Open Eyes, Closed Mouth

[openeyesclosedmouth]

The "Quiet" Symptoms of c-PTSD: The Ones People Mislabel as Laziness, Moodiness, or "Not Trying Hard Enough" [Ashley Nicole]

(The neurobiology of freeze, fragmented memory, fawning, and why your nervous system is not failing you -- it is coming out of survival mode.)

Let's talk about the side of c-PTSD people miss because it doesn't look cinematic.

Not the flashback scene. Not the panic attack everyone knows how to identify. Not the version of trauma people will post a quote about and then immediately misread in real life.

I'm talking about the quiet symptoms.

The ones that get mislabeled as: lazy. dramatic. flaky. disorganized. too sensitive. too much. not enough. "you just need to push through it."

No.

What you are looking at is often a nervous system that got trained in danger and is now trying to function in ordinary life like ordinary life is not low-key haunted.

You are not broken. You are not weak. You are not failing adulthood.

Your body learned survival first. Now it is trying to learn safety.

And that process is not always pretty. Sometimes it looks like healing. Sometimes it looks like staying at the laundry like it personally offended you.

WHAT THE "QUIET" SYMPTOMS OF C-PTSD ACTUALLY LOOK LIKE

C-PTSD does not always scream.

A lot of the time, it whispers.

It looks like: -bone-deep exhaustion that sleep does not fix. -needing hours or days to realize what you actually felt. -zoning out so hard your body stayed in the room but your mind absolutely did not. -constant self-doubt even when you are smart, capable, and painfully self-aware. -executive dysfunction that makes tiny tasks feel like mountain-climbing in flip flips. -being unable to sit still and unable to move. -chores piling up because your cognitive bandwidth is already maxed out. -avoiding texts, calls, or conversations because your system cannot process one more demand. -smiling automatically while feeling disconnected inside. -masking to survive. -living in contradiction: high insight, low energy; deep empathy, strong avoidance; strong love, weak access.

That is not character failure.

That is a survival system running old code in a new environment.

THE NEUROSCIENCE: WHY THIS IS NOT A MORAL ISSUE

This is where people need to stop calling trauma survivors "lazy" and start learning basic neurobiology.

When fight did not work, and flight did not work, and fawn only worked sometimes, the nervous system used the last defend it had:

Shutdown.

In Polyvagal Theory, this is often described as Dorsal Vagal Shutdown.

The body hits the emergency brake. Energy drops. Motivation drops. Speech drops. Movement drops. Everything non-essential gets cut back so the organism can survive.

That is why some survivors do not look "panicked." They look tired. Quiet. Numb. Foggy. Still.

People call that laziness because they do not understand physiology.

But a shutdown state is not a mindset problem. It is not cured by "try harder." You cannot motivational-speaker your way out of a body that thinks it is under seige.

And the exhaustion that sleep does not fix?

That is not you being "bad at rest."

That can be HPA-axis dysregulation--the stress-response system involving cortisol and adrenaline getting pushed past sustainable limits.

If your body has been marinating in stress chemistry long enough, eventually the whole system gets weird. You can feel wired and tired. Agitated and empty. Exhausted and still unable to settle.

That is not drama. That is physiological depletion.

WHY BASIC TASKS FEEL IMPOSSIBLE

A lot of people with c-PTSD can handle an emergency like a trauma-fueled Navy SEAL... and then get traken out by an email, a sink full of dishes, or a form that needs filling out.

That is not hypocrisy.

That is executive function injury.

The prefrontal cortex helps with planning, initiation, sequencing, organizing, decision-making, and task-switching.

Chronic trauma pulls energy away from those functions and reallocates it towards threat detection.

Translation: Your brain got really, really good at surviving chaos. It did not get to practice "peaceful task initiation" in peace.

So yes, you may be amazing in a crisis and completely stalled by laundry.

That does not mean you are incapable. It means your nervous system was trained for fire alarms, not spreadsheets.

And if you were parentified, hyper-responsible, or had to monitor adults as a child, there is another layer:

Your brain learned to use its energy on managing the room, not on building a calm internal life.

That is why even "small" tasks can feel loaded. Sometimes the task is not just the task.

The dishes are not just the dishes. The email is not just an email. The phone call is not just a phone call.

Your nervous system may still read them as:

Performance Risk Demand Critique Pressure Proof of worth

That is why the body says "no" when the mind says "please."

WHY GOING QUIET IS NOT THE SILENT TREATMENT

This one matters.

A lot of trauma survivors get accused of being avoidant, cold, withholding, or passive-aggressive when they go quiet.

But trauma can literally interfere with speech.

When the nervous system is triggered, blood flow and activation patterns shift. Broca's Area--the reqion associated with speech production--can go partially offline.

So that "I don't know what to say" feeling? That "I can text back right now" feeling? That blank stare? The inability to put experience into words in real time?

That is not cruelty.

That is biology.

Sometimes silence is not punishment.

Sometimes silence is what happens when the body is in speechless terror.

And that is a very different thing.

MEMORY GAPS, TIMELINE CONFUSION, AND WHY TRAUMA STORIES COME OUT SIDEWAYS

Trauma does not always store memory like a neat filing cabinet.

The hippocampus--the part involved in organizing memory in linear time--can get disrupted by chronic stress.

That is why survivors often remember in fragments:

~ a look ~ a tone ~ a small ~ a body sensation ~ an image ~ a feeling ~ a sentence with no timestamp attached

This gets weaponized constantly.

"You said Tuesday before. Now you're saying Wednesday." "If it really happened, why can't you tell the story straight?" "That doesn't sound consistent."

But forensic reality is this:

Fragmented recall is common in trauma.

A perfectly polished, calm, chronological narrative is easier for a regulated brain.

A fragmented one often means the system was overwhelmed while the event was happening.

That does not prove deception.

It can actually support the presence of trauma.

There is also a difference between implicit and explicit memory.

Explicit memory is the story. Implicit memroy is the body's record.

So sometimes you cannot retrieve the exact sentence, but your body still remembers the danger.

That is why you may not remember every word they said--but you remember exactly what they meant.

Your nervous system caught the threat even when your language centers could not package it neatly.

STRUCTURAL DISSOCIATION: WHY YOU FEEL LIKE A CONTRADICTION

One of the most confusing parts of C-PTSD is feeling like two people at once.

Your understand what happened. You can explain it brilliantly. You can validate other people all day long.

And then suddenly you are frozen, depleted, overwhelmed, avoidant, or shut down over something "small."

That contradiction makes sense throuhgrh structural dissociation.

There can be an Apparently Normal Part of you--the one that handles life, works, parents, performs, explains.

And there can be an Emotional Part--the one still carrying fear, grief, terror, helplessness, shame, or collapse.

So yes, you can be deeply insightful and still get hijacked. Self-aware and still exhausted. Brilliant and still unable to move.

That is not hypocrisy.

That is what happens when multiple survival states are trying to coexist in one body.

And what people casually call "depression" is sometimes actually functional freeze:

High internal activation Low outward movement

A nervous system redlining on the inside while looking completely shut down on the outside.

So no, "nothing is wrong" just because you are sitting still.

Sometimes stillness is the loudest symptom in the room.

