I was in a meeting. An ordinary one — nothing on fire, nobody upset with me. And yet something in my chest was braced. My jaw was tight. I kept waiting for something bad to happen. Nothing happened. The meeting ended. I sat at my desk and couldn’t understand why my body was still in it — still coiled, still scanning. I’d eaten. I’d slept. By every external measure, everything was fine. That’s the thing about a nervous system that won’t settle. It doesn’t care about your calendar. It doesn’t respond to your reasoning. You can know, intellectually, that you’re safe — and your body will carry on as if…