This reflection is for those navigating the space after choosing themselves - but before feeling steady again.
There’s a pattern I see often - especially among women - and it usually shows up after a brave decision has already been made.
We finally choose ourselves.
We step away from a relationship that hasn’t been serving us.
We stop abandoning ourselves.
We name what we need.
Sometimes we even leave.
And then… instead of relief, the nervous system lights up.
We start spinning.
Not because the choice was wrong -
but because the body hasn’t caught up yet.
When we’ve spent a long time muting ourselves in a relationship, our sense of safety often becomes tied to the other person’s responses. Their moods. Their attention. Their approval. Their willingness to change.
So when we finally say, “I need more” or “I can’t do this anymore,” the system goes into fight-or-flight.
We may tell ourselves we’re putting ourselves first -
but internally, we’re still looking over our shoulder.
Did they hear me?
Did they finally understand?
Will they see what they lost?
Will they come back changed?
Did they love me enough to choose me this time?
This is where many of us get stuck.
Not because we’re weak -
but because we still care.
And caring gets confused with watching, monitoring, analyzing, and waiting.
We replay conversations.
We read into silences.
We scan social media.
We try to interpret behavior as reassurance.
What we’re really asking isn’t about them at all.
It’s:
Was I worth choosing?
Was I worth changing for?
Did I matter enough?
When those questions come from old emotional wounds, the nervous system looks for answers outside of us - especially from the person who once held that role.
But here’s the truth that’s often hard to accept:
Their ability - or inability - to reflect, repair, or return
does not determine the validity of your choice.
And it does not measure your worth.
This spinning isn’t a sign that you made the wrong decision.
It’s a sign that your system is learning a new orientation - one where safety is no longer outsourced.
Healing here doesn’t come from understanding them better.
It comes from slowly anchoring back into yourself.
From letting the body learn:
I can care - and still not chase.
I can choose myself - even if they never understand.
I can grieve - without negotiating my worth.
This is the part of the journey no one really talks about.
The space after leaving - but before feeling steady.
The moment when the old attachment pattern hasn’t dissolved yet, even though the choice has been made.
If you’re here, be gentle with yourself.
If you’re standing here, feeling shaky, uncertain, or emotionally activated, this is the work I support. I hold containers designed for this exact moment — when something old has ended and something new is still finding its shape.
You’re not going backwards.
You’re not failing.
You’re unlearning survival.
And that takes time.
With love and blessings,
Susan
www.susanhharris.com