3) Your Body Knows Before You Do: Trauma Responses at Scale
You’re scrolling through the news. Another school shooting. Another political scandal. Another strange climate report. Another example of systems failing the people they’re supposed to protect.
And something happens in your body.
Maybe your chest tightens. Maybe your jaw clenches. Maybe you feel a wave of heat rise up your neck. Maybe you go numb—disconnected, floaty, like you’re watching from outside yourself.
You might not even notice it consciously. But your body knows.
Your body knows before your brain does that something is wrong.
And here’s what most people don’t understand: that response isn’t random. It’s not weakness. It’s not you being “too sensitive” or “too political” or “too emotional.”
It’s your nervous system doing exactly what it’s designed to do: detecting threat and preparing you to respond. Even if that threat is half-way around the world. That threat is doesn’t have to be an actual physical threat; it can be a perceived threat to mental and emotional well-being.
The problem is, the threats we face now—systemic injustice, political dysfunction, environmental collapse, institutional betrayal—aren’t the kind our nervous systems evolved to handle. We can’t fight them with our fists. We can’t run away from them. And freezing doesn’t make them go away.
So we get stuck. Activated but immobilized. Outraged but ineffective. Exhausted but unable to rest.
This isn’t just happening to you. It’s happening to all of us. And it’s happening at scale.
The Four (most commonly known) Fs: Your Nervous System’s Playbook
When your nervous system detects danger, it has four basic responses: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn.
You probably know the first three. Fight is the impulse to attack, argue, defend, control. Flight is the urge to escape, avoid, distance yourself. Freeze is shutdown—paralysis, dissociation, numbness.
Fawn is the one people talk about less, but it’s everywhere: appeasing, people-pleasing, smoothing things over, making yourself small to avoid conflict.
These aren’t choices. They’re survival strategies encoded in your autonomic nervous system [1]. And they’re incredibly useful when you’re facing immediate physical danger.
But when the danger is chronic, diffuse, systemic? When it’s not a predator you can escape but a broken system you can’t avoid? These responses don’t solve the problem. They just keep you activated on any number of levels within your own system–your actual physical body, the way you are able to think (or not).
And here’s what I’ve learned from two decades of working with trauma: paying attention to how your system is responding to something that is happening at a larger scale can give you information about how you feel about what’s happening.
Your body is giving you information. The question is: are you listening? The next question is: do you understand the emotion or feeling?
What Fight Looks Like at Scale
When I recognize that my system is in fight mode, I know I’m activated. I’m ready to combat, to argue, to prove someone wrong, to win.
In civic engagement, fight looks like:
Arguing with strangers online who will never change their minds
Rage-posting without strategy
Attacking anyone who doesn’t agree 100% with your position
Burning bridges with people with whom I am 90% when it comes to core values but with certain parts of my stance they aren’t aligned enough
Activism that’s fueled by anger and leads to burnout
Fight without purpose is just flailing. It feels like you’re doing something, but you’re expending massive energy with minimal impact. You’re not changing systems—you’re just exhausting yourself.
And when enough people are stuck in reactive fight mode, the system itself becomes more volatile, more polarized, more dangerous.
What Flight Looks Like at Scale
Flight is avoidance. It’s the impulse to protect yourself by creating distance.
In civic engagement, flight looks like:
“I just can’t watch the news anymore”
Checking out of politics entirely
Unfollowing anyone who posts about difficult topics
Retreating into only consuming content that feels safe
Spiritually bypassing (“everything happens for a reason,” “just send love and light”)
Flight doesn’t make the problem go away. It just means you’re not looking at it. And when enough people check out, when enough people decide “I can’t handle this,” the system continues unchallenged.
The people still being harmed by that system? They don’t have the luxury of looking away.
What Freeze Looks Like at Scale
Freeze is shutdown. It’s what happens when fight and flight aren’t options—when you can’t win and you can’t escape, so your system just… stops.
In civic engagement, freeze looks like:
Doomscrolling without acting
Consuming endless information but never translating it into behavior
Feeling paralyzed by the enormity of the problem
“There’s nothing we can do anyway”
Learned helplessness
When I recognize that my system has stopped, that’s freeze. And freeze is particularly insidious because it masquerades as calm. You’re not agitated. You’re not running. You’re just… stuck.
And when enough people are stuck in freeze, when enough people have accepted that things can’t change, the system becomes essentially unchangeable—not because it can’t be changed, but because no one believes it can be.
What Fawn Looks Like at Scale
Fawn is the response people recognize least, but it’s everywhere. It’s appeasement. It’s making yourself smaller, more agreeable, less threatening to avoid conflict or broadcasting only similarities to avoid rejection.
