DPR

Dissociated Pain Release

A self-help technique developed by a trauma survivor

Anne MacMillan, MLA

Survivor, Consultant, Coach

Master's Clinical Psychology - Harvard University

Dissociated Pain Release

Self-Help Trauma Support

Dissociated Pain Release

Dissociated Pain Release (DPR) is a self-help technique that allows users to release emotional pain from trauma without re-experiencing it. It is based on the idea that emotional pain is stored in the mind, body, and nervous system and that the stored pain causes distress and discomfort in the present, whether the trauma was a recent event or something that happened many years ago.

There is no need for a DPR user to know where any emotional pain came from. All a user needs to know is that they are currently experiencing unwanted emotional pain and that they would like to release that pain and feel better -- quickly.

Most importantly, in DPR, emotional pains are released while the user is dissociated from them -- allowing the user to process any trauma or distress without being forced to relive the original traumatic experience.

Examples of emotional pain that can be released from the body and nervous system through DPR include rage, anger, shame, sadness, guilt, grief, loneliness, abandonment, anxiety, and fear.

Likewise, DRP allows users to release any stored sensations associated with physical pain or forms of bodily discomfort that happened in the past. DPR users can release sensations of nausea, dizziness, cold, being drugged, etc. Again, all these sensations are released without the DRP user re-experiencing the original potency of any traumatic event. Often DPR users release pain without even knowing what the original traumatic event may have been.

DPR has three cyclical steps: (A) identify pain to release, (B) dissociate from the pain, and (C) release the pain. Once understood, DPR is a simple, repetitive process that applies in many self-help situations. Any user employing DPR expects to complete its A-B-C cycle several times in any one self-help session. It is understood that there may be several painful emotions, different forms of physical pain and other negative bodily sensations that require release, making time and repetition necessary.

IMPORTANT

* DPR is not trauma therapy.

Anne is not a therapist and does not support individuals through trauma therapy. Anne teaches a self-help technique that individuals can apply to many situations in their everyday lives and that they have a right to use to manage any experiences they choose, traumatic or not. It is always recommended that trauma survivors hire a licensed trauma therapists whenever possible. Call 911 in any emergency.

Feeling Suicidal?
Find a Helpline

Anne MacMillan, MLA

Survivor, Consultant, Coach, Educator

Master's Clinical Psychology, Harvard Univerisity

IMPORTANT


* DPR is not trauma therapy.

Anne is not a therapist and does not support individuals through trauma therapy. Anne teaches a self-help technique that individuals can apply to many situations in their everyday lives and that they have a right to use to manage any experiences they choose, traumatic or not.

It is always recommended that trauma survivors hire a licensed trauma therapists whenever possible. Call 911 in any emergency.

Feeling Suicidal?
Find a Helpline:
https://findahelpline.com/

About Me

Like many others, I grew up in a household that didn't offer me the basic protections all children need. I experienced extreme trauma as a very young child and, unfortunately, that trauma continued into my adolescence and adulthood.

I survived adolescence emotionally by focusing on studying contemporary dance, helping me process my emotions and increase my body awareness. As a young adult in my twenties, I was exposed to relaxation and meditation techniques and the idea that healing that comes naturally when we move our eyes as we dream.

In my mid-twenties, memories of traumatic events that had happened during my early childhood began to return to my consciousness. I knew about EMDR (Eye-Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) therapy for trauma, but wasn't in a situation that allowed me consistent access to a trauma therapist.

So, I began working through my traumatic memories on my own, combining what I'd learned about the emotions I felt in my body through dancing with relaxation and visualization techniques. I added what I decided to call REM Simulation -- or Rapid Eye Movement Simulation. REM sleep is the deep dreaming sleep in which humans naturally process emotions.

The result was a self-help technique that made it possible for me to work through the terrible emotions associated with traumatic events that had occurred in my past and regain the sense of emotional stability I needed -- all without having an opportunity to get the therapeutic support I needed.

