🌸 From Redundancy to Resilience: Transforming Trauma into Strength

This week I lost my job. Old me would’ve crumbled. I would’ve heard “redundant” and translated it as disposable. But I’m not that woman anymore. I’m a caterpillar entering a cocoon, and a cocoon isn’t a coffin. It’s a workshop.

What Trauma Really Is (and why this counts)

Trauma isn’t just “big, terrible events.” A simple definition I love: trauma is anything that is too much, too fast, or too soon for our nervous system to process. Losing work, losing stability, losing identity — that can be traumatic. It yanks the rug from under your sense of safety and belonging.

Inside the body, the amygdala (your alarm system) fires up: heart races, breath shortens, muscles brace. Meanwhile, the prefrontal cortex, the part that plans, prioritises and stays rational, goes quiet. That’s why decisions feel foggy after a shock and to-do lists look like mountains.

For many neuro-divergent women (ADHD/autism), this effect is amplified. ADHD brains already juggle dopamine regulation and executive function; under stress, focus and working memory drop even more. If you’ve ever felt “Why can’t I just get it together?” — it’s not laziness; it’s neurobiology.

Why it hits women harder

The World Health Organization estimates about 1 in 3 women globally experience physical or sexual violence in their lifetime — one of many forms of trauma women disproportionately face. Add to that the invisible load: caregiving, financial precarity, workplace bias, and the expectation to be endlessly “resilient.”

Women are also more likely than men to develop post-traumatic stress after similar exposures (multiple epidemiological studies show this trend). Neuro-divergent women face additional risks: higher rates of adverse childhood experiences, sensory overload, and social masking that keeps stress internalised. If redundancy hit you like a tidal wave, you’re not dramatic, you’re human, and your nervous system is doing exactly what it was designed to do: protect you.

Completing the Stress Cycle (so you don’t stay stuck)

A useful frame from trauma science and polyvagal theory: the body needs signals of “it’s safe now.” If we don’t complete the stress cycle, we stay half-braced, anxious, irritable, exhausted.

Here are body-first ways to send that safety signal:

• Breath ladders: Inhale 4, exhale 6, repeat 2 minutes. (Longer exhale = vagus nerve = calmer state.)

• Orienting: Slowly look around and name five purple things, four textures, three sounds. You’re teaching your brain: this room is safe.

• Shake it out: Literally. Two minutes of shaking arms/legs or a brisk walk helps your body finish the “run/fight” it prepared for.

  
  

The Caterpillar Method: COCOON

Here’s my practical framework for moving from survival to strength — especially friendly to ADHD/ND brains. Think COCOON:

C — Calm the body first. Before thinking, breathe, shake, sip warm tea, press a heated wheat bag on your chest. Safety beats strategy.

O — Orient to now. Name where you are, who’s with you, what you can control today. Put your feet on the floor. Soft eyes. Slow head turns. “Right now, I’m safe.”

C — Curate your narrative. Write for 10 minutes: What ending do I want from this beginning? Reframing shifts activity back to the prefrontal cortex and lowers amygdala grip.

O — One next step. ADHD loves momentum and hates overwhelm. Define one 5-minute action (send one email, make one call, open one document). Big lives are built from tiny tiles.

O — Others (co-regulation). We heal faster with people. Text a friend, join a group, let someone sit with you (body-doubling). Oxytocin is medicine.

N — Nourish the basics. Protein, water, daylight, movement, sleep cues (dim lights, hot shower, same bedtime). Brains can’t rewire on fumes.

My cocoon, my choice

When the email landed, I cried. I let the fear arrive — bills, kids, identity, future. And then I asked: What if this isn’t a cliff? What if it’s a doorway? I wrote a new ending: Caterpillar Rising isn’t my side project anymore. It’s home.

I began with micro-steps: one blog, one product mock-up, one conversation, one walk in the sun to tell my nervous system we’re safe. I didn’t try to “positive-think” the pain away; I honoured it, moved it through my body, and then moved with it.

This week didn’t break me. It built me.

What the science says (and why it’s hopeful)

• Neuroplasticity means the brain can form new pathways; practices like reframing, mindfulness, and consistent micro-actions strengthen the prefrontal cortex over time.

• Exercise and breathwork increase heart-rate variability (a sign your nervous system can flex between stress and calm).

• Writing about difficult experiences for even 15–20 minutes a day across a few days has been shown to improve wellbeing and reduce health visits in classic expressive-writing studies.

• Community care matters: social support repeatedly predicts better outcomes after trauma. You don’t have to do this alone.

  
  

From cocoon to wings

If you’re reading this while your world is wobbling — redundancy, breakup, diagnosis, grief — take my hand. You are not weak for feeling shattered; you are wise for learning how to metabolise it. Trauma changed the plan; it did not cancel the mission.

Women carry a lot. Neuro-divergent women carry even more. But the story doesn’t end at carrying. It ends at rising.

This is me, mid-moult, messy and hopeful. I’m building something beautiful out of a hard week, one Caterpillar Step at a time. I think you can, too.

Come cocoon with me

If this helped, subscribe to the Caterpillar Rising Newsletter for weekly tools, gentle science, and community. Explore the shop for calming, confidence-boosting goodies, and keep an eye out for courses designed for real women with real nervous systems — neurotypical and neuro-divergent.

From survival to strength. From caterpillar to butterfly. From here, we rise. 🦋