Maybe you know this feeling well:
Morning comes. You’re up before the kids, trying to find five quiet minutes to gather yourself. But as soon as the small feet hit the floor, the day begins its swirl — toys scattered, breakfast half-eaten, someone whining for more milk, someone else crying because the milk spilled.
So you tidy. Wipe the counter, sweep the crumbs, fold the blanket over the couch. And under it all, you feel the drumbeat start:
It’s too much. I need out.
So you pack snacks, zip jackets, herd everyone out the door. You stay gone all day — playground, grocery store, a bench, a café if you’re lucky. You come home only when they’re tired enough that there’s no space left for conflict — just dinner, baths, bed.
It looks practical. But underneath, it’s something older: A quiet escape plan you’ve carried since childhood.
🕯️ The Deep Why: How the Urge Forms & Ties to CEN
When you grow up with Childhood Emotional Neglect (CEN), you learn early: Home is not where you rest — it’s where you brace.
Your basic needs were probably met — food, shelter, clean clothes — but your inner world wasn’t. Your fears, dreams, anger, softness — maybe no one asked about them. Maybe when you tried to show them, you were dismissed or shamed. Maybe you got good at hiding them, even from yourself.
So you learned vigilance. You learned to track the room: Is Dad in a mood? Is Mom distant or about to snap? Who do I need to be today?
Your body learned that being present — fully, messily yourself — was risky. Stillness gave people time to poke, to judge. Movement was safer. Wandering was freedom.
For some of us, that meant disappearing into books or daydreams. For others, it meant leaving the house as much as possible — staying at friends’ places, lingering at school, roaming the neighborhood until the streetlights flicked on. The living room wasn’t living — it was waiting to be endured. The real breath was out there.
Fast forward to now: you have your own family, your own walls, your own life. But bodies remember what minds forget. When the house fills with noise, conflicting needs, chaos — your old wiring lights up:
“We can’t stay. We’ll drown.”
So you tidy and flee. Same strategy, new role.
🌲 Hyper-Vigilance: The Clever Guardian
It’s easy to shame this part of you — the restless piece that wants to run. But what if you thanked her instead?
That hyper-vigilant part kept you safe. It tracked danger. It whispered escape plans. It made you resourceful, adaptable, good at reading people. That’s not failure — that’s brilliance. It’s just outdated now.
Because the truth is: your body can’t feel truly present if it still believes presence is a threat.
So when the house is loud, messy, or charged with tiny conflicts, your nervous system only knows one thing: Movement equals safety. Stillness equals danger.
And your old protector part does what she always did:
Pack up. Get out. Find air.
🍃 When Running is Healthy Too
Here’s what many healing stories forget: running sometimes works. Not every flight is fear. Sometimes your body needs air, trees, sky, birdsong. Sometimes the walls really do feel too tight. Sometimes you just need to see a different horizon.
There’s nothing shameful about loving the park more than the couch, the café more than the kitchen. There’s medicine in nature, in moving your feet, in sitting on a bench and letting the sun touch your skin while your kids dig in the dirt.
The key is noticing: Am I choosing to breathe — or am I running because I can’t?
One is freedom. The other is the old leash disguised as freedom.
🌿 The Turning Point: Tuning Into Your Needs
If you’ve spent years blending into others’ needs, what you want might feel like a foreign language.
At home, your nervous system probably knows exactly what everyone else needs — the kids’ snack requests, the tension in your partner’s shoulders, the laundry waiting in the basket. But your own needs? A soft blur under all that noise.
So here’s the real turning point: How do you hear yourself again?
It starts impossibly small.
Not big declarations of “self-care.” Just a pause. A question. A sip.
Try this:
- Right now, what do I want?
- What does my body feel? Cold? Tight? Hungry? Tired?
- What tiny thing would feel good?
No right answer. Just one simple next thing:
- A sip of water.
- A warm pair of socks.
- Opening the window for a minute.
- Sitting down, even if there’s more to do.
- Eating a snack that’s not just your kids’ leftovers.
It will feel awkward at first. That’s proof you’re doing something new.
🪞 IFS: Meeting the Part That Flees
The protective part that wants to pack up and disappear? She’s not a nuisance — she’s a younger you, still working overtime to keep you safe.
IFS (Internal Family Systems) helps you meet her without pushing her away.
When the urge comes, pause:
- How old does this part feel?
