The Girl in the Dirty Dress: Shame, Survival, and the Power of Co-Regulation
When our nervous system is overwhelmed, our rational, intelligent thinking brain goes offline. In those moments, the body does what it must to survive. We freeze. We go silent. We disconnect. Years later, many of us look back on those frozen moments with shame, asking ourselves: “Why didn’t I scream? Why didn’t I run? Why didn’t I fight back?”
But these aren’t failures. They are survival responses. And when those responses happen in childhood, they can leave behind powerful images and beliefs that shape the way we see ourselves for years to come.
The Image That Stayed With Me
When I was seven years old, new in a foreign country, a teacher dragged me to the front of the classroom. She pointed to the food stains on my dress and encouraged the other children to laugh at me.
She never asked why my dress was dirty. She didn’t know that the airplane carrying everything we owned had crashed, killing the entire crew. She didn’t know that I had only the clothes I’d arrived in, or that my mother was distraught and bedridden with grief.
So I stood there, cheeks burning, motionless, voiceless, ashamed. And while the teacher shaped how the other children saw me that day, what mattered even more was how I came to see myself.
I was the girl in the dirty dress. Those urghhs and pointed fingers weren’t just playground taunts — they became evidence of my failure. Proof that I didn’t belong. Proof that I would never be good enough or fit in. Even when I could understand the circumstances later on, those truths faded into insignificance. The image of that seven-year-old became a barrier in my mind that I couldn’t move beyond — like the ant trapped inside a circle drawn in chalk, unable to see that the boundary was never really there.
How It Shaped My Adult Life
That moment didn’t stay in the classroom. It followed me into adulthood. I found myself unable to face or speak in front of a crowd. The same burning cheeks, frozen body, and silent voice that had trapped me at seven returned whenever I stood before others.
What I didn’t realise then was that my avoidance of public speaking wasn’t about ability — it was about survival. My nervous system remembered the humiliation, the laughter, the shame. It protected me the only way it knew how: by keeping me away from the threat of being seen.
Recognising the link between that childhood incident and my adult patterns of avoidance was life-changing. It helped me see that the “hand-drawn circle” keeping me trapped was not real. With compassion and co-regulation, I began to step beyond it — one small step at a time.
Trauma and the Dorsal Vagal State
This is what happens to victims. They develop what is often called a victim mentality — not because they are weak, but because they are victims. Their nervous systems have been plunged into the abyss by horrors they could not escape.
Polyvagal Theory, developed by Stephen Porges, explains this with the dorsal vagal state. When fight or flight are not possible — especially when a child faces an adult — the body shuts down. It collapses. It disappears inward. This is not a choice. It is biology.
The problem is that the image of those moments — the freeze, the shame, the silence — becomes etched into memory. Over time, the inner critic uses them as evidence: “See? You’re not enough. You failed. You’ll never belong.” The survival response becomes welded to core beliefs of unworthiness.
The Only Way Back: Co-Regulation
For those who have experienced complex trauma, thinking their way out of dorsal is impossible. The prefrontal cortex — the thinking brain — is offline. The survival brain is in charge.
The only way back from dorsal is through co-regulation.
That means being with someone who is safe, compassionate, non-judgmental, and empathetic — someone who can hold space without shaming, fixing, or minimising.
Carl Rogers called these the core conditions of the person-centred approach:
- Congruence (genuineness),
- Unconditional Positive Regard,
- Empathic Understanding.
Whether offered by a therapist, a loved one, or a trusted friend, these qualities create a safe relational field. Safety allows the nervous system to come back online. It allows connection to replace collapse. It allows healing to begin.
In Conclusion
That seven-year-old girl in the dirty dress stayed with me for many years, shaping how I saw myself and what I believed I deserved. She kept me silent in classrooms, boardrooms, and auditoriums long after the incident was over. But today I know this: she wasn’t a failure. She was surviving the only way her body knew how.
If you carry shame from moments where you froze, went silent, or disappeared — please know this: your nervous system was protecting you. Freezing is not weakness. It is survival.
And survival is something to honour, not condemn.
Be kind to yourself. Self-compassion doesn’t erase the past, but it does release us from the prison of shame. And when we allow ourselves to co-regulate with safe, compassionate others, we find our way back to connection, to healing, and to freedom.
Reflection Prompt
Can you recall a moment when you judged yourself for freezing, going silent, or shutting down?
What might shift if you saw that moment not as failure — but as your body’s wisdom keeping you safe?