation. A dragonfly mosaic. Healing is no longer something I’m trying to “get over with.” It’s an ongoing, living process—one I’ve learned to honor and even cherish.

Closing

I hope this post has offered comfort, insight, or a sense of companionship on your own journey. If you’d like to explore further, please visit my website, where you can read my latest post on the therapeutic value of Siddhartha and Slaughterhouse-Five for those living with CPTSD. You can also sign up for my newsletter to be notified when A Dragonfly Mosaic: My Journey from Fear to Love is released.

Biography
Grace Mattioli is the author of three novels: “Olive Branches Don’t Grow on Trees,” “Discovery of an Eagle,” and “The Bird that Sang in Color.” She is currently working on a memoir, “A Dragonfly Mosaic: My Journey from Fear to Love,” and several short stories. She lives in Portland, Oregon, with her husband and her cats. Her books are available from all major online book sellers, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Apple Books.

Photo by Rohan Makhecha on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Grace Mattoli

Therapy can be life-changing — especially when it’s set up with intention, structure, and the right support. For trauma survivors in particular, creating the right conditions for healing is essential.

Recently, we shared how therapy works. Now let’s explore how to make therapy work for you — by setting it up for success from the start.

Trauma recovery isn’t linear. Progress and success depend on creating a foundation that supports safety, trust, and consistency.  For trauma survivors, the therapeutic relationship, environment, and approach are just as important as the content of each appointment.

Here are five key ways to set yourself up for success in therapy:

1. Choose a Trauma-Informed Therapist Who Is Licensed in Your State

Not all therapists are trained in or work with trauma-specific care. Even if you’re not sure whether trauma plays a role in your story, working with a trauma-informed therapist ensures your care is grounded in safety, compassion, and a deep understanding of the mind-body connection.

A trauma-informed therapist brings more than just empathy and support. They provide:

• Emotional safety and trustworthiness
• Transparency and empowerment
• Curiosity and collaboration
• Cultural, historical, and gender awareness
• Knowledge of trauma’s impact on both body and mind

As Janina Fisher, PhD, beautifully puts it:

“We now understand that trauma’s imprint is both psychological and somatic: long after the events are over, the body and mind continue to respond as if danger were ever present. We hold what happened as a ‘living legacy’ of emotional and body memories that keep the trauma alive for decades. My professional mission has been to bring this understanding of trauma to both clients and their therapists as a psychotherapist, consultant, and trainer of clinicians looking for answers to helping their traumatized clients. I believe the key to healing is not knowing what happened but transforming how our younger selves still remember it. When we accept the child we once were and welcome them into our minds and hearts, we can finally heal.”

A therapist’s education, training, and experience matter. Here’s more on how to find the right therapist for you.

2. Make Sure Your Therapist Is Willing to Coordinate Care

You deserve collaborative, whole-person care from your therapist. That means working with a therapist who understands the interconnectedness of body, mind, and relationships — and is open to collaborating with your other healthcare providers to ensure you are getting comprehensive care.

At our practice, this systems-based approach is central to how we work. As a therapist trained in Marriage and Family Therapy (MFT), I view every individual as part of multiple systems — social, familial, and internal — all of which affect well-being.

When all your providers are on the same page, you benefit from more integrated, consistent, and effective care.

3. Choose In-Person Therapy If You Can

Virtual therapy can be convenient and necessary in some cases, and for many trauma survivors, in-person therapy offers important advantages:

• Non-verbal cues are more easily seen and addressed
• Nervous system regulation is often more effective in person
• Distractions are reduced
• Dissociation may be less necessary
• The physical therapy space provides a contained and grounded environment where you can build safety with the provider, and develop healthy boundaries as self-care and the boundaries in relationships that are so important to healing and growth. Having a scheduled time and a dedicated physical space — the therapist’s office — makes this easier.

Here’s more about why we prefer and value in-person therapy.

4. Start with weekly sessions.

While frequency can vary, it must be dependent upon need. Starting with weekly therapy creates the consistency — a predictable rhythm for building the safety, trust, and rapport that are the foundation for healing trauma. Especially for trauma survivors, structure and repetition help build safety and stabilize the nervous system, while establishing the therapeutic bond.

At Brickel & Associates, we encourage weekly care to start to:

• Build the relationship, developing rapport and structure
• Evaluate therapeutic fit
• Develop a sense of relational safety
• Coordinate care
• Co-create a treatment plan

We aren’t the only ones who prefer weekly therapy. This outcome-based study shows that weekly therapy leads to faster progress and a greater likelihood of achieving recovery and healing.

More frequent therapy is needed sometimes.

Some clients benefit from more frequent sessions, such as twice-weekly—especially if they are:

• In acute emotional pain or distress
• Living with a complex trauma or PTSD history
• Needing more intensity around relationship building for safety and stability
• Struggling to make progress – feel stuck
• Feeling overwhelmed
• Facing a particularly difficult life transition
• Entering a deeper processing phase of therapy – requiring more help holding emotions and regulating the nervous system

This higher frequency can support deeper work, faster stabilization, and reduce overwhelm during emotionally intense periods. It’s most important for you to feel safe!

The therapeutic relationship isn’t just about regular attendance; it’s also about building trust, understanding, and collaboration. Over time, as the therapeutic connection solidifies, the frequency of care may naturally shift. This transition is something you and your therapist can decide on together, based on your needs and goals. This typically occurs when you’ve made significant progress and are ready for a less frequent schedule. Consistent open dialogue with a therapist during each session is paramount.

5. Understand that the therapeutic relationship takes time to build.

Therapy is not just about talking. It’s about safety, healing, and connection — especially for trauma survivors who may have experienced harmful or boundaryless important relationships in the past.

A healthy therapeutic relationship provides a new experience of being seen, heard, and valued in a safe, consistent space. It helps you:

• Build awareness and curiosity of your internal world
• Understand and uphold your boundaries
• Explore emotions without judgment
• Develop a sense of trust in yourself and others

The therapist-client relationship is built intentionally, through consistency, mutual respect, and collaboration, knowing that a gradual deepening of trust will occur over time.

Therapy is not a quick fix. It’s a powerful, personal process — and one that can lead to deep, lasting change when built on a foundation of safety, relationship, and shared intention.

If you’re a trauma survivor, your healing journey will be nonlinear — and that’s okay. With the right support, structure, and care, therapy can help you create meaningful change.

