There are times when we talk without really knowing why. A “it doesn’t matter” said lightly, a “forget it” thrown in there, a “I’ll do it myself” whispered between your teeth. They are common, almost invisible phrases that slip over us every day. Yet, if we stopped to listen to them for a moment, we would realize that they tell much more than it seems.
Every word, even the most neutral, has a memory. It brings with it the tone of the voices we heard as children, the pauses we learned to fill or fear. Sometimes, an entire piece of childhood is hidden inside a short sentence: the fear of disturbing, the disappointment of not being listened to, the habit of holding back so as not to burden others.
And you don’t need to remember everything clearly. As Melody D. Combs and Anne P. DePrince, authors of the chapter, explain Memory and Trauma (Cambridge University Press), the brain doesn’t just store images and words: it records reaction patterns. They are the mechanisms that make us say “better to keep quiet” before we even understand if someone is really listening to us.
The phrases that protect us… and block us
“It does not matter.” “I prefer not to ask.” “I’ll do it myself first.” These phrases sound like signs of strength, but they often hide survival strategies. Anyone who was ignored or misunderstood as a child quickly learns that speaking can hurt. Every time the need was not met, the brain registered an alarm: “if I expose myself, I will suffer”.
From then on, the body reacts automatically. The throat tightens, breathing becomes short, the voice goes out just at the moment we want to speak. It’s as if the body remembers something the mind has forgotten: that silence once saved us.
Combs and DePrince explain that childhood trauma not only affects “conscious” memory, but also implicit memory, that is, the sensations and gestures that arise without thinking about it. In the laboratory, those who have experienced trauma or strong disappointments show a higher physiological response to stimuli of rejection or threat — even when they say they feel nothing. In practice, the mouth says “everything is fine”, but the heart beats faster.
“I’m used to it”: when resignation becomes a second skin
Then there are those who, instead of remaining silent, downplay it. “I don’t feel bad about it, of course.” “It doesn’t matter, I’m used to it.” Behind these words there is often the fatigue of having tried too much. When sadness or vulnerability has been judged, the mind learns to mask it. However, the body continues to speak: tachycardia, tension, insomnia, stomach pain.
It is the consequence of what scholars call interoceptive disconnection: we lose contact with what we really feel. By dint of “resisting”, we convince ourselves that suffering is normal. But resisting is not living — it is surviving in silence.
“I do it myself”: the illusion of self-sufficiency
Those who have had to get by soon develop a special skill: that of never asking.
“I do it myself first” seems like the motto of efficiency, but in reality it hides an ancient fear of depending on others.
The brain, in these cases, lives in constant alert: the nervous system remains “on” even when it is not needed. You sleep, but you don’t rest; we love, but always with a held back part.
Neuroscience confirms this: the amygdala, which manages fear, remains hyperactive, while the prefrontal cortex – the one that allows us to trust – shuts down. Thus the other becomes a potential obstacle, not a resource.
“I’m like this”: when the wound becomes identity
“I don’t want to give any weight.” “That’s how I am, I don’t change.” These phrases often arise from a childhood in which the child learned not to take up space. By dint of feeling “excessive”, we learn to become small. But this too, experts explain, is a form of adaptation.
The brain, after years of failed attempts, stops believing in effort. It reduces the production of dopamine – the substance of motivation – and chooses the safest path: resignation.
Yet there is good news: the brain remains plastic throughout life. Change is possible, but we must first modify the “implicit prophecy”: move from “I will fail again” to “I can try again”.
How to heal: rewriting your emotional language
Automatic sentences are not wrong: they once saved us.
But today they can become invisible chains.
Recognizing them is the first step to dissolving them.
It’s not about “thinking positive”, but about creating new experiences of safety. Here are some examples:
Every time we change a sentence, the body realizes that the threat is no longer there.
Our heartbeat slows down, our breathing lengthens, and something inside us finally begins to trust.
Because healing isn’t forgetting: it’s learning to speak with a new tone.
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