THE SMILE, THE NOD, THE "I'M FINE" PERFORMANCE

Let's name another one.

That smile you use when you feel unsafe? That laugh you do when you are actually dysregulated? That automatic pleasantness when your body is screaming "danger"?

That is often the Fawn Response.

It is a biological appeasement strategy.

It says:

!! please do not escalate !! !! please do not target me !! !! please let me stay safe !! !! please let this end without harm !!

It is not fake. It is not manipulation. It is not dishonesty.

It is survival with lipstick on.

And yes, it is exhausting.

Because nothing wears a person out like having to cosplay "fine" while their nervous system is filing an emergency report.

WHY REST GETS MISLABELED AS FAILURE

Western culture has a very toxic habit of making productivity the proof of worth.

If you cannot produce, perform, respond, tidy, organize, optimize, and smile while doing it, then suddenly people act like your humanity is under review.

But for trauma survivors, rest is not indulgence.

It is neurological repair.

Sociology has long shown that people are granted compassion more easily when injuries are visible. If the cast is on the leg, people understand the limp. If the injury is in the nervous system, people start giving TED Talks about discipline.

C-PTSD survivors are often denied the social permission to rest because their wounds do not photograph well.

But invisible injuries are still injuries.

Rest is not proof that you are giving up.

Sometimes it is proof that your body finally believes it might survive long enough to power down.

DEEPER WOUND: MORAL INJURY

C-PTSD is not only about fear.

Sometimes the deepest damage is moral.

Moral injury happens when someone who was supposed to protect you, love you, guide you, or at the very least not psychologically demolish you... becomes the source of harm.

That hits deeper than ordinary stress.

Because now the wound is not just:

"I was scared."

It is also:

"I was betrayed." "I was used." "I was not safe with the people I should have been safe with." "The people who should have cared for me became the reason I needed recovery."

That is why survivors can crave connection and avoid it at the same time.

You are not antisocial.

Your trust center got shattered by someone who had the clearance code.

THE "DANGER" FEELING YOU CANNOT ALWAYS EXPLAIN

If you grew up around narcissistic, abusive, chaotic, or high-conflict dynamics, your body likely became a world-class pattern reader.

You learned to track:

~tone shifts ~micro-expressions ~inconsistency ~energy changes ~what was not being said ~the air in the room before the blow-up

That is not you being paranoid.

That is an adaptation.

Sometimes your body knows before your conscious mind catches up.

The problem is that empathy often jumps in and tries to talk you out of your own data:

Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm projecting. Maybe they didn't mean it. Maybe I'm being unfair.

That is not weakness.

That is a beautiful heart trying not to become cruel.

The goal is not to lose that heart.

The goal is to teach is discernment.

You do not need less empathy.

You need safer places to put it.

SMALL, SAFE WAYS TO START PROTECTING YOURSELF

No pressure. No healing Olympics. No "fix yourself by Monday" nonsense.

Just small, safe options:

.: Pause before responding so your body can finish its sentence .: Name sensations instead of judging them .: Delay decisions when your feel activated .: Treat confusion as information .: Notice who requires you to override yourself to stay connected .: Use simple exits like "I need time" or "I'll think about it" .: Track patterns, not isolated intensity .: Use external scaffolding--notes, alarms, body doubling, visual reminders--because support is not cheating

And maybe most importantly:

Stop measuring yourself by how well you function in conditions no human nervous system was designed to function in.

THIS IS A SKILLSET YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN TAUGHT

People raised with emotionally safe caregivers usually learn some things quietly:

How to trust their body How to say no without panic How to rest without guilt How to ask for help How to leave without over-explaining How to know the difference between love and access

If you did not learn those things, that does not meany ou missed some magic adulthood memo.

It means you survived conditions that interrupted the lesson.

That is not shameful.

That is context.

And context changes everything.

FINAL TRUTH

You are not lazy. You are not dramatic. You are not broken.

You are carrying adaptations that made sense in danger.

You are thawing. You are integrating. You are learning what safety feels like in a body that had to memorize threat first.

Your empathy is not the problem. Your sensitivity is not the problem. Your awareness is not the problem.

It all just needs protection. And pacing. And the kind of compassion people should have given you a long time ago.

So if your healing looks quiet right now-- If it looks like rest, slowness, confusion, tears, numbness, staying at the wall, or trying again for the fiftieth time--

That does not mean you are doing it wrong.

It means your nervous system is finally trying to come home.

I see you. I believe you. And you are doing better than you think.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

From Mike Grubbs

Just because he is a good man, it doesn't mean that he is safe!

Last week, a friend sent me a video by Vicki Lemons on YouTube, and I was not prepared for how deeply it would resonate with me. She opened with a statement that immediately arrested my attention: "Good men are not always safe men."

At first glance, it feels almost contradictory, especially in a culture that equates goodness with provision, faithfulness, and reliability. She went on to explain that a good man is often defined as someone who takes care of his family, provides for his children, is respected, funny, dependable, and means well. And all of that can be true and yet still fall painfully short of what a woman needs most. Because goodness is about character, while safety is about emotional presence, protection, and consistency. Those two things are not the same.

She described how a man can be kind to everyone and still leave his spouse or girlfriend emotionally alone. He can be respectful and reliable, admired by friends and celebrated in public, and yet not know how to hold her pain or comfort her when she is most vulnerable. He may avoid conflict believing he is keeping the peace, while what she experiences is silence and silence feels like abandonment. One of the most striking things she said was that a good man can love you and still not know how to love you. His love may be gentle, but it is not grounding, not protective, not emotionally responsive. So the woman gives herself fully and still feels emotionally alone.

She spoke about how many men freeze in moments of conflict not because they do not care, but because they do not know how to be present in pain. Some deflect, some shut down, some flip the conversation so they do not have to deal with their own responsibility. Then she said something that cut straight to the heart: a good man can be safe to the world but not emotionally safe for the woman he is with. He protects his image, shows up as the good guy, and is loved by everyone else, yet becomes quiet when she needs support and minimizes her truth when she finally speaks it. He is safe everywhere except at home. Her conclusion was sobering and clear. Good men do not hurt you on purpose, but safe men protect your heart. Good men mean well. Safe men show up well. Good men are everywhere, but safe men are rare. She said she knew the difference, and she chose emotional safety.

That was my moment of reckoning because I used to be that man. Everything she described felt uncomfortable familiar. For much of my adult life, I was a master at showing up for the world. I was a people pleaser, dependable, respected, and outwardly consistent. Around 2010 or 2011, I joined a ministry aspirant class under Pastor Cedric Matthews, and part of the process required evaluation forms to be completed by employers, friends, family, neighbors, and your spouse or significant other. I remember being excited, confident in what everyone else would say about me, certain that my reputation as a good man would speak for itself. What I had not truly considered was how Eureka, actually experienced me. I thought I knew. Looking back now, I realize I was good, yet not emotionally safe. This was one of the things that led me to go back to school for Christian Counseling.

One form shifted my perspective and perception in a way that forever changed me. I had done things that were applauded and validated publicly, but I had not always been present where it mattered most. I was not intentionally harmful, but I was also not consistently protective of her heart. The realization was painful, but it was necessary.