- Where do I feel her in my body? Chest? Throat? Legs itching to move?
- What does she think will happen if I stay?
- What does she wish I knew?
- What does she need to hear from me right now?
Maybe she needs permission to leave sometimes. Maybe she needs proof that it’s different now — that the adult you can rest inside your own walls.
🌙 Tiny Acts of Choosing to Stay
Staying doesn’t mean locking yourself indoors while your skin crawls. It means experimenting with pausing, even for one breath, one minute, one tiny reclaiming.
Try these:
- Drink water because you’re thirsty, not just because you should.
- Stand barefoot in the kitchen and feel the floor.
- Open the window, feel air move through the room.
- Light a candle. Smell an herb.
- Put on your own music, not kids’ songs.
- Say out loud: “Not now — Mama needs a minute.” Even if nobody listens, you heard it.
These moments retrain your body: Stillness is not punishment. Home can hold me too.
🌸 Bring Back the Impractical
Another reason you might hate being home? It’s just work. Dishes. Crumbs. Conflicts. Laundry. Repeat.
Your nervous system needs softness too — impractical, beautiful softness that isn’t efficient but makes you feel alive.
Think of the things you once loved:
- Stitching, sewing, mending.
- Crochet or knitting one small square.
- Flipping through seed catalogs, garden books.
- Stirring sourdough, feeding a starter.
- Arranging wildflowers or herbs in a jar.
- Scribbling a poem that nobody reads.
- Taking a long shower just to feel water on your skin.
These tiny impractical pleasures say: Home is not just survival. It’s yours too.
🌿 Larger Acts of Reclaiming Aliveness
When you trust yourself to hear your needs in small ways, you grow brave enough to say yes to bigger joys — the kind that once felt selfish.
🌳 Change the plan on a whim
- Have lunch out, not because it’s practical but because it lights you up.
- Take a detour. Pick up a pastry just for you.
- Sit on a park bench 20 minutes longer than “makes sense.”
🍵 Feed yourself beautifully
- Choose the café that feels grown-up, not just kid-friendly.
- Bring real plates or a thermos to your picnic. Make it a tiny ritual.
- Get yourself a pastry, a good coffee, a salad you love.
🌿 Go somewhere for your eyes
- Walk a park that’s about your view, not just the playground.
- Wander a garden center or bookshop — “just looking” is enough.
- Pick a neighborhood that inspires you — old trees, secret gardens.
🧺 Change the vibe at home
- Eat outside — porch, balcony, front steps.
- Make your lunch plate nice: fruit, cheese, a napkin just for you.
- Put on your music. Dance, sway, or just let it fill the air.
🌙 Claim solo moments
- Walk alone while someone watches the kids — ten minutes is enough.
- Take yourself out for breakfast, kids in tow or not.
- Pick wildflowers or herbs — bring them home for you.
🌸 Do something “pointless”
- Buy the flower bunch even if it wilts tomorrow.
- Pick up a book for you — not just kids’ books.
- Lie in the grass, scribble a poem, take a bath that feels too long.
✨ How to protect it:
Your old voice will whisper: “Is this selfish? Silly? Wasteful?”
The truth is: This is living. This is healing the old vigilant part that thinks you only earn rest if you run first.
🌙 You Don’t Have to Flee to Survive
You don’t have to keep playing out your childhood in tiny ways — always moving to feel safe.
You can still love the trees, the air, the café — but as choice, not survival.
You can step out because you want air — not because the walls are closing in.
You can stay because you want to rest — not because you’re trapped.
You can reclaim home, breath by breath — and with it, yourself.
🌿 A Gentle Invitation
If you want a soft place to start, I made you a free printable:
tiny acts, impractical joys, bigger choices, and gentle IFS prompts for the part that flees.
Stick it on your fridge. Slip it in your bag. Use it next time the urge to run whispers: “We can’t stay.”
Tiny act by tiny act, you teach your body: I am allowed to rest. I am allowed to stay. 🌙
Explore further:
Why You Feel Restless When Trying to Relax and How to Stop It (+free PDF)
How Minimalism Can Calm Mom Overwhelm — But Why It Won’t Fix Everything (+Free Download)
Why You Resist Sleep Even When Exhausted: The Hidden Emotional Roots of Insomnia
Restorative Yoga for Deep Healing: How to Use Stillness to Rewire Your Nervous System
Leave a Reply