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So, I have done some things to help dampen specific triggers.  I know we don't all have the same triggers, but i thought that I could share some practical things that I've done... re association therapy, I guess it what you could call it. 

The sound of doors opening, and closing, was a trigger for me.  So, there are bells on all the doors of rooms in our house where I am usually in.  My office, bedroom, and the front door, all have bells. 

Board Games.  This took a lot of work, because I was forced to play board games, and in an effort to not be noticed, lost on purpose.  So, I played games with people who weren't unhealthy.  I played simple games at first, and none of the ones I grew up with.  My husband is the best loser in the world, and that gave me a lot of safety, and confidence.  I'm a formidable opponent now in some complicated games.  But, if people talk a lot of crap about beating me, my confidence will be shot, and I won't have fun.  But, I don't play with people like that if I can help it, and the local table top gaming community is generally full of nice people. 

Video Games.  This was even harder than board games.  But again, my husband isn't a sore loser, and we generally play by ourselves, or in a team.  He happily will take on more difficult enemies for me in Skyrim.  But I don't let the creepy atmospheric music play, stop when I get anxious, and don't play too close to bed time if I am alone.  But I feel a game like Skyrim is therapeutic for me.  It pushes my hyper awareness a little, without being triggering.  Also helps, that I play a heavily armored cat person, so I can disconnect from my character a little bit. 

Housework.  I had a panic attack once trying to clean the stove.  Yep.  It's almost funny.  So, I can actually clean my house now.  Took a lot of practice, and a lot of times our house was not so great.  But, my husband was very kind, and did things that I absolutely couldn't (like clean the stove) until I was able to.  Having the freedom, to control my environment has been a huge help, and I can say now, our home is a lovely, peaceful place.   You wouldn't imagine I was raised by lazy hoarder child abusing narcissists. 

I still can't stand for the end credits of a movie to play, but I'm working on it.  Any practical tactics you guys have done to help with coping, or therapy? 

     

Star Trek: Voyager really helped me understand my relationship with my IC.  There is a character called "Seven of Nine."  She was stolen away from her family at a young age, and assimilated into a race of mech/cyborg people called the Borg.  She has to learn how to be human again, and every step into becoming human had its own set of challenges.
I had to guard my IC, and lock her away when she was very young, to protect her from the cold, militant, harsh, environment I grew up in.  I had/have to become human again.  Just like Seven of Nine.     

Dear little me, with blonde hair, and blue eyes.  I wish I could give you the pony you wanted.  I wish you could ride a little fat palomino through fields of yellow flowers.  Feeling free, and safe, and lovely.  That's all you wanted, little me.  You wanted to be free, and safe, and in a world of pretty things, with your pony friend.  But your pony friend never was to be.  There was our horse, that our father took from us, made us wish we never wanted her... he threatened to kill our horsey.  OUR horsey, little me.  The horse we dreamed about.  He took her away.  He made us take care of her under a cloud of terror, and got mad that we didn't love her... How could we love our horsey when our father used her against us? How can you love the knife that stabs you? How can your heart be full of love for something that only brings fear? You can't, and it's not our fault. 
I'm sorry, little me, about our horse.  She could have been our source of solace in that *.  She could have been our mighty steed in the battle that we fought every day... But our father ruined that... Just like everything else lovely, and pretty, and ours.
I'm sorry that I don't have a pony to give you.  I don't even have a kitten to give you.  Animals were your only friend, little me. 

One day, little me, we will ride again. 

(Possibly Triggering, I feel like it is impossible to know what is triggering to everyone else.  I'm all amped up because of a mouse right now and I don't even know why, so I'm at a loss  )

For reasons, I'm calling my oocyte donor Don, and my spermocyte donor John.   

I hardly know where to start.  I was raised by hypocrites, and monsters, and yet I still claim the faith, and serve, and am involved in ministry.  Yeah.  It's freaking hard. 

For me, I realized that the god that my parents, and their parents serve (besides themselves) isn't the same God that I serve.  They serve someone who is weak, who can't see what they have done.  They serve something in a box, something that they can in fact, control.  Just like they controlled me.  Just like they controlled my entire perception.
I used to view God as someone who hated me, just like John, and Don.  They hated me.  They hated my face, they hated my quirks.  They never laughed at my quirks, or loved anything about me.  I was a product of their shame, and to be as perfect as possible for other people to marvel at their amazing parenting. 
That isn't God.  That isn't the love that my husband taught me.  My husband doesn't have a biting thing to say, for every thing I say.  He doesn't cut me down at every opprotunity, or love to see me hurt. 
My husband isn't God, nor a god, but he showed me that there is something real in the word love.  My parents said they loved me after beating me, and bruising me, and cutting my emotions to shatters so that my heart literally ached. 
So, yeah.  I still believe.  I share my story.  People know.  They are sensitive to my triggers and go out of their way to be aware of them.  Other Christians have even helped me work through them, and they don't make fun of me for the bells on my doors.  Men even, in my church, I can be hugged (fully knowing they are there of course) by, and not be terrified. 
God has redeemed a lot in me, and a lot of triggers have been dampened a lot...

My thoughts are so scattered.  I saw a mouse go into the control panel of my stove, and for some reason I'm in an adrenaline surge like nothing else, and it's so freaking exhausting.  Thought I would share kind of a different perspective I guess??? Wondering if everyone who has experienced religious abuse completely shunned it, or if I am not the weird one.  I don't judge, at all.    We've been through too much for that. 

Hi, so I have CPTSD, I had no idea it was so widely accepted a term/diagnosis/thing.  I just thought I was all alone.  So yeah, hello everyone.