I was invited to be on a podcast last week (coming soon!) to talk about all things nervous system, intellectualization, and survival strategies. One of the questions the host asked me was about the “healers” we see all over social media touting their programs as the cure-all for your fill-in-the-blank issue (trauma, PCOS, autoimmune diseases, depression, etc.). Let’s just say my feelings are less than favorable toward those who have co-opted the idea of taking care of your nervous system.
When I first found somatic and nervous system work more than a decade ago, it was dark in my life. I’d just gone through the significant loss of my daughter, who was just 5 months old. I was upright, functioning, had gone back to work, but was so far from myself. I went to see my doctor and she ever so kindly broached the idea that maybe, possibly, potentially I wasn’t doing my best and would I consider going to see a therapist? I said I’d do it while secretly thinking it was completely pointless. What difference could a therapist make when I had to live in a world without my daughter?
I went to the first session somewhat resignedly and sat down on the couch. After discussing a few things, I started telling her about everything that had happened leading up to my loss. A few moments into my story, she paused and asked me if I was noticing anything as I was talking. What I noticed, really, was being annoyed that she’d interrupted me but, being polite and people pleaser-y I just said that I felt sad. “What about in your body,” she asked.

My body? What a strange question. What did that have to do with anything? I left the session and called up a friend, telling her how bananas this therapy session had been. I hadn’t planned to go back, because why on earth would I pay someone to ask me where I felt things in my body? How irrelevant. As far as I was concerned, my body existed simply to carry around my brain from place to place. It had no role in my life, my experiences, my grief.
But. Some tiny part inside of me was curious. I convinced myself to give it one more try since I had nothing better to do than clean my house for the 18th time so that I didn’t have to feel my feelings. And then I just kept going. Little by little, session by session, something weird started happening. I started to feel things in my body. I began to realize that I didn’t just have thoughts, but emotions and corresponding sensations in my body, too. There were many (many) moments when I felt frustrated. So many times when I didn’t actually want to feel things in my body. When I wanted to go back to how it was before when I could stay up in my brain where it was safe and in control. But the other side of me didn’t want to give up this new experience of being…present. Being connected. Feeling my emotions for real (and not just cognitively thinking I was feeling emotions). Setting boundaries. And, best of all, being able to figure out what I wanted. After a life of making everyone else happy, I could finally start to become clear about my own needs (I know, having needs, what a novel idea).
The rest, as they say, is history. I quit my job working as a business analyst and went back to graduate school to become a therapist. I got trained in every nervous system modality you could think of. I asked every.single.person. that I came across if they knew you were supposed to feel things in your body and that trauma could make it so that you got stuck up in your head (yes, I earned more than my fair share of looks). People in grad school couldn’t take a breath without me mentioning the nervous system. Many of my professors at the time were dismissive of the emerging theories about the mind, the body, the nervous system, and the interoceptive system that linked them all together. It didn’t bother me, though. They hadn’t lived it. They hadn’t experienced it. They were comfortable staying up in their heads disconnected from their emotions and their bodies.​
At the time, we were, as a nation, just on the cusp of the craze about somatic therapy and nervous system regulation. The Adverse Childhood Experiences study (ACEs), was just beginning to make its way out of scientific journals and into everyday conversation between healthcare professionals. We were finally able to, with great clarity, see the impact of adverse experiences on not just the mind, but the body. For so long we considered “mental health issues” to be a weakness. A moral failing. Something that only happened to those who weren’t trying hard enough, getting enough exercise. We passed judgment, waiting for those who were suffering to get it together and pull themselves up by their nonexistent bootstraps.
The ACEs study turned all of that on its head by demonstrating that having adverse experiences in our childhood literally changes our genes. That having just one adverse childhood experience like your parents getting divorced, made you 11% more likely to develop Type 2 diabetes later in your life. Huh? Type 2 diabetes? Isn’t that a physical disease? Yes! Now you’re getting it. Trauma, adverse experiences, and environmental ruptures change the way our brains and bodies work. It can change how our genes are expressed. It can make us susceptible to things like substance use, depression, heart disease, asthma, cancer, and more.