Set therapy up for success by choosing the right provider, showing up consistently, and honoring the pace and process of your own healing. You deserve a safe space to grow, and a therapist who walks alongside you with compassion, knowledge, and respect.

If you’re seeking a trauma therapist in the Alexandria, VA area, consider reaching out to us.   Brickel and Associates has over 25 years of experience and a commitment to trauma-informed care. We are dedicated to supporting clients in their healing journey.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Robyn Brickel

Robyn is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with 20+ years of experience providing psychotherapy, as well as the founder and clinical director of a private practice, Brickel and Associates, LLC in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia. She and her team bring a strengths-based, trauma-informed, systems approach to the treatment of individuals (adolescents and adults), couples and families. She specializes in trauma (including attachment trauma) and the use of dissociative mechanisms; such as: self-harm, eating disorders and addictions. She also approaches treatment of perinatal mental health from a trauma-informed lens.

Robyn also guides clients and clinicians who wish to better understand the impact of trauma on mental health and relationships. She has a wide range of post graduate trauma and addictions education and is trained in numerous relational models of practice, including Emotionally Focused Couple Therapy (EFT), the Psychobiological Approach to Couple Therapy (PACT), and Imago therapy. She is a trained Sensorimotor Psychotherapist and is a Certified EMDRIA therapist and Approved Consultant. Utilizing all of these tools, along with mindfulness and ego state work to provide the best care to her clients. She prides herself in always learning and expanding her knowledge on a daily basis about the intricacies of treating complex trauma and trauma’s impact on perinatal distress.

She frequently shares insights, resources and links to mental health news on Facebook and Twitter as well as in her blog at BrickelandAssociates.com

To contact Robyn directly:

Robyn@RobynBrickel.com

www.BrickelandAssociates.com

brickelandassociates.com/

By Robyn Brickel, MA, LMFT

In a world increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence (AI), it’s not surprising that AI is beginning to find its way into mental health spaces. From chatbots offering “empathetic” conversations and companionship to apps that track mood, generate coping tools, or even simulate therapy sessions, it can feel like a quiet revolution—faster, cheaper, and always available.

This promise is misleading. The truth is, AI can’t be your therapist. And if you’re someone healing from trauma, the distinction is even more important.

Therapy—real, relational, trauma-informed therapy—is not just information or even a service you receive. It’s an experience you have. It’s a relationship you build. It’s a process rooted in safety, trust, co-regulation, and attunement. And those things require a human nervous system.

Let’s explore why AI may be a tool—but can never be a therapist.

1. Therapy Is a Human Relationship—Not Just a Conversation

At its core, therapy is not merely about exchanging words or receiving advice. It is a deeply relational process rooted in healing through connection. Especially in trauma-informed therapy, the relationship between therapist and client is not just the medium of change—it is the change.

For many people, trauma happens in the context of relationships: neglect, abuse, betrayal, abandonment, or invalidation by those who were supposed to offer care and protection. These early wounds shape how we see ourselves, how we relate to others, and how safe (or unsafe) we feel in the world. When trauma is relational, healing must be relational too.

Therapy offers something that AI simply cannot replicate: the chance for an emotionally corrective relationship. This means having a consistent, attuned, compassionate human being who shows up for you, week after week—not to fix you, but to be with you in your pain, to reflect your inherent worth, and to create a safe space where you can begin to experience connection differently.

Through this reparative relationship, clients often begin to trust again—not only in the therapist but, more importantly, in themselves. Learning, perhaps for the first time, that your emotions are not too much. Your emotions make sense. That your boundaries matter. That rupture can be repaired. That being vulnerable does not always lead to being hurt.

This kind of healing happens not through advice or quick fixes, but through presence. A trauma-informed therapist is trained to notice the subtle shifts in your nervous system—when you shut down, when you dissociate, when your guard goes up. They respond not only with words, but with pacing, tone, silence, and embodied safety. They honor your story and go at your pace, knowing that trust is earned, not assumed.

AI, no matter how advanced, can’t attune to your body. It doesn’t feel the energy in the room. It doesn’t notice the micro-movements that show as trauma responses—the pause before you speak, the tightening in your shoulders, the shallow breathing, the tears you don’t yet feel safe enough to cry. It can mimic language, but it cannot co-regulate. And without that co-regulation—without a real nervous system meeting yours—there is no true healing of relational trauma.

Therapy is not a transaction; it’s a relationship. And healing relationships require human presence, attunement, and care.

2. AI Doesn’t Understand Context, Culture, or Nervous Systems

Trauma is complex. It lives not only in memories but in bodies, nervous systems, relationships, and cultures. The path toward healing is never linear, always requires safety, and it often involves surfacing painful memories, navigating dissociation, understanding attachment wounds, and working with shame, grief, or anger.

AI processes data. It can analyze patterns in text or predict emotional tone based on your words. But it doesn’t understand why you froze when your boss raised their voice, or why you dissociate every time you enter a hospital. It doesn’t grasp the cultural, historical, or interpersonal contexts that shape your experiences.

AI doesn’t have access to your nervous system. It doesn’t recognize somatic cues – or work Bottom-Up. It can’t ask you to notice what part of you is coming up, to respond. And it certainly doesn’t understand the weight of intergenerational trauma, systemic oppression, cultural disconnection, or grief that has no language.

A trauma-informed therapist brings both clinical knowledge and a compassionate curiosity about your unique story. They know that symptoms are not just “problems to fix”, but adaptations—survival strategies born of intelligence, pain, or protection. They work with you to explore not just what happened, but how it shaped you, and what healing might look like in your body and relationships today.

AI simply cannot do this kind of meaning-making.

3. AI Cannot Hold Ethical Responsibility or True Safety

When you work with a licensed therapist, you’re entering into a protected space. Therapists are bound by ethics, licensing boards, confidentiality laws, and professional standards. They are trained to manage risk, respond to disclosures of harm, and refer you to appropriate services when needed.

If an AI gives harmful advice—or fails to recognize a mental health crisis—there is no recourse. There’s no accountability. There is no one calling 911 to help you because you matter. And often, no clarity about where your data is going, how it’s being used, or who owns it.

Even worse, many AI-powered “therapy” tools are created by tech companies, not clinicians. Their primary goal may not be your well-being, but data collection, engagement metrics, or profit.

