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.
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