08/01/2025
It doesn’t start with chaos.
It starts with a little something to take the edge off.
A glass to unwind.
A puff in secret.
A v**e hit in the laundry room between screams.
And at first, it helps.
But the edge just keeps getting sharper.
It’s not about chasing a high.
It’s about escaping the low.
About finally not feeling like you’re drowning in your own body.
One drag for someone who rarely does, and they get lightheaded. Giddy. Their shoulders drop. They take a breath.
Suddenly, whatever was weighing on them disappears…
for a moment.
And when that moment ends, real life seems a little worse than before.
Now the stress feels even less bearable, because they’ve tasted relief.
Now take someone who’s traumatized.
Someone who does this daily.
Someone who stacks it with scrolls, snacks, drinks, meds, or whatever it takes to keep functioning.
That one hit doesn’t even scratch the surface.
Because it’s not just stress.
It’s a full-body scream they’ve learned to keep quiet.
It’s not just “life is annoying.”
It’s “Idk if I can keep going.”
So they chase whatever gives them distance from their own nervous system.
Because when your life is truly intolerable, escape becomes medicine.
So this may ruffle some feathers, but… Self-soothing isn’t weakness. It’s resourcefulness in a life that barely gives you anything to work with.
But the tools we use to survive…
Can also become the traps that keep us stuck.
And the longer we stay trapped, the more unbearable it becomes.
So we go back to what numbs us.
And the cycle continues.
Unless.
Unless your body, somehow, learns that it’s safe to stay.
Unless you’re held long enough to feel the thing you’ve been avoiding for decades.
Unless someone finally says, “You don’t have to go numb to be okay. We can work on being okay together.”
Let’s talk about moms for a second.
The ones sneaking off for a second just to breathe.
Puffing on the porch like it’s prayer.
Pouring a little early because bedtime is a battlefield and nobody’s coming.
We’re tired.
We’re invisible.
We’re running on fumes.
We’re dissociating while making chicken nuggets and crying during Bluey.
And society keeps handing us yoga poses and vitamins like that’s going to fix a chronically miserable soul.
F**k that.
You’re carrying more than one human ever should.
Being a good mom isn’t about erasing yourself.
It’s about doing whatever it takes to not shatter in the grocery aisle.
So here’s what I want you to know:
You are not a bad mom for needing a break.
You are a wonderful mom whose system has been on high alert for too long.
I am calling for nervous system liberation.
Not white-knuckling it. Not surviving sober.
But finally realizing that you don’t have to leave yourself to survive yourself.
What’s your guilty relief?
What’s the thing you reach for when life becomes too loud, too heavy, too f-ing much?
And what would happen if your body learned to stay?