This can put vulnerable users at serious risk, especially those navigating suicidal thoughts, self-harm, or complex trauma.

4. AI Can Reinforce Isolation, Not Connection

Trauma is isolating by nature. It tells us that we are too much, or not enough. That no one will understand. That connection is dangerous. Many people who carry trauma have learned to survive by turning inward, withdrawing, or numbing.

Healing from trauma often begins with risking a relationship—with letting someone in. A therapist’s role isn’t just to offer tools or insight. It’s to build safety, and only then can we together gently disrupt the belief that you are alone – that you must do this all by yourself.

While AI may feel safer at first—predictable, nonjudgmental, always “on”—it can also reinforce patterns of isolation. It may allow you to process thoughts, but it cannot meet your need for being-with. It doesn’t offer a felt sense of connection, or the courage that comes from being vulnerably seen and the safety of being warmly received by another human being.

In trauma-informed care, we often say: what’s hurt in a relationship must be healed in a relationship. No machine can offer that kind of repair.

5. Healing Isn’t an Algorithm. It’s a Process.

Tech companies like to say they can “optimize” therapy. That they can personalize it with enough data, or that the right algorithm can match you with the perfect tool or intervention.

But healing isn’t a formula. It’s messy, non-linear, and deeply personal. What soothes one person might trigger another. What works one week might feel impossible the next. The nervous system doesn’t heal on a schedule. Grief doesn’t resolve with a checklist. Trauma doesn’t unwind through a sequence of pre-programmed responses.

A trauma-informed therapist knows how to pace healing. They track your nervous system. They hold space when you’re ready, and they back off when you’re not. They offer containment when things feel overwhelming. They support integration—not just insight.

More importantly, they respect that healing is not about “fixing” you. It’s about learning how to be and feel safe.  It’s about healing wounds. Reconnecting with the wisdom in your body. Learning how to be with yourself and all your parts, in a more compassionate, less fragmented way.

AI doesn’t know how to do that. It can mimic care, but it doesn’t care. It can process your words, but it doesn’t hold space for or witness you. It can’t celebrate your courage, or sit with your grief, or reflect the truth – that you are worthy of healing.

When AI Can Be Helpful

This isn’t to say AI tools can have no place in mental health care. Used ethically and with clear boundaries, they can be supportive adjuncts—not replacements. For example:

• Mood tracking or journaling apps can help you notice patterns.
• AI-powered reminders might nudge you to take breaks or practice grounding exercises.
• Chatbots can sometimes offer a form of interaction in moments of loneliness.

And these tools are best used in partnership with human care—not instead of it.

Final Thoughts: You Deserve Human Support

If you are struggling, if you’re holding pain that hasn’t been fully seen, if you’re looking to heal from trauma—know this: you are not too much. And you are not alone.

You deserve more than programmed empathy. More than automated advice. You deserve to sit with someone who can hold your story, not just analyze it. Someone who can attune to your nervous system, not just your text. Someone who can walk beside you as you learn to feel safe in your body, in your relationships, and in the world again.

AI can be clever, efficient, even comforting in some ways. But it cannot offer you what a real therapist can: the healing power of a safe, compassionate, human relationship.

And that’s what you deserve.

Looking for trauma-informed support? Our practice offers warm, human-centered therapy for individuals, couples, and families navigating the complexities of trauma, grief, anxiety, and relational healing. Reach out—we’re here to walk with you.

Photo by Andras Vas on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Robyn Brickel

Robyn is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with 20+ years of experience providing psychotherapy, as well as the founder and clinical director of a private practice, Brickel and Associates, LLC in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia. She and her team bring a strengths-based, trauma-informed, systems approach to the treatment of individuals (adolescents and adults), couples and families. She specializes in trauma (including attachment trauma) and the use of dissociative mechanisms; such as: self-harm, eating disorders and addictions. She also approaches treatment of perinatal mental health from a trauma-informed lens.

Robyn also guides clients and clinicians who wish to better understand the impact of trauma on mental health and relationships. She has a wide range of post graduate trauma and addictions education and is trained in numerous relational models of practice, including Emotionally Focused Couple Therapy (EFT), the Psychobiological Approach to Couple Therapy (PACT), and Imago therapy. She is a trained Sensorimotor Psychotherapist and is a Certified EMDRIA therapist and Approved Consultant. Utilizing all of these tools, along with mindfulness and ego state work to provide the best care to her clients. She prides herself in always learning and expanding her knowledge on a daily basis about the intricacies of treating complex trauma and trauma’s impact on perinatal distress.

She frequently shares insights, resources and links to mental health news on Facebook and Twitter as well as in her blog at BrickelandAssociates.com

To contact Robyn directly:

Robyn@RobynBrickel.com

www.BrickelandAssociates.com

brickelandassociates.com/

Today, I know how to replace the arsenal of unhealthy crutches that once helped me blot out feelings

Last spring, I was surprised by how gut-punched I felt, having decided to take an 18-day hiatus from therapy. Previous lapses in my therapy schedule barely registered on my radar, and if anything, carried mild relief. Although my therapist’s announcement of her upcoming vacation didn’t catapult me into panic, it spawned a slight sense of impending doom. I wondered how I, being fiercely independent and stubborn, could possibly “mourn” a temporary reprieve from therapy. I concluded that I probably felt that way because therapy was working. Fortunately, therapy has taught me a broad range of healthy coping strategies to help me navigate my anxiety around this uneasy experience.

Today, I know how to replace the arsenal of unhealthy crutches that once helped me blot out feelings. I had always buried myself in avoidant activities to get through challenging experiences–to feel as little as possible along the way. Thanks to therapy, however, I viewed “the vacation” as an opportunity to continue healing and growing. And while I sought to savor the time, I admit that I simultaneously dreaded it.

To begin, I identified and discussed my concerns about the break with my therapist. If you’re experiencing anxiety around your therapist’s time off, I encourage you to talk to them about what you are feeling and thinking. It can be a great opportunity for therapeutic exploration and relationship building. If you’re not confident you can make it through the break without additional support, let your therapist know. They may have a fill-in, but at the very least, they can connect you with additional resources. It is okay to need support! 

