A while back, I was on the receiving end of a critique that unexpectedly shook me.

A well-known mental health professional, Dr. Glenn Patrick Doyle, made a public social media post calling certain content on social media “resilience porn.”

While he didn’t name me specifically, I felt like it could be possible that my work was among the content he was talking about—and his words landed hard.

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At the time, I'd been creating videos that reached millions. I was using my voice and lived experience to speak to survivors, offering moments of light, softness, and encouragement in a world that can feel overwhelming.

But after reading Dr. Doyle's words, I started questioning everything. Had I been misleading people? Was I giving them something that felt good but lacked substance? Was my work—my heart—contributing to a fantasy instead of honoring the full depth of trauma and healing?

When I see the phrase “resilience porn,” I feel like there's a suggestion of a curated vulnerability: content that’s palatable, comforting, even aesthetically pleasing—but ultimately disconnected from the raw, grueling process of real healing. And while I understood the critique, it hit something deep in me.

Because what most people don’t realize is that my softness isn’t the result of avoiding pain, it’s the hard-won product of surviving it.

I’ve lived through unimaginable darkness. I’ve walked paths that tried to break me. And still, I chose to keep my heart open. Still, I choose to center joy, hope, and agency—not because I don’t know the weight of trauma, but because I do. Because I’ve lived it. Because I continue to live with its echoes.

And in the face of that, I choose to believe that there’s something worth holding on to. Something worth reaching toward.

Eventually, I began to see that Dr. Doyle’s message was as much about the container of social media as it was about the content itself. Platforms allow for bingeable, out-of-context consumption of deeply personal material.

When someone stumbles across one of my videos, they might not see the larger body of work or the real-life messiness I’ve navigated behind the scenes. They might only see the resilience, the hope, the light—and mistake that for all there is.

So I stepped back. I stopped posting consistently. I stopped chasing engagement or staying on the content treadmill. I kept my connection to social media mostly limited to sharing blog posts and the occasional story update. And instead, I poured myself into something with more depth, more context, and more intentionality: this blog.

And now, I’ve written fifty posts that explore healing in all its mess and nuance. Not just the light, not just the dark, but the whole human spectrum in between. I’ve focused on creating a space that doesn’t pressure anyone to “perform” their healing in a certain way. A space that welcomes survivors exactly as they are, wherever they are.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned to ask again and again—both for myself and for others—it’s:

What do I need most right now?



That one question anchors everything. It’s not performative. It’s not curated. It doesn’t care how healing looks from the outside. It cares about what’s real. What’s present. What’s needed.

That question brings us back to our bodies, our hearts, and our own knowing. It’s the antidote to fantasy. It’s the root of emotional intelligence, self-regulation, and nervous system awareness. It’s how we honor our truth.

Looking back now, as I celebrate this 50th Blog Post milestone for The Healing Project Blog, I feel like the shift I made after receiving that feedback was actually an expansion.

I'm grateful for the work Dr. Doyle does and the way that he shows up. I've also found the ways his words helped me grow as a person and as a healing facilitator:

• I turned more intentionally toward blogging and creating work with even more depth and clarity.
• I refined my message, making sure that it wasn’t just comforting but also deeply real.
• And through it all, I stayed true to my purpose: to offer survivors a sense of agency in their healing, to remind them that joy is not out of reach, and to reflect back to them their own strength.



Lately, I’ve been slowly spending more time on social media again—not as a return to old patterns, but with new clarity and deeper intention. I’m not sure yet what a return to social media will look like, and I don’t feel a rush to define it. But I know that whatever I share, it will be from the same grounded place this blog has grown from.

It will come from asking that same question: What do I need most right now? And, how can I share in a way that honors both myself and the people receiving it?

There is no one way to heal. Some people need the starkness of the dark to feel seen. Others need the softness of the light to remember that hope is possible. I choose the latter—and I stand by that choice. Thank you for walking this path with me.

In service and solidarity,

Gretchen

SOMATIC TRAUMA SPECIALIST + ENERGETIC INTUITIVE

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