Too Much Lives in My Body.

“Too much” isn’t just a feeling. It’s a state. A condition. A full-body experience.

It lives in my bones. In my chest. In my throat. It shows up as migraines, nausea, and dissociation.

It feels like I’m bleeding out emotionally while trying to function physically. Like I’m holding grief in my jaw and rage in my spine. Like I’m decaying, but still expected to show up, smile, parent, perform.

There’s no switch to flip. No mantra that makes it disappear. I just have to let it move through me.

And that’s the hardest part. Because my mind loops. My body braces. And I stay in that heightened state longer than most people would.

I used to think I had to hide it. Now I just name it.

I say, “I’m triggered.” I say, “I don’t know why, but I’m not okay.” I say, “Please don’t take this personally.”

And sometimes, someone hugs me. Tells me it’s okay. Stays.

That’s what survival looks like right now. Not fixing it. Just surviving it. One spiral at a time.

I’m learning to love this version of me. Not because she’s easy. But because she’s honest.

And honesty, even when it’s messy, is a kind of healing.