There are people who don’t relax when things finally get quiet.
Not because they crave chaos —
but because silence once meant something was coming.

Calm wasn’t safety.
It was the pause before impact.
The moment when you learned to stay alert, not at ease.

So your body adapted.

It learned to scan instead of settle.
To listen for tone shifts.
To mistake peace for a setup.

Kindness can feel suspicious.
Stillness can feel unsafe.
Rest can feel undeserved.

None of that means you’re broken.

It means you survived something that required you to stay awake inside yourself.

Some experiences don’t leave bruises.
They leave instincts.
They live in how your shoulders tense during quiet moments.
In how you brace even when nothing is happening.

If calm feels unfamiliar —
you’re not failing at healing.

You’re learning, slowly, that safety doesn’t always announce itself.

And you don’t have to force yourself to believe that yet.

You’re not alone in this.