Nervous System Care is Self Care

In the work that I do, the nervous system is a main player. I tell my clients often that I think through the nervous system to make sense of thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. It is not uncommon for me to ask clients, “What do you think your nervous system is telling you?”

You see, our nervous system holds the blueprint to how we function. It’s been with us every single day of our lives. For all of our experiences, our nervous system has been present-collecting data. Your nervous knows you, like REALLY knows you. It holds memories and experiences that you may not even have conscious memory or verbal ability to articulate. That’s right, our preverbal experiences also live in our nervous system. 

Despite it’s importance, we can forget it’s such a big role in our emotional, cognitive, and behavioral functioning. I strongly encourage my clients to think about what their nervous system is signaling to them during times of excitement, discomfort, avoidance, fear, or worry. This practice also supports building self-acceptance and love towards the self. Taking time to learn your nervous system and what activates it leads to knowing how to respond and regulate it.

Traumatic experiences are overwhelming by definition. They are experiences of such significance and severity, our current operating system is unable to cope with what is occurring. Traumatic experiences can be so excruciating and painful, we will block memories out altogether. The fascinating thing is though, even if we cannot consciously grab hold of a memory, our nervous system often still has reactions that are reflective of our trauma. Isn’t that wild? 

There is so much power in learning what both regulates and dysregulates our nervous system. Often, traumatic experiences can make down-regulating very uncomfortable. We can become accustomed to the level of activity in our nervous system, even if that level of activity is inappropriate. If for example, we were raised in a household with lots of anger, conflict, and loud arguments; in turn, our nervous system can become accustomed to that level of chaos. We can even find ourselves unsettled and out right uncomfortable when we experience regulation because to the nervous system it feels so foreign. Learning what our body needs in the context of stress and dysregulation to settle itself into regulation is called self-soothing. Traumatic experiences, particularly those experienced in childhood are a direct interruption to us learning how to soothe ourselves. Any guesses on what helps us regulating our emotions across our lifespan? That’s correct, our ability to self-soothe.

In a world that is bombarding you with messaging about self-care, I ask you today the following reflective prompts listed below. I invite you to sit with and consider how your daily life routines and activities either support a healthy nervous system OR replicate a pattern of activity that may be familiar to previous trauma experiences. 

What events in life may have impacted your nervous system?

What do you do to tend to your nervous system?

How does a resting state feel for you?

Do you find it difficult to find comfort in stillness?

What things have you learned about what helps you feel settled in your body?

Be mindful, lead with love, and don’t forget to listen.

Dr. C

The Story Behind Our Boundaries

Often, discussing boundaries comes with discomfort. It is not uncommon for worries to accompany setting boundaries, especially if there is a story within us related to boundaries (or lack thereof) in our nervous system. 

What do I mean by this? Attachment behaviors form procedurally (interaction by interaction overtime). Our nervous system collects data from these interactions to make sense of relationships and creates what we refer to as a “working model.” Think of the working model as a script that tells the story of what to expect in a relationship. 

Even though research has found many benefits of boundaries within relationships, setting boundaries for ourselves is a layered experience. In fact, boundaries have been found to be associated with improved communication, decreases in conflict, and increases in self-esteem. Nonetheless, setting boundaries for ourselves often is a reflection of the attachment style we have with ourself. If our relationships in life have lacked boundaries, we can question if we deserve them, if they are rude, fear the other individual’s reaction, or even fear the ending of the relationship altogether! We are certainly a part of that story, but so are the other people we have experienced relationship with. If boundaries were never formed, encouraged, or respected-they can feel threatening, unsafe, and trigger feelings of rejection and/or abandonment. Depending on the attachment styles our nervous system has experienced, the story around boundaries can vary widely. 

This evening, I invite you to reflect on the story your boundaries tell. Not only with others, but within yourself. That’s it. I know I usually provide lots of reflection prompts, but as mentioned, this topic is layered. If it feels safe to do so, peel them back, take a look, and sit with your story. 

Be mindful, lead with love, & don’t forget to listen. 

Dr. C

What is the Story of Your Nervous System?

Working in trauma, grief, and attachment requires a framework of understanding people through the story of their nervous system. You see, it is our nervous system that has been collecting data our whole lives that determines our emotional, behavioral, and cognitive experiences. Our nervous system holds the story of our life experiences-including the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

Have you ever thought about yourself in this way? What is the story of your nervous system? How does your body respond in times of stress, love, excitement, fear, or rejection (to name a few)? How do you respond to being needed by another person? In contrast, how do you respond when someone doesn’t need you? What do you do when someone expresses emotion in front of you? What about when you show emotion in front of others? These are all questions that our nervous system answers.

Learning the story of our nervous system is an overwhelming process. Acknowledging relationships and experiences that were significant in our lives is often heavy and emotionally intense. I find we often want so badly to tell ourselves that things didn’t matter “that much,” or that we’ve “moved on,” or that “it all happened so long ago I was a kid.” We have the same nervous system our whole lives. It’s always taking in data and that data gets encoded into our emotional, behavioral, and cognitive functioning, at any age. As much as I wish this was true, age is not relevant. Even experiences that occur before we can even talk are influential to our nervous system. 

