The Numbing Trauma Response

When You’re So Used to Surviving, You Don’t Know How to Feel Anymore

You’re functioning. You’re getting things done. But you’re not really there. You show up where you’re supposed to, answer when people talk to you, maybe even smile or laugh when it seems appropriate — but none of it really lands. You feel like you’re floating just outside your own life. Like you’re watching it happen from a few feet away.

You don’t feel deeply connected to anything or anyone — not because you don’t care, but because it just feels easier to stay numb. Safer. Quieter. Less risky. You don’t get overwhelmed, but you also don’t get excited. You don’t fall apart, but you also don’t light up. You’re just kind of… existing.

You used to feel things more. Music used to move you. Movies used to make you cry. You used to laugh so hard your stomach hurt. Now it all feels distant. Like you remember feeling that way, but can’t quite reach it anymore. Even when something good happens, you register it — but you don’t feel it. Not the way you want to. Not the way you used to.

At work, you’re reliable. You show up, meet your deadlines, check the boxes. People probably even think you’ve got it all together. You don’t get rattled. You don’t complain. You’re the steady one. But inside? You’re flat. Burned out. Disconnected. The spark is gone and you’re not sure when you lost it or how to get it back.

This isn’t about being lazy. It’s not about not caring. It’s about your nervous system doing what it had to do to keep you going. If you’ve lived through chaos, loss, trauma, or anything that felt like too much — your system probably learned to shut off the emotional volume just to survive. And the longer you stay in that shutdown state, the more normal it starts to feel.

But here’s the problem: staying numb doesn’t just protect you from the bad stuff. It cuts you off from the good stuff, too. From connection. From joy. From real love and intimacy. And whether you realize it or not, the people around you feel it. The ones who love you? They miss you. Even if you’re sitting right in front of them.

If you’re living with someone who’s numbing out, you probably know exactly what I mean. They’re not angry. They’re not yelling. They’re just gone. You ask how they’re doing and they say “fine.” You try to connect, but there’s this invisible wall between you. You feel it every time you reach for them and get nothing back. It’s not personal — it’s protective — but that doesn’t make it any less painful.

Here’s the truth: this is trauma. This is what it looks like when the nervous system has had to hold too much, for too long, with nowhere safe to let it go. It’s not a character flaw. It’s not permanent. But it is costing you — your relationships, your ability to feel, and your sense of self.

So let me ask you gently but directly: is staying numb helping you now? Or is it keeping you from the connection, closeness, and aliveness you secretly long for?

You’re not broken. You’re not cold. You’re not incapable of feeling. You just need to be in a space where your system can finally let down its guard. Where you don’t have to pretend to be fine. Where you can learn how to feel again — one safe step at a time.

That’s the work the horses and I do. We don’t ask you to feel anything you’re not ready to. We don’t rush you or dig around trying to “fix” you. We hold steady while you find your way back. Sometimes that starts with just noticing a breath. Or letting one emotion flicker for a second before it fades again. That’s enough. That’s how you rebuild trust — in your body, in the world, and in yourself.

If you’re tired of feeling nothing — if you’re ready to feel something again — we’re here. When you’re ready, we’ll meet you there.

With love,
Jennifer