Understanding Hypervigilance: My Journey of Healing and Rediscovering Myself

Hypervigilance is a term that I never thought would apply to me, at least not to the extent that it does now. When I first started becoming aware of how often I scan my surroundings or replay interactions in my head, I didn't realize just how much of my energy is consumed by it. For the longest time, I thought this heightened sense of awareness was simply a self-awareness superpower, that it made me emotionally mature (and in some ways it did and does), a byproduct of growing up in a difficult environment, merely a natural response to the challenges I've faced. What I’ve come to understand, though, is that hypervigilance is more than just being cautious… it's an ingrained response to trauma, a pattern that becomes a part of daily life in ways I couldn't initially comprehend.

For those unfamiliar, hypervigilance is a state of heightened awareness and sensitivity to perceived threats, even in situations that aren't dangerous. It’s that constant feeling that something is wrong, or that something could go wrong at any moment. While this might sound like an adaptive response… after all, it’s natural to want to protect yourself… it can become overwhelming, exhaust you, and, at times, its paralyzing. Research shows that hypervigilance is common in individuals who have experienced trauma, particularly in those with PTSD, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), or religious trauma (lucky me I have all 3). It stems from the brain's fight-or-flight response being perpetually activated, even when no actual threat is present.

In my life, this manifests in ways that might seem trivial to others but are deeply impactful for me. Something as simple as going to the bathroom, a basic human function, can be disrupted by the overwhelming need to be hyper-aware of my surroundings. I find myself questioning how I’m acting, how I’m positioning myself, how much noise I’m making, is my breath steady? Am I washimg my hands the right length of time? The right way? Am I disgusting and unworthy of living because this is my 5th time this week with diarrhea? Am I pathetic and unworthy of love because I know certain foods don't work well with me but I eat them anyway? Am I peeing too much today? Did I use too much toilet paper? Not enough? Am I just a troll that looks too disgusting, abnormally before showering? … all of these thoughts racing through my head even in what should be the most private and undisturbed moments. And when it comes to intimacy with my husband, the situation becomes even more complicated. Intimacy is about trust, vulnerability, and presence, but my hypervigilance pulls me out of the moment. I start thinking, Am I doing this right? Is this okay? If there's a God would he approve of this? And if not will I definitely be spending eternity in hell for doing this? Or this? Omg THIS would be hell worthy, should I stop? I'm not doing it right! Am i? He likes it- right? I'm so ugly. My stomach is too big. I'm just a pervert. We do this too much. Do we not do this enough?.... instead of simply being there with him. This constant self-surveillance robs me of the ability to feel free, to feel connected, to feel safe.

I believe that this hypervigilance, at its core, is rooted in childhood trauma and religious conditioning. As a child, I learned that safety wasn’t guaranteed and that my actions could trigger unpredictable reactions from the adults around me. Later, religious trauma taught me to scrutinize my behavior, to fear judgment not only from others but from a higher power. The result of these experiences is that I’ve internalized a constant fear of being percieved and watched, being wrong, of being judged, or of being unsafe, even when no real danger exists.

Even simply writing things like these blog posts or poems about my childhood trauma has constantly made me overthink about those who may think I'm just dwelling on the past… when in my lived reality, I see it as a beautiful and impactful healing tool I have cherished the last 15+ years. 

Understanding this connection of it all has been one of the most healing realizations for me. It's allowed me to see that the hypervigilance isn't my fault… it’s not some inherent flaw in my character or a sign that I'm "broken"...  Instead, it's my brain's way of trying to protect me from the pain I've so heavily experienced. This realization is powerful because it shifts the narrative. Instead of blaming myself for being overly cautious or anxious, I can acknowledge that these feelings are part of a long-standing survival mechanism, one that was useful at one point in my life but no longer serves me in the same way.

