The other day, I was sitting by the window, watching a particularly blustery Vancouver rainstorm — the kind where the wind whips the branches of the old maple tree outside my studio into a frenzy, and the rain doesn't just fall, it dances sideways. I found myself humming an old tune, something from my childhood, and without even consciously trying, my breath deepened. My shoulders, which I hadn't realized were practically up around my ears, softened. It wasn't a grand meditation; it was just a moment of quiet observation, a noticing of the storm outside and the subtle shift within. And that, beloved one, is often how our nervous system speaks to us — in whispers, in sensations, in the gentle pull of a memory or a melody.
For so much of my life, like many of you, I lived mostly from the neck up. My brain was the CEO, the strategist, the problem-solver. I thought if I could just think my way through things, if I could analyze enough, understand enough, then I would find peace, find solutions, find my way. And while our minds are magnificent tools, they are only one part of the symphony that is us. What I’ve come to understand, through decades of working with bodies, with energy, with the subtle currents of human experience, is that our truest compass isn't lodged in our prefrontal cortex. It's woven into the very fabric of our being — our nervous system. This intricate, intelligent network is constantly receiving, interpreting, and responding to the world around us, and more importantly, the world within us. It’s our primal intelligence, our ancient wisdom, and it’s always, always speaking. We just haven’t always been taught how to listen.
The Unseen Language of Your Inner World
Think of your nervous system as an exquisitely sensitive antenna, constantly scanning. It's not just about "fight or flight" — though that's certainly a crucial part of its repertoire. It's about a vast spectrum of states, from deep rest and connection to playful engagement, from focused concentration to profound grief. Polyvagal theory, a brilliant framework developed by Dr. Stephen Porges, helps us understand this spectrum with such clarity. It tells us that our nervous system isn't just a simple on/off switch. It's a hierarchy, a beautifully complex system that prioritizes safety.
At the very top, the newest part of our vagal nerve — the ventral vagal complex — is all about connection, safety, and social engagement. This is where we feel calm, curious, compassionate, and connected. This is the state where our digestion works optimally, where our immune system is robust, where creativity flows. When I’m in this state, I feel a warmth in my chest, a sense of ease in my breath, and my eyes feel soft, taking in the world with gentle interest. This is our home base, our optimal state of being.
Below that, when we perceive a threat, our sympathetic nervous system kicks in. This is our familiar "fight or flight" response. Our heart rate increases, our muscles tense, our senses sharpen, ready for action. It’s a powerful, necessary response designed for survival. We’ve all felt this — the sudden jolt of adrenaline, the quickening breath, the urge to run or confront. It’s not "bad"; it’s simply a protective mechanism.
And then, at the very bottom, the oldest part of our vagal nerve — the dorsal vagal complex — comes into play when the threat is overwhelming, when fight or flight isn't an option. This is the "freeze" response. Here, our system essentially shuts down, conserving energy, numbing us to pain. It's a brilliant survival strategy when facing inescapable danger, but it can also become a default pattern when we've experienced chronic stress or trauma. In this state, we might feel numb, disconnected, hopeless, or invisible. Our energy drops, our voice might become quiet, our eyes might lose their sparkle.
Here's the point: none of these states are inherently "wrong." They are all intelligent responses to perceived circumstances. The challenge arises when we get stuck in a state that no longer serves us, when our nervous system continues to perceive threat even when the actual danger has passed. This is where our inner compass can feel jammed, sending us signals that lead us astray, or keeping us frozen when movement is what we need.
I remember a period in my life when I was constantly feeling on edge, perpetually bracing for something bad to happen. My sympathetic nervous system was in overdrive. I’d wake up with my jaw clenched, my shoulders tight, a low hum of anxiety always present. I was "functioning" — going to work, seeing clients, being a parent — but I wasn't truly living. I wasn't experiencing joy or ease; I was just surviving. It felt like walking through life with a constant, low-grade alarm blaring in my ears. My mind was trying to "fix" it, to understand why I felt this way, but the answers weren't in my thoughts. They were in the persistent tension in my belly, the shallow quality of my breath, the way I flinched at sudden noises. My body was screaming for attention, but I was too busy listening to the frantic chatter of my mind.
Listening to the Body's Whispers and Roars
So, how do we begin to listen to this embodied compass? It starts with presence. It starts with a gentle curiosity about what's happening right now in your internal landscape. We often spend so much time outside of ourselves — focused on external demands, on what we should be doing, on what others think. But the wisdom we seek is always available, always present, if we simply turn our attention inward.
One of the simplest, most profound ways to tune into your nervous system is through your breath. Your breath is a direct, immediate conduit to your autonomic nervous system. When you're stressed, your breath becomes shallow, quick, often held high in your chest. When you're calm, it deepens, slows, and moves into your belly. Just noticing this — without judgment, without trying to change it — is a powerful first step. Perhaps you might simply pause right now, wherever you are, and take three slow, deep breaths. Feel the air enter your nostrils, fill your lungs, expand your belly, and then gently release. Notice what shifts. Even that small act can send a signal of safety to your system.
