When You Can’t Feel a Damn Thing
Numb? Stuck? You’re not broken — you’re in freeze. Here’s how I breathe through it and remember I’m still here.
Welcome
Hello, thanks for being here.
Every Friday, I write something a little deeper — something for those of us who’ve felt the freeze. Who’ve tried to power through it. Who are finally learning to slow down and breathe instead.
This one’s about the kind of strength that kills us quietly. And the wisdom it takes to stop performing.
Heads up — starting June 6, Friday posts like this will be for paid subscribers. If this work speaks to you, I’d love your support. You’ll also get access to exclusive breathwork techniques to help you reset and come back home to yourself.
Now let’s get into it.
This Week’s Truth
For years, I thought being strong meant keeping it all together.
Don’t flinch. Don’t cry. Don’t ask for help. Just clench your jaw, push through the pain, and call it grit. Call it discipline.
I wore that mask for a long time. And honestly, it worked — until it didn’t. Until the tension became exhaustion. Until the drive turned into disconnection. Until my body, in its quiet wisdom, finally said: no more.
What I didn’t realize is that the freeze response doesn’t always look like panic. Sometimes it looks like stillness. Blankness. Me, sitting at my desk, scrolling aimlessly, wondering why the hell I can’t just get it together.
Freeze doesn’t always look like collapse. Sometimes it looks like scrolling. Like watching the clock. Like eating when you’re not hungry.
Most days, I don't choose to freeze. It just happens. But what I do next — that’s the part I can work with.
Something to Ponder
I’ve spent so much energy trying to avoid what hurts. I’ve distracted, denied, performed — hoping I could outrun the truth.
But the truth is patient. It waits. And eventually, it finds me in the quiet. In the shadow.
That tension in my shoulders. That numbness in my chest. That ache in my gut. It’s not random. It’s a signal.
My body remembers what my mind has tried to bury. And healing, I’m learning, doesn’t begin by fixing — it begins by facing. It begins in stillness.
“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”
— James Baldwin
What are you finally ready to face? Not to fix it. Just to see it clearly.
Root Work
If you’ve been wondering why you can’t seem to care anymore — why the fire’s out — you’re not broken. You’re not lazy. You might just be in freeze.
Freeze, I am learning, is a misunderstood survival response.
Most people know about fight or flight — the rush of adrenaline to prepare for a battle. The readiness to act. But when the system perceives danger it can’t escape or control, it shuts down instead. That’s freeze — a drop in energy, numbness, dissociation. A full-body “pause.
Where have you stopped feeling because it feels safer not to?
This isn’t laziness. It’s your nervous system trying to keep you alive by conserving energy and minimizing the threat.
In real life, freeze doesn’t look dramatic. It looks ordinary. Familiar. Even functional.
It can look like:
Scrolling aimlessly for hours
Staring at your to-do list with zero motivation
Sleeping too much but never feeling rested
Withdrawing from the people who care
Losing interest in things that once lit you up
Feeling numb, foggy, or flatlined — and then beating yourself up for it
I call it apathy or procrastination. It can feel like depression. But underneath, it’s your body asking for safety — not productivity.
You can’t think your way out of freeze. But you can breathe your way through it.
A slow, intentional breath is a loving conscious ways to speak to your nervous system. You can tell it: You're safe now. Be still. You're allowed to soften.
This is the root, not your weakness. It is your wiring and it can be rewired… gently, breath by breath.
Apathy is a reminder to breathe and love yourself.
The Practice
Each week, I’ll share a simple breathwork practice you can return to — something to anchor you when you’re spinning out or shutting down. These are tools I’m learning and living myself, and I’m sharing them in case they help you come home to yourself, one breath at a time.
This Week’s Breath: Foundational Breathing
How to do it:
Inhale deeply through your nose
Hold your breath gently for 5 seconds
Exhale slowly through your nose with a soft ujjayi breath (constrict the back of your throat slightly — like you’re fogging up a mirror, but with your mouth closed)
Repeat for 3–5 minutes
Why it helps: This rhythm anchors your attention inward. The breath hold invites stillness. The Uajjayi exhale activates your vagus nerve — calming your nervous system and helping you shift from freeze to grounded presence.
Use this breath when you feel disconnected or numb. You’re not trying to force a change. You’re building trust with your body again — slowly, patiently, breath by breath.
Want a guided version? Here is a great video: Foundational Breathwork - Guided Breathwork Just press play, follow along, and come back to your body.
These videos are developed and provided by Awakened Breath, a community offering free daily breathwork sessions. I’ve found them incredibly grounding in my own practice. If you're interested, I highly recommend checking them out — here's the link to check out the Awakened Breath Tribe.
The Mantra
Each week, I’ll share a simple mantra you can return to—words that anchor you when you’re spinning out, shutting down, or just feeling lost. They provide a way to reconnect with your body, your breath, and your choice to show up—even when it’s hard.
This week’s mantra is for the freeze. For those moments when you feel numb, heavy, or like nothing really matters. Let these words be a gentle nudge back to presence. When the fog rolls in and your body stiffens, words can be a rope you pull yourself up with. This one’s simple:
I am still here. I choose to feel. I choose to move. One breath at a time.
You don’t have to force anything. Just repeat the mantra softly—aloud or in your mind—and notice what shifts. Let it meet you where you are and help you take one small step forward.
The Song
Each week, I share a song that holds the same frequency as the theme—a sonic companion for the work. It is medicine. Something to listen to when words don’t quite land, but music can still reach you.
This week’s song is here to hold you in the stillness. To sit with you in the fog of apathy—not to fix or force anything, but to gently remind you: you’re not alone. Music helps me hold space inside the stillness. It reminds me in a pause, there is power.
🎵 “Heavy” – Birdtalker
“Leave what's heavy, what's heavy behind…”
This one feels like a breath. Like someone resting beside you in the freeze, saying, “You don’t have to carry it all.” It helps softens the armor. It helps makes space. It doesn’t push—it just opens the door a bit.
Play it when you feel stuck. Let it echo this week’s mantra. Let it move something subtle inside you. Let it wash over you. Let it hold you for a few minutes longer than you usually allow.
Remember
You don’t have to wait to feel ready. You don’t have to fight your way out. Just come back to your breath. Back to your body. Back to the part of you that wants to care, even when apathy says it’s pointless.
You’re still here. And that’s not nothing. That’s where it all begins again.
I’m loving the new format of your posts. I’m doing the breath work on my flight today 👏