Lena had a coat. A soft, dove-grey one with a silky lining and pockets deep enough for her whole world. It had been a birthday gift—one of the few things that felt like it belonged to her. But even gifts came with invisible rules.
She was only allowed to wear it when her mum said so. Not when Lena wanted to, not when the weather asked for it, not even when the occasion felt special. Only when the timing, mood, and atmosphere aligned in the mysterious, unspoken code of her household.
One Saturday, a friend invited her to the cinema – it was her friends birthday treat. Lena asked her mum—tentatively, gently— could she please go to the cinema and if she could wear her special coat. Her mum said yes. Just don’t damage it, she added, without looking up.
And so Lena wore the coat. She sat in the cinema seat, clutching popcorn and trying not to spill a single kernel on the soft grey sleeves. She was careful. Extra careful.
But when she got home, the air had changed.
The door opened like thunder.
“Where have you been, I told you not to touch that coat.”
Before Lena could speak—before she could say But you said yes—she felt her mother’s hand strike the back of her head. The words thief, disrespectful, disobedient swirled in the kitchen air like smoke.
Lena stood frozen. She wasn’t sure anymore. Had she imagined the yes? Did she steal her own coat?
There were no straight lines. No anchor to truth. No mirror in the house reflected her reality back to her.
Just the ever-shifting ground beneath her feet.
And in adulthood…
That coat never left her.
Not really.
It became the tightness in her chest when someone smiled and said, Of course you can—because yes didn’t always mean yes.
It became the hesitation in her voice at work, the polite smile, the overthinking after meetings.
It became the invisible rulebook she could never quite learn, the quiet scanning of faces, always wondering: Am I safe here?
In Lena’s adult life, she lived gently. Carefully. Don’t speak too much. Don’t take up too much space. Don’t expect too much. Always check for signs, proof, consistency. Without truth, there could be no trust. And without trust—no safety.
But she also began to learn something new.
That straight lines do exist in people. Invisible threads running through some like golden veins—truth, integrity, compassion, empathy. She felt them in conversations that didn’t twist. In eyes that stayed kind. In silences that weren’t punishments.
Lena felt these things viscerally. Her body knew when someone meant what they said. That kind of truth became her anchor. In the wild ocean of the world, she started to find places where she could land.
What the World Sees
To the outside world, Lena could seem… difficult to read.
Sometimes she was warm and open, full of empathy and insight. Other times she was withdrawn, cautious, or distant. She second-guessed herself often. Declined invitations without clear reason. Took ages to reply to messages. Changed her mind at the last minute.
People sometimes labelled her:
Insecure.
Moody.
Excessively Shy.
Overly sensitive.
Guarded.
Non-committal.
Deceitful.
Unsettled.
Awkward.
Attention Seeking.
But none of that was the truth.
What the world saw were the ripples, not the storm.
They didn’t see the child who had learned that “yes” could turn into “no” with no warning.
That connection could be followed by criticism. They didn’t understand she was connection seeking as opposed to attention seeking – trying to anchor, trying to find safe ground.
That asking for clarity could result in silence—or punishment.
So Lena tiptoed through adult relationships. Not because she didn’t care. But because she cared deeply, and it had never felt safe to show it.
She struggled to make decisions without fear of getting it wrong.
Struggled to believe she was ever enough.
Struggled to trust that kindness didn’t come with a cost.
It wasn’t that Lena didn’t want to commit, speak up, or connect.
It was that her nervous system had been wired for danger, not safety. For mixed signals, not honesty. For guessing games, not open-hearted truth.
And so she moved quietly. Watched everything. Checked and rechecked.
Not because she was weak.
Because once upon a time, she had to.
A Nervous System Lens
When someone grows up in emotional uncertainty—where love feels conditional and truth is unpredictable—their body learns to protect, not relax.
Lena’s behaviours weren’t signs of weakness, brokenness, or drama. They were signs of a nervous system shaped by dorsal vagal shutdown—what the body does when fight or flight no longer work. A kind of quiet collapse. A going still to stay safe.
Through a dorsal vagal lens, the world looks unsafe. Relationships feel risky. The self feels small, wrong, or invisible. The body may feel heavy, numb, or ashamed. It can seem to others like “moodiness,” detachment, or inconsistency—but it’s actually a state of freeze.
The body is trying to protect itself from expected harm.
But through a ventral vagal lens—when the nervous system feels safe, connected, and attuned—everything changes.
Through this lens, Lena feels grounded.
She can speak her truth without fear.
She can trust a yes to stay a yes.
She feels connected to herself, others, and the world around her.
She can anchor in empathy, curiosity, and choice.
This is where healing happens.
Not by forcing change—but by restoring a sense of felt safety.
By recognising when her body is speaking from fear, and gently offering it a new experience.
TRUST Framework – A Trauma-Informed Anchor
When someone like Lena has grown up with uncertainty, contradiction, and emotional betrayal, the world can feel unpredictable—even dangerous. The nervous system becomes wired for mistrust. Truth feels slippery. And safety is something you search for, not something you feel.
That’s why the TRUST Framework is so powerful. It’s not just a model—it’s a map for connection and co-regulation. A guide for how to hold space with compassion and clarity when someone’s nervous system is stuck in survival.
Each part of the framework speaks directly to what Lena never had—and now deeply needs.
T – Trigger Recognition
“I notice what activates you, and I don’t shame you for it.”
Learning to recognise when Lena’s body is reacting to old danger helps break the cycle of re-enactment and blame.
R – Reassurance
“I’m not going to turn on you. I’ll stay steady.”
Gentle, consistent words and actions help build a sense of predictability—so Lena can start to trust calm as real.
U – Understanding
“I see beyond the behaviour.”
Seeing Lena’s hesitation or shutdown not as “moodiness,” but as a protective response from long ago.
S – Safety
“I will not use your vulnerability against you.”
Safety is both physical and emotional. For Lena, it’s about trusting that today’s ‘yes’ won’t become tomorrow’s ‘punishment’.
T – Truth
“You deserve honesty, and your experience matters.”
For someone who grew up doubting her own reality, truth is the most powerful gift. It anchors her. It heals her.