Glimmers: Finding Safety in the small things

Lately, I’ve been experiencing what some call glimmers those fleeting, gentle memories that feel comforting and warm, arriving without warning.

They meet us in the in-between moments… a scent, a song, a change in the air. Something inside responds to something outside, and for a moment, there’s peace. It reminds me so much of perfumery and how it speaks directly to our limbic system.

A simple fragrance can transport us not just mentally but emotionally and physically.

Our breath changes, our shoulders drop, and something inside softens.

For those who have read my earlier blog post where I shared parts of my story, of childhood trauma, adversity, and the impacts of complex PTSD you might understand how surprising glimmers can feel. When you’ve lived with a nervous system that’s constantly on guard, used to reacting to triggers, these moments of calm can feel unfamiliar. Almost foreign. And yet, they’re real.

What’s fascinating and healing is this:

The same sensory pathways that once signalled danger can, over time, become bridges to connection. The same nervous system that once spiraled into hypervigilance is slowly learning that not everything is a threat. That safety is possible.

For me, one of the most unexpected sources of glimmers lately has been my mother.

In the past, anything that reminded me of her would send my body into overdrive. A certain smell, a tone of voice, a look it could unravel me.

But something has shifted since her passing. I don’t find myself longing for a version of our relationship that never was.

I’m not stuck in regret or fantasy. I’m not wishing it could have been different.

Instead, there’s space now. A softness.

Maybe it’s the knowing she can no longer cause harm, intentionally or unintentionally. Maybe it’s the safety I’ve created around myself that allows my body to breathe again, to remember without bracing. To allow those memories in without shutting down.

Now, when I catch a whiff of lemon meringue pie or take my girls shopping for camp, I might think of her. Not with longing or pain, but with a small smile. A quiet comfort. A story to share.

I don’t miss her in the way people expect. It’s not about wanting more time or rewriting the past. It’s about allowing myself to feel the moments that were good. To honour the parts of her that brought joy, even if they were few and far between.

These glimmers aren’t about erasing what was hard.

They’re about recognising that I now have the capacity to feel, to remember, and to hold both the pain and the beauty without being overwhelmed.

It’s not about rewriting the story. It’s about reading it differently, with a nervous system that finally knows:

it’s safe now.

If you're beginning to notice your own glimmers or finding it hard to feel safe in your body, our Somatic Foundations Package and Embodied Processing work can support you in gently navigating your inner terrain with compassion and care.