Today, I see this same pattern repeatedly in marriages I counsel, especially among Christian couples, including those in leadership. To the world, the man is celebrated, admired, consistent, and dependable. All the while, the woman he is with is suffering in silence.

Over and over, wives say the same thing to me: "He is a good man, but he does not do the things safe men do, and that is what I need the most." They are not attacking his character, nor are they asking for perfection. They are simply tired of being emotionally unseen.

What these women are longing for is emotional safety. A safe man is emotionally present, not just physically available. He does not disappear when emotions surface or withdraw when conversations become uncomfortable. He stays. He listens without immediately defending himself. He learns how to hold emotional weight without trying to fix or minimize it. He remains consistent even when life is stressful. He takes responsibility instead of retreating and is willing to do the inner work required to grow emotionally. A safe man does not just love. He reassures, checks in, follows through, and creates an environment where his wife does not have to fight to be understood.

This is not about shaming men. It about calling us higher. Being a good man is admirable, but being a safe man is transformational. Good men do not hurt their wives on purpose, but safe men are trusted privately. The goal is not to stop being good. The goal is to go deeper. Because marriages do not fall apart from lack of provision. They break down from lack of emotional safety. And if we truly want stronger marriages, healthier familiar, and deeper intimacy, then we must choose to become men who do not just look good to the world, but feel safe at home.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

The thing about trust is...

There's no such thing as rebuilding trust.

At least, not in the way most people think about it.

We say trust is broken when a partner follows an ex, gets a little too close to a coworker, hides a conversation, crosses a line emotionally, or blows past it physically. We all know what someone means when they say, "I don't trust you anymore." That part makes sense. The pain is real. The betrayal is real.

What almost nobody is taught is how trust actually comes back.

Because the way we try to rebuild it is doomed from the start.

We try to rebuild trust with behavior. Transparency. Rules. Passwords. Location sharing. Checking in. Proving. Explaining. Reassuring. Doing everything "right" for long enough.

And here's the brutal reality.

If someone has been betrayed, every "right" behavior happens inside doubt.

Every text sent on time is questioned. Every night home early is monitored. Every reassurance is measured. Every good moment is followed by, "But what if it's happening again?"

So how long does it take? How many months? How many perfect choices? How many thousands of correct behaviors does it take to rebuild trust?

The honest answer is: it will never be enough.

Not because the betrayed partner is cruel. Not because they won't forgive. But because betrayal doesn't live in behavior. It lives in the body.

Trust is not a behavior program. Trust is not an agreement problem. Trust is not a compliance problem.

Trust is a nervous system injury.

When trust breaks, something collapses inside the betrayed person. Their sense of safety. Their sense of reality. Their ability to relax in your presence. Their ability to look at you without bracing. Their ability to know what's real.

And when that's broken, no amount of "doing the right thing" can fix it on its own.

Because during every attempt to rebuild trust through behavior, the other person is still flooded with fear, grief, rage, humiliation, and loss. They're not watching your behavior to feel safe. They're watching it to survive.

That's why rebuilding trust feels impossible.

Because it is, if behavior is all you have.

The only thing that actually rebuilds trust is a skill most couples don't have when betrayal happens.

The skill of revealing pain without blame. The skill of staying present while the other person's pain is unbearable to witness. The skill of letting the magnitude of what happened be fully felt, not explained away, not defended against, not managed.

Trust doesn't come back because someone promises better behavior.

Trust comes back when two people can sit inside the wreckage together and know what to do there.

It comes back when the betrayed partner can show the full weight of what it did to them and the other partner doesn't rush, doesn't argue, doesn't minimize, doesn't explain, doesn't turn it into a debate about intent.

It comes back when the betraying partner can stay open in the face of shame, remorse, and grief without collapsing or counterattacking.

It comes back when pain is met with presence instead of solutions.

That's why talking about "trust" doesn't fix trust.

Trust is a concept. Forgiveness is a concept. Both are intellectual.

What heals is emotional contact.

Trust rebuilds when your eyes learn how to meet your partner's eyes again without armor. When your nervous systems learn how to recognize each other as safe in real time. When there's a round trip of emotion between you that says, "I see what this did to you, and I'm still here."

That can't be faked. That can't be rushed. That can't be negotiated.

And it can't happen without learning how to reveal pain and receive pain together.

Until then, every attempt to "rebuild trust" will feel like a losing proposition.

Not because you're failing.

But because you're trying to fix an emotional injury with behavior alone.

Trust isn't rebuilt by doing better.

It's rebuilt by learning how to be with what hurts, together, without running, without blame, without shutting down.

That's the work.

Everything else is just pretending.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

Trauma (C-PTSD) doesn't live in my past.

It lives in my body. In my nervous system. My reactions. My bones.

It's not something I can take off, put down, or leave at home with a babysitter. It doesn't stay behind so I can rest or get things done. C-PTSD doesn't care about schedules, productivity, or how much I need a good day. It doesn't care if I'm tired or working or walking the dog.

I don't get to choose when I'm triggered, how intense it will be, or what my initial reaction looks like. I try to manage each moment with the skills I've learned but sometimes it's harder than it looks from the outside.

C-PTSD (complex PTSD) often comes from prolonged trauma, and it doesn't always show up in obvious ways. Sometimes, a single small moment can change the trajectory of an entire day. A look. A small. The way the light hits something just right. Things most people wouldn't even notice. Things I didn't even notice for the longest time.

A few weeks ago, we were at a school event for my kids. I was overwhelmed and overstimulated but that's normal for me in crowded situations. I had my fidget, my earbuds, and I was doing the best I could to engage, stay calm, and enjoy the moments.

While the kids decorated cookies, Andy and I stood on the sidelines talking. And then C-PTSD decided to show up.

All it took was a single look from my husband to pull me into a completely unrelated memory. Trauma doesn't ask permission. It doesn't check context. It just takes over.

I couldn't explain what was happening, but my entire demeanor changed. I could barely function in the moment. And even though I grounded myself fairly quickly, the emotional hangover hit hard and fast and hung around long after the moment had passed.

Trauma survivors: if this resonates, I see you. Your reactions make sense. Your body is doing its best to protect you, even if it doesn't feel good or make sense to you or anyone else at the time.

If no one's told you lately.. your trauma does not get to decide your worth. 💖 (And you are SO worthy.)

You and your body deserve grace, too. I hope you find ways to give that to yourself.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

How to deal with people who don't understand Trauma, PTSD, C-PTSD, or nervous system dysregulation

Living with trauma is hard enough. Living with trauma around people who don't understand it is another layer entirely. When someone has no experience with nervous system dysregulation, emotional flashbacks, hypervigilence, or survival responses, they often misread what they see. They may think you're overreacting, shutting down, being "dramatic", or taking things too personally. This misunderstanding can add shame, frustration, and loneliness to a situation that is already overwhelming.

This guide explains how trauma affects us, why others struggle to understand it, and how to manage both ourselves and our relationships when people simply don't get it.

Why People Don't Understand Trauma Responses

Most people think trauma is a memory issue, not a nervous system issue. They assume you're reacting to the past on purpose instead of recognising that your body is reacting for you.

