Exploring the rhythms of the nervous system, our protective patterns and what keeps us stuck.
Have you ever opened an ordinary message and felt something change in your body before you have even finished reading it? Your stomach tightens, your shoulders rise, or your heart begins to race. Perhaps a colleague has sent a brief email, a friend has not replied, or somebody has said something that leaves you wondering whether you have done something wrong. Before you have had time to consider what the message actually means, your body seems to have formed an opinion of its own. The question that often follows is a familiar one: Why am I reacting like this when nothing particularly terrible has happened?
In psychotherapy, I am frequently reminded that understanding an experience and feeling safe within it are not always the same thing. A person may know perfectly well that a situation is manageable, yet still feel anxious, overwhelmed or suddenly unable to think clearly. Another may find themselves becoming unusually quiet, withdrawing from a conversation or feeling distant from what is happening around them. These experiences can be unsettling, particularly when life appears reasonably steady. It can feel as though the response has arrived ahead of the explanation, leaving us trying to make sense of something that is already taking place.
Stephen Porges' Polyvagal Theory offers one way of exploring this relationship between the autonomic nervous system, our lived experiences and our capacity for connection (Porges, 2011). Porges uses the term neuroception to describe a proposed process through which cues of safety and danger are detected without necessarily entering conscious awareness. Within this perspective, our responses are influenced not simply by what is happening in the present, but by the ways our nervous system has become accustomed to responding over time. It is a lens for curiosity rather than a claim that every reaction has one simple neurological cause. Physical health, relationships, beliefs, circumstances and many other factors also shape how we feel.
Consider someone who has grown up feeling that they must always get things right, perhaps because mistakes were often met with criticism. A brief piece of feedback at work might be perfectly constructive, yet their body may respond with tension or urgency before they can appreciate the intention behind it. Another person, longing for closeness, may notice an impulse to pull away when a relationship becomes emotionally important. These responses may once have helped a person cope, protect themselves or preserve a sense of belonging. Their usefulness in one set of circumstances does not mean they remain helpful in another. Sometimes what helps us through becomes what keeps us stuck.
· Switch Pointer Pause and Notice
Think about a recent situation when your reaction seemed stronger than the circumstances suggested. What did you notice first? And might there be something familiar about the way you responded
We are often encouraged to imagine stress as a state of visible agitation: racing thoughts, restlessness, panic or a constant sense of being on edge. Yet distress does not always look like this. Some people become quiet, foggy or detached. They may struggle to find words in the middle of a conversation, lose the ability to concentrate, or feel that they are watching events from a distance. A social gathering that was anticipated with pleasure can suddenly feel exhausting. An unexpected question may be met by silence rather than an answer. From a polyvagal-informed standpoint, it may be useful to explore whether these experiences relate to shifts between patterns of mobilisation, withdrawal and connection, while remaining attentive to other possible explanations.
What I find especially important is that these experiences are not limited to people living in obvious crisis. Someone may have a supportive family, an interesting job and a reasonably settled life, yet still encounter moments of sudden anxiety, a sense of freezing or an urge to disappear. When we struggle to reconcile our circumstances with our reactions, we may begin criticising ourselves for feeling something we believe we shouldn't. Rather than treating these experiences as personal failings, psychotherapy can provide an opportunity to explore them with greater curiosity.
Our increasingly connected lives offer plenty of opportunities to notice these patterns. A mobile phone can bring reassurance, companionship and useful information, but it can also deliver an almost continuous stream of messages, demands and comparisons. We may pick it up to check one notification and find ourselves still scrolling twenty minutes later. A photograph of someone else's apparently effortless life can stir a quiet sense of inadequacy. An unanswered message can lead to repeated checking. The expectation that we should be constantly available may make it harder to recognise when we are tired, overstimulated or simply in need of a little space.
Research into social media and mental health suggests that problematic patterns of use are associated with anxiety, depression and poorer wellbeing, although the direction and causes of these relationships are complex (Ahmed et al., 2024). In my clinical work, I am often more interested in a person's experience of using technology than in the amount of time spent online. What begins to happen while they are scrolling? Does checking their phone help them feel connected, or has it become a way of trying to settle uncertainty that quickly returns? Are they seeking information, reassurance, distraction or perhaps a brief escape from the demands of their day? These are questions worth exploring without turning technology itself into the villain.
One of the most useful ways I have found to begin this exploration is through nervous-system mapping, informed by the work of Deb Dana. Over the years, I have worked with hundreds of clients using approaches that help them recognise and describe their own patterns of connection, mobilisation and withdrawal. Dana's clinical writing offers accessible ways of bringing polyvagal concepts into therapeutic conversations and personal reflection (Dana, 2018). When a person begins to identify what an experience feels like, what tends to precede it and how they respond, something that once appeared confusing or unpredictable can begin to make more sense.