In preparation for my therapist’s vacation, I developed “counseling vacation plans.” I outlined a list of my needs and identified ways of meeting them. If you’re currently sitting at a table for one in “vacation hell,” or if one looms heavy on the horizon, I invite you to borrow from the list of activities below. Maybe you’ll add a few activities unique to your interests: 

• Mental Health: gratitude journal, intentional breathing, feelings tracking
• Physical Health: yoga, light exercise
• Activities: home projects, writing 
• Connection: outings with friends and family
• Rest and Comfort: nature, good food, movies, and music
• Learning: The stories on this blog helped me immensely and I took advantage of a free trial through “Sounds True” which has a lot of great mental health resources. 
• Security: I initiated a “safety scavenger hunt,” and created a list of things/moments that made me feel safe. 

Being busy doesn’t equate to healthy

I went into the vacation having made a silent agreement with myself that I wouldn’t be “forceful” in doing the things on my list. Furthermore, I limited my tentatively planned activities in areas where I usually bury myself. Being busy doesn’t equate to healthy. I also encouraged myself to approach each experience in moderation. I am happy to say that I succeeded.

You might think, “Good for you, but this is hell.” I get it. Although chock full of lessons and new experiences, these vacations also included moments of spiral, such as sobbing for an hour on Mother’s Day (which is a day that almost always triggers grief and was not an opportune time for my therapist to head out of town). That said, the healing process is full of ups and downs, and life happens whether our therapist is on vacation or not. Ultimately, we need to learn to draw from the strengths within our reach and within ourselves. We can use this time to sharpen and expand our coping skills and experiences. 

I’ve continued to lean into the gifts afforded by the spring vacation, long after it came to an end. For example, I tracked my feelings three times a day and was surprised to discover I found so much value in the exercise that I continued doing it for months afterwards. Doing so shifted my thoughts in a more positive direction. Before the vacation, feeling like a child about to have her favorite stuffed animal snatched from her grasp, I sought a way to “connect” with my therapist in her absence.

Knowing that I draw comfort from music, I asked my therapist what genre of music she likes in the last session before her vacation. As it turns out, we enjoy similar music, and she mentioned an artist I hadn’t listened to much. I entered that artist’s name into Pandora, and it generated a playlist that helped me discover a singer-songwriter I have grown to love. I also experienced an adventure that I might not have embarked on if not for the excuse of my therapist taking time away. I talk about that in my article, “Going With the Flow: Up Life’s River Without a Paddle.” In these ways and more, I came out of the spring vacation even stronger and with new skills (and joys) under my belt. 

From this experience, I also saw that I was increasingly willing to ask for help. Being less afraid of rejection, and at my wits’ end with the stresses of parenthood with minimal support, I recently reached out to my beloved aunt and asked for help. She gifted me 48 hours of freedom from responsibility, which is the longest break I’ve had in eight years. Breaking under the strain of seasonal depression and the anniversary of a loved one’s death, I found myself in need of additional external support. As much as I detest asking for help, I took up my therapist’s invitation to reach out to another therapist (whom I am fortunately very comfortable with) in her absence. The new therapist helped walk me through a transformative experience, which would not have happened had I not sought help. Confiding in another person on this level, I stretched my circle of vulnerability a little bit further.

Was I the picture of complete “sanity” throughout the 18-day springtime vacation? No! How could I be? I’m still navigating the hell that is a “disorganized fearful/avoidant” attachment style while I’m forming the first truly secure attachment of my life. The little girl in me is screaming, “She’s never coming back!” The adult me knows she’s simply on vacation, but that doesn’t stop my fear of abandonment. Part of me wondered if the anxiety I felt was normal.

I know that a lot of people would react the same way–especially for those of us with deep attachment issues. As long as we don’t veer into stalking or violating boundaries, it’s natural to crave the connection we share with our therapists during prolonged absences. It can be a struggle to get through the time without them. That said, as we’re feeling pain around our therapist’s absence, we are likely also benefiting from developing/sharpening our skills to get through it. As we continue to build strong relationships with our therapists, we will be less gripped by the childlike fear of being abandoned by them when they need personal time. Furthermore, it will also encourage us to lean into self-care and other people. The point of therapy, after all, is to establish the tools and connections we need to navigate life in healthier ways.

Another takeaway from this experience: my therapists’ act of self-care was itself a learning opportunity. When my therapist takes a vacation, she’s practicing what she preaches. As painful as it is for me to go however many extra days without the comforting blanket of her presence, I admire her dedication to self-care. Outside of medical leave, I’ve never taken a full week off from work, despite having the flexibility to do so. Like so many other healthy behaviors she has modeled, my therapist taking chunks of time off gives me hope that someday I will give myself the permission to do the same. Breaks in therapy allow us to lean into what we’ve learned in therapy. Accepting our therapists’ need for time away means that we embrace it as an opportunity: we can use this time to support ourselves!

Photo by Guzmán Barquín on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Heather Jurvelin

Finally feeling truly alive for the first time in my life, I am writing from a place of gradual healing with an eye to the future and a hope of connecting with others on similar paths. Forced to withhold a tsunami of emotions deemed irrelevant under the roof of my childhood “home,” the blank white pages of my notebooks invited my raw reflections without judgment. Writing allowed me to free the burdens of my soul, but at some point, I muzzled myself. My pen lay dormant for years until, at 41 years old, I experienced a traumatic flashback during an everyday activity that shook me to the core. Five days later, I started writing about the things I had long withheld. I couldn’t stop. Written words have once again become my refuge. I now recognize that these words, resurrected from the ashes of my pain, may have the power to help others. Above all, I want to magnify and share the messages that I have most treasured on my journey: we are not alone and we don’t ever have to go back. This is where we live now and the future is ours.

This vignette may not be all that unique. Autistic people are often marginalized and excluded, not allowed to fully participate in society and live to their potential, because of the ableist world. All too often, they are not fully accepted and included. Instead, they very well may be subjected to neuroableism, “the specific type of ableism experienced by neurodivergent people due to systemic oppression in a supremacist-based society that values neurotypicalness as the ‘right’ way to be, think, and act.” Examples of neuroableism are “[a]ssuming all humans must conform to a specific way of being,” “[e]xpecting all humans to communicate in the same way,” “[j]udging and labeling neurodivergent people according to their ability to assimilate and hide their neurodivergence,” and “[r]efusing to learn to communicate with neurodivergent people in the way they need.”

Throughout their lives, autistic individuals often are expected to act like everyone else.

