Exit Signs and Open Doors

There was a time when I measured everything in exit signs.

I’d walk into a room and scan—doors, windows, routes. Not because danger was present, but because danger had always been assumed. My nervous system, loyal as ever, stayed alert for a world that had long stopped being a battlefield; but, my body hadn’t quite yet received the memo.

You might know the feeling. That quiet hum in the background that never quiets. The way your shoulders settle just below your ears. The startle response, the emotional bracing, the ways we learn to survive even when survival is no longer in question.

For some of us, survival became a full-time job…before we even learned to read. We adapted brilliantly. We became hypervigilant, accommodating, high-achieving, even. We learned to predict moods before they landed, to read rooms before anyone said a word.

Then…something shifts. Maybe it’s a new soft relationship or a job where no one yells. Or a therapist’s office with no judgment, just room to present; and suddenly, survival strategies don’t really make sense anymore. They begin to feel tight…heavy…outdated.

This is the strange and sacred territory of safety and let me tell you, it can feel disorienting at first.

Safety can feel like boredom to a nervous system used to chaos. It can feel suspicious like waiting for the other shoe to drop; like silence that feels too loud.

But stay there. Just a little longer.

Safety, when allowed, begins to feel like breath that goes all the way down.
Like speaking without rehearsing.
Like stillness that isn’t tense.
Like being in your body without needing to escape it.
Like loving without needing to earn it.

In narrative therapy, we explore the stories that kept us alive (kept us surviving). We honor them, even as we question if they still serve us. We begin to imagine—slowly and gently—what life could be when the story shifts from survival to belonging; from bracing to receiving…guarded to grounded.

If any part of this story sounds like yours, if your body is still scanning rooms while your heart longs to rest—know that you’re not alone and you don’t have to untangle the story by yourself.

Together, we can explore what safety can feel like for you.

If you’re curious about what it means to live beyond survival, let’s talk. Therapy with me offers space to be seen, honored, and gently rewritten.

Your story deserves the chance to soften.
You deserve to feel safe enough to exhale.
Let’s begin, when you’re ready.

Disclaimer:

The content provided on this blog is for informational and educational purposes only and is not intended as a substitute for professional psychological advice, diagnosis, or treatment. The information shared here does not constitute a therapeutic relationship and should not be relied upon as mental health treatment.

Although the author is a licensed mental health professional in the state of Georgia, the content is general in nature and may not be applicable to your individual circumstances. Always seek the advice of a qualified mental health provider or other medical professional with any questions you may have regarding a mental health condition.

If you are experiencing a mental health emergency, call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room. You can also contact the National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988 for free and confidential support, available 24/7.