For one person, the early signs might be a tightening of the jaw, a change in breathing or the urge to send a hurried explanation. Someone else may recognise that they become tired and distant when a conversation feels emotionally demanding. Another may notice how a difficult day is followed by an almost automatic drift towards social media, not because they are particularly enjoying it but because they cannot quite find another way to switch off. Mapping does not ask clients to fit themselves into a rigid category. At its best, it helps them develop a language for the particular ways their experiences unfold.
· Switch pointer Recognising our patterns – Get Curious
When life becomes demanding, are there familiar ways you find yourself responding? Perhaps withdrawing, explaining, people pleasing or seeking reassurance. What might these responses have helped you manage in the past?
I have seen how much can change in a therapeutic conversation when the question shifts from What is wrong with me? to What is happening for me? The first question can carry years of criticism and disappointment. The second creates an opportunity for curiosity. A person may still feel anxious, withdrawn or unsettled, but they can begin to explore their experience without immediately interpreting it as evidence that something is wrong with them. That change in perspective can be an important part of developing a more compassionate relationship with ourselves.
Awareness is valuable, but it is not always enough on its own. This is where I find an important meeting point between nervous-system awareness and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, commonly known as ACT. The work of Steven Hayes and colleagues places psychological flexibility at the centre of the therapeutic process (Hayes, Strosahl and Wilson, 2012). Psychological flexibility is not the ability to feel calm all the time or to think positively regardless of circumstance. It involves recognising our internal experiences while becoming more able, when circumstances permit, to choose actions that are consistent with what matters to us.
Imagine somebody who feels anxious about having an honest conversation. They picture it going badly, notice a knot in their stomach and decide to postpone it. Avoiding the conversation brings temporary relief, yet the uncertainty remains. A psychological perspective may help them explore the thoughts, expectations and personal meanings that have become entangled with the situation. A somatic perspective invites curiosity about their present experience and whether there is enough capacity for the conversation to take place. Neither perspective needs to compete with the other. Moving between them can help us appreciate both the reasons a response has become familiar and the possibilities that may be available in the present.
In practice, I often find myself moving gently between these areas of exploration, helping clients consider capacity alongside purpose through my APES stuck loop model. We might begin with what is happening in the present, noticing changes in energy, sensations and available capacity (Activation). We can then explore the responses that have become familiar, including ways of avoiding discomfort, seeking reassurance or protecting a sense of self and belonging (Protective Patterns). Equally important is the world in which these experiences occur. Our relationships, working environments, social expectations and wider circumstances can either place additional demands upon us or make greater capacity available (Environmental Influences). From this broader understanding, we can begin to explore responses that may be more workable in the circumstances, rather than assuming that the familiar response is the only one available (Steady Clusters). Sometimes this means speaking up, asking for clarification or setting a boundary. At other times, it might mean slowing down, postponing a decision or allowing ourselves to rest. Psychological flexibility is not simply about moving forward; it also involves recognising when restoration, rather than further effort, may be the more workable response.
One of the relationships I find particularly interesting in my clinical work is how nervous-system activation can strengthen the grip of familiar protective patterns. As activation increases, our capacity to pause, reflect and consider other possibilities may become more limited. Responses that have developed through earlier experiences, perhaps as ways of avoiding criticism, maintaining a sense of belonging or protecting ourselves from uncertainty, can become increasingly compelling. We may find ourselves explaining, withdrawing, pleasing or seeking reassurance, even when another response might serve us better. The difficulty is not necessarily that we lack understanding, but that familiar protective responses can become closely associated with how we manage discomfort, preserve our sense of self an maintain a sense of belonging. When nervous system activation is aroused the grip of these patterns may tighten, even when they are no longer helping us to live as we would wish.
Many people come to therapy already knowing a great deal about themselves. They have read books, listened to podcasts, explored their childhood experiences and learned to describe their difficulties with considerable insight. Even so, they may find themselves returning to familiar responses in situations that matter to them. This is not necessarily a failure of understanding. Knowing why we do something and being able to respond differently in the moment are two distinct experiences. Insight is valuable, but the possibility of acting differently also depends upon our circumstances, our available capacity and the ways we have learned to navigate difficult experiences.
· Switch Pointer Consider What Keeps us stuck - Consider finding steadiness
When a familiar protective pattern takes hold, what happens to your sense of choice? What might help you pause, recognise your available capacity and find a pace that allows another response to become possible?
Finding steadiness may begin in very ordinary ways. It is not about achieving a particular state of calm, but about having the capacity to recognise what is happening and consider what might be possible. We might pause before replying to a message, acknowledge that a demanding day has left us with fewer resources than expected or recognise that an important conversation would be better approached at another time. We can also consider the relationships, surroundings and everyday rhythms that influence how we experience ourselves. There is no requirement to force the nervous system into a preferred state. Sometimes finding steadiness involves doing less, allowing more time or recognising that the circumstances themselves need attention.