As autistic autism advocate Scott Frasard wrote, “[s]chools punish autistic children for stimming or not making eye contact,” “[w]orkplaces value ‘good communication skills’ over actual competence,” and “[s]ocial circles reward compliance and shun authenticity.”

Neurodiversity expert Bridgette Hebert Hamstead wrote about how inclusion often means autistic people conforming, not being accepted as their authentic selves:

Too often, inclusion does not mean changing systems to accommodate the needs of neurodivergent individuals. It means asking neurodivergent people to adapt to systems that remain rigid and unchanged. The message is not “we will meet you where you are” but rather “we will let you be here as long as you learn to act like us.” From classrooms to offices, inclusion is frequently contingent on compliance. You can be part of the group, but only if you do not rock the boat. You can join the team, but only if you keep your differences quiet. You can speak up, but only in ways that do not make others uncomfortable.

Hamstead addressed employment, which is key, as autistic people have challenges securing and maintaining employment:

In workplaces, inclusion is often performative. Employers promote diversity initiatives, host awareness events, or celebrate Neurodiversity Week, but they rarely examine the structural barriers that make the workplace inaccessible in the first place. Autistic employees are encouraged to disclose their diagnoses, but once they do, they are expected to work harder to “fit in.” Accommodations are grudgingly granted, if at all. Feedback is filtered through neurotypical standards of professionalism. There is little room for different communication styles, sensory needs, or pacing. The underlying expectation remains the same: adapt or be excluded.

Anger is natural. According to an article published by Harvard Medical School, “[in] psychological terms, anger is a normal emotional response to a person or situation you believe has treated you unfairly or has otherwise been hurtful or harmful.” Anger can be connected to “bullying, trauma, neglect, abuse, rejection, discrimination, or other struggles that may date back to childhood.” Anger can result from unfair treatment by one’s employer and denial of equal access based on illegitimate reasons, including gender and disability.

It is completely understandable that autistic people may have intense rage. They may have been constantly told that how they communicate and even how they exist is unacceptable. As Hamstead wrote:

The truth is, rage is a deeply valid and appropriate response to ableism. It is a valid response to being told your entire life that your way of being in the world is wrong. It is a valid response to being punished for sensory differences, isolated for communication styles, or gaslit by systems that refuse to accommodate your needs. It is a valid response to being infantilized, pathologized, and talked over in conversations about your own identity. It is a valid response to being denied employment, excluded from education, or subjected to harmful therapies because your brain does not function the way others expect it to.

Other sources of anger for autistic people may include sensory stimulation, others’ behavior, disturbance of routine and order, work-related and relationship-related challenges, imperfections of others, stress, and being ignored.

It may be challenging for autistic people to recognize and comprehend their feelings. Autistic people may express anger by yelling, name-calling, hitting, kicking, hurting themselves, biting, scratching, banging their heads, breaking items, and more. However, some of these actions, in modified form, may be used by autistic people to regulate their emotions. For example, some scratching could refocus an autistic person’s thoughts from anger and other negative feelings.

It is vital to address anger. Untreated anger may lead to adverse physical health consequences, including headaches, insomnia, depression, high blood pressure, heart attack, stroke, and more. It may also worsen mental health conditions, including complex PTSD and depression. In addition, as a result of rage, people may develop substance abuse disorder.

When treating an extremely angry autistic client, mental health professionals need to address their thoughts and behavior in order to make the best recommendations to the client.

• Address your thoughts and behavior:
  • Create a safe neuro-affirming space, where you accept your client’s autism-related behavior.
  • Understand their anger – The world was not built for autistic people. Instead, it was built by allistic (non-autistic) people for allistic people.
  • Realize that an autistic client may have trouble getting through the following five stages of anger: denial, depression, anger, bargaining, and acceptance. It may be extremely difficult for them to accept their situation. They were born autistic and may have major problems because of how unaccepting and ableist the world is.
  • See what could help them when they get angry. – If/when they get angry while meeting with you, you could assist them with their preferred method(s).
  • Realize that you may be one of the few people who are available to talk with them. Many autistic people are socially isolated and lonely.
  • If meeting in person, lend your client fidget toys, which may help your client filter out potentially distracting information, decrease anxiety, and sooth themselves. Do not get distracted and/or thrown off if your client uses a fidget toy.
  • Do not:
    • Get exasperated regarding their intense anger. It is much more difficult to experience their life than to hear about it for a small period of time a week.
    • Get irritated with their autistic-related behavior (i.e., liking to e-mail). If you criticize them, you could trigger them, reminding them of others who have made similar remarks.
    • Trigger them – Triggering them could make them angry. For example, do not use certain words that upset them.
    • Be afraid of your client. Your client may be angry with how the world has treated them, not with you.
    • Get taken aback if your client has trouble with emotional regulation and yells and/or cries. Autistic people often have trouble controlling their emotions.
  • Make recommendations to your client (Be flexible with your recommendations. They may work for your client some days, but not others. Be sensitive to what is happening with your client in the moment.):
    • Encourage them to channel their anger into productive actions. – For example, working on autistic advocacy could help improve the world so others would not have to go through the same experiences as an autistic client. An autistic client can advocate for autism acceptance through various means, including writing, creating videos, speaking, and more.
    • Recommend a stop-think technique, which is similar to cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). Under the stop-think approach, a person stops and speculates whether their thoughts are correct or beneficial, challenges incorrect or non-beneficial thoughts, and develops alternative thoughts.
    • Encourage the creation of an action plan that your client can use regarding anger. The plan could involve methods to distract themselves from situations, remove themselves from situations, avoid incidents that could upset them, and adjust their routines.
    • Suggest that your client practice radical acceptance. Radical acceptance, which is from Dialectic Behavior Therapy, is completely accepting reality instead of fighting it (even if the situation is unfair). Accepting does not mean approval or agreement. Instead, it means acknowledging that something happened. Radical acceptance prevents pain from turning into suffering, and it prevents such thoughts as “This is unfair?” As Hamstead wrote:

 “Radical acceptance is not about giving up or resigning ourselves to suffering. It is about recognizing that who we are is valid, even if we do not fit into the boxes society expects us to occupy. It means accepting our brains, our bodies, our patterns, and our needs as they are, without needing to justify or explain them. It means allowing ourselves to stop performing, stop apologizing, and stop trying to become someone we are not. When we accept ourselves as we are in this moment, with all of our complexities and contradictions, we create space for real change to happen. Not change that comes from pressure or shame, but change that comes from growth, care, and curiosity.”