Wild, right? And heavy. It can start to feel really scary to read about something like ACEs and think, is this going to happen to me? The good thing is we know now that we can counteract the impact of ACEs in childhood and beyond by building connection, resilience, and a felt sense of safety both in our brains and bodies. One way of doing that is through doing somatic and nervous system work (yay!).
As the word spread about the power of supporting our well-being through working with the brain AND the body, somatic work began to spread wildly. Now, in 2025, I get constant ads online about “30-day somatic healing workouts,” where they promise that this hip stretch will like, totally cure your childhood trauma. We have people with millions of followers on social media telling you that you just need to balance your feminine energy through breathwork. We have “self-healers” who tell you that you can cure your ADHD by meditating. It’s the wild, wild west out there.
Why? Because the nervous system has been taken over by the billion-dollar wellness/self-help industry which wants to sell you yet another cure. Who swears that if you just buy this one $2,000 program/$35 self-help book/$6,000 coaching package then you’ll finally be perfect/wanted/loved/accepted/happy. No longer is the realm of somatics and the mind-body connection a place of curiosity, learning, connection, and flexibility but rather a place where you, yet again, are told that you just need to try harder and then you’ll be better.

In reality, this is the antithesis of the idea behind nervous system work. True nervous system work is not about rigid protocols, quick fixes, or striving for an idealized version of yourself. It is about cultivating agency, flexibility, and a deep sense of safety within your own body. It invites us to step out of the constant push for self-improvement and instead step into a space of observation and curiosity. Real nervous system work isn't about "fixing" what's wrong; it's about understanding how your system has adapted to keep you safe and how you can gently invite it into new patterns that support your well-being.
At its core, nervous system work is about building a relationship with yourself that is rooted in neutrality and compassion. It is learning to observe your internal state without judgment, recognizing patterns of activation and regulation, and understanding how past experiences have shaped your present responses. It is the practice of noticing and observing. What happens when I slow down? What emotions arise when I allow myself to pause? Through this observational lens, we create the space for choice, for flexibility, and for the gradual unwinding of survival strategies that may no longer serve us.
Most importantly, nervous system work is about fostering a sense of safety, both within ourselves and in our relationships with others. True healing doesn’t happen in isolation; it happens in connection. When we feel safe, our nervous system can shift out of survival mode and into a state of openness, creativity, and presence. This work isn’t linear, and it isn’t about reaching a final destination. It’s a continuous journey of returning to yourself, moment by moment, with kindness and patience. It’s about finding the balance between honoring the ways you've survived and embracing the possibilities of thriving.

However, the rise in popularity of nervous system work has led to its monetization in ways that often contradict its core principles. The wellness industry has seized upon the language of regulation and healing, packaging it into products and programs that promise quick results and one-size-fits-all solutions. This commodification can create pressure to "achieve" nervous system regulation, turning a deeply personal journey into another goal to check off the self-improvement list.
When nervous system work is treated as a marketable commodity, it risks losing its depth and nuance. The process of healing and self-regulation is not something that can be bought or completed in a set timeframe; it requires ongoing engagement, self-compassion, and a willingness to explore one's inner world without judgment. The true work cannot be reduced to a formula or a set of exercises. Instead, it is about observing yourself, finding the flexibility and safety within you (even if, at times) it may feel the size of a grain of rice) to allow you to connect with yourself and those around you.
As consumers, it’s crucial to approach nervous system work with discernment. Genuine nervous system healing is not about chasing an ideal state of calm or perfection but about fostering a sustainable relationship with ourselves. It’s about tuning in, listening, exploring, and allowing space for our unique experiences without the influence of commercial pressures. Ultimately, the true essence of nervous system work lies in reclaiming our agency, whatever that means for us, without feeling the need to purchase our way to well-being.
The good news is that nervous system work doesn’t have to be complicated or expensive. It can start with small, accessible practices that help you feel more present and connected to yourself. Simple moments, like noticing the warmth of a cup of tea in your hands, feeling the ground beneath your feet, opening a new-to-you book, or pausing to take a deep breath can create what neuroscientists call "glimmers," those tiny sparks of safety and connection in your day. Over time, these small acts build a foundation of self-trust, a felt sense of safety, and more flexibility in the neural pathways in the brain, showing us that healing is not about doing more but about becoming more attuned to ourselves in gentle, sustainable ways.
Thanks for being here and learning and being curious with me. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the gentle exploration of connecting to your body and mind.

