You’re Not Asking for Too Much: Practicing Safety Instead of Suppression

Rachel Orleck (: 00:00

You've probably been told this before, either directly or indirectly, that you're asking for too much. Maybe it came from a partner rolling their eyes when you needed reassurance or a parent sighing when you cried as a kid. Maybe it's the voice in your own head saying now, I should be fine. Why can't I just be chill? That tiny sentence, I should be fine, is one of the quietest forms of self abandonment.

Because what it really means is, my needs are inconvenient. Here's the truth. You're not asking for too much. You're asking from a nervous system that's overwhelmed. Emotional needs don't disappear when you ignore them. They just go underground and start leaking out sideways. The irritability, the overthinking, the shutdowns, none of those are personality flaws.

their protection. It's your body's way of saying that connection doesn't feel safe right now. And when that happens often enough, you start confusing wanting closeness with being demanding.

We're going to start unpacking that today. The difference between emotional need and nervous system overwhelm and what it means to make safety a practice instead of a personality trait. Because if you grew up learning that being easygoing got you love, then even the smallest act of emotional honesty will feel like too much. Not because it is, but because your body remembers what it felt like to need and not be met.

Safety, for most of us, isn't a given. It's because we have to rebuild on purpose. So if you've ever swallowed your needs to stay lovable or apologize for being too sensitive, this episode is going to be for you. What you're craving isn't weakness. It's wisdom. It's your body asking for safety before connection, regulation before vulnerability.

And it's not neediness, it's intelligence. Because you can't feel held when your system is still bracing for impact. But the good news? Safety can be practiced. You can learn it and your body will remember how.

Let me paint a picture.

My client is sitting there twisting a ring on the couch. Last night they had asked for reassurance. Can you tell me we're okay? And their partner sighed. We literally just talked about this, they said.

My client's chest dropped.

Cue the familiar sequence. Swallow the need.

Promise to be less too much, go quiet, then lie awake replaying the moment. By morning, my client is apologizing for being sensitive. Underneath that apology is grief. I keep choosing being easy to love over being real, because being real feels too risky.

This is the loop that I see constantly. Need leads to shame, leads to suppression, leads to it leaking out in other ways.

The leak that sideways stuff is snapping about the dishes, over explaining, scrolling on your phone to numb out, or suddenly craving a lot of distance. None of it is random. It's a nervous system trying to manage overload without losing the relationship at the same time. When asking for your needs to be met,

historically has led to eye rolls, lectures, or silence. The body learns a brutal equation. Need equals danger.

So it turns the volume down on wanting and turns the volume up on performance. Be helpful, be agreeable, be fine.

but the price of fine is disconnecting from yourself and eventually from each other.

From the outside, this person looks low maintenance. Inside, they're running a full-time surveillance system, scanning for tone changes, rehearsing ways to make it easier for everyone.

That kind of emotional labor is exhausting. The more drained they feel, the more they label themselves as needy or dramatic. But it's not drama, it's deprivation. The attachment system is sounding its alarm, and when that alarm gets ignored, it starts blaring through anxiety, shutdown, or resentment. Often the partner's overwhelmed too.

They're not villains, they're under-resourced. When two maxed out nervous systems collide, bids for closeness and bids for space keep missing each other. One floods and the other freezes. One explains while the other disappears. Then the story hardens. You're too much and you never show up.

But what's really missing isn't love. It's a shared language for safety and capacity.

But before we can practice safer asking, we have to name this pattern for what it is. It's not brokenness, but protection that outlived its purpose.

We grew up believing that emotional strength means needing less. That being self-sufficient is the goal.

So when we start craving reassurance, affection, or help, we assume that there's something wrong with us. But needing connection doesn't make you needy. It actually just makes you human. What most people call neediness is really the body saying, I've been doing this alone for too long. The problem isn't the need, it's the shame that tells you to hide it.

People try to fix their needs by minimizing them. They start sentences with, this probably sounds crazy, but, or, I know it's not a big deal, but.

Every word is an apology for being human. That's not humility. That's protection. It's your nervous system saying, I'll make myself smaller if it means you'll stay close. But connection built on suppression is not safe. It's just a survival mechanism. And surviving isn't belonging.

So when your emotions get labeled as too much, your body starts filtering every feeling through a risk assessment. Is this gonna get me rejected, ignored, mocked, blamed? The nervous system can't tell the difference between emotional rejection and physical threat. So when you finally reach for someone and they sigh or go quiet,

or dismiss you. Your brain doesn't think they're distracted. It thinks, I'm not safe and there's something wrong with me. And that's when your system flips. Either you chase harder or you shut down completely.

So what looks like overreacting is often a body trying to restore equilibrium.

The loudness of your needs isn't brokenness. It's the absence of safety. The more those signals were ignored, the louder your system had to become. It's like a smoke alarm that keeps going off because no one checked the batteries. You're not broken for being loud. You're just desperate to be heard.

And once you're met with safety and openness, that alarm starts to quiet all on its own.

To reframe it a little, emotional needs aren't flaws to be managed. They're just information. It's data from your nervous system about what's missing. You don't need to be less to be loved. You need relationships safe enough for your body to stop panicking.

So safety doesn't silence your needs, it lets them speak calmly.

So what's actually happening in your body when your needs start to feel like too much? Beneath that story is usually a nervous system trying to avoid danger. Reaching for reassurance, touch, or validation is not weakness. It's how we regulate our bodies. It's your body saying, I'm overwhelmed and I need help coming back down.

But when those needs go unmet or worse, get shamed or blamed, your system learns that asking is very dangerous. So it starts choosing protection over connection as a way to stay with that person you find so special.