Some of the most meaningful moments in my work have been when clients begin to see familiar experiences from a different perspective. A person who believed they were simply too sensitive begins to understand why certain situations feel overwhelming. Someone who felt ashamed of withdrawing starts to reconsider what closeness, expectation or emotional demand has meant in their life. Another recognises that the repeated urge to check, explain or avoid may be connected to a longstanding need for reassurance. These discoveries do not remove the complexities of life, nor do they guarantee that our responses will immediately change. They can, however, alter the way we relate to ourselves and the possibilities we are willing to explore. Perhaps steadiness is not the absence of anxiety, activation or moments of disconnection. Perhaps it is something more human and more achievable: developing a deeper understanding of the relationship between what we experience in our bodies and what we have come to believe about ourselves. We do not need to resolve every difficulty, abandon every familiar response or become a different person before we can begin approaching our lives with greater curiosity.
What I hope to offer through this reflection is not another set of expectations about how we should feel or behave. There are already enough demands encouraging us to become calmer, more productive, more resilient or better versions of ourselves. Instead, I would invite you to consider what happens when you approach your own experiences with a little less urgency to change them and a little more interest in understanding them.
Think for a moment about your everyday life. Are there situations in which your responses seem to arrive before you have had time to consider what is happening? Perhaps you become unusually quiet, feel compelled to explain yourself, seek reassurance or find it difficult to step away from something that is leaving you unsettled. What have you come to believe about yourself in those moments? And if you were able to approach the experience with curiosity rather than criticism, what might you begin to understand differently?
You might also consider the circumstances in which you feel you have more capacity to be yourself. Who are you with? What expectations are present or absent? What helps you feel that you can make a mistake, express a need or take a little time before responding? These questions are not intended to produce immediate answers. Their value may lie in noticing aspects of your experience that have previously passed without much attention. A familiar response is not necessarily the only response available. Something that once helped you navigate a difficult situation may still appear automatically, even when your present circumstances are different. Recognising that possibility can open the way to new choices when you have enough capacity to explore them.
Perhaps steadiness is not the absence of anxiety, activation or moments of disconnection. Perhaps it is something more human and more achievable: developing a deeper understanding of ourselves without feeling that every uncomfortable experience requires an immediate solution. We do not have to resolve every difficulty, abandon every familiar response or become a different person before we can begin approaching our lives with greater curiosity.
What I hope to offer through this reflection is not another set of expectations about how we should feel or behave. There are already enough demands encouraging us to become calmer, more productive, more resilient or better versions of ourselves. Instead, I hope to encourage a different relationship with the experiences we sometimes struggle to understand. Our protective patterns may have served important purposes, but they need not define who we are or determine every response we make. Recognising this is not about overcoming ourselves. It is about developing the understanding and capacity to approach life with greater awareness, compassion and possibility.
Switch Takeaways
Throughout this article, the Switch Pointers have offered opportunities to pause, reflect and become curious about your own experiences. The Switch Takeaways bring together five important ideas from the article. They are not instructions to follow or another set of things to achieve, but reflections you might carry into everyday life.
1. Your body may respond before your thoughts have caught up. Our nervous system can respond to familiar experiences and perceived threats before we have consciously understood what is happening. Recognising this can help us become more curious about our reactions rather than immediately questioning ourselves.
2. Protective patterns may once have helped us but can also keep us stuck. Ways of avoiding discomfort, seeking reassurance, withdrawing or pleasing others may have developed for understandable reasons. Yet when these responses become automatic, they can restrict the possibilities available to us in the present.
3. Understanding a protective pattern does not automatically loosen its grip. We can know why we respond in a particular way and still find ourselves returning to familiar stuck loops. Nervous-system activation, available capacity and the meaning we attach to our experiences can all influence how difficult it feels to respond differently.
4. Our environment matters just as much as our internal experiences. Relationships, expectations, working conditions and everyday demands can influence our available capacity. Sometimes the most workable response is not to change ourselves, but to recognise what needs attention in the circumstances around us.
5. Pause, Pace and Space can help us find steadiness and open the possibility of another response. Pausing gives us an opportunity to notice what is happening, while pacing respects our available capacity and allows us to move at a rhythm that feels manageable. As we begin to find greater steadiness, we may discover enough space to reflect, reconnect with what matters and consider different ways of responding. The more workable response may be to slow down, seek connection and allow time for restoration.
References
Ahmed, O., Walsh, E. I., Dawel, A., Alateeq, K., Espinoza Oyarce, D. A., & Cherbuin, N. (2024). Social media use, mental health and sleep: A systematic review with meta-analyses. Journal of Affective Disorders, 367, 701-712. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jad.2024.08.193
Dana, D. (2018). The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy: Engaging the Rhythm of Regulation. W. W. Norton & Company.
Hayes, S. C., Strosahl, K. D., & Wilson, K. G. (2012). Acceptance and Commitment Therapy: The Process and Practice of Mindful Change (2nd ed.). Guilford Press.
Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-Regulation. W. W. Norton & Company.