I came across this gem recently: “If you learned to take care of others’ needs before your own as a child, then self-care and boundaries will not come naturally as an adult” and it really led me to reflect on how we develop the capacity to have needs and boundaries in our lives.
These days, everywhere I turn—especially, ahem, social media influencers—are calling themselves a people pleaser as if it’s some personality trait, like “oh, I just LOVE brunch!” It’s as if spending your entire life bending over backward for everyone else is just written in the stars, something you’re born with, like freckles or a weird talent for karaoke.
But here’s the thing: I’m over it. Using the term people pleaser as a character trait takes away from our understanding that it’s *actually* a protective mechanism we develop based on the early environments we grow up in.
So let’s take a step back for a minute. Before we start throwing “people pleaser” around like it’s a new astrological sign, let’s talk about the nervous system’s favorite survival party tricks: fight, flight, freeze, and, yes, fawn. These are biologically hardwired responses—literally baked into our bodies to keep us safe when something feels like a threat. Key phrase: feel like a threat. (You can bet I’ll come back to that later.)

These responses are on autopilot. No need to consult your to-do list, your body, brain, and nervous system are always working to ensure you feel safe in the face of anything that might disrupt your safety. These choices are biological and are hardwired in to ensure we can respond quickly in the face of danger.
Picture this: you're walking down a dimly lit alley, minding your own business, when out of nowhere, you realize someone’s following you—hulking, shadowy. Before your brain has a chance to ponder if this is a nightmare or a bad Netflix episode, your nervous system has already jumped into action: heart pounding, muscles tensing, ready for whatever survival scenario is most likely to keep you breathing.
Can you run? Nope, they’re blocking your escape. Can you fight? Probably not unless you’ve been secretly training for a Marvel movie. So what’s left? Fawn. Your nervous system says, “Maybe if we play nice, charm our way out of this, we can get through it.” We appreciate and value that we have this built-in safety system so that we don’t have to try to pause and think, hmmm, what’s the best way to handle this? (Imagine trying to do calculus when a bear is chasing you - not happening! So we rely on this system to keep us safe).
Now, how does this connect to adult self-care and setting boundaries, you ask? Let’s take a trip down memory lane to where all these people-pleasing patterns began.
How did your early environment shape your sense of care—both for yourself and others? What did you witness in your parents or caregivers? Did they practice any form of self-care, or were they always on-call for everyone else? And deeper still, how did the people around you—whether caregivers, friends, or teachers—respond when you had the audacity to voice your own needs? Spoiler: these experiences shaped you more than you probably realize.
Here’s the thing: as children, we’re like little sponges soaking up our environments. Most of the time, we’re not consciously thinking, “Oh wow, I better never have needs because no one likes me when I do.”
No, it’s all felt experience, absorbed and stored in our brain’s pattern-making machine (remember - our brains are adaptive to the environment around us constantly by using past data to determine what’s going to happen in the present and future).
Maybe your parent was stressed out to the max, juggling too much, and every now and then, you noticed that when you were quiet, helpful, and oh-so-perfect, things were smoother. Guess what your child brain starts to do? Yep, you start putting others first because, surprise, it works. Fast forward to adulthood, and now you’re that person who can’t say “no” and has somehow made everyone’s problems their own.
“But wait,” you say, “Isn’t this just part of growing up?” Sort of. But here’s the thing—kids? They don’t think in shades of gray. If they feel like they have to choose between their own needs and their caregivers’ needs, it can feel like the ultimate survival choice. Deep down, they believe choosing their own needs could mean being abandoned or left behind. And before you think, “Oh, my parent wouldn’t actually leave me,” just remember—it’s not about what’s rational. It’s about what feels threatening. And that? That feels pretty scary to a kid.
These patterns become our security blankets, our suits of armor. The worst part? These learned survival responses don’t just fade away once you hit adulthood and get a driver’s license. Nope, they stick around, whispering, “Don’t rock the boat” every time you think about setting a boundary. Cue the “people-pleasing” pattern—hello, old friend.
That’s because we still *feel* like having needs is a threat. Even when, as adults, we have more access to agency and choice and can take care of ourselves, our brain and nervous system still respond to that old felt sense experience of not being safe to have needs.
If you’re wondering how this plays out in real life, look no further than toddlers. They start testing boundaries early with all those “NO NO NO” moments, which, spoiler alert, is them trying to figure out how the whole boundaries thing works. Unfortunately, not all of us got to keep practicing those “no’s” into adulthood.
Now, to be clear, this isn’t about pointing fingers at parents. Most of the time, they were doing the best they could with what they had. This is about noticing patterns that served us when we were kids and asking ourselves, “Are these still serving me now?” Because here’s the good news: people-pleasing isn’t a life sentence and it’s not innate. The moment we can see it for what it is—a learned survival strategy—we can start to shift it.
(Psst - if you’re in the No Bad Parts book club, you could try on saying “a part of me feels like it’s not safe to have this need” as a little curiosity with this survival strategy).
And that’s where the magic happens. Helping people recognize and gently untangle these patterns is the work I love. Together, we can hold space for the old ways of being, explore the feelings underneath them, and start finding new, healthier ways of being in relationships with ourselves and others. I’m so glad you’re here, learning and being curious alongside me.
Wishing you all the wellness (and maybe a few more “NOs” in your life),
*trisha*

