When the World Stops: Surviving a Breakdown After Abuse

Living in Survival Mode After Abuse

For most of my life I have lived in survival mode. Constantly navigating the minefield of abuse throughout my childhood, teens and a 30 year marriage. When I finally found the courage to end my abusive marriage, I expected to feel relief. Instead, I was met with a crushing wave of depression and exhaustion. My body and mind, conditioned to endure continuous stress, were suddenly left with the aftermath of continued abuse and trying to make sense of my life, leading to an overwhelming sense of numbness and despair.

Each day became a blur. I would drag myself out of bed to get my children to school, only to return home and collapse on the sofa. My energy was drained, my motivation gone. The only thing I could focus on was comfort eating—reaching for sweets, crisps, and anything that could momentarily provide a sense of pleasure. But it was only a fleeting relief from the emotional pain and agony. The rest of the day was spent scrolling through my phone or watching trash TV, activities that required no mental effort but provided distraction from the relentless rumination.

The clutter all around my home—on every surface—added to my sense of overwhelm. Yet, any attempt to tidy and organised caused me to freeze from overwhelm. Instead, I would wait until just before my children got home from school to tidy up a bit, trying to create the illusion that I was managing. But I wasn’t. I was isolated, unable to socialise, feeling abandoned and alone in my struggle.

The Compulsion of Rumination: A Torturous Cycle

One of the most tormenting aspects of the trauma was the continuous rumination. My mind was stuck in an endless loop, replaying events, imagining worst-case scenarios, and obsessing over every little detail. This compulsive rumination is often a response to unresolved trauma. For those of us who have survived long-term abuse, it’s a way our brain tries to process the chaos we’ve endured.

However, instead of bringing clarity or closure, rumination often deepens the despair. It traps us in a cycle of negative thinking that feeds depression and anxiety, making it even harder to break free from the grip of trauma.

Struggling to Maintain a Sense of Normalcy

Before the breakdown, one of my greatest joys was spending time in my garden. The garden was my sanctuary, a place where I could connect with nature and find peace. But during this period, I couldn’t even step outside. The thought of tending to the garden, of reconnecting with something that once brought me joy, was too overwhelming.

At the same time, I was barely keeping up with work. I worked just enough to pay the bills, but my savings dwindled, and debt began to pile up. The pressure to maintain normalcy for my children was immense. I wanted to be the strong, capable parent they needed, but I felt like I was drowning, unable to keep up the facade.

Understanding the Dorsal Vagal Breakdown

Through personal reflection and study, I’ve come to understand that what I experienced was a Dorsal Vagal breakdown, a concept rooted in the Polyvagal Theory. The Dorsal Vagal nerve is part of our parasympathetic nervous system, responsible for the "freeze" response to overwhelming stress. When the body perceives a threat as inescapable—like the long-term abuse I endured—it can activate this response, leading to a shutdown of physical and emotional functions.

In a Dorsal Vagal state, energy is conserved, and the body and mind essentially go into survival mode, which can manifest as depression, fatigue, and a sense of being stuck or paralysed. This explains why I found myself lying on the sofa, unable to move, trapped in a state of numbness and inertia. It wasn’t just a lack of willpower—it was my body’s physiological response to years of trauma.

Understanding the Dorsal Vagal breakdown helps explain why, after the immediate threat of abuse is removed, survivors often experience a crash. The body, no longer needing to fight or flee, shuts down, leaving us feeling exhausted, disconnected, and unable to function as we normally would.

The Weight of Depression After Leaving an Abusive Relationship

What I was experiencing wasn’t just sadness—it was the weight of depression. Depression after abuse is common, especially when the abuse has spanned many years. It’s a response to the trauma and the emotional toll of surviving in a toxic environment for so long.

Depression restricts your functions, both mentally and physically. I remember walking so slowly, feeling as though my body would shatter if I moved too quickly. Every step felt like a monumental effort, every task an insurmountable challenge. This physical lethargy is a manifestation of the emotional and psychological exhaustion that comes from years of living in fear, constantly on high alert.

Why This Happens: Insights from Personal Reflection and Study

As I reflect on this period, I realise that my breakdown was my body and mind’s way of processing years of trauma. After the immediate threat of the abusive relationship was removed, my body crashed, no longer able to sustain the high levels of cortisol and adrenaline that had kept it going. This crash led to a breakdown, a forced period of rest and recovery.

Trauma affects the brain’s ability to regulate emotions, making survivors more susceptible to depression and anxiety. The continuous rumination I experienced was my brain’s attempt to make sense of the trauma, but without the right tools, it became a source of further distress.

Comfort eating, too, can be understood as a coping mechanism. When we eat sugary or high-fat foods, our brains release dopamine, a chemical associated with pleasure. In the midst of depression, when everything feels bleak, these brief moments of pleasure can feel like a lifeline, even if they ultimately contribute to the cycle of self-destruction.

Moving Forward: Acknowledging the Journey Ahead

Writing this blog is my way of acknowledging where I’ve been, but also where I want to go. I’m still on this journey, still grappling with the aftermath of years of abuse. But I’m beginning to understand that healing isn’t a straight line. It’s a process, one that requires patience, self-compassion, and, most importantly, support.

If you’re experiencing something similar, I want you to know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to struggle, to feel lost, and to not have all the answers. The important thing is to keep going, to reach out for help when you need it, and to hold on to the hope that things can and will get better.

At www.metoonomore.com, I’m sharing this journey not just for myself, but for all of us who have lived through the darkness of abuse and are trying to find our way back to the light. It’s a long road, but we don’t have to walk it alone.

"Struggling after leaving an abusive relationship? Visit www.metoonomore.com for support, personal stories, and resources on navigating the journey of healing.