Maybe It's About the Nervous System

The Direction I'm Walking

I have had many people ask me what I want to do next.

I have been becoming more open about wanting to leave nursing and pursue something completely different.

When people ask me, "What do you want to do?" I never really know how to answer.

I don't even know what to call what I'm interested in, and I don't have a really clear picture of what it will look like yet.

I just know the direction I'm walking.

I want to help people heal.

Not just physically.

Emotionally.

Mentally.

Spiritually.

I want people to enjoy life.

To feel alive.

Connected.

Present.

I don't want people living as tapped-out zombies, constantly overwhelmed, anxious, numb, or carrying rage just beneath the surface.

I know it has something to do with helping people heal their nervous systems... and in doing so, reconnect with who they truly are.

Exactly what that looks like...

I'm still figuring that part out.

But I know the direction I am going.

And for now...

That's enough.

Whenever I begin talking about this, something interesting happens.

People become fascinated.

They ask questions.

They want to understand what I've been learning.

But somewhere in the conversation, many of them say something like,

"Well... I had a pretty good childhood."

As if that somehow means this couldn't possibly apply to them.

I always smile.

Because...

I used to say the exact same thing.

For years, if someone asked me about my childhood, I would have simply said,

"It was good."

It wasn't until I dove headfirst into my own healing journey that I realized my definition of good wasn't actually what many people would consider good at all.

My childhood included divorced parents who screamed instead of talked.

Sexual abuse.

Emotional abuse.

Religious abuse.

Losing our home in a fire.

Illnesses that left me in a wheelchair.

And so much more.

Some people hear that list and immediately think,

"Wow... you've lived through a lot."

Others might compare it to their own story and think it wasn't that bad.

Honestly...

I would have been one of those people.

I shrugged it off.

I didn't think my life had been that hard.

It was all I knew.

It was normal.

My way of surviving was to numb.

To dissociate.

To disconnect from my past so I didn't have to feel it.

I remember when a therapist first told me I had PTSD.

I was shocked.

I didn't believe her.

I thought PTSD was for people who had experienced real trauma.

I knew the sexual abuse was technically "trauma," but I convinced myself it didn't affect me anymore.

I told myself I was over it.

That I handled it well.

That I was fine.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

I just couldn't feel it yet.

When I stopped numbing...

Everything began coming back.

Not all at once.

But little by little.

As I started to reconnect with myself, I began to see things I had never been able to see before.

I began to realize just how deeply those experiences had shaped my nervous system, my relationships, my fears, my perfectionism, my anxiety, my people-pleasing, and the way I moved through the world.

What shocked me most wasn't that I had experienced trauma.

It was realizing how much it had consumed my life without me ever knowing it.

I had spent so many years surviving that survival felt normal.

I didn't know I was disconnected because I had been disconnected for as long as I could remember.

I didn't know I was living in fear because fear had become my normal.

I didn't know I was carrying shame because I thought shame was just who I was.

I couldn't see it because I was living inside of it.

The hardest part is that I couldn't even see any of it until I had already decided to heal.

I had to begin walking before I understood why I needed to.

And that's when something else began to click.

Maybe my story is more obvious because of the experiences I've shared.

But maybe this isn't just about trauma.

Maybe it's about the nervous system.

We all experience life's stressors.

We all process them differently.

And because of that...

Every nervous system tells a different story.

The question isn't whether life affects us.

It's how much, how long, and how it shapes the way we move through life.

Our modern world isn't exactly designed to support a healthy, regulated nervous system.

We're constantly rushing.

Constantly consuming.

Constantly comparing ourselves.

We run a hundred miles an hour on empty tanks.

We wear busyness like a badge of honor.

We scroll instead of rest.

We compare instead of connect.

We keep pushing even when our bodies have been begging us to slow down.

Our children spend full days in school, only to come home to flashing screens.

Parents are trying to hold everything together while quietly burning out.

Sometimes I wonder if we've become so accustomed to living in survival mode that we've forgotten what regulation even feels like.

When I started learning about nervous system regulation, something clicked.

So many things I once thought were simply personality traits or character flaws suddenly made sense.

The anxiety.

The brain fog.

The emotional numbness.

The chronic tension.

The people pleasing.

The difficulty slowing down.

The constant need to stay busy.

The feeling that I could never fully relax.

I began wondering...

How much of what we call "who we are"...

...is actually just how we've learned to survive?

Every nervous system tells a different story.

No two people have lived the same life.

No two people have had the same support.

No two people process experiences in exactly the same way.

The same event can deeply affect one person while seemingly barely affecting another.

That's why I don't think it's helpful to measure our nervous systems by comparing our stories.

I think we should look at something much simpler.

Quality of life.

Are you thriving?

Do you feel connected?

Do you experience joy?

Can you rest?

Can you be present?

Do you feel alive?

Sometimes one of the greatest signs that our nervous system is struggling is that we've become convinced everything is fine.

Denial is incredibly protective.

Minimizing.

Suppressing.

Forgetting.

Even completely blocking memories.

Sometimes because our brains are protecting us.

Sometimes because this is simply all we've ever known.

If dysfunction is all you've experienced...

It feels normal.

It did for me.

So why does all of this matter?

Because I believe healing is possible.

I think we've become really good at managing symptoms.

If we're anxious, we look for something to calm the anxiety.

If we can't sleep, we look for something to help us sleep.

If we're overwhelmed, we look for something to take the edge off.

And sometimes those things are needed.

Sometimes they're an important part of someone's healing journey.

But relief isn't the same as healing.

Medication may quiet the alarm.

But it can't teach you how to understand your nervous system.

It can't teach you how to regulate it.

It can't teach you how to recognize when you're living in survival mode.

It can't teach you how to reconnect with yourself.

Healing happens when we begin to understand why our nervous system adapted the way it did.

Then we learn what it needs to feel safe again.

And slowly...

We teach it that it no longer has to live in survival mode.

To me...

That's where healing begins.

Not by asking,

"How do I make this feeling go away?"

But by asking,

"Why is it there in the first place?"

And then learning what your nervous system needs in order to heal.

A dysregulated nervous system can show up in countless ways.

Chronic fatigue.

Anxiety.

Depression.

Emotional numbness.

Difficulty concentrating.

Brain fog.

Forgetfulness.

Racing thoughts.

Difficulty sleeping.

Chronic illness.

Digestive problems.

Chronic muscle tension.

Chronic headaches.

Mood swings.

Burnout.

Anger outbursts.

Addictions.

Relationship struggles.

Social isolation.

Social exhaustion.

Feeling overwhelmed by seemingly small things.

Sensory overload.

Never truly feeling rested.

Living with a constant sense that something is wrong.

The list goes on.

We live in a society that overwhelms our nervous systems.

Yet almost no one teaches us how to regulate them.

And maybe...

That's what I'm going to do.

I'm on a journey of learning how to regulate my own nervous system.

As I continue learning, healing, and reconnecting with myself, I want to help others do the same.

I don't have all the answers.

I'm still learning.

I'm still healing.

And maybe... we're learning together.

So if you're reading this and something inside of you is quietly whispering,

"I think this might be me..."

I want you to know something.

You are not alone.

You are not failing.

You are not broken.

Maybe your nervous system has simply been trying to protect you the best way it knows how.

Maybe healing isn't about becoming someone new.

Maybe it's about creating enough safety within yourself that you no longer have to live in survival mode.

Maybe healing begins the moment we stop asking,

"What's wrong with me?"

and start asking,

"What has my nervous system been trying to protect me from?"