People often misunderstand trauma because:

They've never lived in survival mode.

They don't know how the nervous system stores fear.

They think emotional reactions are choices.

They expect healing to look linear and logical.

They process stress cognitively, not somatically.

They interpret withdrawal, shutdowns, or overwhelm as personal rejection.

They want "normal" interactions and don't know what to do when things feel intense.

When people lack this knowledge, they fill the gaps with judgement. Not because they are cruel, but because they don't have a framework for what they're seeing.

How Trauma and Dysregulation Actually Work

Trauma sits in the body. When somethings reminds your system of old danger, you react before you think. Your heart rate spikes. Your breathing shifts. Your muscles tense. Your brain loses access to clear reasoning. You may reach for old survival strategies like withdrawal, people-pleasing, freezing, or shutting down emotionally.

These reactions are not personal. They're physiological.

Understanding this makes it easier to manage your own responses and to recognise when others simply lack the education.

How to Manage Yourself When People Don't Understand

Name what is happening inside you

Even quietly to yourself. "I'm dysregulated, not in danger." "I'm overwhelmed, not overreacting." "This is my body remembering, not reality." Labelling the state reduces intensity.

2. Excuse yourself early

You don't need to explain your trauma history. A simple "Give me a moment, I need to reset" is enough. Stepping away protects you, and it prevents misunderstandings from escalating.

3. Regulate your nervous system first

Use tools that work for you: • Deep, slow exhales • Cold water • A walk outside • Grounding touch • Smell cues (like Vicks) • A quiet room • A shower or quick rest Your body must come back to safety before your mind can communicate clearly.

4. Don't educate while dysregulated

Explaining trauma to someone who doesn't understand it while you're in survival mode creates conflict. Regulate first. Teach later.

5. Release the pressure to be understood

Some people may never "get it." Your job is not to convince them. Your job is to stay safe, steady, and connected to yourself.

6. Build internal boundaries

Even if you cannot control someone else's behaviour, you can control your access to it. Lower emotinoal expectations when necessary. Lean on people who do get it.

How to Manage Others Who Don't Understand Trauma

Set simple, calm expectations

You don't need to disclose anything deeply personal. A basic explanation helps: "I get overwhelmed quickly. If I step away, I'm just regulating myself, not ignoring you." Short. Clear. Non-defensive.

2. Stop trying to convince people who refuse to learn

Some people lack empathy or flexibility. No article, no explanation, no breakdown will change how they operate. Protect your energy. Invest your explanations in people who show willingness.

3. Redirect conversations when needed

If someone pushes, criticizes, or dismisses you: "I can talk about this later. Right now isn't a good time." This preserves both your safety and the relationship.

4. Teach emotional safety through behavior, not lectures

People learn from consistency. When you regulate yourself, communicate calmly, and set limits early, others naturally adjust how they interact with you.

5. Create distance from people who trigger you repeatedly

Not punishment, but protection. Your nervous system doesn't care about their intentions. Your body responds to patterns. Sometimes stepping back is the most mature choice.

6. Use "I" statements instead of trauma terms

People who don't understand trauma won't grasp phrases like "I'm dysregulated." Instead, you can use: "I feel overwhelmed." "I need a minute to reset." "I just need some quiet." Simple language prevents defendiveness and misunderstanding.

7. Surround yourself with people who understand regulation

You need at lease one person in your life who knows what safety looks and feels like. Co-regulation with a safe person heals faster than any coping skill alone.

The Truth Most People Don't Say Out Loud

You can't make someone understand trauma. You can, however:

Understand yourself

Respond instead of react

Protect your nervous system

Communicate your limits

Surround yourself with emotionally safe people

Healing doesn't require a perfectly informed world. It requires the right tools, the right boundaries, and the right people in your corner.

The goal isn't to make everyone trauma-informed. The goal is to help yourself move through the world without losing your safety, your dignity, or your peace.

Zen

[openeyesclosedmouth]

from Positive Vibes

The saddest moment in a relationship is not the fight. It is realizing the person you love no longer feels safe to speak their heart.

During our last argument, my girl told me something that hit me harder than anything else. She said, "You know what I realized? When we disagree, it never feels safe." And that one sentence forced me to face truth I had been avoiding. She told me that every disagreement turns into an argument. Then into silence. Then into something bigger than it ever had to be. What should have been a conversation became a battlefield.

She said she would bring things up hoping we would talk. Hoping we would fix it. Hoping I would listen. But instead, she always walked away feeling worse. Feeling unheard. Feeling like nothing she said mattered. And you could hear the exhaustion in her voice. The kind of exhaustion that comes from fighting alone while calling it a relationship.

A healthy relationship turns conflict into connection. It turns misunderstandings into chances to grow closer. It turns two different perspectives into a moment of deeper understanding. But with me, she said she learned to stay quiet. Not because she stopped caring, but because it was easier than trying to be understood. Easier than defending her feelings. Easier than being talked over or dismissed.

That is when I realized the real issue. It was not the disagreements. It was the lack of emotional safety. She was not afraid of conflict. She was afraid of the aftermath. The tension. The silence. The feeling of being shut out instead of being held. And that is the kind of hurt that destroys love slowly.

Hearing her say that was a wake up call. Not to win arguments. Not to be right. But to be better. To listen. To respond instead of react. To create a space where she feels safe again. Because when the person you love starts choosing silence over honesty, it means they are no longer protecting their ego, they are protecting their heart from you.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

Primordial Essence by Lizz Marion

IT IS NOT DEMONS DESTROYING THE WORLD. IT IS UNHEALED HUMANS. READ THAT AGAIN.

People love to say:

"Dark entities are taking over." "Demons are attacking humanity and especially the chosen ones." "Spiritual forces are behind ALL the evil."

NO NO NO NO NO NO.

What's happening is simply, and more terrifying:

It is humans who are doing this.

Humans are harming other humans. Humans are kidnapping children. Humans are committing murder. Humans are committing assault. Humans are abusing power. Humans are exploiting the weak. Humans are traumatizing the next generation. Humans are destroying the planet. HUMANS. HUMANS. HUMANS.

Not demons.

Not entities.

Humans.

With unprocessed wounds. With fractured psyches. With dysregulated nervous systems. With unresolved trauma. THIS IS WHAT CENTURIES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL MANIPULATION AND INDOCTRINATION DOES. ALTERS THE PERCEPTION OF REALITY. FEAR HAS DONE THIS.

And here's the sickest part:

Humans would rather blame their misconduct on unseen forces....than take accountability for what they choose to do.

That's why huamnity hasn't evolved.

Avoidance has been disguised as spirituality. Fear has been weaponized into mythology. Responsibility has been outsourced to fantasy.

And it has ALWAYS been the psyche.

The inner wound. The disowned pain. The shadow projected outward.

Blaming demons is a cop-out.

A distraction. An excuse. A comfort blanket for the unconscious.

Because if the problem is supernatural... you never have to face yourself.

The truth?

Humanity isn't being possessed. Humanity is being avoided.

The only real "battle" has balways been internal:

Trauma VS Healing Avoidance VS Responsibility Fear VS Embodiment Shadow VS Integration

Demons aren't destroying humanity.

