Are You Stuck in Survival Mode? When Your Body Forgets How to Rest

Day 247 of a 365-day commitment to show up and write my truth | Karma Penguin

I was reading a Reddit thread recently about being stuck in survival mode, and it wasn't really the original post that stayed with me. It was the comments. Person after person saying some version of the same thing: this is me. Some had felt that way for months. Some for years. Some couldn't remember a time when they hadn't felt like they were bracing for whatever was coming next.

I kept reading and thinking about how many people are walking around carrying this quietly, because survival mode doesn't always look like someone falling apart. Sometimes it looks like someone getting absolutely everything done.

Survival Mode Can Look a Lot Like Having It All Together

You answer the emails. Remember the appointments. Make dinner. Take care of everyone. Solve problems before anyone else even knows there is one. People look at you and say, I don't know how you do it, and you smile because honestly, you're not entirely sure either. Adrenaline, coffee, sugar, and sheer determination — whatever gets us to bedtime.

I've been that person. There was a stretch of my life when the stress had gone on for so long that my body eventually made it very clear it couldn't keep doing what I was asking of it. I ended up in the hospital.

I'm not a therapist, a doctor, or any kind of licensed professional, and nothing here is a diagnosis or medical advice — just what I've lived through. I'm just someone who has lived through long stretches of overwhelm and learned that there's sometimes a big difference between functioning and actually feeling okay. And I think that's what can be so hard to recognize about survival mode — nothing terrible has to be happening at this exact moment for your body to still feel like something is about to.

You finally sit down, but you can't relax. You wake up in the middle of the night worrying. Everything feels urgent, and you're a little quicker to snap than you used to be. Something wonderful happens, and instead of sinking into it, a tiny part of you wonders how long it's going to last.

You're putting your child to bed, holding this little person you love more than anything in the world, and instead of being completely there, your brain is already somewhere else. I need to answer that email. I forgot to order that. I have to finish that tonight. And suddenly one of the sweetest minutes of your day has become another place you're rushing through.

That one gets me. I don't want to rush through my life while I'm trying so hard to take care of it.

When Survival Mode Stops Feeling Temporary

There's a difference between having a hard week and living through so many hard weeks that tension starts to feel normal. You go for a massage, and the massage therapist practically needs workers' comp after attempting to loosen your shoulders. You finally get a quiet afternoon and don't know what to do with it. Things are actually okay, but some part of you is still waiting — for the phone call, the expense, the problem, the thing that changes everything again.

I want to be careful with the word survival. There are people in this world wondering where they'll sleep tonight, whether they'll have enough food, or whether they'll have clean water tomorrow. I have always understood how extraordinarily blessed I am to have those basic needs met, and having a safe place to call home is something I will never take lightly. But gratitude and overwhelm can exist in the same person. Being grateful for your life doesn't mean your body never gets tired from carrying it.

This week, I had a conversation with a friend I've known for years. I'll protect her privacy and leave the details out, but I'll tell you this much: she had been pushing so hard, for so long, that her body finally staged its own intervention. Chest tight. Heart pounding. Certain she was having a heart attack. She wasn't. It was a panic attack — years of stress and fight-or-flight finally cashing a check her body had been quietly running up in the background. There was a moment, sitting across from her, when we both just looked at each other. You know this too.

Maybe that's what the hundreds of comments on that Reddit thread were really saying.

You too?

There's something incredibly comforting about discovering that the thing you've been quietly struggling with isn't yours alone.

So I'm not going to end this with twelve ways to regulate your nervous system. You have enough lists — maybe today doesn't need another one. Maybe today you simply notice: I've been in survival mode for a while. Not with judgment, not as another thing to fix. Just with a little tenderness for the version of you who has been working unbelievably hard to keep going.

You don't have to fix your entire life tonight. Maybe your body simply needs small, repeated reminders that this moment is okay — that you can sit a little longer, hold your child a little tighter, let the email wait five more minutes, drink the coffee while it's actually hot. Look around at the life you've been working so hard to protect, and every once in a while, allow yourself to actually be in it.

But the how-to can wait for another day.

Maybe that's where we begin.

If you ever want a quiet place to land — not another to-do list, just ten or thirty minutes to let your body remember what safe feels like — I made something for exactly that, called The Nervous System Reset (it's a free gift to you): a soft, guided audio and workbook, born out of one too many overwhelming Tuesdays of my own. No perfect streak required. No graduating. You can download it here: karmapenguin.com.

About the Author | Day 247 of 365

I'm a soul-led coach, entrepreneur, mother, and recovering perfectionist, currently navigating healing, uncertainty, temporary chapters, motherhood, work, big transitions, grief, nervous system healing, overstimulation, emotional growth, and the ongoing lesson that life works a whole lot better when we stop trying to carry everything alone. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I ended up in a hospital bed learning exactly what it costs to keep pushing past "fine." I've been writing my way back to soft ever since.

This is day 247 of a promise I made to myself: show up and write my truth for 365 days, no matter what. No ghostwriters, no filters, no skipping the hard days.

If today's post found you at the right moment, I hope it helped even a little. I'll be here again tomorrow — probably still holding a cold cup of coffee, still figuring it out in real time right alongside you.

Day 247 of 365. Come back tomorrow — I'm not stopping. 🐧