Understanding Through Absence
Sometimes we don’t know the weight of something until it’s gone.
We acclimate.
Our nervous system shifts into a higher frequency that our brains can’t consciously detect. But our bodies know. As Bessel van der Kolk writes, “The body keeps the score.”
Building on my last post about how we manage, the truth is—we manage not just through our behavior, but also through the silent effort of the body.
It supports us and stays vigilant without being asked. It interrupts our sleep, fuels our rumination, heightens our reactivity, warns us to tread lightly, softens our focus, and adapts in ways that meet the intensity our limbic system demands.
Our shoulders stay high and tense.
We respond tightly.
Time feels taut.
All of it designed to protect the fragile ecosystem that our body has coordinated in sync with our emotional and behavioral defenses.
And then, sometimes miraculously, the stressor is removed.
The weight we’ve been unknowingly carrying—hour by hour, day by day—begins to lift. Our vigilance starts to slowly settle. Each morning we wake up, a small layer peels off our shoulders. The silent burden begins to dissolve.
There is clarity in seeing, but an even deeper wisdom in the stillness that follows.
Time and space—arguably the most essential ingredients in healing—offer us the chance to truly understand how much we were struggling. How much energy we were using simply to keep ourselves safe.
I think of it like a chronic injury. Two years ago, I had wrist surgery after six years of managing pain. I had adapted in so many ways: lifting pitchers and coffee carafes with both hands, modifying my yoga practice, taping my wrist, and taking breaks from the exercise I loved. I didn’t fully realize what it had taken from me until after it was over—after the surgery, after I healed. Only then could I see the full cost of enduring it.
Stressors are no different.
Leaving a job that drains us—even when we know it won’t bring us joy—can feel impossible.
Ending a friendship that leaves no room for our needs.
Walking away from a romantic relationship where we give and give, but never feel seen, supported, or appreciated.
Lately in my practice, I hear more and more young women being asked to prove their love and loyalty through self-sacrifice.
My therapist once said, “It’s not enough to be loved—we must be loved well.”
To be loved well, we don’t need to strip ourselves bare or abandon what we cherish.
We deserve partners who find excitement in our joy, who celebrate our success rather than feel threatened by it. I know many young women are afraid they won’t find that.
The numbers may feel skewed, like everything is in men’s favor.
But fear should never be the reason you settle for love that doesn’t nourish you.
In the psychedelic world, there’s a concept called “right relationship.” It refers to a respectful, interdependent, and balanced connection—whether with others or ourselves. It’s built on mutual empathy, responsibility, and recognition of our shared humanity. And in order to be in right relationship with others, we must first be in right relationship with ourselves.
When that alignment is in place, the rest, I promise, will follow.
Get to KnowDr. Danielle Shelov
Dr. Shelov's therapeutic approach emphasizes understanding individuals within the context of their families, childhood experiences, relationships, and larger systems as crucial to psychological treatment.
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