She also wrote about practicing radical acceptance:

 “We become more present in our lives, less focused on proving our worth and more attuned to what we actually need and want. We begin to create lives where we can thrive—not in spite of our neurodivergence, but because we are finally living in alignment with it.”

Her suggestions on how neurodivergent adults can practice radical acceptance are:

1. “Notice your internal dialogue.”
2. “Allow yourself to rest without earning it.”
3. “Unlearn harmful definitions of success.”
4. “Practice saying no.”
5. “Create rituals of self-affirmation.”
6. “Surround yourself with people who affirm your neurodivergence.”
7. “Let your body and brain lead.”
8. “Accept that some days will be harder than others.”
9. “Release the idea of a ‘perfect version’ of you.”
10. “Return to acceptance again and again.”

You can educate your client about and help them with radical acceptance. For example, you can use a worksheet and help your client determine what self-affirmation moments would most help them.

However, recognize that your client may have a difficult time with radical acceptance, as in their lived experience, many may not want them and their skills. In addition, realize that your client’s immense anger can motivate them to try to have the world be more accepting of autistic people.

• Suggest exercise to your client, as physical activity can assist with emotional regulation and stress. However, as autistic people are more likely to be overweight or obese than others, recommendations to exercise could irritate your client. They may know about their weight issues and feel they are going to a therapist for mental health issues, not to be told to exercise.
• Encourage your client to relax. Ways to relax include deep breathing, tai chi, and other techniques.
• Encourage your client to attend a support group, as it may be beneficial.

Autistic people have every right to be angry, as they live in a world that was not constructed for them. However, they can be extremely valuable if they are respected, not marginalized. Have empathy for them, as you should for anybody.

Cover Image Created by AI

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Miriam Edelman

But here’s the thing: you’re not broken or doing it wrong. Rather, your nervous system is just throwing a little tantrum because it’s been poked awake after a long nap in the deep trauma cave.

And that foggy, emotionally messy state? Well, it’s your brain’s way of processing the emotional upheaval you just unpacked. Think of it like your mind’s version of sore muscles after a workout, only this time, it’s your heart and soul getting stretched.

So many times after my weekly session, I would be exhausted and not able to think straight, and it was all because of these therapy hangovers.

What is a therapy hangover?

It’s that foggy, emotionally raw, post-session daze that can last hours or even days. You might feel:

• Tired (like… soul tired)

• Irritable for no reason

• Anxious or overexposed

• Detached or floaty

• Like all your inner children are suddenly mad at you

This happens because therapy, especially deep trauma work like CPTSD, IFS, or EMDR, really digs in. You’re not just “talking about your feelings.” Instead, you’re confronting old wounds, challenging survival patterns, and sometimes pulling the pin out of emotional grenades you buried 20 years ago.

Naturally, your system goes into full WTF mode afterward. But don’t mistake this for regression; it’s actually recalibration.

It’s actually recalibration.

So, what do you do when the therapy hangover hits, and you feel like your brain’s been scrambled in an emotional blender? Over the years, I’ve found a few go-to moves that helped me ride it out without totally losing my mind:

5 Things That Actually Help

Here’s what can help when the post-therapy spiral kicks in:

1. Silence & Soft Things

Your nervous system is overstimulated. Skip the group chat, mute notifications, and go full potato mode. Weighted blankets, cozy socks, dim lights, yes, you’re allowed to be a cliché. It helps.

2. Gentle Grounding

Nothing intense. Just basic stuff to get back in your body:

• Hold a warm mug with both hands

• Rinse your face with cold water

• Touch something with texture (a stone, a fuzzy pillow, a judgmental cat)

The goal isn’t to feel “great,” just a little less like you’re drifting out of your own skin.

3. Eat Something That Doesn’t Hurt You

This is not the time for kale. It’s the time for something warm, easy, and nostalgic. Soup? Yes. Toast? Ideal. An entire sleeve of graham crackers while watching “Great British Bake-Off”? That’s your business.

4. Label It Without Judging It

Instead of spiraling into “Why do I feel like this?” try telling yourself,

“Oh, this is just the therapy hangover. My brain’s processing a lot. That’s allowed.”

Sometimes, naming the thing steals its power. It helps you move from panic to compassion.

5. Future You Prep (If You Can)

If you know therapy hits you hard, try scheduling something kind after it next time. A walk. A nap. Absolutely nothing. I learned to treat post-therapy time like I’m recovering from minor surgery. Because emotionally? I was.

Final Thought: You’re Not Doing It Wrong

The therapy hangover isn’t a sign of weakness or failure. Instead, it’s a signal that you’re reaching parts of yourself that stayed hidden for a reason. Now that those parts are coming up to be seen, they need care, not criticism.

So yeah. You’re tired. Maybe a little weepy. Maybe your inner 9-year-old is sulking in the corner. And you know what? That’s totally fine.

That’s healing.

And healing is weird.

Photo by Matteo Vistocco on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Jack Brody

Born and raised in Boston, Jack Brody has called New York City home for over 30 years. He’s a proud father to a teenage daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, and someone who knows firsthand what it means to live with Complex PTSD.

Diagnosed six years ago, Jack has been on a deep healing journey, one marked by therapy, growth, hard truths, and unexpected resilience. As a men’s mental health advocate, he shares his story to remind others that they’re not broken, not alone, and never beyond hope.

Whether through his writing, podcast, or quiet conversations with fellow survivors, Jack’s mission is simple: to speak honestly about the hard stuff, and to show that healing out loud is not only possible, it’s powerful.

aboutthatjack.com/

My therapist recently had the audacity to applaud my progress, reminding me that I’m “the one doing all the work.” A part of me internally screamed about how much I hated it when she said that. For the record, it was only the second time she said it, but it irritated me both times. Falling back on old habits, I immediately shoved my feelings into the pit of my stomach and continued the session, ending it on a peaceful note. I completed the end-of-session evaluation with my usual appraisal that she’s a good fit, I felt heard, and all that good stuff. All of those things were still true, but…her comment marinated in my mind, and the next day, I admitted that a part of me was livid with her.

At 42 years old, I am still unable to hear some words for what they actually are.

