So many of us have spent a lifetime focused on everything but ourselves.

We know how to take care of others.
We know how to read the room.
We know how to manage emotions — as long as they aren’t our own.

But tuning into our own body?
Recognizing that we’re tired, or hungry, or need to pee?
Actually honoring those cues in real time?

That’s another story.

I hear about this often in my work and see it in my own story, too.

People tell me they wait until they’re desperate before taking a break.

They hold their bladder until the meeting ends.
They don’t eat until they’re shaky.
They scroll mindlessly after work and call it rest — even though they don’t feel any more restored after.

And here’s what’s often underneath it all:
A deep, ingrained sense of urgency.

For survivors of complex trauma, this urgency can run like a low-grade hum in the background — always reminding us that something needs to be done, fixed, handled, solved. Rest feels irresponsible. Slowing down feels dangerous. And basic needs feel… optional.

But they’re not.

When we don’t meet our basic needs, we’re less resourced. We’re more reactive. We’re more likely to feel stuck in cycles of disconnection.

We’re also more likely to continue reenacting the very dynamics we’re trying to heal from — caretaking, people-pleasing, over-functioning — because we’re trying to earn rest, or prove our worth, or keep things from falling apart.

And I want to offer something different:
You’re allowed to go to the bathroom when you need to — not just when the timing is convenient.
You’re allowed to rest even if the to-do list isn’t done.
You’re allowed to slow down even if no one else is.
You’re allowed to build a life that includes pauses — not just breakdowns.

Healing begins with meeting ourselves where we are.

Not with giant revelations or perfectly optimized routines — but with simple check-ins. With drinking water before you’re dehydrated. Recognizing urgency for what it is — a relic of survival, not a mandate for your day.

Here’s a small practice you might try:

• Set a gentle timer every hour, and when it goes off, ask:
• Have I had any water recently?
• Do I need a bathroom break?
• Am I clenching my jaw or holding my breath?
• Is there a way I can soften — even just a little?

None of this is about perfection. It’s about building back trust — with your body, with your cues, with your capacity.

Trauma disconnected you from your needs.
But they’re still there, waiting for your attention.
You don’t have to earn your way back to yourself — just start listening.

And remember:
You’re not lazy, dramatic, or needy for wanting to feel okay.
You’re human. And you’re allowed to feel good.

Thank you for letting me see you,