Thawing Out: Surviving Functional Freeze as a Neurodivergent Black Woman

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes with living in survival mode. The kind that keeps your body moving—going to work, responding to emails, showing up for family—but your mind? It’s frozen. Numb. Stuck. That’s what they call a functional freeze, and if you’re a neurodivergent Black woman like me, chances are, you know it all too well.

Functional freeze is a trauma response where your nervous system says, “No more,” but life says, “Keep going.” You keep functioning, but there’s no fuel in the tank. You’re detached from your joy, your goals, even your voice. And because we’re so used to being “strong,” it goes unnoticed. People see you checking boxes and assume you’re okay. But inside, you’re disconnected, overwhelmed, and deeply, deeply tired.

As a neurodivergent woman, especially with ADHD, I often feel like I’m running on a delay. I need more time to process, more space to breathe, and more grace than this world usually offers. Add the pressure of being a Black woman—constantly expected to perform, lead, fix, and smile through it—and that freeze doesn’t just sneak up, it stays.

But here’s what I’ve learned: functional doesn’t equal well. And you can’t heal in survival mode.

What Helps Me Thaw

1. Radical Rest
Not “Netflix in the background while multitasking” rest. I’m talking true, intentional rest. Letting myself lie still. Turning off the notifications. Saying “no” and not apologizing for it. I give myself permission to do nothing—and that’s when I start to feel something again.

2. Naming the Freeze
There’s power in naming what you’re experiencing. I used to call it laziness. Now, I know better. It’s my nervous system protecting me from overload. When I name it, I can start to nurture myself through it, instead of shaming myself for not doing more.

3. Safe Spaces & Soft People
Healing doesn’t happen in isolation. I seek out people who understand neurodivergence, who honor my boundaries, who don’t flinch when I say “I’m not okay.” If I can’t find that in the world, I try to create it for myself.

4. Micro-Movements
Some days, getting out of freeze doesn’t mean doing everything—it means doing something. Drinking water. Taking a shower. Writing down one feeling. One step is enough. One breath is enough. Start there.

A Word to My Fellow Black Women

You deserve more than survival. You deserve softness, stillness, support, and self-compassion. You don’t have to earn rest. You don’t have to over-explain your freeze. Your humanity isn’t tied to your productivity.

To every Black woman who’s been stuck in a loop of doing just enough to get by: I see you. I am you. And I’m rooting for your thaw.

Here’s to the slow, sacred process of coming back to ourselves—one gentle moment at a time.