For the Ones Who Still Run

Support for nervous system flares, flight responses, and learning to stay

We don’t always run with our legs.

Sometimes we run by ghosting the people we love. Or by over-explaining until we’ve talked ourselves into silence.By closing the laptop mid-therapy session.By going quiet when things get too kind. By deciding, often without realising, that distance is safer than closeness.

If that’s you, this is your reminder:

You’re not broken. You’re remembering. And you’re allowed to come back when you're ready.

Why We Run (Even When Things Are “Fine”)

The flight response is often misunderstood. It’s not dramatic. It’s not avoidant. It’s not sabotage.

It’s your nervous system going:

“We’ve been here before. And last time, it wasn’t safe.”

You might not have words for what it reminds you of. But your body does.

It remembers being cornered. It remembers not being believed. It remembers love with conditions, safety with sharp edges.

A Gentle Practice: Staying With the Urge to Bolt

This isn’t about pushing through.It’s about learning to pause before the pattern plays out.

Try this:

1. Name it.

“I want to leave.”That’s not a failure. That’s awareness. Notice it with kindness.

2. Locate yourself.

Feel your feet. Place a hand on something solid. Say it out loud if you need to:

“I’m here. It’s now.”

3. Get curious.

“What part of me feels unsafe?" “What does this moment remind me of?”

We don’t need to have answers. Just space for the question.

4. Offer choice, not control.

“You can leave if you need to. But maybe we don’t have to this time.”

When we give ourselves permission to run, sometimes we don’t.

Try Saying (or Writing):

• “This is just a response. Not the truth of the moment.”

• “I’ve felt this before, and I’m still here.”

• “We get to do things differently now.”

• “I can leave. Or I can stay. Both are safe.”

What My Dog Taught Me

Effie is a rescue. Six homes before she turned eight months old. One of them kept her caged for sixteen hours a day.

One night, years after she came to us, I held a fly swatter in my hand and called her in from the garden. She took one look and bolted into the woods.

We searched for hours with torches and cracked voices, calling her name.

She came back on her own — hours later, soaked and shaking. Not because we chased her.Because we waited.

That’s how trust returns. Not through force.Through presence.

If You Run Sometimes, Too

You don’t have to override your instincts. You don’t have to be over it by now. You don’t have to stay before you’re ready.

You just have to notice.Pause.Let your body know there’s a choice now.

That, in itself, is healing.

And when you come back, whether it’s minutes later or months, you’ll be met with gentleness.

Sarah x

Trail Tools: For the mess, the middle, and the long way home.