Today I invite you to go through the questions I’ve posed throughout today’s message. Take some time and think about the story of your nervous system. Consider what life events and relationships make up the chapters to the story. And, as an added challenge-I invite you to start perceiving the people in your lives through a similar lens. While you may not know the story of their nervous system and the intimate details involved, it can do a wonder for our relationships if we simply practice being curious, rather than being immediately judgmental. When a person in your life has a reaction that stands out to you, I invited you to remind yourself, they too have a story.

Be mindful, lead with love, and don’t forget to listen. 

Dr. C

Understanding the script

I love attachment for so many reasons. I know I am biased, but it really is a fascinating lens to see the world through. Our attachments with our primary caregivers set the stage for how we navigate our world. A big part of that navigation process is what we do with our emotions. 

How our caregivers responded (or lack thereof) to our emotions is important data for our nervous system. Our nervous system takes in this data one interaction at a time to build a blueprint or script of what happens when emotions are present. Our nervous systems are smart and can build different scripts for different emotions. 

Think for a moment how your caregivers responded to your feelings. Did you receive different responses for different emotions? How did your caregivers respond when you were mad? What about sad? What did it look like when you were excited or curious about something? What did you learn about what happens when each of these emotions are present in your relationship with your caregiver(s)?

Ideally, we receive help to organize our feelings. Receiving help in the midst of our feelings supports us in learning what to do with them. Specifically, it helps us to learn when can I manage this by myself and when do I need support? When the attachment is either too intrusive/co-dependent or too avoidant/absent-this process gets thrown off. In doing so, it becomes confusing to know how/when to self-soothe and when to seek support from others. 

As an adult, how are you at self-soothing and knowing when you need to turn to others for more support? Does turning to others bring up discomfort, embarrassment, or shame? Do you have confidence that even if an emotion is uncomfortable that you can take steps to soothe it? Or are uncomfortable emotions too intense to feel without the presents of someone else? 

These are all questions that can be answered from understanding our attachment systems. Different from therapy modalities that focus on thought patterns or exposure, attachment work aims to understand the script of our nervous system. If we can understand that script, we can start to explore and identify places in the script we’d benefit from editing. We can start to learn in adulthood the things that perhaps were absent from our attachment systems. 

Today I encourage you to explore. To sit with the questions posed and start understanding your own script. 

Be mindful, lead with love, and don’t forget to listen. 

Dr. C

Ping Pong

A really unhelpful question we humans can berate ourselves with in response to terminal news is, “Would it be better if I didn’t know?” Faced with holding the knowledge that you or someone you love has a terminal illness, we will search our thoughts in desperation for relief. Like a never ending game of ping pong, we find ourselves fantasizing that it may have somehow been better to not know and be taken by surprise by death. Aside from that question being unhelpful, it is also question we can never truly answer. Although our anxiety makes us believe the fantasy would be somehow different, that’s all it is-a fantasy. 

I specifically use the word desperation when referring to asking ourselves these types of questions. Let’s call it what it is. When we are faced with the unimaginable, we are desperate for relief. We so badly want to believe there is a world in which this process would be easier. A wild thought if we take a moment to really dissect it. We desperately want to find a version of life where losing someone we love isn’t painful. As much as we all wished that was the case, losing our loved ones involves pain.

Although this game of ping pong may be labeled by some (by me) as unhelpful, I dare also say it is a game that is comforting. Yes, two (or more) things can be true at the same time. To engage in a world where the process of death would somehow be less painful, even if this world is fantasy, can bring relief. How? It serves as a temporary escape and distraction from the current pain we are saturated in. It also gives us a sense of control, which is important to our brains and how it functions. Perceived control is not only comforting, it’s regulating. Although there might not be an answer to end the game of ping pong, it can feel good to play for a little while. 

As with most things, there is a balance to how often to engage in this game. It’s an enticing game that can be comforting and keep us disengaged from the present moment. That disengagement may feel good temporarily, but disengagement does exactly what it says in it’s name-it disengages us from the present. Escaping is attractive when the present moment is unbearable. We are only human, which means we are limited to our capacities. When our nervous system senses these capacities are tapped, it looks for relief. It’s tough to continue to face pain day after day and we can make the mistake that avoidance is the best route. Avoidance may temporarily relieve us, but it also robs us of all of the other aspects to the relationship we are grieving. We forget that in the midst of that pain is so much love and we can convince ourselves the two cannot exist together. It’s a convincing lie; a lie so convincing that we often believe it and turn away. Today’s message is a reminder that although that may feel true, it is not. The relationships you may be grieving are filled with so much more. And while pain may now be a part of the interaction in the relationship, I encourage you to not let it be the definer. I encourage you to be present and to remind yourself of other emotions that coexist in the midst of pain. Love, humor, anger, excitement, and delight are just a few that come to mind. 

If you’re new here, I don’t always tie things up nicely in a bow. Mostly because the work I do in trauma, grief, and attachment doesn’t come with bows. Instead I offer reflection and encouragement to feel the unsettling, to engage in the present moment even if it’s hard, and to allow yourself to play whatever your own version of ping pong is from time to time. It’s ok to need breaks, it’s ok to be overwhelmed, it’s ok to be in pain. The goal is to try and balance acceptance and allowance of these terrible feelings, while also encouraging ourselves to engage in the relationship.

Below are some reflections to support this process:

What emotions are involved in my grief other than pain?

How do I know when I’m overwhelmed and need to take a break?

Do I find myself avoiding the relationship?

Is my version of ping pong different or similar to the one described above?

Be mindful, lead with love, and don’t forget to listen. 

Dr. C