Trauma is Fast: Why We Rush and How to Slow Down
Trauma is Fast: Why We Rush and How to Slow Down
Have you ever noticed how, when something overwhelming happens, your first instinct is to do something—anything—to make it stop? Maybe you've felt the urge to call someone immediately after a difficult conversation, or you've found yourself racing through your to-do list after a stressful day. That sense of urgency, that need to "get it all out" or "fix it now," is something many of us experience.
A mentor once told me something that changed my perspective: Trauma is fast. It wants to move quickly, to unload everything at once, to get to the end of the story as fast as possible. But here's the thing: healing doesn't work that way. Healing asks us to slow down, to sit with the discomfort, and to process things at a pace that feels safe and sustainable.
How Trauma Shows Up as Speed
Trauma has a way of hijacking our nervous system. When we experience something overwhelming, our brain and body go into survival mode. It's like our body is saying, "Move fast, or you won't survive."
Here's what this might look like in everyday life:
The Urge to Unload: After a tough therapy session, you might feel the need to immediately call your supervisor or a friend—anyone—just to process what happened. The weight feels too heavy to carry alone.
Racing Through Preparation: Before a doctor's appointment, you might find yourself frantically writing down every question and concern, your mind moving at lightning speed to ensure nothing is forgotten.
Speeding Through Daily Tasks: Even simple activities become a race. How fast can I do the dishes? Fold the laundry? Cook dinner? It's as if slowing down might mean falling apart.
Carrying Heavy Loads: Sometimes, when carrying something heavy (literally or emotionally), we move faster because we're afraid we'll collapse if we slow down. Instead of putting down the weight and taking a breath, we rush to our destination.
What About Freeze?
When we talk about trauma being fast, it's easy to think only about fight-or-flight responses—the racing thoughts, the urgency to act, or the chaotic energy trauma can bring. But what about freeze? Isn't that the opposite of fast?
Not exactly.
Freeze is still a quick, immediate response. It's the body's way of stopping everything in an instant to protect itself. Even though it might look like stillness on the outside, trauma is still moving quickly within. The nervous system is working overtime, holding tension, and bracing for what's next.
As Peter Levine says, "Trauma is not what happens to us, but what we hold inside in the absence of an empathetic witness." Even in freeze, the energy of trauma is still alive and moving within us—it's just trapped, waiting for a safe moment to release.
Why Slowing Down Feels So Hard
Slowing down forces us to stay in the moment longer. It asks us to notice what's happening in our body, to feel our emotions, and to be present with our thoughts. And let's be honest: that can be scary.
When we're used to moving fast, slowing down can feel like losing control. It can feel like failure. But healing doesn't happen at 100 miles per hour. It happens when we give ourselves permission to pause, to breathe, and to take things one step at a time.
Learning to Slow Down: My Journey
For me, learning to slow down has been exactly that—a learning process. I’ve had to teach myself how to find safety in stillness and slowness, especially when processing difficult or negative experiences. But what surprised me most was realizing that slowing down isn’t just important when I’m feeling the heightened energy of trauma—it’s also essential when I’m experiencing the heightened energy of any emotion, whether negative or positive.
I’ve noticed this in myself during sessions with clients. When they’re on the verge of an insight or making a connection they’ve never made before, I feel my own energy start to ramp up. My thoughts race, my body feels charged, and if I’m not careful, I can become dysregulated. I’m open about this with my clients. I’ll often pause and say something like, “I’m getting really excited about this—let me take a breath and ground myself for a moment.” It’s not about suppressing the excitement or squeezing it down. That only builds up energy, which can eventually spill out in unhelpful ways. Instead, I bring attention to it, acknowledge it, and use it as an opportunity to model slowing down in real time.
This realization—that even positive emotions like excitement can move too fast—reminds me of my four-year-old. Sometimes, he’ll run around the house to “get his energy out,” but instead of calming down, he ends up even more dysregulated. What looks like a carefree release actually pushes him further into overwhelm. It’s a good reminder that it’s not the emotion itself that’s the problem—it’s the speed at which it moves through the body.
I’ve also seen this play out in my own work. When I was writing my dissertation, I’d get so excited about the connections I was making that my brain would move faster than I could write or organize my thoughts. I was afraid of losing pieces of the puzzle, so I pushed myself to go faster and faster. Even though it was all positive energy, the speed was unsustainable, and it left me feeling scattered and overwhelmed.
This realization was a turning point for me. I had to learn that slowing down isn’t just about managing the energy of trauma—it’s about managing the energy of life. Whether it’s excitement, joy, or curiosity, emotions can move quickly, and if we don’t pace ourselves, they can tip us into dysregulation.
This is why Peter Levine’s work in somatic experiencing has been so helpful to me. His concept of the pendulum—how we naturally swing between states of activation and rest—helped me understand that slowing down isn’t about stopping. It’s about finding balance. It’s about noticing when I’m moving too fast, whether from stress or excitement, and gently bringing myself back to a place of safety and regulation.
The Alphabet Metaphor
One metaphor I love (and often share with clients) is the alphabet. Trauma wants to jump from A to Z as quickly as possible. But healing asks us to slow down and look at B, C, D, and every letter in between.
We don't have to spend the same amount of time on each letter, and we don't have to examine every letter in the same way. But we do need to give each one the opportunity to be seen and heard. Skipping letters might feel faster, but it often leaves us feeling incomplete.
Creating Safety Through Slowness
When we slow down, we give ourselves—and our clients—the chance to:
Feel safe in the present moment
Notice what's happening in our bodies
Process emotions at a manageable pace
Build resilience and resources
Stay present with our experience
As counselors, we can help create this safety by:
Normalizing the need to slow down
Using grounding techniques
Breaking stories into manageable pieces
Modeling slowness in our own responses
Reminding clients they're not alone in this process
A Takeaway for All of Us
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: healing takes time. Trauma may be fast, but we don’t have to be. Slowing down isn’t just about fixing something that’s broken or working through pain—it’s about creating a life that feels more grounded, intentional, and fulfilling.
The next time you feel the urge to rush—whether it’s through a conversation, a task, or a difficult emotion—pause. Take a breath. Slowing down isn’t just about healing; it’s about strengthening. It’s about building resilience, deepening connection, and finding joy in the small, quiet moments we often overlook when we’re moving too quickly.
Living at a slower pace allows us to truly experience life, not just race through it. It gives us the chance to notice the details, to savor the process, and to feel more present in our relationships, our work, and even in ourselves. Healing isn’t about getting to the finish line as quickly as possible. It’s about making sure every step of the journey is seen, felt, and integrated—and that we’re able to enjoy the journey along the way