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Complex trauma forms where there is chronic threat and
no real way out.
You learned how to stay regulated enough, likable enough, or quiet enough.
Just... enough-enough.
That’s how you survived.
Complex trauma isn’t always big and loud.
But it always chronic. Always repetitive. Always relational.
Most of it never gets named.
Your system still thinks it needs to protect you.
That’s why you freeze when nothing’s wrong.
That’s why you get loud inside and blank outside.
That’s why you feel disconnected,
even in moments that should feel safe.
There is nothing wrong with you.
Your system adapted.
Beautifully. Repetitively. Automatically.
It just never got the signal that it’s over.
We can work with that.
(And if it's not actually over, we'll start there.)
This kind of trauma hides in closeness, connection, and how much of yourself you lose in both.
Maybe you feel shut down, or flooded and nothing in between.
Maybe you don’t trust people, or you trust too fast.
Maybe you’ve built a life that looks stable but feels impossible to be alive in.
This isn’t a personality issue. It’s a survival strategy.
And it worked.
But it came with a cost.
We don't tell your nervous
system to calm down.
We show it how.
Sometimes we sit in the freeze together.
Sometimes we track what just happened when your voice went flat or your eyes darted.
Sometimes I’ll name the pattern.
And sometimes I won’t.
We'll work with what’s still holding on to the story.
Whether it's your posture, your silence, or your shutdown.
Or the parts of you that still don’t think they’re allowed to need anything,
let alone be met in it.
Undoing urgency,
rebuilding safety.
What this work might look like...
• Nervous system regulation
• Attachment repair
• Interoception (learning how to feel again)
• Relational repatterning
Suddenly, something shifts.
You start noticing what you feel instead of what you’re supposed to feel.
You stop blaming yourself for checking out, falling apart, being “too much.”
You start recognizing that collapse isn’t failure, it’s protection.
That fawning isn’t love, it’s survival.
That your body isn’t wrong, it’s been waiting for you.
You don't magically start feeling safe all the time.
But you start feeling real.
Sometimes even steady. Sometimes even here.