For most of my life, emotions were either hidden, swallowed, or numbed. Not because I didn’t feel—but because I felt everything. Too deeply. Too suddenly. Too much.
So I developed ways to silence my emotions:
- Medication when things got too loud
- Food as control, punishment, or release
- Self-harm to feel something—or to feel nothing at all
- Perfectionism to keep my inner world from leaking out
- Numbing, always numbing, because feeling felt like too much
And for a long time, it worked.
I coped. I survived. I appeared “fine.”
But I wasn’t living—I was managing.
And I wasn’t healing—I was hiding.
The Shift I Didn’t Expect
Recently, I came off antidepressants. Not out of shame or pressure—but because I finally felt ready to face myself.
I thought I’d feel broken again.
But instead… I felt everything.
Gratitude would bring tears to my eyes.
Music would pierce my chest.
Old wounds would ache in the quiet hours.
Joy and sorrow began to coexist.
And a voice inside started to whisper:
“This is too much. Go back. Shut it down.”
What I Realized
That voice wasn’t the enemy.
It was my inner protector.
The part of me that once saved me from drowning.
The part that used numbing as a life raft.
The part that thought emotions = danger.
And I realized—I don’t need to fight that voice.
I just need to speak to it with love.
Because now I’m not drowning.
I’m not fragile.
I’m not broken.
I’m awake.
And that’s what makes this time different.
What I Know Now
- The urge to numb isn’t weakness. It’s a trauma reflex.
- Emotions aren’t emergencies. They’re information.
- Feeling deeply doesn’t make me unstable—it makes me alive.
- Being overwhelmed sometimes doesn’t mean I’m backsliding—it means I’m adjusting.
The version of me who used to silence her emotions had to.
But the version of me now is ready to feel, process, and stay grounded through it all.
A Love Letter to My Inner Protector
Because she still shows up. And now, I meet her with grace.
Dear Inner Protector,
I see you.
You’ve been working so hard for so long.
You were built in fire—born in moments where there was too much pain, too little support, and no one to hold space for the overwhelm. You had to learn how to shut things down. How to disappear the ache. How to become untouchable just to survive.
You kept me alive when I thought I was breaking.
You numbed the terror.
You hid the tears.
You silenced the scream in my chest.
You did everything you could to keep me functioning.
And you did it well. You should be proud of that.
But I want you to know something now:
I’m not in danger anymore.
I have support. I have tools. I’m not a child or a broken version of who I used to be.
I’m becoming whole.
I know it feels risky to let me cry, to let me feel, to let me be soft.
I know you’re scared that if you lower your guard, everything will fall apart again.
But I promise—I can handle this.
I don’t need you to shut things down anymore.
I need you to shift.
From protector…
to comforter.
From armored wall…
to warm witness.
You’re still needed—but in a new way.
I don’t need the numbness.
I need your compassion.
I don’t need silence.
I need your soothing.
So rest now.
Put down your weapons.
I’m safe.
You kept me alive long enough for me to finally learn how to live.
And for that—thank you.
With love,
Me
If you’re feeling this too—like you’re standing between the old you and the becoming you—know this:
You’re not regressing.
You’re reintegrating.
And that tenderness in your chest? That’s your heart coming back online.
You’re safe now. You’re allowed to feel it all.