Denial is.

And until humans stop blaming the unseen forces and start healing the wound... nothing changes.

Healing is the only exorcism. Accountability is the only salvation. Embodiment is the only ascension.

When humans face themselves, the nightmare ends.

Period.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

by Rachel Morrison

My therapist said one sentence that changed everything. It wasn't what I expected.

I'd been seeing her every Tuesday for three years.

$150 an hour. 156 sessions. I did the math once.

She was good. Really good. She helped me understand things I'd never had words for.

Why I can't sleep through the night.

Why I hold my breath when someone walks up behind me.

Why I apologize for existing.

Why I feel like I'm performing "okay" instead of actually being okay.

I could explain my childhood in clinical terms now. Attachment wounds. Emotional neglect. Hypervigilance as a trauma response.

I understood why I was the way I was.

But here's the thing no one tells you:

Understanding doesn't make it stop.

I still woke up at 2:47 AM with my heart slamming against my ribs.

I still flinched when my husband moved too fast in my peripheral vision.

I still cried in the shower where no one could hear me.

I still felt like shattered glass held together by sheer willpower.

Fragmented. Fractured. Functioning — but never whole.

I thought something was wrong with me.

Three years of therapy and I still couldn't relax in my own skin. Still bracing. Still waiting for something bad to happen even when nothing was wrong.

I told my therapist I was tired.

Not sleepy tired.

Bone tired. Soul tired.

Tired of surviving.

Tired of being the strong one who holds it all together while quietly falling apart where no one can see.

Tired of carrying something I couldn't name, couldn't put down, couldn't escape.

She looked at me for a long time.

Then she said the sentence.

"You've done the work of understanding. But you've never given yourself permission to actually heal."

I didn't know what she meant.

She leaned forward.

"Understanding why you're wounded isn't the same as letting the wound close. You keep revisiting it. Analyzing it. Explaining it. But you never release it. You never let it go."

I felt my throat tighten.

"You've been surviving your whole life," she said. "Surviving your childhood. Surviving your twenties. Surviving your marriage, your career, your kids. You're so good at surviving you don't know how to do anything else."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

"But surviving isn't the same as living," she said. "And you deserve to actually live. Not just get through each day. Actually be in it. Actually feel safe. Actually feel whole."

I started crying.

Not the quiet, controlled crying I'd mastered. The other kind. The kind that comes from somewhere deeper than you knew existed.

Because she'd named the thing I'd never been able to say.

I didn't want to just manage anymore.

I didn't want to just cope.

I wanted to feel like a complete human being.

I wanted to wake up without dread.

I wanted to stop flinching at shadows from twenty years ago.

I wanted to feel whole.

Not fixed. Not optimized. Whole.

Like I was before everything happened. Or maybe like I was supposed to be, if everything hadn't happened.

She told me that therapy could show me the map. But the daily work of walking it — the slow, unglamorous process of actually processing what I'd been carrying — that happened between our sessions.

"I can give you insight once a week," she said. "But insight isn't integration. You need something that meets you every day. Something that takes you into the wound so you can finally come out the other side."

She handed me something.

Black cover. Simple. Looked like any other book.

"365 prompts," she said. "One for each day. Some are light. Some will crack you open. But it's designed to do what I can't do in 50 minutes — give you a safe, structured place to actually feel what you've been carrying. And then release it."

I almost didn't take it.

I had a graveyard of half-filled journals in my closet. Gratitude journals that made me feel worse because I couldn't feel grateful. Productivity planners that turned self-care into another thing I was failing at. Blank notebooks I'd stare at without knowing what to write.

Evidence of every time I'd tried to fix myself and quit.

But something about what she said stayed with me.

Permission to heal.

Like I'd been waiting my whole life for someone to tell me I was allowed.

The journal sat on my nightstand for four days before I opened it.

April 9th.

The prompt: "Write a letter to someone who hurt you."

Underneath, a quote: "Healing begins where the wound was made."

I sat down at 9:47 PM. Just to see.

And then I started writing.

And I didn't stop for 47 minutes.

Things came out of me I didn't know I was still carrying. Words I'd never said. Moments I thought I'd forgotten. Rage and grief and shame so old it had become part of my skeleton.

When I finally stopped, my hand was shaking.

I was crying.

But not the 3 AM empty crying I knew so well.

This was different.

This was release.

I felt something shift. Physically. Like I'd set down a weight I didn't know I was holding.

That was eight months ago.

I've missed days. Life happens. But the journal doesn't shame me. It just waits.

Some days the prompts are gentle. "What made you smile today?"

Some days they go deep. "What are you running from right now?"

It meets me where I am. Not where I "should" be.

And slowly — not overnight, not dramatically, but actually — things started to change.

The 3 AM wake-ups became less frequent.

My chest stopped tightening at random moments.

My daughter said something last month that made me stop.

"Mom, you seem softer lately."

Not weaker. Softer.

Like the armor I'd been wearing my whole life could finally come off.

My therapist noticed too.

"You're not just understanding anymore," she said. "You're actually processing it. The daily work is showing."

That was the missing piece.

Therapy gave me the map.

This journal gave me the daily steps to actually walk it.

I'm not "healed." I don't know if that's even a real destination.

But I'm not in survival mode anymore.

I'm not bracing for impact every second of every day.

I'm not just getting through life. I'm actually in it.

And that thing I wanted — to feel whole, to feel like myself again, to reclaim whatever trauma stole from me — it's happening.

Slowly. Imperfectly. But actually.

If you've survived something — and you know who you are — you deserve to unpack it.

Not someday. Now.

Not perfectly. Honestly.

The journal is called Better Every Day. It's $39.95. About 11 cents a day for a full year of guided prompts.

Less than a single therapy copay.

I can't promise it'll work for you.

I can only tell you it finally worked for me.

And if you've been surviving but not living…

If you understand your trauma but still can't escape it…

If you're tired of being tired…

Maybe this is the missing piece.

It was for me.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

Attachment Injury (by Derek Hart)

In your romantic relationship, something happened that hurt you. It might have looked small to someone else. It might have seemed insignificant on paper. But you to, it registered like ashockwave inside your chest.

You tried to name it. You tried to explain what hurt. You reached for your partner with the tiniest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd hear you.

They didn't.

Maybe they dismissed you. Maybe they minimized you. Maybe they told you you were too sensitive, too dramatic, too confusing, too emotional. Or maybe they defended themselves so fast and so hard that there was no space left for your hurt to exist.

That moment mattered. More than either of you realized. Because when your partner didn't lsiten, something inside you had to go quiet just to survive the moment.

Or maybe it was the other way. Maybe they accused you of something you didn't do, didn't intend, didn't mean. And you felt blindsided by the unfairness of it. You felt trapped and misread, and you defended yourself because you had to. That hurt too. But nobody saw that part.

And life went on. The topic came up again. And again. And again.

But by the time it resurfaced, the two of you weren't even talking about the same event anymore. You were talking about what the event did to you. To your trust. To your safety. To your nervous system.

Because once an injury occurs, the story doesn't stay small. It grows. Inside both of you.

And since neither of you validated the other at the beginning, you both had to make up your own private explanations about why the other person responded the way they did.

