I have a stomachache at the moment.
It is uncomfortable as hell.
No matter the gentle movements I do to get rid of this sensation, I have no choice by human design and have to stay put and allow this to pass—drinking more water, laying down, gentle belly rubs, etc. My body has made the decision for me: be still, be present, let this move through.
This is what freeze looks like in real time.
What is The Freeze State? And When Your System Hits the Emergency Brake
We talk endlessly about fight or flight, the responses where adrenaline floods your system and you either face the threat or run. But there’s a third option your nervous system chooses involuntarily, and it’s the one we discuss least: the freeze state. This is when your system determines that fighting won’t work and fleeing isn’t possible, it hits the emergency brake. HARD.
Freeze is your dorsal vagus nerve or part of your parasympathetic response of your autonomic nervous system taking control, making your body “play possum” or “play dead” to survive what feels like overwhelming threat. It’s an ancient survival mechanism that served our ancestors well when facing predators too big to fight and too fast to outrun. The sucky part about this, thanks to our nervous systems in this day and age, is it can’t always tell the difference between a tiger and a deadline. I talk more about functional freeze here.
Its why I’ve chosen to write this with my stomach settling to illustrate what I’m going through at the moment—I’m placing my awareness on both my stomach and this article. Hence, I’m feeling my system doing exactly what it’s designed to do.
Blood flow is redirecting away from my digestive system to my core organs. And because my gut—which has more vagus nerve connections than almost anywhere else—is in the middle of this reorganization, it is uncomfortable as fuck since I’m aware of what’s happening and not numbed by it.
This is freeze showing up in my body, one of MANY examples. Now, slowly moving away from freeze and back into regulation. Let’s take a look at what it feels like.
What Freeze Actually Feels Like
Freeze hits after you’ve been running on fight-or-flight mode way too long. Your nervous system finally crashes, like a phone that’s been at 5% battery for hours and then just dies completely.
It also shows up when you’re stuck with no way out that you can see.
The job that’s slowly killing your soul but you need the paycheck.
The relationship where you’re walking on eggshells every single day.
Money stress that keeps you up at night.
Situations where someone has power over you and you can’t leave.
When freeze kicks in, everything in your body slows way down. Your heart rate drops. Blood pressure tanks. Your metabolism basically puts itself in sleep mode to save whatever energy it can.
You can’t move.
Your brain turns to mush.
You feel like you’re watching someone else live your life.
Before learning about this nervous system work and learning about myself, I used to think I was just lazy when this happened. I interpreted my freeze as personal failings. As a recovering hypervigilant, that stung me.
Why couldn’t I just push through the discomfort?
Why did my body seem to betray me at the worst possible moments?
I didn’t understand that my nervous system was doing exactly what it was designed to do when it perceived threat, especially when the threat was just the overwhelming pressure I was putting on myself.
Recognizing Your Freeze Patterns
The freeze can look like procrastination that feels paralyzing rather than avoidant.
You know what you need to do, but your body simply won’t cooperate. It’s like knowing the steps you’re wanting to take but feeling like you’re moving through molasses when you try to take them. It’s the exhaustion that doesn’t improve with sleep, the decision-making that becomes impossibly difficult, the sense of feeling “dead inside” even when everything in your life looks fine from the outside.
The tricky thing about freeze is that it can be invisible. When someone is in fight or flight, you can usually see it since they’re agitated, anxious, and clearly activated.
But freeze? Freeze can look like someone who’s just sitting quietly, maybe even appearing calm. Meanwhile, inside, their entire system has gone offline.
For me, I’m learning to recognize my freeze patterns now—the heavy limbs in the morning. The way my brain goes blank when someone asks me what I want for dinner. The procrastination that feels different from regular avoidance; it’s a lot more deeper, more stuck, like my system has genuinely powered down. And yes, like with my stomachache, it demands stillness.
Working With Freeze Instead of Against It
I won’t downplay freeze as it varies from person to person. The moment you touch freeze, you’re likely going to touch the fight-and-flight responses since this mechanism has protected you for so long.
The important moment about this is I don’t force myself to power through or criticize myself for being “weak”. Instead, I give myself compassion and grace while I’m curious touching this freeze.
This has allowed me to gently and slowly help my nervous system that it’s safe to feel. Just feel, now listening to my impulse.
Gentle movement when needed—not exercise, just movement.
Warm baths.
Breathing that emphasizes longer exhales.
Connection with people who feel safe.
Sometimes it means literally telling your body out loud: “You’re safe now. You can relax”.
And sometimes, like right now with my stomachache, it means simply allowing the freeze to be what it is, letting my body do what it needs to do without judgment or resistance.
Takeaways: The Path Back Online
Recovery from freeze takes time.
Your system didn’t shut down overnight.
And it won’t come back online instantly either. But it will come back online, especially when you start treating it like a partner and protector it’s trying to be.
Coming back to life, one gentle breath at a time.