I’m Not Sure Why I Responded That Way

I often hear clients wonder why they didn’t respond differently during a traumatic or emotionally overwhelming event—or sometimes during a series of difficult life experiences.

“I should have fought back. Instead, I just stood there. I’m such a baby.”

“I should have done something. Instead, I ran away. I’m such a wimp.”

There is often so much shame wrapped up in these statements. Clients may call themselves names, criticize their responses, and then attach meaning to what happened.

Over time, a story can begin to develop in the body:

I’m weak.

I’m a coward.

I can’t handle difficult situations.

Something is wrong with me.

That story can become much bigger than the original event. It can begin to shape how someone sees themselves and how they believe they will respond when life feels overwhelming.

When I hear these things from my clients, I often gently remind them:

You didn’t choose how your nervous system responded.

Our nervous system is designed to protect us. Its job is to keep us safe—to keep us alive.

Imagine that a bear suddenly walks into the room you are sitting in. Your nervous system doesn’t give you time to sit down and thoughtfully problem-solve your options.

You don’t have time to think, Should I climb out the window? Should I hide behind the couch? Should I try to fight the bear?

By the time you finish making your pros-and-cons list, the bear might already be on top of you.

Instead, your nervous system responds incredibly quickly, assessing the situation and moving you toward what it perceives as the best chance for survival.

Fight.

Flight.

Freeze.

Sometimes, even becoming still or appearing lifeless.

These responses happen faster than conscious thought.

And this is an important distinction:

Your nervous system’s response is not a measure of your character.

Your response does not tell the whole story of who you are.

In an overwhelming moment, your nervous system was doing what it was designed to do: protect you with the information and resources available to it in that moment.

Sometimes, years later, we look back at what happened with the perspective and understanding we have now and wonder:

Why didn’t I do something different?

Why didn’t I fight back?

Why didn’t I leave?

And perhaps instead of asking, “What was wrong with me?” we can begin to ask a more curious question:

“What was my nervous system trying to do for me in that moment?”

The difficult part is that the event may end, but our nervous system doesn't always immediately get the message that we are safe.

The danger may be over, but the body can continue carrying the experience.

Sometimes this looks like being easily startled. Sometimes it looks like shutting down during conflict, feeling the urge to leave when someone raises their voice, becoming numb, or having difficulty finding words when we feel overwhelmed.

Sometimes it looks like disconnecting from our bodies altogether.

A client may tell me, “I don't know what happened. They weren't even yelling at me, but suddenly I couldn't talk.”

Another might say, “I knew I was safe, but I felt like I needed to get out of there.”

The logical mind may know that the present moment is different from the past, while the body is responding as though the danger is happening all over again.

This is where I often see the story about ourselves become even more powerful.

Something happens. Our nervous system responds. Then we make meaning out of that response.

What can be helpful is to start noticing what is happening in the body. We can notice without any judgment attached to it.

These sensations can become information.

Not evidence that something is wrong with you, but information from a nervous system that has been working very hard to protect you.

For someone who has spent years living in survival mode, safety can sometimes feel unfamiliar.

The body may know how to recognize danger much more easily than it knows how to recognize safety.

Part of healing can be learning the language of the body.

So when a client looks at me and says,

“I'm not sure why I responded that way,”

this is a great opportunity for us to become curious about it together.

It was your nervous system responding to what it perceived in that moment.

Offering compassion to the person who survived it.

And eventually discovering that the person who once felt like they had no choice may have more choices now.

Maybe the story doesn't have to be:

“Something is wrong with me because of how I responded.”

Instead, the story can start to become:

“My body was trying to protect me.”

And sometimes, that is where the shame begins to soften.

And where healing can begin.