Dissociated Pain Release

I dubbed my self-help technique DPR, or Dissociated Pain Release, and decided that I didn't want it to ever become something that anyone with an advanced degree and a lot of privilege could tell people they weren't qualified to perform at home on their own.

Therapy is wonderful and everyone who has access to a therapist should take advantage of that privilege. But recovery strategies should be available to anyone anywhere. That's what DPR is about for me.

From my perspective, DPR is nothing more than a collection of practical ideas put together in one package to help all of us get through the difficult emotions humans feel. It's valuable because it works and it uses human's natural REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep processing methods.

My Newest Blog Posts

A steady task lamp illuminates a quiet shared workspace, suggesting intimacy through focused attention, reliability, and direct engagement.

How Intimacy Forms Along the Autistic Pathway

June 30, 202612 min read

Series V, Article 3: How Intimacy Forms Along the Autistic Pathway

The desire for closeness is not different. What differs is everything about how that desire is expressed, what it needs in order to be met, and what genuine intimacy looks like when it is building well along the autistic developmental pathway (Sala et al., 2020; Yew et al., 2021).

The previous article described how the non-autistic pathway approaches intimacy: through the continuous back-and-forth of reciprocal self-disclosure, body-empathy-mediated attunement, and the felt sense of being received (Laurenceau et al., 1998; Reis & Shaver, 1988). That is one intimate architecture. The autistic pathway brings a different architecture to the same destination, and understanding it requires starting in the right place, with what autistic people actually want rather than with what they are assumed to lack (Sala et al., 2020; Yew et al., 2021).

What Autistic People Want

The research is consistent on this point, and it matters enough to name directly before anything else is said. Autistic people want closeness. They want companionship, connection, the experience of being genuinely known by someone who matters to them. They want friendships that go beyond the surface, partnerships that are real rather than performed, and the particular kind of ease that comes from being with someone who receives them as they actually are (Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020; Sala et al., 2020; Yew et al., 2021). The historical clinical assumption that autistic people are fundamentally uninterested in close relationship was not a careful observation. It was a projection of observed difficulty onto an absent desire, and the research has corrected it substantially (Sala et al., 2020; Smith et al., 2021; Yew et al., 2021).

What autistic people frequently do not want, and frequently find unnecessary or effortful or simply foreign, is the specific mechanism through which non-autistic intimacy is typically built: the indirect, back-and-forth, socially-attuned dance of confidentiality sharing and embodied reciprocity that the non-autistic pathway runs on (Crompton, Sharp, et al., 2020; Milton, 2012; Sala et al., 2020). The desire for closeness is as genuine and as persistent as in any other person. The mechanism through which closeness is sought, and through which it is recognized, is different (Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020; Sala et al., 2020).

A Different Architecture of Knowing

The autistic developmental pathway, as the previous series described, builds through the staircase: concentrated vertical rises of genuine new learning, followed by horizontal surfaces of consolidation and application, followed by another rise. That sequential structure shapes how identity forms along the autistic pathway, and it also shapes how intimacy forms.

Intimacy along the autistic staircase does not build through continuous, ambient, back-and-forth exchange. It builds through specific, explicit, concentrated encounters that establish genuine knowing at a particular depth, followed by periods in which that knowing is consolidated into the fabric of the relationship. What the staircase needs as fuel for intimacy are encounters of this kind: a conversation in which something real and direct is said, a moment of genuine shared engagement with something that matters to both people, a sustained contact over time that has been explicitly defined and consistently honored (Sala et al., 2020; Yew et al., 2021). These are the materials from which autistic intimacy is constructed, and they are genuinely intimate materials, not approximations or substitutes for some other kind of closeness. They are how genuine knowing builds along this pathway.