Didn’t she realize the words “you’re the one doing all the work” still translate to a chorus that has played in my head for over forty years? All I heard in those words was: “It’s all on you, you’re all you have, and you’re on your own.” At 42 years old, I am still unable to hear some words for what they actually are. I don’t know the language of compassion; I’m still learning it. Also, within the context of therapy, I feel truly seen and heard in a way I had not previously, so I felt shattered by the thought of my trusted therapist not seeing the whole picture. In diminishing her role in my healing journey and removing herself from the equation of my progress, I felt that she neglected to recognize what is the hardest, but most rewarding part of “the work” for me. The most exciting arena of my growth has been my swelling trust in my therapist and, by extension, people in general. Over the course of the past year, with patience, skill, and quiet strength, she earned my trust with consistent support and reassurance. If you’re reading this from a place of trauma, you know that trusting anyone, especially in a short period of time, is no small feat.

But…my therapist had performed the almost impossible…she got “in.” I trusted her because her actions matched her words, she actively listened to me in a way no one ever had, and she said things I didn’t even know I needed to hear. This gentle, but steady surgeon of the mind, soul, and spirit had opened my heart to a world of possibilities I long resisted. She had again and again proven she wouldn’t let me down; a part of me thus knew her affirmation about me “doing all the work” was a message grounded in goodness. That part of me knew she intended her comment as genuine recognition of my investment and progress in my healing journey. Another part of me that lay trapped in the horrors of the past, however, felt betrayed…and alone.

I countered my self-sabotaging urges by scheduling sessions for the next two months.

I poured all of this into a letter addressed to my therapist. Knowing I ran a risk of backing out of counseling, at the start of my appointment, I countered my self-sabotaging urges by scheduling sessions for the next two months. I then shakily confided that I was surprised to discover that a part of me was angry with something she said in our last session. I admitted that I was terrified of not reading what I had written because I feared I’d do what I always do with my pushed-down feelings. I would ignore the pesky feelings until they pushed me out the door or I erupted in a random explosion over “nothing.” I didn’t want to do that. There was too much on the line. I had just invested eleven months making headway with the dozenth and longest-term therapist of my life.

Finally making major progress, I’d gotten a taste of the possibilities beyond the claustrophobic walls of the CPTSD prison that had held me hostage for decades. I really didn’t want to go back. I wanted help removing the shackles that still bound me. I needed my therapist to know that I wasn’t ready to take full ownership of my journey. I had to tell her these things so that I wouldn’t run away. At the same time, I was terrified of what she would do with the raw, wounded feelings I was about to unleash. She had always shown me nothing but kindness, wisdom, and good intentions, but she was competing with decades of mental devastation and emotional deprivation. Drawing upon the lessons of my childhood, though decades into adulthood, I still connect any disclosure of my most vulnerable feelings with negative consequences. Feeling like my heart was about to explode, I entered that session anticipating retribution, defensiveness hurled at me like shrapnel, or perhaps worst of all, the invisible experience of being gaslit and shut down.

I Poured My Heart Out and She Didn’t Use it Against Me

Used to my written reflections, my therapist approached my confession with tender curiosity and invited me to share what I had written. I poured my heart out, at first nervously, and eventually dipping in and out of sadness, anger, and gratitude. As I read, so many parts of myself warned me of the dangers of vulnerability. If I admitted that I needed her in any way, all hell would surely break loose. At worst, she would abandon me on the spot, immediately severing my connection to hope and cementing my perspective of the world as an inhospitable place brimming with people who don’t care. At best, she would stockpile my vulnerability and use it against me later. Because that’s what people do when we ask for help and express feelings, right?

I sat in disbelief when she instead thanked me for sharing, acknowledged what I had said as a moment of growth, reassured me that we were “still good,” and apologized for her role in my hurt feelings. She even asked if there was anything else I wanted to share. Tears fell down my face, unneeded defenses frozen in my throat; I could barely utter the words “thank you.” I sat paralyzed in a state of stunned silence, unsure of what to do with all this compassion being gently hurled my way. For the next half hour, we talked through my fears and reservations, though she did more talking than I usually leave room for, because the shock stole the words from my mouth. She eased my concerns with assurances that it was a team effort and she “wasn’t going anywhere.” The most wounded parts of myself struggled to believe the impossible, but gradually loosened their grip and allowed me to accept her words for what they were. I searched for my ever-present guilt, her hidden agenda, and confirmation that my feelings don’t matter. Instead, I found relief and self-compassion.

I’m Learning the Language of Compassion

That night, I anticipated a ruthless bout of insomnia followed by a painful “emotional hangover.” To my astonishment, neither happened. Instead, I felt lighter, a stronger sense of hope, and more connected to the world. Within the safe space of a trusting relationship, which may be the first healthy relationship of our lives, we have the opportunity to learn and practice all the things that don’t come easily. Though it may not seem like our native tongue, we do have the capacity to learn the language of compassion…and yes, that includes compassion directed at ourselves. I’m not even close to fluent, but I am awestruck by the beauty of this language. In my forties, I’m learning it one word at a time, and am increasingly optimistic that eventually, maybe even soon, I will feel freer to speak this language “in the wild.” As I walk this mile of my healing pilgrimage, I’m learning that connection, compassion, curiosity, and hope bring light to what has, at times, been a very dark life. When we feel safe enough to lean into our feelings with curiosity instead of rejection, we learn to identify and address our emotions, share our hearts, and receive the gifts of compassion and guidance from others. We learn to take greater risks in the way we open up to others and the world around us. In that risk, we finally begin to reap the rewards that we so deserve.

Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Heather Jurvelin

Finally feeling truly alive for the first time in my life, I am writing from a place of gradual healing with an eye to the future and a hope of connecting with others on similar paths. Forced to withhold a tsunami of emotions deemed irrelevant under the roof of my childhood “home,” the blank white pages of my notebooks invited my raw reflections without judgment. Writing allowed me to free the burdens of my soul, but at some point, I muzzled myself. My pen lay dormant for years until, at 41 years old, I experienced a traumatic flashback during an everyday activity that shook me to the core. Five days later, I started writing about the things I had long withheld. I couldn’t stop. Written words have once again become my refuge. I now recognize that these words, resurrected from the ashes of my pain, may have the power to help others. Above all, I want to magnify and share the messages that I have most treasured on my journey: we are not alone and we don’t ever have to go back. This is where we live now and the future is ours.

