I Didn’t Realize I Was In Survival Mode Until I Collapsed

I thought I was just tired. Tired from work. Tired from overthinking. Tired from trying to be a good person. Tired from holding everything together.

But I wasn’t just tired — I was living in survival mode. And I had been for years.

I didn’t notice it at first because I was good at functioning. Good at smiling. Good at taking care of everyone else’s emotions. I thought if I was productive, helpful, and kind enough, I could avoid chaos. Avoid abandonment. Avoid pain.

So I kept pushing. Kept ignoring the headaches. The chest tension. The way my body would brace for nothing. The way I couldn’t take a deep breath without guilt whispering, “There’s still more to do.”

I called it anxiety. I called it sensitivity. I called it being an empath. But it was chronic hypervigilance. It was emotional self-erasure.

And then, one day… I snapped.

It happened after an accident. A simple physical jolt — but emotionally, it was the final crack. My nervous system had been stretched thin for years, and that moment pushed it past the point of return.

The shock wasn’t just physical. It awakened every unresolved emotion in my system, all at once. And my body said: “No more.”

I dissociated so hard I didn’t feel like a person anymore. I couldn’t feel my body. I couldn’t feel the world. I couldn’t feel me.

My nervous system had collapsed. It had kept me alive for so long by staying tense, alert, ready — and now it shut the whole thing down.

I couldn’t cry. Couldn’t explain. Couldn’t connect. I was just… blank.

That’s when I realized: I hadn’t been “okay” in years. I had been surviving — barely.

My whole identity had been built around coping. Around performing stability. Around controlling what I could and avoiding what I couldn’t.

And I didn’t even know it — until my body forced me to stop.

Since then, I’ve learned how much the body holds. How long it will carry our emotional weight before it drops it. How intelligent that collapse really was. It wasn’t weakness. It was wisdom.

If you’re holding it all together, barely breathing, but still functioning — I see you.

You don’t have to wait for a collapse to listen to your body. You don’t have to earn rest by burning out.

You are allowed to soften before it breaks you.

But if you already broke — I’m with you there, too.

— Indy