Ever feel like you're just going floating? Numb, disconnected, or stuck? That might be the freeze response at work.
When we experience trauma or overwhelming stress, our nervous system sometimes shuts down to protect us. It’s not something we choose; it’s how we survive when we can’t fight or flight.
In this post, I’m sharing what emotional freezing looked like in my life, how it followed me into adulthood, and what healing has started to look like. Everyone’s journey is different, but if any of this sounds familiar — I hope you find comfort, clarity, or maybe just a little bit of yourself here.
Understanding the Freeze Response
For those unfamiliar with the term, emotional freezing refers to a pause or delay in a person’s emotional development due to overwhelming experiences such as trauma, fear, stress, etc.
It’s a survival response. When a child can’t use their knowledge of fight or flight, they freeze. Emotionally shutting down as a way to protect themselves from harm.
Freezing can show up as:
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Going numb
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Suppressing emotions
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Withdrawal from relationships
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People-pleasing tendencies
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Dissociating (Dethatching from reality)
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Etc.
Whether it becomes a long-term issue or a temporary response, the effect is real. It’s something I’ve carried into adulthood.
If any of this sounds like you. Like you’ve felt numb, zoned out, or felt invisible— please know you're not alone. You're not broken. That was your brain doing what it had to do to keep you safe.
Something to think about:
Have you ever caught yourself shutting down in a hard moment, even when you didn’t mean to? That might’ve been your version of freezing.
My Personal Experience
I grew up in a hostile, unstable environment — filled with constant stress and trauma. That kind of environment doesn’t give a child room to feel or process. It just teaches you how to survive.
For me, that meant my brain began to black out large parts of my early life. I have very few clear memories from before the age of 15, just fragments. And even those I second-guess. It’s like my brain decided, “You don’t need to remember this. It’s too much.”
This emotional freezing has stayed with me in the form of dissociation. Sometimes I feel like I’m not in my body — like I’m floating just above myself, watching life happen, but not really in it. Other times I feel completely numb — like no emotion exists at all. No sadness, no fear, not even joy.
That numbness is terrifying. Because you don’t know when, or if, you’ll come out of it.
And while this is my experience, I know emotional freezing can look different for everyone. Some people shut down emotionally, others feel constantly on edge or stuck in survival mode. However, it shows up for you — it’s valid. There’s no one way to respond to trauma, and no “right” way to heal from it.
The Mask, People-Pleasing, and Hiding My Truth
Another way emotional freezing showed up for me was through people-pleasing. I became the dependable one, the helpful one.
I felt way too vulnerable to express how I felt. So, I lied — to avoid conflict.
I smiled when I was hurting. I agreed when I disagreed. I kept people comfortable while I stayed uncomfortable. Freezing made it feel safer to disappear emotionally than to risk being truly seen.
But that’s just one version of it. It’s different for everyone — and if you can relate and however it showed up for you, it was your brain’s way of trying to protect you. That survival strategy may not serve you anymore, but it once kept you safe. And that matters.
And over time, it became more than just a survival tool, it became a role others expected me to stick with. Even as I got older, I felt this pressure to always be the dependable one, the strong one, the one who doesn’t need anything. People got used to me not speaking up, not saying “no,” not setting boundaries — so when I started trying to, it felt wrong, harsh, and uncomfortable. Sometimes, it still does. That’s the long-term cost of emotional freezing; it shows others that they can walk over you.
I'm fighting for this not to resonate with me, so if you relate, you're not alone.
How This Followed Me into Adulthood
These frozen parts didn’t stay in childhood. They followed me.
They’ve shown up in my adult life as:
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Trust Issues
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Feeling stuck or emotionally unpredictable
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Deep self-criticism
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Emotional immaturity — not knowing how to regulate my emotions like those around me
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Doubting my memories
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Forgetting even the good moments
There are times when people reminisce about their childhood, and I sit there silently. I feel defeated, I can't join in, because my memories are still blacked out.
Meeting My Inner Child
Recently, I grew wiser and realized I was constantly stuck in survival mode. I looked around and saw that others weren’t living under the same circumstances; they could enjoy parts of their everyday lives.
Only a select few truly understood what it was like to feel like you’re fighting for your life every day — fighting the urge to believe that others would be better off without you.
Through therapy with someone who played a big role in my healing, I began to recognize that the younger version of myself was still inside me. I realized I had very few childhood memories, and the ones I did have were filled with screaming, violence, hate, and hostility — with only a handful of good moments.
Then I understood: I had been so caught up in surviving that I hadn’t even realized how sparse my memories were.
As a teen, I would get angry over what I now know were small, silly things — but that anger caused me real pain. Emotional pain. Physical pain. I started to realize that the people around me weren’t always good for me, and I had little support.
Yet, even then, I kept putting on that mask.
The hardest part: That survival mode didn’t just turn off when I became an adult. It followed me. It shaped how I trusted others or didn’t. It made me feel like I always had to keep my guard up, like letting someone in meant giving them the power to hurt me. Always questioning if someone’s kindness was real, or if they’d turn on me the moment I needed something in return.
That’s what long-term emotional freezing does: it builds walls when what you need is connection. And while I’ve worked hard to slowly let some of those walls down, I still catch myself bracing for disappointment. It’s a slow process, but at least it's moving forward.
What Those Frozen Parts Needed
What those frozen parts of me really needed was more than just getting through the day. They needed:
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Safety, comfort, and a sense of stability — a place where I could finally let my guard down and let my shoulders fall.
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Someone to truly see me, to validate my feelings and needs, instead of dismissing or ignoring them
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To hear, with kindness and without judgment, “You didn’t deserve what happened.” or “It’s okay to feel exactly what you’re feeling.”
These things might seem simple, but when you don’t have them, they shape how you see yourself and the world around you.
Take a moment to reflect:
What is something your inner child might still be waiting to hear? How could giving yourself that message today start to change your healing journey?
Things That Helped Me Heal
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Acknowledging my inner child and the pain I’d been carrying for years
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Speaking to younger me with kindness and forgiveness — listening to her
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Therapy and learning healthy coping mechanisms, rather than ignoring the pain
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Rewriting old habits — which, I’ll admit, is insanely difficult, but powerful
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Showing my younger self how far I’ve come — how this version of life is, in some way, what she dreamed of
Growth and Healing
Healing isn't about fixing what's broken, it's about nurturing the parts of us that have been hurt and giving ourselves permission to grow.
Every step forward is a victory. Healing is a long process, but it is possible.
Final Thoughts
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for taking the time to sit with these words. Maybe even see parts of your own story reflected here. Healing from emotional freezing, trauma, or people-pleasing is not easy. It’s messy, it’s slow, and sometimes it feels like two steps forward and one step back.
But please remember you are not alone. Whatever your experience looks like, it’s valid. Your feelings are valid. Your journey is yours, and it matters.
Give yourself grace. Celebrate your strength. And know that growth is always possible — even when it feels far away
If this post resonated with you, I want you to know you’re not alone in this journey. Healing takes time, support, and community—and that's exactly what I hope to offer through this blog.
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