Member-only story
What Hypervigilance Looks Like at Home
How a quiet argument about lights exposed old survival scripts.
Before the scene, some bearings. I grew up in a small Far North Queensland town where belonging was policed by silence. I live in Brisbane now with my partner, Diego. Currently, we are working through a partner visa application and a tight budget. My body has been on high alert for years, and sometimes it gets extreme. A therapist finally gave it a name: hypervigilance. This is what that looks like in an ordinary kitchen.
It started with the lights
Long day, late dinner, both of us a little frayed. I left the kitchen warm and glowing: one lamp, the overhead, the little strip above the stove that softens the tiles. He walked in, said nothing, and flicked them off in a neat row.
My chest tightened like I had been corrected.
“Can you not?” I said, sharper than I meant.
He said something practical in reply.
Then I said the sentence I am still learning to forgive:
“It’s my house.”
The room changed shape. He went quiet in that way which means he is hurt and building a safe place inside himself. I stood there with my heart thudding, aware of my mouth…