So you told yourself a story. And your partner told themselves a story. And those stories drifted further and further apart.

Your stories don't even share the same plot or characters anymore. You're arguing about different realities.

You deny each other because for months, maybe years, you've felt denied by each other. You protected yourself because you had to. You withdraw because you're tired. You react because you're hurting. You get sharp because you feel alone. You get defensive because you don't feel seen. You shut down because no one held your pain the first time.

And resentment builds quietly. Like dust in the corners of a room you no longer notice. Until one day you look up and realize something is wrong. Very wrong.

Now there's a deep gash between you. A tear in the bond. A wound that never closed. A wound that still bleeds when touched.

And here's the part that breaks couples without them realizing why:

It's not just the original hurt you're struggling with anymore. It's the months, maybe years, of not being heard afterward.

Every dismissal. Every defensive comeback. Every "you're overreacting." Every "stop bringing this up." Every quiet moment where you felt you didn't matter. Every moment they felt blamed or attacked or misunderstood.

This is how attachment injury forms. Slowly. Quietly. Repeatedly.

By the time you're both in the thick of it, you don't just have a disagreement. You have layers of unspoken pain. Layers of unheard soft spots. Layers of abandoned attempts ro connect. Layers of assumptions. Layers of self protection.

You want to bring it up because your body knows it's still open. Your partner wants you to stop bringing it up because their body knows they don't have the skills to repair it.

And so you're stuck.

You want closeness. They want peace. You want validation. They want the discomfort to end. You want understanding. They want distance from the blame they feel. You want healing. They want relief.

Both of you are hurting. Both of you are lost. Both of you are reacting to the injury, not each other.

And the longer this goes untreated, the harder it becomes to distinguish the story from the wound.

This is why attachment injuries are almost impossible to repair without the right tools. Not because you're broken. Not because your relationship is doomed. But because you were never taught how to do this.

You were never shown how to excavate pain tenderly. You were never taught how to stay present while your partner reveals something raw. You were never taught how to repair correctly.

And now you're paying the price for skills you were never given.

Here's the real truth: The injury won't heal until the two of you touch the real layers underneath it.

The fear. The sadness. The aloneness. The misinterpretations. The longing. The helplessness of not being able to reach each other. The grief of realizing how long you've both been hurting in silence.

Repair doesn't come from ignoring the past. It comes from finally walking back into it together with gentleness, honesty, and new skills.

This is how couples heal. This is how trust gets rebuilt. This is how the bleeding finally stops.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

DARVO & JADE: The Playbook of Manipulators -- And The Damage It Does To Your Mind, Body, And Nervous System (By Ashley Nicole)

If you've ever tried to call someone out gently... or set a bounday... or name something that hurt you...

..and suddenly you're the problem, you're the aggressor, you're the dramatic one, you're the one who needs to calm down,

you have probably met the two most common manipulation tactics in abusive dynamics:

DARVO and JADE

Let's break them down with psychology, sociology, neurobiology -- and lived truth.

*:•.•:*

💥1️⃣ WHAT DARVO ACTUALLY IS (Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim & Offender)

DARVO is the narcissistic trifecta: 1. Deny what they did 2. Attack you for bringing it up 3. Reverse the roles so they are the victim and you are the offender

Example: You: "Hey, that hurt me." Them: "I NEVER said that. You're crazy. Why are you always trying to start something with me?"

DARVO is not miscommunication. DARVO is psychological warfare designed to destabilize you.

*:•.•:*

❓2️⃣ WHAT JADE IS (Justify, Argue, Defend, Explain)

JADE is what survivors do when they're trying desperately to be understood by someone who had no intention of understanding them.

You try to: ~justify your feelings ~argue for your reality ~defend your truth ~explain the harm

But here's the truth you were never told:

JADE is a trap. It keeps you arguing with someone who isn't in the conversation to heal -- they're in it to win.

*:•.•:*

🧠3️⃣ THE PSYCHOLOGY: WHY THEY DO IT

DARVO protects their ego. JADE drains your energy.

Manipulators use DARVO because:

Accountability feels like annihilation.

Their ego cannot survive being wrong.

Shame triggers rage, denial, and rewriting history.

Power > connection

Control > reality

Your nervous system responds with JADE because:

You want repair

You want clarity

You want peace

You were raised to earn safety by explaining yourself

You believe that if you explain it well enough, they'll finally "get it"

Spoiler: They won't. Not because you failed -- but because they never intended to.

*:•.•:*

🧬4️⃣ THE NEUROBIOLOGY: WHAT THIS DOES TO YOUR BRAIN & BODY

DARVO puts your nervous system into CRISIS.

Here's what happens:

🔥 Amygdala -> goes into alarm You're accused of being the abuser. Terror + confusion.

🔥 Prefrontal cortex -> shuts down You lose your words. You can't think clearly. This is why you "freeze" and only think of the right response 3 hours later.

🔥 Hippocampus -> memories fragment You start doubting your own recollection. This is manufactured confusion -- not incompetence.

🔥 Vagus nerve -> dysregulates You shake, cry, feel sick, numb, or detached.

DARVO is not "an argument." It is a neurobiological hijacking.

*:•.•:*

🌎5️⃣ SOCIOLOGY: WHY PEOPLE BELIEVE THEM OVER YOU

DARVO works in society because:

Abusers look calm

Survivors look emotional

People confuse composure with credibility

People fear confronting someone who fights dirty

Society rewards "nice," not truthful

Women and marginalized genders are labeled "dramatic" when distressed

Manipulators weaponize stereotypes. Survivors carry the consequences.

*:•.•:*

🗡6️⃣ THE DAMAGE DARVO DOES TO YOUR PSYCHE

DARVO teaches you:

❌"My memory is wrong." ❌ "My feelings are wrong." ❌ "My reactions are wrong." ❌ "My intuition is wrong." ❌ "If I speak up, it will backfire."

DARVO slowly rewires your self-perception.

It makes you self-silence. It makes you doubt your body. It makes you question your truth. It makes you lose your voice. It makes you easier to control.

*:•.•:*

😞7️⃣ HOW JADE BURNS YOU OUT

When you JADE with a manipulator, you don't get clarity -- you can exhausted.

JADE leads to:

emotional depletion

over-explaining your trauma

begging to be understood

abandoning your boundaries

spiraling self-doubt

trauma bonding

nervous system burnout

learned helplessness

JADE always ends the same way: You leave the conversation feeling smaller, not safer.

*:•.•:*

🔍8️⃣ HOW TO SPOT DARVO IN SECONDS

Watch for these:

🚩 They deny before you finish your sentence 🚩 They attack your character, not the issue 🚩 They flip the script and cry "victim" 🚩 They accuse you of what they're doing 🚩 They pivot into your mistakes to avoid their 🚩 They escalate when you seek clarity

DARVO thrives on chaos, not truth.

*:•.•:*

🚫9️⃣ HOW TO STOP JADE-ING (MICRO-STEPS) (Because healing happens in micro-moments, not big leaps.)

Here's how to reclaim your power without overwhelming your nervous system:

⭐ Micro-Step 1: State your boundary ONE time No defending. No explaining. Just clarity.

