You’re Not Just Tired—You’re Frozen

Why rest doesn’t help, motivation won’t work, and the real way to reclaim your fire starts in your nervous system.

You think you’re just tired.

But what if it’s not tired?

What if the reason you feel drained, disconnected, and numb as hell isn’t about needing a nap or a week off? What if your body pulled the emergency brake—and you didn’t notice?

There’s a state your nervous system can enter—quietly, subtly—where your energy collapses, emotions flatten, and life feels like you're watching it from behind glass. It’s called the freeze response—or, if you want to sound like you’ve read a book recently, the dorsal vagal state. In polyvagal theory, this is your nervous system’s shutdown response. Not fight, not flight, not fawn—freeze. Collapse. Numb out. Power down.

Most men chalk this up to burnout or laziness. But freeze isn’t just low energy—it shows up everywhere.

Here’s how it might play out:

• In your relationship: You go quiet. Conversations feel like work. Your partner says, “I feel like I’m alone in this.”

• As a father: You’re physically present, but emotionally checked out. Your kid wants connection, but your system feels foggy.

• At work: You avoid tasks. You overthink everything. You stare at your to-do list and then shame yourself for getting nothing done.

• In friendships: You cancel. You stop reaching out. When you show up, you’re quiet and disconnected.

• Internally: There’s no desire. No drive. Just that dull ache of nothingness. Like you’re watching your life instead of living it.

You’re not broken. You’re not lazy. You’re frozen.

And freeze isn’t a character flaw. It’s a nervous system state—a biological shutdown that says, “It’s not safe to be here.”

I didn’t have a name for it at the time. I just felt like I was living at the bottom of a cold, dark well. Every now and then, I’d catch the faint image of sunlight far above me, but even lifting my arms felt like dragging cinder blocks. Other days it felt like I was wading through black swamp water—tendrils wrapping around my limbs, pulling me down every time I tried to move.

That wasn’t tired. That was freeze. That was depression. That was a man—me—disconnected from his body, his fire, his purpose.

No amount of sleep was going to fix that.

Truth be told, I was on medication for anxiety and depression during that time. They started me on anti-anxiety meds, then added an antidepressant to help me sleep. A lovely combo for a traumatized man-boy who couldn’t feel his own feelings. I didn’t know how to cry, how to ask for help, or even how to want something different. I only knew how to numb—and how to perform. Until even that stopped working.

The only way out of that well was to confront what I had spent years running from. Not bypassing it. Not meditating it away. But facing it—raw and afraid.

I did all of that on my own—not as a badge of honor, but because I didn’t have another option. That’s not a flex. That’s a failure of the mental health system. I didn’t know who to turn to. It took over a decade of trial and error, failing forward in the dark, just trying to feel human again. It can be done. But I’d give anything to have some of that time back.

Fatigue vs. Freeze: A Nervous System Decoder

Fatigue:

• Sleep helps or improves your energy

• You still feel emotionally present and connected

• You want to do things but feel physically depleted

• You can imagine feeling better with rest or downtime

• Temporary and often related to a clear cause (stress, poor sleep, exertion)

• You’re still motivated—just sluggish

Freeze (Dorsal Vagal Shutdown):

• Sleep doesn’t help; you still feel empty or heavy

• Emotional numbness or disconnection

• No motivation—not even to rest

• You can’t imagine feeling better

• Feels existential, like you're living in a fog

• Persistent “what’s the point?” feeling

Freeze isn’t the same as people-pleasing. That’s the fawn response—another trauma adaptation. Fawn says yes when you mean no, over-functions, avoids conflict, and hustles for approval. Freeze doesn’t hustle—it disappears. It goes silent. It stops asking for anything.

Fawn says: “Sure, whatever you need. ”Freeze says: “Don’t talk to me. I’m not here.”

What to Do When You're Frozen

You can’t think your way back to vitality. This is about safety, not strategy. Until your nervous system feels safe, nothing else is going to stick—and pushing through will likely make things worse.

Start here:

• Feel your body: Wiggle your fingers. Press your feet into the floor.

• Breathe low and slow: Inhale through the nose. Long exhale out the mouth.

• Get sunlight and movement: Open the blinds. Take a short walk. Let your body register life is still happening.

• Choose micro-movements: Rock. Stretch. Sway. Just begin.

• Ask one question: What would feel 1% better right now?

Not fixed. Just better. That’s how you begin the climb.

From Shutdown to Self-Leadership

If you’ve been living in freeze, you’re not broken. You’ve been surviving the best way your system knew how.

But surviving isn’t living. And your story doesn’t end here.

The three things that have had the biggest impact on my healing and growth—and that I now use with clients—are Somatic Breathwork, Hypnotherapy, and Coaching.

Each one helps thaw the system in a different way:

Somatic Breathwork clears emotional and physical tension that’s been stored in the body. It helps the nervous system release what it’s been holding so you can feel again—and safely.

Hypnotherapy works with the subconscious mind—the place where patterns, beliefs, and protective walls live. We rewrite the scripts that keep you frozen so change becomes automatic instead of forced.

Coaching is the bridge between insight and action. It helps you stay accountable, spot blind spots, and move forward with someone who’s walked the path—without the shame or performance.

You don’t have to figure this out alone.

If you’re ready to thaw what’s been frozen and reclaim your life, I’m here. If you aren't sure where to start, let's talk.