Your Needs Are Not a Threat
Reclaiming the Safety to Say Who You Are
Your Needs Are Not a Threat
Many people assume that if they were to clearly state their needs, they would create some kind of a confrontation. They imagine the other person becoming defensive, upset, pulling away, or worse yet, reverting to a passive aggressive behavior pattern that is hurtful, harmful, and unkind. This belief runs so deep that it often feels safer to stay silent than to risk being misunderstood or rejected. While confrontation can be a part of some conversations, for many people the fear is not about the disagreement itself but about what they believe will follow: disconnection, judgment, or loss of safety. In reality, the roots of this fear often reach back to old survival strategies learned long before adulthood.
"Because somewhere along the way you started holding yourself responsible for other people’s reactions." — Nadia Addesi
If you grew up in a home where tension, anger, or disappointment led to withdrawal, punishment, or emotional eruptions, your nervous system learned that silence was safer than truth. You became skilled at reading moods, managing other people’s reactions, and adjusting yourself to prevent disruption. What began as survival became habit, and habit became identity.
Melody Beattie describes this as codependency, a way of relating where your self-worth becomes tied to how well you meet others’ needs or keep them emotionally comfortable. Over time, you may lose sight of where you end and another person begins. This is where enmeshment comes in, a blurring of boundaries so complete that your emotions, decisions, and even your sense of identity become wrapped around someone else’s state of mind. Beattie writes that codependent people rescue, fix, and take responsibility for others because they believe if the other person is okay, they will be okay. The cost is invisibility to oneself.
Carl Jung observed that what is repressed does not vanish. It lives on in the unconscious and often expresses itself through the body. Marion Woodman, a Jungian analyst and pioneer in the field of embodied depth psychology, saw the loss of boundaries as not only a mental or relational wound but one etched deeply into the body. In her somatic work, she invited clients to locate the exact places in their body where they “disappeared” when with others, perhaps a hollowing in the chest, a clenching in the jaw, or a heaviness in the shoulders. These sensations were maps of the moments when selfhood had been surrendered for the sake of harmony. Through breathwork, conscious movement, and what she called “loving attention,” she guided people to re-inhabit those abandoned places. She believed the soul and the body are inseparable, and that reclaiming one’s physical boundaries is essential to reclaiming psychic boundaries.
Dr. Gabor Maté has shown how chronic self-betrayal erodes both emotional and physical health. When you override the body’s “no” with a socially acceptable “yes,” you create internal conflict that builds over time. This is not simply a momentary discomfort. It changes how the nervous system and immune system function, leaving you more vulnerable to stress-related illness. Maté teaches that healing begins with attunement, learning to notice what your body is communicating before you agree to something, and honoring that signal rather than dismissing it. Over time, this re-establishes trust with yourself, a trust that may have been broken early in life when safety depended on suppressing instinct.
Peter Levine, founder of Somatic Experiencing, describes the body as the original scorekeeper of unresolved stress. When expressing yourself feels unsafe, the survival system does not complete its natural cycle of fight, flight, or freeze. Instead, that activation is stored in the body, often as chronic muscle tension, restricted breathing, or a constant state of hypervigilance. Without release, the body becomes a vault for unprocessed fear, and over time, the lock begins to rust shut. Interesting to note, a compensation to this psychological and physical response is the adaptation of the fight, flight, freeze cycle to expand to also include fawning and fibbing, as coping skills to deal with the pain of repression. Levine teaches that healing requires helping the body complete these old defensive responses in a safe and gradual way, allowing the nervous system to return to balance and the person to feel a sense of agency again.
When these patterns combine, confrontation becomes more than an uncomfortable conversation. It triggers the body’s entire archive of danger memories. This is why your heart races, your stomach knots, or your voice catches in moments of truth-telling. It is not just “nerves.” It is your body trying to protect you from what it still believes is life-threatening.
Healing begins by separating the past from the present. Notice when your body is reacting to today’s conversation as though you are back in an unsafe childhood moment, muscles braced and breath shallow, even though you may now be with people capable of hearing you, repairing with you, and staying connected. Start with small, low-stakes truths. Practice saying no to a minor request, voicing a small preference, or admitting you need rest. Each of these moments gives your nervous system new evidence that your voice can be heard without catastrophe.
And over time, you may find something unexpected: stating your needs is not the same as starting a fight. In fact, it can be an invitation for honesty, for mutual respect, for real connection. Your needs are not a threat; they are a reflection of who you are. When you speak them, you are not just asking for something from others. You are telling the truth about yourself, and that is the beginning of every authentic relationship you will ever have.
Integrating the Practice
1. Somatic Cues: Noticing When You Disappear
Begin by tuning in to your body during conversations, especially when there is a hint of disagreement or you are about to express a need. Notice:
Does your chest tighten or sink inward?
Do your shoulders lift or hunch?
Is your breath shallow or held?
Does your jaw tense or your throat close?
These are the body’s early signals that you are bracing for danger. Simply naming them — “I feel my chest tightening” — interrupts automatic shutdown and invites choice.
Practice: Once a day, pause in a conversation and scan for these cues. Even if you do nothing else, awareness begins to rewire the old pattern.
2. Journaling Prompts: Reclaiming Your Voice
Set aside 10–15 minutes with pen and paper. Write without editing or judging.
When I think about speaking my needs, the story I tell myself is . . .
If I were completely safe to tell the truth, I would say . . .
A time I stayed silent when I wish I had spoken up was . . .
The cost of staying silent is . . .
The gift of speaking my truth could be . . .
Over time, you will begin to see the patterns, and the places where the threat of punishment or emotional abandonment is replaced with self-worth and agency.
3. Jungian Active Imagination
Carl Jung developed Active Imagination to bridge the conscious and unconscious mind. Here is an introduction to a more complex process, but it will allow you to become familiar with working somatically with the unconsciousness. This is my version of Active Imagination, as taught to me by Robert Johnson and Marion Woodman, who centered the healing process in the body as a primary force in balancing ego and soul.
Sit quietly, close your eyes, and focus on one area of tension — perhaps the place in your body that reacts when you think about stating a need.
Imagine this part of your body as a character. Ask for a shape, a voice, even a name.
Ask it: How long have you been with me?
Listen without judgment. Write down what it says.
Ask it: What is your purpose? Why are you here?
Listen without judgment. Do not overthink; believe whatever first comes to mind.
Ask it: What words of advice do you have for me?
Again, do not judge, just receive.
Repeat back the words of advice.
Ask: Do you have any other advice for me today?
Breathe in. Do not rush. Feel into the conversation. Notice how your body responds.
Ask: What can I do for you? What is it you’ve been waiting for me to do?
Receive the response. It may not make sense — do not judge. Breathe and feel into the body.
Ask: If I agree to make these changes, as I can, and I continue to pay attention to you and not ignore you, will you please soften a bit, and not be so aggressive in how you live in my body? Can we work together daily to create a new way forward?
It may be hesitant, reluctant, or quiet. Ask again, and ensure you will not annihilate, banish, or once again ignore this tension. It is important, and you promise to honor its guidance. It has been with you for a very long time.
Listen and receive, and thank it for showing up so quickly.
Finally, ask: Are you willing to work with me, to help me as I continue to listen to your wisdom?
Once you have the reply, thank it for being with you as such a strong ally.
Take a few breaths, center back into your body, and return to the room.
Journal your experience.
Closing Reflection
The more you practice tuning into your body, writing your truth, and listening to the deeper voices within, the more you will discover that your needs are not a threat. They are simply an honest expression of who you are, and sharing them, is how genuine connection begins.
written by Bren Littleton
Tin Flea Press c 2025