⭐ Micro-Step 2: Replace JADE with "broken record" "I'm not discussing it." "I'm not explaining this again." "This is my boundary."

⭐ Micro-Step 3: Pause before responding Even 5 seconds is regulation.

⭐ Micro-Step 4: Name the pattern silently "Oh... this is DARVO. My brain does not need to absorb this."

⭐ Micro-Step 5: Leave the conversation if needed Safety > resolution

⭐ Micro-Step 6: Remind yourself: "If I need to justify it, they're not safe."

*:•.•:*

💗🔟 FINAL TRUTH

DARVO is not misunderstanding. It's manipulation.

JADE is not clarity. It's self-abandonment.

DARVO is how they avoid accountability. JADE is how they keep you in the cycle.

You're not crazy. You're not overreacting. You're not dramatic. You're not the problem.

Your nervous system was trying to survive a psychological battlefield you were never meant to fight alone.

And now? You see the pattern. You have language for it. You have tools. You have clarity. You have your voice back.

And that is the beginning of the end of their control.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

By Damien Bohler

She's triggered. I'm triggered by her trigger.

I said something dumb. I didn't mean it. I wasn't present. She's upset.

It's a flashback... The past rushing in Hormones flooding Nervous system tightening That familiar inner crunch.

We go to separate parts of the house.

Two options open up...

---

Option 1: The Shadowlands

I sit in my office stewing in my own rage and frustration. WTF is this shit.

My thoughts are horrendous.

I don't realise it from this place, but I'm actually swimming in a murky swamp of shadow.

I'm simultaneously righteous AND playing the victim.

I'm more focused on MY upset Than realising she needs me.

It's a field of drama...and if I stay here, it won't end well.

We all have our shadows patterns, the places where our consciousness drops and worst parts of us come out to play.

The thing is... this is just a frequency. It's not real...

The thoughts, as compelling as they are, aren't the truth. The emotions, as overwhelming as they are, aren't the truth.

Learning to recognise this drop in consciousness, and the effects of the cloying, seductive shadow swirling all around you... and discovering the ability to...

Just Step Out Of It.

...is a huge step towards maturity.

---

Option 2: The Healing Experience

I step out of myself, I see the thoughts for what they are...just a reaction. I watch the emotions rising, and smile at them. I feel the pumping of adrenaline through my system, and breathe with it.

And I realise she needs me, and my love for her is greater than my righteousness.

So I rise... I walk to her room I place my hands on her head Caress her hair Whisper in her ear "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm here."

Her shoulders drop The tears flow I take her into my arms And squeeze her tight.

Because the space is safe, her emotions are able to flow freely and with it the memories clunk into her place. She wasn't upset at me, she was upset at her father... the child that never got to complete a feeling.

In this moment right now though, completion is possible because there is no longer any need to fight.

The moment passes, washing through us like a sigh of relief. We kiss.

On the other side of the shadowlands is the gift. And in the gift, healing is effortless Intimacy deepens Love rises.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

Why Do I Put Up With This Shit?

By Anthony Sellers

Quick answer? Because childhood trauma groomed us to.

When you grow up punished for speaking up, ignored when you were hurting, or made to feel responsible for adults' emotions -- your nervous system learned one thing:

"Don't rock the boat or bad shit happens."

That sticks. It doesn't magically disappear at 18.

So, as adults, what do we do?

We tolerate. We over-explain. We shut down. We apologize to people who don't deserve our breath. We stay in places that fucking destroy us because leaving feels like breaking the "rules" we were trained to obey.

Let me be clear though:

You didn't put up with it because you're weak. You put up with it because you were taught survival looked like silence.

But now? Silence is optional. Survival isn't.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

By Donicia Mari

"He doesn't hit you. You're not abused." Yes, I've heard those words. Abuse comes in many forms. My experiences have taught me that some non-physical abuse hurts more than a slap or a shove. The pain also lingers much longer than it akes for a bruise to heal. Please don't be this person. Don't minimize someone's abuse because it doesn't leave a mark that you can see.

He doesn't hit you, but- He belitted you to the point where you questioned your self worth. Where you questioned if you were worth being loved. To the point that you learned to accept that you were small and insignificant in the world, and you always would be.

He doesn't hit you, but - He pointed out all of your flaws. He made the vile comments about your body. So, now you run to the shower before you can catch your reflection in the mirror. Because you know he was right. You are fat. You are flabby. Your body is disgusting. So disgusting that you don't even want to see it yourself. You know that if you do see yourself, you'll pick apart each and every flaw, dissecting yourself for hours, even finding more wrong with yourself than he did.

He doesn't hit you, but- He lied to you. And he lied with intention. Not to keep himself from getting in "trouble", but to torture you. To punish you. He wanted the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. The more pain he saw, the more he lied. He pushed, and pushed, and pushed these lies. He did it until you broke, but he still didn't stop. He relished in your heartache. Left you crying on the floor, filled with anxiety and fear about what might happen next. You developed insomnia. Constant dark circles under your eyes, headaches from the stress, and weight loss from going days without eating. You because suicidal, but that didn't stop him. He would just tell you that your depression was a burden, and this is why nobody will ever want you.

He doesn't hit you, but- He controls the money. You never knew exactly how much was in the bank because you weren't allowed to be on the account. If you needed anything, then you had to ask him for money. That would result in him questioning why you needed it. Letting you know how ridiculous your wants and needs are. You didn't really need the money after all. Right?

He doesn't hit you, but- You have PTSD over all of the times he woke you up at all hours to scream in your face. Breaking all of your things. Damaging the home you lived in. Holes in the wall kept you from inviting anyone over. You didn't want to have to explain what happened, so you made excuses about why you weren't up for visitors.

He doesn't hit you, but- He pushed away your support system. Why did you need to talk to that person? Why are they calling or texting you? They're obviously judging him unfairly, or getting between the two of you. So, you don't need them.

All of these examples are abuse. Abuse is not just physical. I may not have external bruises to show for it, but I sure as hell have the internal ones that still haven't even started to fade.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

[openeyesclosedmouth]

By Derek Hart

There are few things more damaging to a relationship than having your partner physically present but emotionally absent. Because that is a very specific kind of loneliness. A loneliness that sits beside you on a couch. A loneliness that sleeps next to you at night. A loneliness that looks you in the eyes and still does not see you.

People think relationships die because of fights, disagreements, stress, or bad timing. No. Most relationships die because one partner starts treating emotional connection like an optional hobby. Like something they can pick up or put down whenever is convenient.

And here is a brutal truth: Emotional absense is not neutral. It is not harmless. It is not passive. It is a slow demolition. A month by month erosion of your partner's sense of worth, safety, and belonging.

When someone you love goes quiet long enough, you stop feeling loved. When they stop turning toward you, you stop turning toward life. When they stop reaching for you, you stop reaching for them. And then the couple wonders why everything feels hollow.

It is because emotional absence tells the nervous system, You are alone. It tells the heart, Stop asking for more. It tells the mind, This person is not coming back for you. It tells the soul, You are loving someone who is not loving you back.

And let's be honest. People who are emotionally absent rarely admit it. They defend it. They rationalize it. They blame your sensitivity. They act like your longing is some sort of unreasonable demand. As if wanting to feel close to the person you are with is a character flaw.

