It doesn't always look like falling apart.
Sometimes it looks like fine,
Like functioning,
Like getting through the day without anything visibly breaking.
But something underneath went quiet,
Not all at once,
Gradually,
In small increments that each felt manageable until they weren't.
And now there's a flatness where a feeling used to be,
Not pain exactly,
Just less.
Find where you're sitting,
Let the body land completely,
You don't have to feel anything in particular right now,
Just be here.
Bring your attention to the chest,
Not looking for emotion,
Just presence.
Is there a muffled quality there,
Like something wrapped in too many layers,
Like the signal is getting through,
But quieter than it used to be?
That's not permanent damage,
That's what happens when the nervous system has been asked to process too much for too long without enough rest.
It turns the volume down,
Not to hurt you,
To protect you,
Move to the stomach,
Think about the last time you felt something fully,
Not managed it,
Not processed it,
Just felt it in the body without trying to do anything with it.
If you can't remember,
That's information,
Not a verdict information.
Now the hands,
Let them rest open.
Numbness isn't the absence of feeling,
It's feeling that learned it wasn't safe to arrive.
Something happened that was too much,
Or too many small things that added up to too much,
And the body made a decision that you didn't consciously make.
It decided less was safer.
Coming back from numb isn't dramatic,
It doesn't happen in one moment,
It doesn't require a breakdown or revelation or the right person to unlock it.
It happens in small increments,
The same way that numbness came,
A moment of noticing something beautiful and letting yourself notice it,
A moment of anger and not immediately talking yourself out of it,
A moment of sadness and sitting with it for 30 seconds longer than it feels comfortable,
Not performing emotion,
Not manufacturing feeling,
Just creating small openings where before there were walls.
The feeling is still there,
It didn't leave,
It's been waiting for conditions to feel safe enough to come back.
This is one of those conditions.
Repeat with me.
I know numbness was protection,
It made sense.
I am not broken,
I am defended.
Feeling is not dangerous here.
I can let something in without being overwhelmed by it.
I am allowed to come back at my own pace.
Let the chest have a little more room.
Let the stomach soften.
Let the hands stay open.
You don't have to feel everything today.
You don't have to undo anything today.
This is just a small opening,
A signal to the system that it's safe enough.
To turn the volume up slightly,
Not all the way,
Just slightly.
That's enough for today.
That's more than enough.
Take a slow breath.
Let the room come back gently.
Somewhere underneath the quiet,
There's still a woman who feels things deeply,
Who loves fiercely,
Who notices everything.
Who was moved by small things and big things,
And things nobody else would even clock.
She didn't go anywhere,
She's just been waiting.
For it to be safe enough to come back.
It's getting safer,
Slowly.
It's getting safer.