When your attachment system senses the threat, it activates survival wiring. You might move into fight or flight, over explaining, defending, chasing closeness, or you might drop into freeze or fawn. Go quiet, agreeing to things you didn't mean, pretending you're fine.

Both responses are intelligent attempts to manage threat. One says, if I fix this, we'll be okay. The other says, if I disappear, maybe they won't leave. Neither one is wrong. They're just outdated strategies.

But when protection becomes the default, intimacy starts to feel unsafe. The body can't guard against danger and open to connection at the same time. It's like trying to dance while wearing armor. It's clunky, it's tense, and it's exhausting. Even small moments of rejection can feel huge because your body is remembering every time it reached and was told to calm down.

every sigh, every dismissal, those are stored data. And your system uses them as ways to predict future safety.

Eventually, those predictions become identity. You start calling yourself too emotional, too sensitive, too much. But they're not personality traits. They're trauma imprints. Emotional needs don't overwhelm people who feel safe. They only overwhelm those systems who are maxed out. That's why safety can't be promised once.

It has to be practiced. It's a living loop between two nervous systems saying, hey, we're still OK.

So when I say safety is a practice, what I mean is it's not something you have or you don't. It's something your body learns through repetition. Most of us didn't grow up with emotional safety modeled. We learn to love by anticipating others' needs, not by naming our own. So rebuilding safety means learning to stay connected to yourself.

while being connected to somebody else. It's remembering that you can have needs without losing belonging or connection.

So there are typically two common patterns. One is over-functioning, which is constantly managing or smoothing over or trying to prevent rupture. The other is under-functioning, shutting down or avoiding or detaching before disappointment can hit. Both are attempts to control unpredictability. Both make sense if you've ever loved someone who couldn't meet you emotionally.

The over-functioner says, if I do everything right, then I'm gonna be safe. While the under-functioner says, if I ask for nothing, I can't be hurt. And neither brings the closeness you actually want.

One couple I worked with had spent years walking on eggshells. she stopped asking for reassurance because he would shut down. He withdrew because he felt like he was always failing. Once they learned to pause and name what felt unsafe instead of blaming or withdrawing, there was a shift. The conversation stayed small at first.

maybe 10 seconds of honesty instead of silence, but their bodies started to relax around each other. Connection didn't just rush back, it returned quietly through micro-moments of safety.

That's what practicing safety looks like. Choosing presence over protection. Noticing when you start to over explain or to withdraw and pausing long enough to ask, what am I actually needing right now? Sometimes it's reassurance, sometimes it's space, sometimes just acknowledgement. Naming it regulates it.

Because once your body feels seen, it starts to settle. That's when connection becomes possible again. and you can name it even just for yourself. and your body will feel seen by you.

This is awkward at first. When you've spent years performing fine, asking for what you might need might make your voice feel shaky.

staying present instead of shutting down might feel really exposing.

It's just relearning what intimacy is. Safety isn't about comfort. It's about staying present through the discomfort long enough for your body to realize that you can be yourself and still be safe.

So if this is a practice, how do you actually start practicing it? You start small, like micro small. Safety doesn't start in big talks or breakthroughs. It starts in seconds.

When you notice your chest tighten or your shoulders tense, take a pause, one breath, and ask yourself, is my body trying to say right now? And that's the beginning. The pause interrupts the old story that says, if I ask for what I need, they'll push me away. You're giving your system a new experience, asking and staying. It might sound like,

Hey, I need a little reassurance right now. Or even, I don't need a solution. I just need to know we're okay.

That feels awkward at first. It's like speaking a language that you've never known.

And yes, awkwardness is part of it. When you've gone a long time without being emotionally met, even safe touch or attention can feel strange. But the goal isn't perfection, it's willingness. Willingness to try, to stay open, to explore what feels safe and what feels good. Because safety isn't just about avoiding threat, it's about creating space for connection and trust to exist again.

Your body doesn't need you to fix everything at once. It just needs proof that safety is possible. Each time you name what you need without apologizing or stay instead of shutting down, you're teaching your system a new ending to an old story. Over time, that becomes your new baseline. Not calm as a performance, but calm as a trust.

the kind that lets you love without bracing for the fallout.

So here's the bottom line. You were never too much.

You were just too alive for people who

didn't

know how to meet that aliveness safely. What's been labeled as needy or dramatic is actually just sensitivity without support. You've spent years shrinking what's beautiful about you to fit inside somebody else's comfort zone. But your emotions are not the problem. They're a map.

They show you exactly where your body's asking for safety, connection, or rest. And the goal isn't to silence them. It's actually to listen.

Safety as a practice means honoring your needs without turning them into emergencies. It's the quiet courage of saying, I need a minute, instead of pushing through. It's letting tears fall without apology. It's reaching out because your body wants safety, not because you need fixing. Every one of those moments reminds your system it's safe to exist as you are.

No shrinking required. And safety is not a finish line. You won't stay regulated forever. Some days you'll reach, other days you'll retreat. And that's okay. The work isn't staying open, it's returning when you've closed off. Remember that needing connection is not a weakness. It's your body's proof of life.

You're not asking for too much. You're just asking to feel safe enough to be seen.

So in closure for today, you don't have to earn the right to need. The part of you that craves closeness, reassurance or softness are not flaws. They're your humanity showing.

The work isn't to erase those parts. It's to meet them with compassion. So next time you start thinking, I should need less, pause and ask yourself, What would it feel like to practice safety instead? You can't heal by suppressing your needs. You heal by learning to listen to them without panic or apology.

Safety doesn't mean that nothing hurts. It means you know how to stay with yourself when it does.