Have you ever gone completely quiet in the middle of an argument—your mind blank, your mouth frozen? Or felt so overwhelmed after a fight that you left—not just the room, but the relationship itself?
I’ve been there. And for a long time, I didn’t know why. I thought I was the problem, or maybe I was just cold. Unavailable.
But I’ve come to understand something important: When I shut down, it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because my nervous system had learned that silence was safety.
I grew up watching emotional abuse in my home. My stepfather often emotionally hurt me, and I’ve never told that to my mom until recently. The energy was unpredictable. I never knew what to expect next. When my mom left him, I felt joy and relief—finally, we were safe. But then she went back. And then left again.
So, my nervous system learned something: Don’t trust calm. Safety can disappear at any moment. Even though I didn’t consciously remember this as trauma, my body remembered. That fear never left. It just got quieter, buried.
That pattern—being all in one day and emotionally gone the next—was survival.
What Was Actually Happening in My Body?
It all comes down to the nervous system—the part of our body that reacts before our brain can even process what’s happening. If it senses a threat (even if there isn’t one), it jumps into survival mode (Zingela et al., 2022):
- Fight (argue or defend)
- Flight (escape or avoid)
- Freeze (shut down or go numb)
- Fawn (people-please to stay safe)
And if you’ve experienced any trauma, your nervous system can get stuck in these patterns, responding to small triggers as if they’re huge threats.
That’s when my body flipped into overdrive: I felt overwhelmed, anxious, and like I had to do something—to feel in control again. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was hyperarousal, a trauma response—a state where the stress system is highly activated. Many trauma survivors live in this state daily, even when nothing dangerous is happening (Corrigan et al., 2011).
Other times, I would suddenly feel blank and shut down: My brain felt foggy—I couldn’t form thoughts or words. I’d go quiet during arguments. I felt emotionally numb, detached, and out of reach.
This was my body pulling the emergency brake. “Too much. Shut it all down to survive.”
This is called hypoarousal—when our system goes into freeze mode. It’s not a conscious choice. It’s our body protecting us by “going offline.”
This is what created the push-pull pattern in my relationships. Some days, I felt connected—overflowing with love and warmth. I’d be affectionate, alive, engaged.
But the very next day, I could feel like a completely different person. Numb. Quiet. Emotionally unavailable. I didn’t want to talk.
At first, I thought: What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stay consistent? But what was really happening…was my nervous system swinging between two survival states.
When you grow up in unpredictable or unsafe environments, your nervous system learns to stay on high alert—always scanning for danger, even when you’re finally safe.
So when I felt connected, loved, or close to someone…my body didn’t know how to relax into it. It felt unfamiliar. Unpredictable.
So what did it do? It flipped the switch. Either:
- Hyperarousal: I became overstimulated. My body felt anxious and overwhelmed, like something bad was about to happen. I might overconnect, trying to prevent the “inevitable.”
- Hypoarousal: I shut down. I went quiet, numb, detached. It was like my emotions had been turned off. I couldn’t think, speak, or even feel clearly.
Relationships Essential Reads
It wasn’t that my love disappeared overnight. It’s that my nervous system got overwhelmed—and pulled me out of connection to keep me “safe.” This back-and-forth is common for people with unresolved trauma. Our body is trying to stay safe by constantly scanning, reacting, and withdrawing—even in safe relationships—for protection.
Siegel & Drulis (2023) describe something called the Window of Tolerance—the zone where our nervous system feels regulated enough to handle stress. Inside this window, we can think clearly, feel emotions, and respond calmly.
But when we’ve experienced emotional trauma, that window gets narrower. Our system becomes more sensitive, and even minor stress feels overwhelming.
When we’re outside our window, we either:
- Go above it (hyperarousal)—our body goes into fight or flight. We feel anxious, angry, panicky, or our mind starts racing.
- Drop below it (hypoarousal)—our body shuts down. We feel numb, frozen, disconnected, or like we can’t speak or think.
My Window of Tolerance had become so narrow that even small stress—such as a raised voice or a tense question—felt dangerous. My nervous system flipped instantly: I was either flooded with emotion or completely shut down.
I used to think, “This is just how I am.” But it was trauma, not personality.
A trigger isn’t about the event itself. It’s the meaning our nervous system attaches to it. So when my partner asked something I wasn’t ready to answer, and pushed me for a response, I didn’t choose silence—I froze. My system went offline.
That shutdown was a survival skill I learned in childhood—when silence kept me safe. But now? It was creating distance in the relationships that mattered most.
How I’m Learning to Change the Pattern
1. Name the Moment. Instead of spiraling, I pause and say: “This feels old.” “My body is reacting to the past, not the present.” This simple naming creates space between the trigger and my reaction.
2. Regulate Before Reacting. I don’t try to “fix” anything while dysregulated. I ground myself first: Breathe: In for 4, hold, out for 4. Feel my feet on the floor. Place my hand on my chest and say, “I’m safe now.”
3. Track the Triggers. I ask myself: What just happened? What did I feel in my body? What does this remind me of?
The more I do this, the more patterns I see—and with that awareness, I have more choice.
Healing doesn’t mean never getting triggered. It means recognizing what’s happening, staying curious, and responding with care.
