Why Being Excited Sometimes Feels Dangerous

I got emotional when I realized this: For trauma survivors, happiness can feel dangerous. Because there were so many times when it was. But that's not true...

Mary Jackson ✨

Nov 25, 2025

I got emotional about it because there have been so many times where happiness was dangerous.

Where being excited got shut down. Where showing joy led to disappointment. Where good things got taken away.

For trauma survivors, happiness can feel scary.

But here’s what I’m learning to tell myself: That was then. Those were actual instances. But those are in the past.

It’s safe to be happy now.

person in white shoes standing on gray concrete road

When Excitement Feels Wrong

Last month, my son’s Halloween costume didn’t arrive on time.

I’d ordered it with time to spare—a Ferris Bueller costume because my son is hilarious when he does Ferris Bueller. He knows the lines. He loves that Ferris cusses. He’s so my kid.

Wednesday rolled around, and the tracking showed it wasn’t going to arrive for trunk-or-treat on Thursday. It wasn’t going to be there Friday. It just wasn’t coming.

And I had a full six hours of disappointment. That’s embarrassing to admit. Six hours stuck in sadness over a Halloween costume.

But here’s what’s different: I recognized it. I said out loud, “I’m stuck. I’m disappointed. I wanted him to be Ferris Bueller.”

Another version of me would have spiraled. Would have driven all over town to Goodwill trying to find a vest and make magic happen. Would have made everyone around me miserable with my disappointment.

This time? I ordered a suit from Target for drive-up pickup. We had the Walt Disney name tag from Etsy already. Got him a mustache. He was Walt Disney instead, and it turned out okay.

I still remember that disappointment—it’s there—but it didn’t take over.

I didn’t punish myself for being excited. I didn’t tell myself I’d failed. I just accepted that I did everything I could.

The Real Work: Not Making Yourself Small

Here’s the conversation I had with my husband recently that really got me.

He came home from work. I was full of energy—excited to see him, chatting about everything. I talked about this thing, then that thing, then this other thing, and then I started talking about my mom.

And it got heavy. My voice cracked. It was a real moment.

But by that point, he was overwhelmed. He’d just gotten home. He needed a minute.

And you know what my trauma brain wanted to do? Go straight to: Oh, better not do that anymore. That’s not safe. Make yourself invisible. Make yourself small.

That tape that says: It’s not safe to be excited. It’s not safe to share. Don’t be too much.

But I’m fighting back on that now.

Because it’s not wrong of me to be excited to see my husband. It’s not wrong that I had things to share. It’s not wrong that I was jumping all over the place.

What we’re working on is communication. He could have said, “Hey, can I hop in the shower real quick and finish this conversation?” And I would have been totally fine with that.

That wouldn’t have felt like rejection. That would have felt like clear communication.

The Difference Between Then and Now

My husband said something recently that stopped me in my tracks: “Not every day is a good day.”

He wasn’t being negative. He was just being real.

Some days are okay. Some days are good. Not every day has to be great.

And okay doesn’t mean bad.

But my trauma brain wants everything to be black and white. It’s either a perfect day or a horrible day. It’s either a ten or a zero.

What if it’s just a six? What’s wrong with a six?

He might miss a cue sometimes. He might be less playful one day. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. It doesn’t mean I’m not safe. It doesn’t mean I did something wrong.

It just means some days are okay instead of great.

And I’m safe enough now—I’m rich enough now in love, in stability, in peace—that an okay day doesn’t threaten me.

Those old dangers? They can’t happen again. Not the same way.

What This Looks Like Today

I’ve learned something about allowing joy: I need sunshine.

Not everyone does. Some people need the ocean. Some need mountains. Some need forests.

But for me? It’s sunshine.

That’s why I love going to Disneyland with my family. We’re outdoors all day—walking for miles in the sunshine and fresh air. We’re there from opening until late at night sometimes. Twelve hours outside. No problem.

And I let myself be excited about it. I let myself look forward to it. I let myself plan for it.

Because being in four walls all the time, breathing air-conditioned air—we need to connect with whatever our spiritual element is.

Mine’s sunshine. And I don’t apologize for building that in regularly anymore.

Not as a luxury. As a necessity.

The Halloween Costume That Arrived Late

That Ferris Bueller costume? It showed up a few days after Halloween.

And you know what I didn’t do? I didn’t beat myself up about it. I didn’t torture myself reviewing what I could have done differently.

I just thought, “Well, maybe he’ll be Ferris Bueller next year. Or maybe he’ll just wear it whenever he feels like it.”

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that I didn’t let disappointment become a cloud that hung over everyone. I didn’t make my excitement wrong. I didn’t punish myself for caring.

I set a boundary with myself: I wasn’t going to run all over town. I ordered from Target drive-up. I didn’t go into the store. I didn’t try to make magic happen beyond what was reasonable.

Another version of me would have made that Halloween about my failure. This version? I let it be about having fun anyway.

What I Want You to Know

If you’re someone who struggles to let yourself be happy—if excitement feels dangerous or joy feels like it’ll be taken away—I need you to hear this:

That was real. Those times when happiness was dangerous? They were real.

Your trauma brain is trying to protect you. It learned that showing joy leads to disappointment. That being excited leads to being shut down. That good things get taken away.

But you’re not there anymore.

You’re safe enough now to be excited. Safe enough to share. Safe enough to take up space with your happiness.

It’s good to be happy. It’s safe to be happy.

You don’t have to make yourself small anymore. You don’t have to dim your light to make others comfortable. You don’t have to apologize for being excited about things.

Some days will be great. Some days will be okay. Some days will be hard.

And all of that is allowed.

You’re allowed to have a six-out-of-ten day without calling it a failure. You’re allowed to be disappointed without spiraling. You’re allowed to be excited even when things don’t go perfectly.

You’re allowed to take up space with your joy.

Because I promise you this: The right people—the safe people—won’t punish you for being happy. They won’t shut you down for being excited. They won’t make you small.

And if happiness feels dangerous? That’s your trauma talking. Thank it for trying to protect you.

Then remind it: We’re safe now. It’s different now. It’s okay to be happy.

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