You forgave them but your body didn't. It still flinches in rooms that smell like the old house.
Your mind says it's over. Your nervous system says it's Tuesday. The body keeps the score your brain tried to erase.
You said you forgave them. You meant it.
But your shoulders still tense when someone raises their voice.
Your stomach still drops when a door slams.
Your jaw still clenches in silence that lasts too long.
Your body didn't get the memo.
It stored every threat in muscle memory and filed it under always.
The mind can rationalize. The body only remembers.
You walk into safe rooms and your pulse acts like they're crime scenes.
That's not weakness. That's your nervous system doing the job it was trained to do.
It was trained in a place where the slam meant something was coming.
Where silence meant someone was loading.
Where a certain tone meant duck.
The training was accurate then. It's outdated now.
But the body doesn't have a software update button.
It just keeps running the old program.
You can't think your way out of a body response.
You can't intellectualize a flinch.
The body needs a different kind of conversation.
One that happens below the neck.
Your mind forgave them. Your body is still in the old house. Both need to leave.