And isn’t ironic to discuss intellectualization by, well, intellectualizing it?

Strap in, because we’re going to learn together how intellectualization is actually a protective strategy AND the difference between true, embodied self-awareness and intellectualization.
A simple way to think about intellectualization is to think about going up into your thoughts. So you may focus heavily on facts, rationality, and logic in a situation, analyzing them from a detached perspective.

But isn’t thinking and rationality a good thing?!
Imagine that we had different doorways into our own experience as humans and each of those different doorways let us understand ourselves in a different way. Thinking is just one of those doors and, while thinking is very valuable, we want to be able to access our emotions, our behaviors, our images we may see in our mind, and our body sensations as well.

When we intellectualize, we move away from thinking as a way to understand toward thinking as a protective strategy to disconnect us from feelings, emotions, and body sensations that might feel uncomfortable or too much.

By the way, let’s be clear together that intellectualization is not a bad thing or a deficit. These adaptive, protective strategies were developed as a way to make us feel safe in an environment that felt too much (or not enough). It’s not as if one day you thought “hmm, you know what would be great? If I never had to feel my feelings again.” No, this developed over time as a method of adapting - we go up into our heads because it feels like the safest place to be, where we can analyze and make sense out of the world and disconnect from feeling overwhelming feelings.

But what does intellectualization look like in real life?

I’m glad you asked, let me give an example to illustrate what I mean.
Let’s say you’re facing a loss, such as the death of someone you loved dearly. You might feel some big emotions about this - grief, sadness, anger. At some point in your life, you learned things were just, well, easier if you didn’t have big emotions. Maybe it felt like people liked you more if you were good, quiet, calm, rational. Maybe in your family, things were really tense all the time and that felt scary, so you didn’t want to add to it by having more emotions. Maybe when you felt big emotions you were sent to your room to feel them alone or told to go think about what you’d done. Or maybe you were just alone a lot of the time as a child and the emotions you felt were too big for a child to hold alone.

So, now, as an adult instead of allowing yourself to grieve and process the emotions as they come up for you, you might focus only on the practical aspects: you’re planning the funeral arrangements, researching grief ad nauseum, and engaging in philosophical discussions about the concept of death.

All of these are fine and well (and some are necessary), but what happens is that your emotions don’t get to be felt and move through, instead, they are kept locked up, and you’re unable to let yourself feel.
The protective strategy of intellectualization provided you with a protective strategy - you didn’t have to break down, you didn’t have to feel overwhelmed, you didn’t have to let others see you be vulnerable in your emotions - but you also are stuck with all of those emotions that are still there, just stuffed way down. So, we also don’t get to feel our emotions in connection with others, to feel supported, to feel connected, to feel loved, to feel seen. All of the things a part of us may be so desperately wanting.

The irony of it is that these strategies are often developed in our younger lives as a way to keep us in connection to those around us - parents, teachers, siblings, classmates, etc.

Wait. How, exactly, did intellectualization and overthinking develop to keep me in connection?!

Well, oftentimes, people who are intellectualizers are people who have what is referred to as developmental trauma. It’s important to know that many people may have had these experiences who did not define their childhood as traumatic and my goal here isn’t to convince you that you had a horrible time growing up. Many of us may have had supported childhoods in many ways but in other ways, our needs may have been missed.