While it may be hard to see beyond the pain when seeking help – this is exactly where the evolution toward healing begins. If you are a complex trauma survivor considering therapy, here’s what we’d like you to know about the healing process.

At Brickel & Associates, we embrace a trauma-informed, three-stage approach to care — although these stages (like people and relationships) are not entirely linear. Let’s explore what healing looks like in action.

Milestone 1: Asking for help is self-care.

Even before therapy begins, reaching out for support is taking the first step toward healing.  It is creating a safe space dedicated to your well-being – solely focused on your care, growth, and healing.

It is a powerful reminder that you matter. You deserve to have a safe space for yourself, a place where your needs are heard and respected.  Noticing you matter – deserving of self-care. That first step is a foundational part of the process.

Milestone 2: Building Safety Through the Therapeutic Relationship

For many survivors of complex trauma, a safe and stable relationship may never have been experienced before—especially one where someone shows up consistently with care and respect. Over time, the relationship between a trauma survivor and the therapist begins to serve as an example of what a safe and stable relationship can look like—safety in human connection.

This process takes time, as trust doesn’t come easily, particularly for those who have experienced abuse, betrayal or neglect in the past. As therapists demonstrate consistency, safety, and reliability, trust begins to form.  Gradually, trauma survivors begin to experience that people can be consistent. They can show up for you. They can genuinely care about your well-being. They can do what they say they will do.

While an individual may have grown up with disorganized attachment (and have resulting  Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), the therapeutic relationship can serve as a model for establishing healthy boundaries, emotional regulation, and self-care.  Through this dynamic, a trauma survivor learns that relationships can foster growth rather than reinforce the belief that relationships are a source of pain.

The work toward safety and stability (stage one of trauma healing) includes reducing the use of harmful (maladaptive) coping skills – leading to choices for sobriety, healthy eating, emotional regulation, healthy movement, boundaries, self-care, and compassion in trauma-informed therapy.  The therapeutic relationship is built upon the foundation that all trauma survivors’ experiences and coping mechanisms make sense, given their history.  They are met with compassion and care.  The goal is not to judge or invalidate; it is to create space for healthier coping strategies to take root – strategies that will replace maladaptive patterns with ones that support the present-day reality. 

Milestone 3: Experiencing Safety in the Body.

As trust and safety deepen within the therapeutic relationship, the process of healing becomes more tangible.  The experience of building a safe relationship that supports healing is not easy. Some of the work together is hard! Exploring painful relationships, difficult past experiences, and coping mechanisms can be challenging. It is not uncommon for survivors to encounter discomfort as they expand their emotional capacity. 

Noticing this process fosters healing. A key part of trauma recovery is the widening of the window of tolerance – the ability to manage and remain grounded through emotional distress.  As this window grows, individuals begin to notice that they can handle what’s happening in the present moment – they can stay grounded and present and be ok – having support along the way. 

This expansive forward movement allows for a space that is further away from what was just F.I.N.E (an acronym from the recovery community and popularized by an Aerosmith song) or tolerated before, to a new understanding of what safety is. As growth and healing happen, and a person’s window of tolerance widens, trauma can be processed, and life can get better.

With increased emotional regulation, a trauma survivor can begin to experience safety in their own body. They learn that they alone own their body and control who has access to it. This newfound sense of autonomy marks a significant milestone in the healing process.  Along with this empowered sense of self comes the freedom to express one’s voice, make choices, and create healthy boundaries—tools essential for maintaining safety and well-being in the present.

The integration of safety, stability, and trust developed during therapy supports the survivor in seeing the depth of their own resilience and capacity for growth.

Milestone 4: The safety expands out of the therapy room — to other relationships.

When you start to feel safer and more stable in yourself, now you can take that safety outside the therapy room and further into the life you are building. Perhaps it starts small: Saying hello to a new neighbor or that person who works on your floor that you think is cute — or even going to a support group, where you might practice your skills with a few more people. Maybe you start reaching out a little more — letting people in a little more, as you’re noticing that not all people are hurtful. You start to recognize the helpers, see the healing power of healthy relationships, and grow more comfortable with being vulnerable.

As trauma survivors experience healing, they begin to form new, healthier relationships built on trust and mutual support.  These relationships not only contribute to their well-being, but they also create a network of support that is essential for continued healing.  As they open up to others, they grow more connected, less isolated, (because people struggle to heal when isolated), and more resilient.  Ultimately, they realize they are not alone. The support system built helps to ground and nourish.  There is a home base, and that home base becomes you!

Milestone 5: Ongoing Healing and Growth

The healing journey doesn’t stop once the initial milestones are reached.  The window of tolerance continues to expand, allowing survivors to access new resources and skills, including the ability to ask for help and even to allow that support to occur. The trauma endured continues to be processed, and survivors learn to integrate the past into a new, empowered narrative that starts to become their life today.  Healing is not a destination – it’s a continuous process of growth and self-discovery.  We are always healing!

If you’re ready to explore the healing potential of therapy, and you’re local to Alexandria, please reach out to our office.  We are here to support you toward the healing and peace you deserve.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

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Robyn Brickel

Robyn is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with 20+ years of experience providing psychotherapy, as well as the founder and clinical director of a private practice, Brickel and Associates, LLC in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia. She and her team bring a strengths-based, trauma-informed, systems approach to the treatment of individuals (adolescents and adults), couples and families. She specializes in trauma (including attachment trauma) and the use of dissociative mechanisms; such as: self-harm, eating disorders and addictions. She also approaches treatment of perinatal mental health from a trauma-informed lens.

Robyn also guides clients and clinicians who wish to better understand the impact of trauma on mental health and relationships. She has a wide range of post graduate trauma and addictions education and is trained in numerous relational models of practice, including Emotionally Focused Couple Therapy (EFT), the Psychobiological Approach to Couple Therapy (PACT), and Imago therapy. She is a trained Sensorimotor Psychotherapist and is a Certified EMDRIA therapist and Approved Consultant. Utilizing all of these tools, along with mindfulness and ego state work to provide the best care to her clients. She prides herself in always learning and expanding her knowledge on a daily basis about the intricacies of treating complex trauma and trauma’s impact on perinatal distress.

She frequently shares insights, resources and links to mental health news on Facebook and Twitter as well as in her blog at BrickelandAssociates.com

To contact Robyn directly:

Robyn@RobynBrickel.com

www.BrickelandAssociates.com

brickelandassociates.com/