The high price of living in survival mode

How Fear and “Fight or Flight” Paralyzed My Brain

Photo by Scott Broome on Unsplash

Imagine meeting an old college friend you haven’t seen in years. He starts telling you about your last encounter. “But we saw each other just six months ago!” he says.

“No, impossible. I would remember that!” I replied.

But it turns out, we did. We had met in the hallway of a dance school where I was taking lessons with my ex toxic partner. We talked for a few minutes. I didn’t even know he lived in the same town, and I was genuinely happy to see him, but I was in a rush. My partner and I were already late for our class…

As usual, we were late. We had nearly fought at home because she wanted to run one last errand before the lesson. I insisted we leave, and the tension was stifling.

After two years of attending, those dance lessons had turned into a mini-battlefield. There was no room for error. Everything had to be perfect.

If I made a mistake, she was angry with me. If she made a mistake, she was angry with herself.

It was a world turned upside down. Dance lessons are supposed to be a place for learning, aren’t they? A place where mistakes are allowed?

In my relationship, they weren’t. It wasn’t an hour of fun, rhythm, and playfulness.

It was more like a military school for dance officers who had to execute every step with robotic precision.

Only now, a year later, am I realizing the level of stress I carried into that room. I was terrified of making a wrong move, missing a step, or forgetting a sequence. I was also terrified of her self-directed anger. I tried to convince her that it was okay to fail, for both of us — but “failure” wasn’t in her vocabulary. She didn’t make mistakes.

My sensors were so tuned to her emotional shifts that they became blind to the rest of the world. I was a high-tech radar looking for a storm, failing to see the friend standing right in front of me.

Everything happened in the colour of perfectionism. There was no room for vulnerability, and as a consequence, all playfulness died.

But dance is exactly that — it’s not a rehearsed exercise to be “completed.” It requires constant adjustment, letting go, balancing, and following. It involves mistakes, but in the end, it’s a beautiful dance of two bodies connecting into a whole.

Perfectionism. Vulnerability. Playfulness.

I see now that these are the elements a couple needs to function. To be allowed to be who they are. To allow mistakes to become a reason for a laugh, a hug, or a kiss. And even though she wanted to dance and likely strived for that lightness, it simply wasn’t in her — or perhaps she just lacked the permission to feel it. The result was the same: rigidity, seriousness, and a total lack of ease.

But how does the brain function in such a hostile environment? It uses every ounce of energy to minimize the possibility of conflict. It works overtime to predict every possible outcome, preparing for every potential criticism or attack. It is now perfectly clear to me why my brain, so occupied with survival, couldn’t store the memory of that brief, precious conversation with my old friend.

It is horrifying to discover, six months later, what the human body is capable of doing to protect itself — even if it means temporarily disabling the ability to remember good and beautiful moments.

When your resources are fully consumed by the “Fight or Flight” response, your brain’s ability to form new connections or memorize data is blocked. Not to mention creativity. My creative mind was completely severed. I wasn’t capable of generating new ideas or thinking about new things. They simply weren’t there.

I cannot say that my memory has fully returned after these months on my own. I still have days when it feels like the ghosts of those fears and that “overfilled” brain are haunting me.

But I feel my creativity is coming back. Ideas are starting to arrive again, and when I put them into words, they stay. Before, these ideas didn’t even exist.

I am no longer just a radar for a storm; I am finally starting to see the world again.