So, as I discussed above, perhaps your family was too emotional and it felt like a lot to witness all of the energy and emotions constantly, or maybe your home didn’t feel safe to express your true feelings- perhaps along the “positive vibes only” line, and if you had anything outside of these, you were sent to your room to deal with your feelings alone. It could have also been that your parents were very controlling and tried to dictate which emotions were allowed and which weren’t. Maybe you were bullied as a child at school because you were sensitive and cried. While these experiences may seem simple - and you’re thinking what’s the big deal - as children, this often feels like too much for us to hold on our own. So, we form these very protective and adaptive strategies, like intellectualization, that support us in not feeling so overwhelmed all of the time.
This means that at some point in their life, we learned that feeling our feelings (feeling emotions or sensations in their body) was too much for us, but we could just go up in their head, think about things, and obtain that sense of safety that we as humans crave. It kept us in connection with those around us and made things seem, well, just easier. Remember, most of this happens when we are children or when we were very overwhelmed experiencing some type of trauma, so we aren’t making these choices rationally from an adult brain mindset but rather subconsciously where our brain and body work together to determine what will feel the safest.

As adults, intellectualization offers us a faux sense of safety. I say faux because it wasn’t a true sense of safety, but rather a strategy that gives us a sense of control that isn’t real (because, sadly, we can’t control the world around us).

Becoming an intellectualizer could happen in various ways: It doesn’t make a difference as to the reason this happened, but what matters is that you cannot think your way out of these patterns- no matter how hard you might try. This is why many intellectualizers get the feeling of being “stuck” and repeating the same (overthinking) patterns…even with their therapists as they go through therapy. In fact, intellectualizers often get told in therapy how smart or self-aware they are, they may even be told they don’t need to be in therapy because they already understand themselves.

The fact of the matter is that no matter how smart we are, how hard we think, how many lists or spreadsheets we make, we cannot think our way back into more safety and more authentic connection.

How do I stop being an intellectualizer?
​
Read more on tiny sparks.

The label 'intellectualizer' has taken off on TherapyTok to describe a person who understands their unhelpful patterns, but can't change them.

You could be one if you have trouble accessing your emotions.

According to Trisha Wolfe, a Michigan-based therapist who specializes in developmental trauma, it's a coping strategy that people can develop during childhood in response to an environment where expressing feelings doesn't feel safe.
​
It's known in therapy circles and online as intellectualizing and can lead to problems like feeling disconnected from others, feeling empty, and difficulty feeling present in the moment, she told Business Insider.

Although he never used the term himself, the idea comes from Freud's theory that some people separate their thinking mind from their emotional experience as a defense mechanism, she said.

A child may start intellectualizing their feelings rather than allowing themself to feel them if, for example, they had very emotionally reactive parents whom they felt they had to walk on eggshells around.

It could also be a strategy to avoid being bullied or reprimanded by authority figures or peers by only showing emotions that they deem acceptable.

In essence, it means rather than feeling your emotions in your body, you retreat into your mind to think or reason your way out of them, Wolfe said. You might fixate on understanding why you're feeling this way, why the upsetting situation has occurred, and what you can rationally do to resolve it.
​
Read more on Business Insider.

Welcome back, tiny sparks readers! I hope the close of your summer was lovely, and as we enter into autumn, I hope you enjoy the best of it: the changing leaves, crisp mornings, and warm drinks. While I took a break from this newsletter, I was very much still active in my therapy practice, holding my first glimmer mini-retreat (so much fun!), getting settled into my new home, and celebrating my pup’s 16th birthday!

Now, on to this week’s topic!

Let me lay out a scenario for you - have you ever wanted to try something new, join a new group, or try to make new friends but you’ve felt so much anxiety and fear that you’ve held yourself back? Maybe you wanted to sign up for a beginner ceramics class but you have this persistent inner voice saying “What if don’t know what you’re doing, what if you look stupid, nothing you make will even look good, you’ll probably mess it up and look silly.” Welcome to the ring… your inner critic.

While I was absent from this newsletter space, I kept coming back to the idea of our inner critic and how it functions. There’s a reason it’s called inner critic rather than inner coach or cheerleader - if it was functioning as a coach or cheerleader, I wouldn’t have much to write about this week! Let’s talk about how our inner critic develops.

Many of us might have grown up with parents, caregivers, teachers, family members, or other adults who consciously or subconsciously shamed us or punished us. You might be wondering how you can subconsciously shame or punish, but the thing is, it’s not always vindictive or mean shame and punishment. It could be very subtle, such as we didn’t do as well in a class or on a test and we notice that mom pays us a little less attention than usual. However, that subtle little shift, to a child’s brain, tells that child: “So if I don’t do really really well, mom loves me less.”