What this means in practice is that the autistic pathway often builds intimacy through different channels than the non-autistic pathway: through shared engagement with deep interests, through direct and honest communication that does not require social decoding, through reliable and consistent presence over time, through the particular kind of clarity that comes from saying exactly what is meant and meaning exactly what is said (Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020; Crompton, Sharp, et al., 2020; Sala et al., 2020). Loyalty, directness, and genuine interest in the other person's specific world, rather than general attunement to their shifting emotional states, are among the primary materials of autistic intimacy (Sala et al., 2020; Smith et al., 2021; Yew et al., 2021).

This is worth naming clearly. When an autistic person demonstrates deep knowledge of a partner's specific interests, when they show up with consistent reliability in a relationship, when they offer direct and honest engagement with what the other person is actually saying, these are intimacy offerings (Sala et al., 2020; Smith et al., 2021). They may not arrive in the form the non-autistic intimacy framework expects. But they are genuine expressions of genuine care, and they deserve to be recognized as such (Milton, 2012; Yew et al., 2021).


When Emotional Self-Disclosure Arrives as Information

Understanding what autistic intimacy is requires understanding something specific about what it is not, without reducing that understanding to a deficit framing.

When a non-autistic person shares a self-reflection, as the previous post described, they are often extending an intimacy bid: offering something of the inner world they have built through continuous social mirroring, the accumulated product of a self-concept formed through outside-in social formation (Laurenceau et al., 1998; Reis & Shaver, 1988). What they are sharing carries traces of that formation; it is organized by the kind of social and emotional meaning-making that the non-autistic pathway runs on.

The autistic person, whose self-concept is built from the inside out, through direct relationship with their own values and ways of engaging rather than through continuous social calibration, may receive that disclosure genuinely and attentively without automatically receiving the intimacy function it carries (Milton, 2012; Sala et al., 2020). The content is heard. The relational gesture, the implicit question of do you receive me, may not arrive in a form the autistic nervous system automatically reads (Laurenceau et al., 1998; Milton, 2012; Reis & Shaver, 1988). The experience the non-autistic person is describing, organized as it is around the particular kind of social and emotional meaning-making that outside-in formation produces, may simply not carry the same resonance or relevance within an inside-out inner world. This is not indifference. It is not a failure of care. It is a structural difference in how the inner world is organized and what kinds of shared experience carry relational weight (Jones et al., 2024; Milton, 2012; Sala et al., 2020).

Something worth noting in this context, because it shapes how emotional self-disclosure lands for some autistic people: alexithymia, the difficulty identifying and describing one's own emotional states, is present in a significant proportion of autistic people, though by no means all of them (Kinnaird et al., 2019). Where it exists, it creates a specific challenge for intimacy: the person may be having genuine and sometimes intense feelings without having reliable conscious access to what those feelings are or the language to express them (Kinnaird et al., 2019). This does not mean the capacity for emotional experience is absent. It means the mechanism through which that experience is identified and shared operates differently, and that the non-autistic expectation of verbal emotional reciprocity may be met with something that looks, from the outside, like distance but is better understood as a different kind of inner architecture (Kinnaird et al., 2019; Sala et al., 2020).

The Same-Neurotype Experience

Many autistic people describe their closest, most sustaining connections as being with other autistic people, and the research on neurotype-matched interaction illuminates why (Botha et al., 2022; Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020; Crompton, Sharp, et al., 2020). Crompton and colleagues found that autistic people share information with other autistic people more effectively, that rapport is higher in neurotype-matched interactions, and that the ease and legibility of same-neurotype exchange is measurably greater than in cross-neurotype ones (Crompton, Sharp, et al., 2020). A companion study produced one of the most resonant descriptions in the literature, an autistic adult noting that they never realised everybody felt as happy as they do when they are around autistic people (Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020). That observation describes something that is not simply preference or comfort. It is the experience of intimacy forming along the channels the autistic pathway actually runs on.

