When the body freezes: A personal story of survival

Understanding freeze not as failure, but as a quiet form of resilience

Back in the early years of my counseling journey, I used to travel by Mumbai local trains , often during peak hours. For anyone who’s been on a Dadar-bound local around 6:30 PM, you know it’s less of a commute and more of a full-body experience.

Everyone waiting on the platform would gear up as if preparing for battle. The moment the train slowed, people would move toward the edge, eyes fixed, body tense, ready to charge. The goal? To fight your way in, run past the crowd, and grab a seat if you were lucky.

And I was just like everyone else, operating on instinct. My brain had learned: If you want to survive this journey, you better fight or run. And it worked, until one day, it didn’t.

The day my body chose a different path

I remember this particular evening vividly. The crowd was intense, louder, more restless than usual. As the train arrived, a huge wave of people surged forward. I stepped into the usual chaos, body leaning in, shoulders forward, mentally braced.

But something unexpected happened. I got stuck, right at the gate, wedged between the compartment’s metal rod and the crushing force of bodies behind me. No room to move. No chance to step back. No space to fight.

And in that moment, something inside me let go. My body, which had always been in "push" mode, just… stopped pushing. My muscles softened. My breath became shallow. I felt myself slowly shutting down. Not in panic, but in surrender. As if my body said, We can’t fight anymore. Let’s go with the flow.

It was the freeze response. Not the dramatic kind we read about, but a quiet kind, one that saved me. That softened body was slowly pulled and nudged inside the compartment by the sheer movement of the crowd. I didn’t resist. I just floated with it. And somehow, I made it in.

That experience stayed with me far beyond the train ride. Because from that day on, every time I found myself in a huge crowd, weddings, busy lobbies, my body would do the same thing. It would go limp. Quiet. Frozen. Not in fear, but as a familiar strategy. My system had now learned: When overwhelmed, freeze. Don't resist. That’s how we survive.

At first, I was confused. I thought: Why do I keep shutting down like this? But over time, as I deepened into trauma work and nervous system understanding, I realized something important:

Freezing is not giving up. It’s your body’s last best option to keep you safe.

And unlike the fight or flight responses, freeze doesn’t come with action. It comes with stillness. With silence. With numbness. Which is why we so often overlook it.

Maybe you’ve frozen too

Maybe you’ve been in a moment where your voice disappeared mid-conversation. Maybe your body went numb in an argument. Maybe you couldn’t move or speak in a moment of emotional intensity, and later felt confused or ashamed.

I want to tell you gently: That wasn’t weakness. That wasn’t your fault. That was your body’s wisdom stepping in. Saying, “Let me carry this for you. Just go quiet. I’ll take over.”

How I make room for freeze now

When I feel my body starting to withdraw, in a crowd, during conflict, or when I feel emotionally flooded, I try to pause.

I remind myself:

• It’s okay. This is old wisdom trying to protect me.

• I don’t need to push past it, I can sit with it.

• I’m not broken, I’m wired to survive.

  
  

Sometimes I place a hand on my chest. Sometimes I just sit still and let my body come back when it’s ready.

And slowly, the freeze softens.

In case no one has told you this

If you’ve ever frozen in a moment where you expected yourself to be strong, If your body shut down when you needed to speak up, If you walked away from a moment thinking, “Why didn’t I do something?”

Please hear this:

You did. You survived. Your body found a way to get you through it, not loudly, but quietly. And that matters.

If this story resonated with you, I’d love to hear from you. What does freeze feel like in your body? Have you ever experienced it without realizing what it was?

You're welcome to share or reflect silently, either way, you're not alone.