Remember, that doesn’t have to be mom’s intent at all, but that sets the stage. So then, we grow up and become adults, having internalized this belief that to keep ourselves “good” and in connection with others (perhaps no longer the same adults from childhood, but now friends, partners, and co-workers), we have to be really good; we have to be the best.

Here’s the thing about adulthood: it’s not as easy as going to school, studying hard, getting an A, and having everyone love us. Sadly, what happens is that our brain creates this critical internal voice that punishes and shames us all the time. Then, we wonder why we feel so badly and find it difficult to move towards what we want.

It can impact everything how we form relationships, our work, how we spend our free time, and more. Oftentimes, we may try to white-knuckle our way through it by gritting our teeth and constantly trying to battle our thoughts. This can start to feel like an internal battle of Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots (does anyone else remember these?), you versus your inner critic - and it’s exhausting to be battling yourself all the time.

Read more here: ​https://trishawolfe.substack.com/p/its-me-hi

The dictionary defines glimmer as a noun- a faint or wavering light or as a verb- to shine faintly with a wavering light. Therefore, you might be able to say that glimmer is a synonym for a tiny spark! In the mental health world, glimmers can mean something a little bit different. Let’s dive in to learn about glimmers and how they can help us regulate our nervous system.

To start to get a sense of what a glimmer is in reference to self-care and resilience, I find it helpful to reflect on a quotation from author Kurt Vonnegut:

One of the things [my] Uncle Alex found objectionable about human beings was that they so rarely noticed it when they were happy. He himself did his best to acknowledge it when times were sweet. We could be drinking lemonade in the shade of an apple tree in the summertime, and Uncle Alex would interrupt the conversation to say, “If this isn’t nice, what is?”

So I hope that you will do the same for the rest of your lives. When things are going sweetly and peacefully, please pause a moment, and then say out loud, “If this isn’t nice, what is?””

Long before we ever talked about glimmers and resources and resilience (oh my!), Vonnegut’s Uncle Alex had the idea down pat. So often, we go through life on autopilot, rushing from one task to the next, hurrying up so we can get to work, speeding home so we can cook dinner, all so we might have an hour to ourselves to zone out on Netflix, TikTok, or whatever your relaxing-but-not-taxing tool of choice is.

Now, it’s not a bad thing that our brain can work on autopilot, it’s helpful in moving us through our daily routine and it saves us from having to think about every single activity we do each day. Imagine if you had to be 100% conscious and aware while brushing your teeth, each up and down motion taking careful focus - that would be exhausting! But being on autopilot too often can disconnect us from ourselves, from our resilience, and from what is good in our lives. If we are in a period of high stress or have a history of trauma, it becomes even more critical to become aware of glimmers or moments of goodness in our lives.

Let’s talk about some background on glimmers: the concept of glimmers is part of the Polyvagal Theory introduced in 1996 by behavioral neuroscientist Stephen Porges.

The Polyvagal Theory is a complex but fascinating way of describing how our autonomic nervous system (the one that controls involuntary actions like breathing as well as our survival system - think fight/flight/freeze) is constantly searching for and interpreting cues around us to determine if they are dangerous. This searching and interpreting is called neuroception and the process happens below the surface, with our nervous system and vagus nerve working together to assess our safety every moment of the day.

Later on, Deb Dana, a social worker and author used the word glimmer in her book on Porges’s work called The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy: Engaging the Rhythm of Regulation by Deb Dana. Her book is a fascinating take on our nervous system and how we can find more regulation and resilience in our daily lives.

You may remember from past conversations we’ve had together here that sometimes our body may feel activated by something the brain feels is dangerous - sometimes we might flip our lid out of stress - and when that happens, our nervous system and body may move into a fight, flight, or freeze state. We might think of those activating events as “triggers.” Maybe you’ve even heard people say “I’m so triggered” or “That really triggered me” when something stressful happens.
You can think of glimmers as the opposite of triggers - glimmers are triggers’ happy, sparkly, regulating fraternal twin siblings. Where triggers are cues that something dangerous or stressful is happening, glimmers are cues that the body and brain are having a feeling of pleasantness, safety, and connection.