In same-neurotype autistic connection, the communication style, the pace, the directness, the willingness to engage deeply and specifically with what actually matters without the social overhead that non-autistic interaction requires, are mutually legible (Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020; Crompton, Sharp, et al., 2020). The autistic person does not have to translate themselves. Their interests, their ways of making meaning, their forms of expressing care, are understood by someone whose inner world is organized by similar principles (Botha et al., 2022; Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020). The intimacy bid sent through shared deep engagement, through blunt and honest communication, through reliable and consistent presence, is received as the intimacy bid it is, rather than arriving in a form that requires decoding or that goes unrecognized (Crompton, Sharp, et al., 2020; Milton, 2012).

This is not to say that autistic-autistic relationships are without difficulty, or that same-neurotype connection is the only path to genuine intimacy for autistic people. It is to say that the neurotype-matched experience points clearly toward what autistic intimacy needs in order to build: a relational environment in which the channels through which the autistic person naturally expresses and receives closeness are recognized and received rather than missed or misread (Botha et al., 2022; Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020; Crompton, Sharp, et al., 2020).


What the Autistic Pathway Needs

What the autistic pathway needs in order for genuine intimacy to form is, at its core, the same thing every developmental pathway needs: accurate recognition of what is actually being offered, and genuinely calibrated reception of it (Laurenceau et al., 1998; Reis & Shaver, 1988; Sala et al., 2020).

That means relationships in which the autistic person's intimacy bids, the shared enthusiasms, the direct disclosures, the reliable presence, the deep engagement with what matters, are recognized for what they are rather than experienced as insufficient approximations of some other kind of closeness (Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020; Milton, 2012; Sala et al., 2020). It means partners who do not require the performance of non-autistic intimacy rituals as the price of admission to the relationship, who do not mistake directness for coldness or intensity of interest for a failure of relational skill (Jones et al., 2024; Milton, 2012; Pearson & Rose, 2021). It means explicit communication of what the intimate encounter is and what it requires, because the autistic pathway does not automatically receive ambient relational meaning the way the non-autistic pathway does (Milton, 2012; Sala et al., 2020; Yew et al., 2021).

It also means, for many autistic people, the particular kind of nourishment that same-neurotype connection provides: relationships in which the translation labor is reduced, in which the authentic self is mutually legible, and in which the forms of closeness that feel genuine to the autistic person are forms the other person both recognizes and shares (Botha et al., 2022; Crompton, Hallett, et al., 2020; Crompton, Sharp, et al., 2020).

And it means something that connects directly to the developmental work the previous series traced: the unmasked self needs to be the self that is in the intimate relationship. Genuine knowing cannot be built through a performance (Pearson & Rose, 2021). The autistic person who has spent years in correction environments and masking contexts arrives at intimate relationships with particular need for the experience of being received as they actually are (Botha et al., 2022; Pearson & Rose, 2021). That reception, when it comes, is not simply pleasant. It is developmentally significant. It is the condition under which the staircase rises toward the intimacy that has always been sought (Botha et al., 2022; Sala et al., 2020).

Next in this series: Physical Intimacy, Sensory Experience, and the Body, how sensory processing shapes what physical closeness means across neurotypes, why touch and physical presence are not automatically regulating or connecting, and what sensory safety requires before physical intimacy can become a genuine pathway toward closeness.


THE SERIES:

Article 1: What Intimacy Actually Is
Article 2: How Intimacy Forms Along the Non-Autistic Pathway
Article 3: How Intimacy Forms Along the Autistic Pathway
Article 4: Physical Intimacy, Sensory Experience and the Body
Article 5: When Two Intimacy Systems Meet
Article 6: Toward Mutual Intelligibility


References

Botha, M., Dibb, B., & Frost, D. M. (2022). “It’s being a part of a grand tradition, a grand counter-culture which involves communities”: A qualitative investigation of autistic community connectedness. Autism, 26(8), 2151–2164. https://doi.org/10.1177/13623613221080248