In civic engagement, fawn looks like:
Never voicing your actual opinion because you’re afraid of how people will react
Agreeing with whoever is in the room to keep the peace
Apologizing for taking up space
Prioritizing niceness over honesty
Smoothing over real problems so no one has to feel uncomfortable
Fawn keeps the system exactly as it is. Because if no one is willing to name the problem, to risk the discomfort of honest conversation, to insist that something needs to change—nothing will.
When we fawn at scale, when we prioritize civility over justice, comfort over truth, we become complicit in the very systems that are harming us.
The Trauma Response Isn’t Wrong—It’s Information
Here’s what I need you to understand: these responses aren’t bad. They’re not signs that you’re broken or weak or doing it wrong.
They’re signs that your nervous system is working exactly as designed. It’s detecting threat. It’s preparing you to respond.
The problem is that the threat is chronic and systemic, and the options of reactions within your nervous system’s playbook—designed for acute, physical danger—doesn’t quite fit.
So the question isn’t “how do I stop having these responses?”
The question is: “What is my response telling me, and how can I move from reaction to response?”
The question is: “If I am indeed not in [immediate] physical danger, how can I change my reaction to more accurately reflect the level of threat so I can have an effective response that could actually have impact?”
Psychiatrist and trauma expert Gabor Maté teaches that trauma isn’t what happens to you—it’s what happens inside you in reaction to what happens to you [2]. And what happens inside you shapes how you show up in the world.
When external factors that we cannot control impact our system, the way we respond determines whether we can actually create change—or whether we just spin in reactivity.
From Reaction to Response
If as a young child, you were never able to change your surroundings that were hurting you, then when you’re older—and the systems get even bigger—your thoughts on your ability to make change are likely going to follow the same line.
This is the pattern we have to interrupt.
Because the truth is: you’re not that child anymore. You have more resources now. More agency. More choice. And the systems, while bigger, are also more accessible than you think.
But first, you have to notice what’s happening in your body.
Polyvagal theory, developed by Stephen Porges, teaches us that your nervous system is constantly scanning for safety or threat—a process called “neuroception” [3]. And that scanning happens below conscious awareness.
Your body knows before your brain does.
So when you feel your chest tighten while reading the news, that’s information. When you feel the urge to argue with someone online, that’s information. When you feel numb and disconnected, that’s information.
The practice is simple (not easy, but simple):
Notice. Name. Choose.
Notice: What’s happening in my body right now? (Tight chest? Clenched jaw? Numb? Agitated?)
Name: What response am I in? (Fight? Flight? Freeze? Fawn?)
Choose: Given what I actually want to create, what’s the most effective response? (Not the most satisfying. The most effective.) This can have 2 stages–immediate and slower burning.
What Effective Response Looks Like
Effective response isn’t always calm. Sometimes it’s fierce. Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s confrontational.
But it’s intentional. It’s in service of something. It has a purpose beyond just discharging your own nervous system activation.
Effective response asks:
What am I trying to create here?
Who am I in service of?
What would move this situation forward?
What would I want to be true in five years because I acted today?
And sometimes, the most effective response is to step back. To rest. To let someone else carry the load for a while.
Because here’s the thing about collective change: we need people in different states at different stages. We need the people who can fight strategically. We need the people who can rest and resource. We need the people who can hold space for grief. We need the people who can envision what’s next. We need the people supporting those in the front.
You don’t have to be in active fight mode 24/7 to care about justice. In fact, if you are, you’ll burn out and become ineffective.
The system needs you regulated more than it needs you activated.
So What?
The next time you feel your body respond to something happening at a larger scale, don’t ignore it. Don’t shame yourself for it. Don’t tell yourself you should be able to handle it better.
Listen to it.
Your body is telling you something about the state of the system around you. It’s giving you information about what needs to change—and maybe about what needs to change in how you’re engaging.
Ask yourself:
Am I in fight mode? (Am I arguing without strategy?)
Am I in flight mode? (Am I avoiding what I know I need to face?)
Am I in freeze mode? (Am I consuming information without acting?)
Am I in fawn mode? (Am I smoothing over problems to avoid discomfort?)
And then ask: What would the most effective version of me do right now?
Not the most comfortable. Not the most satisfying in the moment. The most effective in service of what I’m actually trying to create.
Because the world doesn’t need you to react. It needs you to respond.
And response requires that you know what your body is telling you—and that you have the capacity to choose what comes next.
CITATIONS
Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-Regulation. New York: W.W. Norton & Company.
Maté, G. (2022). The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness & Healing in a Toxic Culture. New York: Avery.
Dana, D. (2018). The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy: Engaging the Rhythm of Regulation. New York: W.W. Norton & Company.
Article 3