Healing from this, though, is not a quick process. There are no shortcuts when it comes to unraveling the layers of trauma that have accumulated over the years. So despite quick quotes or words of advice from well-meaning individuals, one cannot simply “not care” about what others think or feel about you, it has to be learned in a process that works well with the individual and in the time that helps them most…and  it’s not as simple as saying, “I understand it now, so I’m better”. Understanding is just the first step; the real work lies in learning to let go, to retrain my brain to feel safe again in situations where there is no actual danger. This is where the hard part begins, because I’ve spent years living in a state of high alert. Undoing that takes patience, persistence, and a lot of self-compassion.

Statistics show that hypervigilance, particularly in those with PTSD or BPD, can take years to address fully. According to the National Center for PTSD, approximately 8% of the population will experience PTSD at some point in their lives, and hypervigilance is one of its most common symptoms. In those with BPD, hypervigilance often presents as an acute sensitivity to interpersonal stress, leading to fears of abandonment or betrayal. Studies also show that trauma survivors are more likely to develop hypervigilance as a coping mechanism, even in situations where there is no present threat. The brain, in its desire to protect, rewires itself to anticipate danger and breaking this cycle can take time.

Yet, while these statistics may seem daunting, they also serve as a reminder that I am not alone in this experience. So many others are navigating this same journey, learning how to retrain their minds to feel safe again. And that’s where hope comes in. Healing may be slow, but it is possible. Each step forward, no matter how small, is a victory in its own right.

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that healing requires balance. It's important to do the deep work… to engage in therapy, to explore the roots of my trauma, and to practice mindfulness and grounding techniques… but it’s equally important to give myself permission to live in the present and enjoy life. Allowing myself to do things that are fun, that make me feel alive, that make me feel like myself, has been one of the most healing practices of all. Whether it’s singing along to a song that resonates with me as loud as I want even if neighbours hear, spending time in nature, or simply laughing with a loved one, writing about what I want to without letting my fear of what others think dictate how I write, creating crafts and designs the way I like without letting my fear take the reigns, these moments of joy remind me that I am more than my trauma.

In the past, I used to feel guilty about doing things that brought me pleasure. I felt as though I didn’t deserve it, or that focusing on myself was selfish. But I’ve come to realize that allowing myself to feel good is an integral part of the healing process. It’s in these moments that I reconnect with who I truly am, outside of the hypervigilance, outside of the fear. These experiences don’t erase the trauma, but they provide glimpses of what life can look like when I’m not bound by it.

Healing from hypervigilance isn’t about eliminating the fear completely… at least not right away. It’s about learning how to coexist with it, how to acknowledge it when it arises but not let it dictate my actions. Each time I allow myself to step into a situation that feels uncomfortable… whether that’s an intimate moment with my husband or simply going out into the world without constantly scanning for danger… I’m retraining my brain to trust again. And with each step, I’m reminded that I’m capable of more than I once believed.

It’s also empowering to recognize that I have a choice. Trauma may have shaped my past, but it doesn’t have to define my future. Every time I choose to engage with life, even in the face of fear, I’m reclaiming my agency. I’m telling myself that I deserve to experience joy, connection, and safety, even if my past has tried to convince me otherwise… For others who are on a similar journey, I want to say that healing is not linear. There will be days where it feels like you’re making progress, and there will be days where it feels like you’ve taken a step backward. But each moment of awareness, each time you choose to push through the fear, is a step forward. It’s important to celebrate those victories, no matter how small they may seem. Healing is a marathon, not a sprint, and giving yourself grace along the way is essential.

In the end, hypervigilance is just one chapter in my story… it’s not the whole book. While it may have dictated many of my actions in the past, it no longer holds the same power over me. Through self-compassion, therapy, and allowing myself to experience life fully, I’m learning to quiet the noise of fear and reconnect with the person I truly am. It’s a slow process, but it’s one filled with hope, growth, and empowerment. With each step, I’m reminded that healing is possible, and that I am worthy of living a life that is not defined by my past but shaped by the choices I make in the present.