But here is the part most people do not want to hear. Emotional absence is not just avoidance. It is neglect. It is the kind of neglect that does not look dramatic from the outside, but destroys the inside of a relationship from the roots.

You can withstand conflict if you feel emotionally held. You can survive stress if you feel emotionally safe. You can walk through hell if someone is emotionally beside you. But no one survives being with a partner who treats emotional intimacy like a burden.

And for the emotionally absent partner reading this: Your silence is not peaceful. Your distance is not neutral. Your detachment is not protection. It is harm. It is harm every time your partner reaches out and gets nothing back. It is harm every time they try to connect and hit a wall. It is harm every time you expect them to be patient with wounds you refuse to address.

If you are the one living with emotional absence, hear me clearly. You are not dramatic. You are not demanding. You are not asking for too much. You are asking for the minimum requirement of a loving partnership.

You are allowed to want attention. You are allowed to want emotional presence. You are allowed to want to feel chosen. You are allowed to say, I cannot carry this relationship alone.

Because emotional absense is not a small issue. It is a relationship killer. Not instantly. Not explosively. But slowly, quietly, predictably, devastatingly.

If you partner refuses to show up emotionally, you have a choice to make. Stay and slowly disappear. Or stand up and say, I deserve a relationship where my presence matters. Where my feelings matter. Where my heart is not punished for wanting to be held.

Love cannot survive if only one person is doing the emotional labor. And you deserve a love that actually shows up.

If you're BOTH NOT accessible, responsive and engaged with each other's daily experience... please review why you're in this relationship.

[dareisaypublishing]

Noticing Is the Beginning of Wisdom

Noticing is where awareness begins. It’s the split second where you step out of automatic thinking and into conscious presence. It’s subtle, gentle, and transformative.

When you learn to notice—your breath, your emotions, the tone in a conversation, a moment of beauty—you begin to see the world more clearly. Life becomes textured. The ordinary becomes layered. Even challenges shift shape, because noticing allows you to respond instead of react.

Wisdom grows from these quiet moments of awareness.

It reconnects you with the world. It reconnects you with yourself.

[openeyesclosedmouth]

What Must Completely Stop If you Want Even the Smallest Chance of Repair 

(By Derek Hart)

There are things every distressed couple tries.

Things they think are helping.

Things they have done for years.

Things they believe are communications, connections, honesty, or trying hard.

But these things destroy the relationship every single time.

If you want even one percent chance of repair, these must stop.

Not soften.

Not reduce.

Not work on.

Stop.

Because these habits are not communication. They are self-protection.

They are the nervous system in panic mode.

They are the animal part of you trying to survive the bond.

And the survival instinct is powerful enough to kill the very relationship it’s trying to protect.

Let’s get into the real ones.

Stop talking while the nervous system is hijacked.

If you feel tight in your chest, defensive in your tone, or overwhelmed in your mind, you are not communicating.  You are reacting.

No relationship in the world can survive two people talking from a place of panic.  

When your nervous system is on fire, every word you say becomes a weapon.

Repair requires stopping the moment you feel your body harden.

This is not avoidance.

It is responsibility.

Stop correcting your partner’s details.

This is one of the biggest killers of intimacy.

You think you are clarifying.

You think you are explaining.

You think you are defending.

But what you partner hears is:

You are wrong.

Your pain is inaccurate.

You should not feel what you feel.

Detail correction destroys safety instantly.

Every time.

Stop trying to win the argument.

Winning the argument is losing the relationship.

If you succeed in proving your point, you lose the one thing that truly matters: emotional contact.

Winning creates distance.

Winning creates shutdown.

Winning creates fear.

There’s no victory in that.

Stop analyzing the past like a crime scene.

Distressed couples break themselves trying to analyze the story.

Who said what.

Who misunderstood.

Who triggered who.

Who should have known better.

Who was more hurt.

Analysis feels productive.

It feels responsible.

It feels like you are trying.

But analysis without safety creates more injury.

You do not need more understanding of the story.

You need understanding of each other.

Stop using psychological labels as weapons

Avoidant.

Anxious.

Trauma response.

Gaslighting.

Projection.

The moment you label your partner during conflict, you shut the relationship down.

You stop being two humans and become two diagnoses fighting for dominance.

The labels may be accurate.

They may even be insightful.

But in the moment of distress, they are poison.

Stop talking like a therapist and feeling nothing.

The most painful thing in a distressed couple is not anger.

It is emotional absence.

People say things like:

I hear you.

I understand your perspective.

I respect your truth.

But none of it is felt.

None of it lands.

None of it reaches the emotional center of the other person.

Scripted empathy without emotional contact is coldness disguised as care.

It hurts worse than anger.

Stop hiding behind politeness

Distressed couples often get so scared of conflict that they become polite to each other.

You stop saying anything real.

You stop expressing needs.

You stop revealing pain.

You stop being human.

This politeness is not kindness.

It is fear.

And fear quietly kills relationships over years.

Stop walking away without signaling.

Walking away to self regulate is healthy.

Walking away with no signal is devastating.

When one partner disappears emotionally or physically, the other spirals into panic.

If you need space, you must signal it:

I need a moment so I do not hurt us.

That sentence can save your relationship.

Stop assuming your partner knows what you mean

They do not.

Even after years.

Even after decades.

Distressed couples misinterpret everything.

Tone.

Timing.

Silence.

Intensity.

Intentions.

Assumptions is a silent killer.

Everything must be slowed down, simplified, clarified, and gently confirmed.

Stop trying to repair without vulnerability

You cannot fix a relationship with logic.

You cannot fix a relationship with explanations.

You cannot fix a relationship with apologies that do not show the underbelly.

Repair begins when someone reveals the things they are most afraid to say:

I am scared to lose you.

I am scared you are tired of me.

I am scared that I do not matter.

I am scared I am too much.

I am scared I am not enough.

These sentences soften the entire system.

Not because the words are magic, but because the nervous system feels the truth.

Stop believing one of you is the problem

Distress is a pattern.

A loop.

A system.

If you blame, you lose.

If you diagnose, you lose.

If you focus on the other, you lose.

There is no repair until both people understand:

We created this dynamic together.

This is not shared blame.

This is shared humanity.

Stop trying to skip the slow parts

Healing a distressed relationship is slow.

Unfairly slow.

Infuriatingly slow.

But you cannot rush the nervous system.

You must relearn each other one micro moment at a time.

A small softening.

A small breath.

A small pause.

A small reveal.

A small signal of safety.

This is intimacy.

And nothing about intimacy is fast.

The truth you must face.

Your relationship did not fall apart because you stopped loving each other.

It fell apart because fear took over, and you did not know how to reveal it.

You did not fail because you are broken.  

You failed because you never learned how to stay soft in the presence of pain.

The real question now is this:

Are you willing to stop doing all the things that keep you in distress?

Are you willing to become humble enough to learn what you were never taught?

Are you willing to choose repair over winning?

Are you willing to rebuild the part of you that forgot how to be vulnerable?

If yes, then repair is possible.

Even now.

Even here.

Even after everything.