Crompton, C. J., Hallett, S., Ropar, D., Flynn, E. G., & Fletcher-Watson, S. (2020). “I never realised everybody felt as happy as I do when I am around autistic people”: A thematic analysis of autistic adults’ relationships with autistic and neurotypical friends and family. Autism, 24(6), 1438–1448. https://doi.org/10.1177/1362361320908976

Crompton, C. J., Ropar, D., Evans-Williams, C. V. M., Flynn, E. G., & Fletcher-Watson, S. (2020). Autistic peer-to-peer information transfer is highly effective. Autism, 24(7), 1704–1712. https://doi.org/10.1177/1362361320919286

Crompton, C. J., Sharp, M., Axbey, H., Fletcher-Watson, S., Flynn, E. G., & Ropar, D. (2020). Neurotype-matching, but not being autistic, influences self and observer ratings of interpersonal rapport. Frontiers in Psychology, 11, Article 586171. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2020.586171

Jones, D. R., Botha, M., Ackerman, R. A., King, K., & Sasson, N. J. (2024). Non-autistic observers both detect and demonstrate the double empathy problem when evaluating interactions between autistic and non-autistic adults. Autism, 28(8), 2053–2065. https://doi.org/10.1177/13623613231219743

Kinnaird, E., Stewart, C., & Tchanturia, K. (2019). Investigating alexithymia in autism: A systematic review and meta-analysis. European Psychiatry, 55, 80–89. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.eurpsy.2018.09.004

Laurenceau, J.-P., Barrett, L. F., & Pietromonaco, P. R. (1998). Intimacy as an interpersonal process: The importance of self-disclosure, partner disclosure, and perceived partner responsiveness in interpersonal exchanges. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 74(5), 1238–1251. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.74.5.1238

Milton, D. E. M. (2012). On the ontological status of autism: The “double empathy problem.” Disability & Society, 27(6), 883–887. https://doi.org/10.1080/09687599.2012.710008

Pearson, A., & Rose, K. (2021). A conceptual analysis of autistic masking: Understanding the narrative of stigma and the illusion of choice. Autism in Adulthood, 3(1), 52–60. https://doi.org/10.1089/aut.2020.0043

Reis, H. T., & Shaver, P. (1988). Intimacy as an interpersonal process. In S. Duck, D. F. Hay, S. E. Hobfoll, W. Ickes, & B. M. Montgomery (Eds.), Handbook of personal relationships: Theory, research and interventions (pp. 367–389). Wiley.

Sala, G., Hooley, M., & Stokes, M. A. (2020). Romantic intimacy in autism: A qualitative analysis. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 50, 4133–4147. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-020-04377-x

Smith, R., Netto, J., Gribble, N. C., & Falkmer, M. (2021). “At the end of the day, it’s love”: An exploration of relationships in neurodiverse couples. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 51, 3311–3321. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-020-04790-z

Yew, R. Y., Samuel, P., Hooley, M., Mesibov, G. B., & Stokes, M. A. (2021). A systematic review of romantic relationship initiation and maintenance factors in autism. Personal Relationships, 28(4), 777–802. https://doi.org/10.1111/pere.12397

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Anne MacMillan, MLA

Anne MacMillan, MLA is the founder of R.E.A.L. Neurodiverse 10-Step Family Systems Approach, designed to support Level 1 autistic adults and their neurodivergent and neurotypical family members as they come to understand what makes them different, work to improve their relationships, and take action to improve their lives. MacMillan has over 50 years of personal life experience with neurodiverse family systems, over 20 years of personal life experience in a neurodiverse intimate life partnership, and has been professionally supporting autistics and non-autistic adults in neurodiverse close family relationships since 2017. She has a master's in psychology from Harvard University where she did some of the world's first quantitative research on autism and intimate life partnerships. She self-identifies as a high body empathetic, or a non-autistic neurodivergent with a high level of body empathy.

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