Everybody and every body is different, so glimmers will feel different from person to person, but in general, they are those warm and fuzzy feelings where you feel cozy, safe, and at peace. They can spark a sense of joy, calmness, neutrality, pleasantness, awe, or belongingness.

Glimmers can be both internal and external- from a thought of a wonderful memory or situation to a song that you love. In fact, one person’s glimmer could be another person’s trigger (more on triggers in another newsletter). Finding glimmers can be beneficial because purposely noticing these moments where you feel safe can help your body and your ventral vagus nerve recognize the feeling of groundedness and connectedness.

So, how can we find our glimmers? To answer that, let’s come back to Vonnegut’s quotation above: we look for what’s nice! For a simple way to integrate glimmers in your day, just try noticing something nice or pleasant in your day - a first sip of coffee, a pleasingly shaped tree, or a big, fluffy cloud. For me, I’m loving fresh summer strawberries, a big ice cream cone on a hot day, a new book, and the beautiful wildflowers. It doesn’t have to be anything groundbreaking, just a little flicker of something “nice!” Just by observing it and naming to ourselves that it’s pleasant, we get a little pop of goodness in our nervous system that reminds us that we are safe.

We can also practice touching into deeper glimmers that help support your vagus nerve. For some people, this might be super easy and you might be able to quickly list several glimmers. For others, especially those with trauma, you may have to take a step back and do some grounding exercises. Take a quiet moment to yourself where you step back from distractions and close your eyes.

• Picture a moment of peace. Perhaps it’s a place where you felt peaceful, maybe you saw a picture of a place that made you think it was peaceful, or maybe this is someplace you have in your imagination. For me, Estes Park comes to mind with the beautiful mountains and pine trees galore. Maybe for you, it’s a place from your favorite book or a vacation you’ve taken.
• Think of moments in your life where you felt safe and/or cared for. For some of us, this may be a moment from childhood when our caregivers were able to show up for us and support us. For others, it may be a moment with a beloved pet, partner, or friend, or even a moment where we were able to connect with ourselves in a way that felt good. It doesn’t have to be something big - for me, I’m thinking of the way I let myself rest longer this morning when I woke up not feeling myself - a simple act of care.
• Think of someone you love. A person with whom you can be your authentic self and feel a little let down in your body - where you can take a little breath. If you don’t have someone like that in your life right now, imagine what that would be like or a moment you may have felt that in the past - a warm moment with a teacher, a colleague, or a friend. If you do have that in your life, spend time with that person, maybe give them a call (or a text if they hate talking on the phone). The other day I wasn’t having the best Monday, and I ended up talking to a friend on the phone. Turns out she was having a rough day too, but after a few minutes of talking, we realized that we were both in better moods, and I was grateful for the glimmer my friends are. Again, pets count. Many times, unconditional love from a pet can provide a lot of joy and comfort in our lives.

I encourage you to spend some time this coming week thinking about or making a list of the glimmers in your life. Remember, for tiny sparks toward more resilience, glimmers are what it’s about. The most powerful glimmer or most peaceful feeling can be found in the smallest moment. Wishing you many glimmers!

Feel free to join me on Tiktok, Instagram, or Youtube where I share my thoughts, and you’re welcome to share your glimmers!
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Sending tiny sparks of wellness your way,
Trisha

Now, before you start to get up in arms that I’m anti self-compassion, hold on. I’m not! I like self-compassion and find it a useful tool when appropriate. That being said, at times I feel frustrated by the portrayal of self-compassion as the panacea cure. I notice that self-compassion is often used alongside ideas like “let it go,” “move on",” “be kind to yourself,” “fall in love with yourself,” “love and light,” etc. To be clear, I’m also not anti any of those statements! My whole exploration is to support people in connecting more with themselves and their own resilience. That being said, for many, many people, self-compassion is not their first stop in exploring.
Before we dive into what I said above, let’s talk about what self-compassion is.

Having compassion for oneself is really no different than having compassion for others. Having compassion also means that you offer understanding and kindness to others when they fail or make mistakes, rather than judging them harshly. 

