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The Body That Never Stands Down: Living With PTSD and Constant Hypervigilance

PTSD isn’t one-size-fits-all, and it definitely isn’t one-story-fits-all. Some people develop it after combat. Others after a car crash, a hospital stay, a toxic relationship, or years of just surviving things that weren’t survivable.
The point is — the body doesn’t know why it’s scared. It only knows that something hurt it, and now it refuses to let its guard down again.

And for a lot of us? That means living in a constant state of alert — hypervigilance.

When the Body Becomes the Alarm System

Hypervigilance isn’t about being “paranoid” or “dramatic.” It’s what happens when your brain gets stuck in survival mode. People with PTSD often show increased activation of the amygdala and insula (the brain’s threat detectors), and reduced regulation from the prefrontal cortex (the part that manages logic and fear control). https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9682920

This creates a brain more prone to automatic threat response and less able to override it.Over time, your body forgets what calm even feels like. It treats peace like a setup.

You start scanning for the next problem, the next crisis, the next disappointment — because deep down, your body doesn’t believe it’s safe unless it’s braced for impact.

What That Does to the Mind

Living that way rewires your thinking.

  • You might second-guess every decision, waiting for the fallout. You’re never wrong if you argue both sides of the problem.
  • You may feel detached or foggy — a kind of emotional autopilot. Fibrofog is bad enough but a bad brain day on top of it means no one is getting anything done today lol.
  • Focus gets harder because your brain is too busy running background security checks on your environment. You spend so much time doing your background checks you miss all the good things.
  • Even joy feels suspicious, like the quiet before a storm. Waiting for the other shoe to drop is a terrible way to go through life because you have no time to dwell on the good.

Over time, it’s exhausting. Not just “I need a nap” tired, but that bone-deep exhaustion that comes from being on guard 24/7.

What That Does to the Body

Hypervigilance isn’t just mental — it’s physical.
When your nervous system keeps sounding the alarm, your body floods with stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. That’s great if you’re outrunning a tiger, not so great if you’re just trying to grocery shop.

It can lead to:

  • Muscle tension (especially in your neck, shoulders, and jaw)
  • The body doesn’t heal well under constant fight-or-flight — it’s too busy defending.
  • Headaches and chronic pain Studies show that people with hypervigilance scan their surroundings more, fixate more broadly on ambiguous scenes, and show enlarged pupil responses even when no actual threat is present https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC4211931
  • Stomach issues or IBS
  • Insomnia or restless sleep In PTSD, sleep architecture often gets altered: more light sleep, fragmented REM (dream) sleep, and difficulty getting into deep, restorative sleep https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9682920
  • Fatigue that doesn’t go away even after rest Also, individuals with PTSD have been shown to keep a higher resting heart rate even while sleeping — signifying that the body never fully “turns off.”
  • Long-term hypervigilance is associated with physical health risks: elevated blood pressure, inflammation, and cardiovascular stress. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7263347

Your body ends up running a marathon it never trained for, with no finish line in sight.

Important Note

This is not about comparing kinds of trauma. PTSD is real whether it came from a battlefield, a hospital bed, a car crash, or a childhood that never felt safe. The source may differ — but the physiology of trauma is remarkably similar. If your nervous system is stuck in fight-or-flight, it deserves care, not comparison.

How to Calm the Body That Won’t Relax

You can’t logic your way out of hypervigilance — trust me, we’ve all tried. The goal isn’t to “calm down,” it’s to teach your body that safety is possible again.

Some small but powerful ways to start:

  • Name it when it’s happening. “I’m safe right now, but my body doesn’t believe it.” It sounds simple, but naming it gives your brain a choice other than panic.
  • Release one muscle group. Shoulders, jaw, stomach — anywhere you’re braced. I try and take a shower because my whole body locks up tight.
  • Temperature reset. Cool water on your wrists or neck, or a cold drink, can nudge your nervous system out of fight-or-flight. I’ve started putting a cool cloth on my neck, if that helps some but I’m still plagued with thoughts I need a break from I’ve started sticking my feet in warm water
  • Ground through your senses. Notice what you can see, hear, touch, or smell right now. It pulls your brain back to the present. Name all the things you can.
  • Predictable rituals. Same mug every morning, same playlist before bed — consistency tells your body, “this is safe, this is familiar.”
  • Gentle movement. Rocking, stretching, or walking helps process the adrenaline your body keeps making. (My movement of choice is rocking, often thats how hubby and monkey know when I am stressed a lot of time I dont realize I’m doing it. Sometimes I start to rock but whatever my pain is stops me)

Healing doesn’t happen in one “aha” moment — it happens in these small, repeated acts of safety. Over time, they teach your body it doesn’t have to live like the worst thing is always about to happen.


Final Thought

If you recognize yourself in this — you’re not weak, dramatic, or broken. You’re someone whose body learned to survive. And now you’re teaching it to live. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!

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When You Can’t Tell If It’s a Flare or a Flashback (And Why That’s Terrifying)

Your heart’s doing the cha-cha at 130 beats per minute. Your chest tightens. The world tilts. Your hands shake. Your brain starts whispering, “Hey, are we dying or just freaking out again?”

Is it POTS? A panic attack? A flashback to that one time your body really did betray you?
You’ve got about thirty seconds to figure it out before the anxiety of not knowing makes everything worse.