Another key is sensation. Our bodies are constantly providing us with information, but we've often been taught to ignore it, to push through discomfort, to intellectualize our feelings. What if we started to treat these sensations as messengers? That knot in your stomach — what is it trying to tell you? That tension in your jaw — what emotion is it holding? That sudden wave of warmth or coldness — what does it signify? The ventral, sympathetic, and dorsal states I describe here are set out with lovely clarity in polyvagal theory and your nervous system, if you would like the whole framework in one place.
I remember a client, a brilliant artist, who came to me feeling utterly stuck. She couldn't paint, couldn't create, felt a pervasive sense of dread. Her mind was racing with self-criticism and fear of failure. When I asked her where she felt this in her body, she initially said, "Nowhere, it's all in my head." But as we gently explored, she noticed a persistent, icy coldness in her hands and feet, and a feeling of immense weight on her chest, as if a stone were pressing down. We didn't try to "fix" these sensations. We simply acknowledged them, gave them space, and breathed into them. Over several sessions, as she learned to simply be with these bodily experiences, the coldness began to thaw, the weight began to lift. And as her nervous system started to feel safer, her creativity, which had been frozen, began to flow again. Her body, in its wisdom, had been communicating a deep need for rest, for safety, for permission to simply be without the pressure to produce.
Here's a very good thing to know: Your nervous system is not broken. It is always, always trying to keep you safe. If you find yourself in a state of chronic anxiety, or feeling numb and disconnected, it's not a failure on your part. It's your nervous system doing its best to protect you, based on past experiences and current perceptions. The work, then, isn't to fight it, but to gently guide it, to offer it new information, new experiences of safety.
Cultivating a Sense of Safety: Your Daily Practice
So, how do we cultivate this sense of safety, this ventral vagal state, more consistently? It’s not about grand gestures; it’s about small, consistent practices that send reassuring signals to your system.
1. Mindful Movement: Our bodies are designed to move. Gentle movement, like walking in nature, stretching, or dancing to your favorite music, can be incredibly regulating. When you move, pay attention to the sensations in your body — the feeling of your feet on the earth, the stretch in your muscles, the rhythm of your breath. This mindful connection helps to bring you into the present moment and signals safety. I find that even a short walk around my neighborhood, really feeling the air on my skin and the ground beneath my feet, can shift me from a state of overwhelm to one of gentle presence.
2. Co-Regulation and Connection: We are wired for connection. Safe, authentic connection with others is one of the most powerful ways to regulate our nervous systems. This could be a warm conversation with a trusted friend, a hug from a loved one, or even simply making eye contact and sharing a genuine smile with someone. The presence of another regulated nervous system can help to soothe and calm our own. This is why I emphasize the importance of community and genuine relationship in my work — we heal in connection.
3. Sensory Soothers: What brings you a sense of calm and pleasure through your senses? Is it the scent of lavender, the feel of a soft blanket, the sound of gentle music, the taste of a warm cup of tea? Intentionally engaging your senses in ways that feel good sends powerful signals of safety and well-being to your nervous system. For me, it’s often a particular piece of classical music, or the feel of my cat purring on my lap, or the earthy scent of rain after a dry spell. These small moments are not luxuries; they are necessities for nervous system regulation.
4. Orienting and Grounding: When we feel overwhelmed or disconnected, our gaze often becomes fixed, or we might stare blankly. Orienting means gently looking around your environment, noticing what’s safe and present. Take in the colors, the textures, the shapes. This simple act helps your nervous system register that you are here, now, in a relatively safe space. Grounding involves bringing your awareness to your body’s contact with the earth — feeling your feet on the floor, your sit bones on a chair. It’s a way of saying, "I am here. I am supported."
5. Self-Compassion: Perhaps most importantly, approach yourself with immense kindness and non-judgment. When you notice your nervous system in a state of activation or shutdown, resist the urge to criticize or shame yourself. Instead, offer yourself the same gentle understanding you would offer a beloved child. "Ah, I see you're feeling anxious right now. That makes sense. What do you need?" This compassionate inquiry is a powerful act of self-regulation. It tells your system, "You are not alone. I am here with you."
I often think of our nervous system as a wild, beautiful creature — sometimes skittish, sometimes playful, sometimes needing deep rest. It doesn't respond well to force or criticism. It responds to gentle reassurance, to consistent care, to the feeling of being truly seen and understood. As we learn to listen to its subtle cues, to honor its wisdom, we begin to navigate life not from a place of frantic striving, but from a deep, embodied knowing. Our inner compass becomes clear, guiding us towards what truly serves our highest well-being, towards connection, creativity, and profound peace. Nothing is beyond healing, beloved one, and your body, your nervous system, is always ready to show you the way home.
With infinite love and support on your journey, Susan
