The Emotional Weight of a Knock on the Door

Self‑Mothering Playlist →

My heart still jumps when someone knocks hard on the door.

It’s an involuntary reaction—tight chest, shallow breath, alert body. On the surface, it seems small. But underneath, it carries a deeper story. A body memory from years ago, when the sound of a knock wasn’t neutral. It meant tension. Conflict. Sometimes fear.

I’ve come to realise that even now, in a peaceful home, that same tension can flood back like it never left.

So I listen to it.

I’ve given myself permission not to answer the door unless I know who it is. I don’t feel obligated anymore. My nervous system deserves safety. I don’t need to retraumatise myself in the name of politeness.

Some people might think I’m being dramatic. But this is the kind of healing that happens quietly, in the body. I don’t owe anyone exposure therapy. I owe myself compassion.

And healing, for me, often means protecting the part of me that once didn’t get protected. Even if it’s just by ignoring a knock.

Even if it’s just by saying: I don’t feel safe right now, and that’s reason enough.