Self-compassion involves acting the same way towards yourself when you are having a difficult time, failing, or noticing something you don’t like about yourself. Instead of just ignoring your pain with a “stiff upper lip” mentality, you stop to tell yourself “this is really difficult right now,” how can I comfort and care for myself at this moment? (Dr. Kristen Neff / www.self-compassion.org).​

Dr. Neff provides wonderful free resources on her site to learn more about how to practice self-compassion. Some things she invites us to consider are:

How would you treat a friend?
How do you think things might change if you responded to yourself in the same way you typically respond to a close friend when he or she is suffering?
Changing your critical self-talk
By acknowledging your self-critical voice and reframing its observations in a more friendly way, you will eventually form the blueprint for changing how you relate to yourself long-term.
Identifying what we really want
Remember that if you really want to motivate yourself, love is more powerful than fear. Reframing your inner dialogue so that it is more encouraging and supportive helps get you there.
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What self-compassion isn’t: a cure-all for stress, trauma, anxiety, mental health issues, etc.

So why is self-compassion not for everyone?

Many of us may have learned through our environment, school, family, or job that we are not worthy of self-compassion. ​  We may not have seen it modeled for us or may have been told that we are not deserving of care.

We may have also been rewarded for achieving big things or being "perfect" and thus learned that our worth is only tied in with being "good." As adults, we know that it is rare that something will actually be perfect, but we stay stuck on the hamster wheel, convinced we must attain the unattainable before we can be kind to ourselves or before we deserve compassion.

Many of us also believe that if we are kind to ourselves, we are being self-indulgent and will no longer carry out our responsibilities, complete tasks, or do things well. We may think we will become "lazy."  In fact, by speaking negatively to ourselves, criticizing ourselves, and treating ourselves as less than others, we block ourselves from truly being the best, most authentic version we can be.
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We get in the way of our own agency to go after what we want, shy away from new opportunities, create anxiety in our lives by telling ourselves we aren't good enough, and generally create an increased stress load on our minds and bodies.  Paradoxically, this increased stress can actually cause us to underperform, feel distracted, not complete tasks, feel angry or irritable, and have difficulty connecting to others.  It can also lead us to stay in situations that make us unhappy or unfulfilled because we subconsciously believe we don't deserve anything different.

Ok, so we want to move forward toward good things, and stop getting in the way of what we want, yet, when we try to practice self-compassion, it can seem to make things worse. Why? Go back and read my previous post about our survival strategies and how they kept us safe! If you have learned to function, to keep going, to manage by criticizing yourself, then trying to jump into self-compassion and kindness is actually going to make that subconscious part of us more scared. It wasn’t safe in the past, whether literally or figuratively, to let ourselves feel relaxed enough to be self-compassionate. (Remember, many times physical safety was not actually the threat, rather we learned that others around us responded better when we were quiet, perfect, had no needs, etc.). This doesn’t mean we can NEVER ever be self-compassionate or that we can never learn to practice self-compassion. We can! But telling someone that if they just keep practicing self-compassion and self-love, then they will feel better is a recipe for disaster.

Why I’m the world’s biggest fan of neutrality.

For many of us, self-compassion is a mountain that seems impossible to climb. So where do we start to begin to alleviate the stressful burden of criticizing ourselves?

Neutrality.

Neutrality is a step on the road of self-compassion. Neutral asks us to simply observe what we are doing and what we are saying to ourselves or about ourselves. Rather than indifference, neutrality is a curiosity that allows us to stay present to what is happening at any moment and start to interrupt the patterns in our brain that taught you that you didn't deserve kindness or that criticism was the only way to motivate you.

How do you practice neutrality? Next time you notice that you're criticizing yourself, try this simple activity. Pretend that you are a scientist in a lab or a wildlife expert on safari. Narrate what is happening for you in that moment.

"There she goes again, telling herself that she's terrible at public speaking and is going to mess up this presentation and lose her job."

"Ah yes, she's yet again telling herself she's a bad Mom after looking at Instagram while her baby is eating."

"I'm noticing that she is again telling herself she doesn't deserve to have pizza for dinner with her friends because she needs to look good for her wedding."
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Notice how it feels to observe with neutrality. Notice how it interrupts your pattern, even if just for a moment. Over time, this process begins to rewire your brain, taking you out of the old pattern of criticism and shifting you into a curious, nonjudgmental stance. And then, our old friend, self-compassion slowly (slowly) begins to emerge.

Many of us spend our days at a desk, hunched over a keyboard.  Take a few moments and wake up your spine with some easy seated yoga stretches - like a little massage for your spine!