The Freeze: When Rage Goes Quiet

People talk about heartbreak like it’s loud.
Screaming matches and slammed doors.
Fists through drywall and playlists full of revenge songs.
But no one really talks about the silence.
The paralysis.
The moment your whole fucking body just stops.
That’s what happened to me.
This isn’t some polished reflection. This isn’t a self-help post.
This is just where I am right now.
And maybe you’ve been here too.

I call it soul paralysis.
The fucking freeze.
Where rage used to be loud and electric—
now, it’s just a low hum behind your ears,
like static from a broken radio.
You want to scream,
but the wires are cut.
And all you can do is sit there
while the clock mocks you,
refusing to tick forward.
That isn’t weakness.
That’s trauma.
That’s your body and your brain going into lockdown
because they’ve taken on too much, too fast,
and they’re trying—desperately—to protect you
the only way they know how: by shutting down.

You’re not broken.
You’re paused.
I know that feels the same.
And I won’t bullshit you with some “this too shall pass” bullshit.
Not today.

I’ll say instead: you’re not alone in this stillness.
I’m here. Right now. Sitting in that silence with you.
No distractions. No quick fixes. No fucking fake positivity.

Just presence. Just breath. Just this.

And when the rage is ready,
we’ll give it a name,
a shape,
a beat,
a voice.
Until then—
Sit.
Breathe.
Survive.

That’s enough for now.
It really fucking is.

If you’re going through something and you’re feeling soul paralysis—
I see you.

We’re not broken.

We’re paused.

And when we’re ready, we’ll press play and rock so hard we burn the mother fucking house down!