Welcome to the impossible diagnostic puzzle that is living with chronic illness and PTSD from medical trauma.


When Your Body Is Both the Scene of the Crime and the Witness

People with chronic illnesses are statistically more likely to develop PTSD-like symptoms—but the kicker is, it’s not from a one-time event. It’s because your body is an ongoing threat to your own sense of safety.

Unlike classic PTSD, where the trauma is technically in the past, medical PTSD means the trauma could literally happen again.
When you live with something like POTS, EDS, or MCAS, your body is both the suspect and the alarm system. The hypervigilance isn’t paranoia—it’s pattern recognition. You’ve learned that symptoms can mean something is seriously wrong.

But here’s the nightmare twist: those same symptoms—heart racing, shaking, dizziness—are also identical to a panic attack.


The Overlap That Makes You Want to Scream Into a Pillow

Let’s play a fun game called “Spot the Difference” between POTS and panic attacks:

POTS Symptoms:

  • Rapid heart rate (120+ bpm)
  • Dizziness or lightheadedness
  • Shortness of breath
  • Chest tightness
  • Trembling, sweating, nausea
  • Feeling like you might pass out

Panic Attack Symptoms:

  • Rapid heart rate
  • Dizziness or lightheadedness
  • Shortness of breath
  • Chest tightness
  • Trembling, sweating, nausea
  • Feeling like you might pass out

Yeah. Exactly the same.

So you sit there, pulse pounding, trying to decide if you need electrolytes or grounding exercises. And the longer you try to figure it out, the more anxious you get. Which—you guessed it—makes your heart race even more.

Congratulations, you’ve just triggered both conditions at once.


The “Is It My Body or My Brain?” Spiral

  1. Heart rate spikes.
  2. You think, “Is this POTS or panic?”
  3. The uncertainty feeds the anxiety.
  4. Anxiety makes your heart rate climb higher.
  5. PTSD brain jumps in like, “Hey, remember the last time this happened?”
  6. Your body floods with stress hormones.
  7. Symptoms worsen, clarity vanishes, and you’re stuck in a full-body loop of chaos.

Sometimes grounding doesn’t work. Sometimes standing makes it worse. Sometimes everything makes it worse. The mental gymnastics of self-triage would exhaust an Olympic athlete, and that’s before you even factor in the fatigue that both conditions bring.


When Hypervigilance Isn’t a “Coping Issue”

In classic PTSD, hypervigilance—constantly scanning for danger—is something therapy tries to reduce.
But when you live with a chronic condition that can cause fainting, cardiac issues, or anaphylaxis, that vigilance might literally save your life.

So how do you tell your brain to “calm down, you’re safe” when sometimes… you actually aren’t?

This is the impossible bind of trauma plus illness:
PTSD therapy says, stop monitoring every sensation.
Your medical team says, monitor every sensation.
Neither is wrong. Neither fully works.


The Medical Gaslighting Cherry on Top

And just to make it more fun: when you do seek help, you get hit with the “it’s just anxiety” script.

Even though POTS isn’t caused by anxiety, and even though research shows anxiety rates are about the same as the general population, you’ll still have doctors waving off your physical symptoms because your chart says PTSD.

You start to lose faith in professionals. You stop asking for help. You learn to rely only on yourself for triage—because nobody else seems capable of telling the difference either.

Which means you’re back to square one, again, sitting in the impossible space of trying to figure it out alone.


The Treatment Contradiction

PTSD therapy often involves exposure work—facing the thing that scares you until your brain chills out about it.
Except in this case, the “thing that scares you” is your own body.

You can’t just take a break from having a body. You can’t “gradually reintroduce” the experience of dizziness or tachycardia when those things are daily realities that might require medical intervention.

Worse, some PTSD therapies intentionally raise your heart rate to help you practice staying calm through physical sensations. That’s great… unless you have POTS, where that heart rate spike might actually make you faint.

So you end up in a no-win situation where treating one condition can trigger the other.


What Actually Helps (Sometimes)

There’s no perfect fix here. But there are ways to soften the edges:

💡 Look for patterns, not moments. Track triggers over time. Are symptoms linked to posture, temperature, dehydration, or specific memories? Zooming out can help reduce panic in the moment.

💡 Build a “both/and” plan. Sit down? Yes (helps POTS). Ground yourself? Yes (helps panic). You don’t have to guess which one it is to respond with compassion instead of chaos.

💡 Find trauma-informed doctors. You need providers who understand that your nervous system and your medical symptoms aren’t separate universes.

💡 Accept uncertainty. Sometimes you just won’t know—and that’s not failure. That’s reality.

💡 Validate yourself. You’re not dramatic. You’re not broken. You’re reacting appropriately to a wildly confusing body situation that most people can’t imagine.


The Unspoken Truth

Living with medical PTSD and chronic illness means constantly trying to interpret a body that lies to you and tells the truth at the same time.

It means your hypervigilance is both too much and not enough.
It means your body is both the warning sign and the danger.

You’re not failing to cope—you’re surviving something that isn’t designed to make sense.

And honestly? That’s nothing short of heroic.

Til next time, gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!


🧠 Research Toolbox

  • American Psychological Association. Medical trauma and PTSD in patients with chronic illness (2020).
  • Raj, S. R. (2022). Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS): Pathophysiology, Diagnosis, and Management. Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine.
  • Löwe, B. et al. (2021). Trauma, PTSD, and chronic illn