From Derek Hart
The moment your nervous system decides your
partner is no longer safe.
And why love doesn't disappear. It goes offline.
There is a moment in every distressed relationship
that almost no one can point to.
It doesn't happen during the big fight.
It doesn't happen when someone storms out.
It doesn't even happen when harsh words are said.
It happens quietly.
It happens inside the body.
It's the moment your nervous system stops
expecting care.
Not because you decided anything.
Not because you made a conclusion.
But because your body ran the math faster than
your mind ever could.
Something didn't land.
Something wasn't repaired.
Something hurt and stayed alone.
And the body took notes.
I've sat with couples who swear they still love each
other.
They say it with sincerity.
They mean it.
But when they look at each other, there's a
flatness.
A distance.
A vigilance that didn't used to be there.
Their words say love.
Their bodies say danger.
Here's what most people don't understand.
Love doesn't leave first.
Safety does.
The nervous system is not interested in romance.
It's interested in survival.
It asks very simple questions, over and over again.
When I reach for you, do I get soothed or
punished?
When I show pain, do I get met or dismissed?
When I'm overwhelmed, do you slow down or
speed me up?
If the answers start stacking up the wrong way,
something profound happens.
The nervous system pulls the plug.
Not dramatically.
Not consciously.
It just stops bringing the other person forward as a
source of comfort.
I once worked with a couple who couldn't
understand why everything felt cold.
They hadn't betrayed each other.
They hadn't screamed.
They hadn't crossed any obvious lines.
But they missed hundreds of small repairs.
Moments where one person said, "That hurt," and
the other explained instead of stayed.
Moments where emotion showed up and logic
answered.
Moments where the body needed closeness and
got distance.
Nothing explosive.
Just cumulative.
And one day, the body decided, without asking
permission,
"Don't lean here anymore."
That's when people start saying things like:
"I don't feel the same."
"I don't know what happened."
"I love you but I'm not in love with you."
What they really mean is:
"My nervous system no longer recognizes you as
safe."
That is why trying harder doesn't work.
Because effort doesn't rebuild safety.
Attunement does.
And here's the most painful part.
When safety goes offline, memory goes with it.
People tell me, "I can't even remember the good
times."
That's not cruelty.
That's biology.
The brain stops retrieving warm memories about
people it's tracking as threatening.
So now the partner feels foreign.
Irritating.
Suspicious.
Even neutral behaviors get interpreted as attacks.
And the couple panics.
They talk more.
Explain more.
Analyze more.
Which only convinces the nervous system that
danger is increasing.
Because safety isn't restored through
understanding.
It's restored through experience.
Through moments where pain is met and not
fixed.
Where emotion is allowed to exist without being
corrected.
When the body feels, "I can be here and not be
harmed."
Until that happens, love doesn't disappear.
It just can't come online.
And no amount of communication skills can
override that.
Seven signs your nervous system has marked your partner as unsafe:
- You brace internally before they speak
- You feel relief when they're gone
- Their tone bothers you more than their words
- You replay old hurts automatically
- Physical closeness feels effortful
- You assume negative intent quickly
- You feel lonely even when you're together
Seven things that slowly turn safety off:
- Pain explained instead of felt
- Defensiveness during vulnerable moments
- Repair attempts that come too late
- Emotional speed mismatches
- Chronic invalidation, even subtle
- Being right more than being present
- Hurt that never gets named together
Seven experiences that turn safety back on:
- Someone slowing down with your pain
- Emotion being mirrored, not managed
- Repair happening while it still hurts
- Silence that doesn't feel abandoning
- Accountability without justification
- Feeling chosen when you're not at your best
- Your body relaxing before your mind agrees
This is why couples don't fall apart from one fight.
They fall apart from the moment the body stops reaching.
And healing doesn't begin with better words.
It begins when two nervous systems learn, again, how to recognize each other as home.
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