I was trying to enjoy a quiet Sunday morning. Coffee, silence, nowhere to be. And I felt… sick. Restless. Like something was wrong.
From the outside, my life looked like it was finally coming together. I’d survived a brutal five-year stretch – spiritual warfare, a failed business, and moving to another country completely alone. I’d done it. I was standing. I was even thriving by most people’s standards.
But here’s the weird part: when I tried to celebrate or relax, my body would revolt. A nice dinner would make me nauseous. A weekend off would leave me restless and guilty. Even a warm bath felt… wrong somehow.
It’s like I’d forgotten how to receive good things.
That’s when my nervous system studies changed everything.
When Your Body Becomes a Bodyguard
Through my embodiment and regulation certification, I started to understand what was actually happening in my body. After five years of survival mode, my nervous system had become really, really good at one thing: protection. It had specialised in scanning for threats, fixing problems, and keeping me moving. But it had completely forgotten how to slow down and actually enjoy life.
I learned about something called the “nourishment barrier.” Basically, when you’ve been in survival mode for extended periods, your body creates this invisible wall against pleasure. It sounds counterintuitive, but it makes perfect sense from a nervous system perspective.
When the environment is toxic or support isn’t available, feeling good can actually feel dangerous. Your body learns that staying alert and slightly miserable is safer than dropping your guard to enjoy something.
So there I was, finally safe in a new country, building a new life, but my nervous system was still playing bodyguard.
The Dopamine Trap
I started learning about how my body chemistry had shifted during those survival years. I’d been running on dopamine – the “find-fix-control” chemical. It’s the thrill of the hunt, the anxiety of the search, the satisfaction of crossing something off your to-do list.
But there’s another chemical that’s crucial for women’s nervous systems: oxytocin. This is the “having” chemical. The one that lets you rest, digest, and actually feel satisfied.
Here’s the kicker: you can’t release oxytocin and cortisol (stress hormone) at the same time. So all those years of chronic stress had basically shut down my body’s ability to feel contentment.
The solution wasn’t to force myself to relax harder. It was to consciously practice what I now teach as the “have” phase. When I completed something – even just drinking a glass of water—I had to pause. Really pause. Say to myself, “I have this.” Let the satisfaction actually land in my body for ten seconds instead of immediately rushing to the next thing.
It felt ridiculous at first. But slowly, something shifted.
Learning to Sip Instead of Gulp
The breakthrough came when I understood that my nervous system needed to be retrained like a plant coming out of drought. You can’t dump a bucket of water on soil that’s been dry for years – it just runs off. You need slow drip irrigation.
I started with what I call the “small-sip” approach to pleasure. Instead of trying to force big moments of joy, I began with tiny ones. When I needed the bathroom, instead of rushing, I’d think, “I get to relieve this pressure.” I’d notice the actual relief.
I practised “soft eyes” – letting my gaze widen to the periphery instead of maintaining that focused, predator-like stare I’d developed during survival mode. This simple shift signals to your brain stem that you’re not hunting or being hunted.
I started honouring what my body actually needed instead of what I thought it should need. Some days, that meant dim lights and soft fabrics instead of forcing myself to be productive.
The Grief That Comes With Healing
Here’s what no one tells you about nervous system healing: it comes with grief. As my body began to thaw and remember how to feel good, I was hit with waves of sadness for all those years I’d spent just surviving. For the business that didn’t work. For the spiritual battle that almost broke me. For the loneliness of starting over in a new country.
This is something I now teach: you cannot do trauma work without doing grief work. The fact that I could feel the loss meant my nervous system was getting big enough to hold both joy and sadness simultaneously.
Still Learning, Still Healing
I’m not going to pretend I’ve mastered this. I still experience numbness sometimes. I still catch myself rushing through moments instead of savouring them. But now I understand what’s happening in my body when this occurs.
The difference is that I have tools now. I know about my window of tolerance, that sweet spot where I can actually feel good without my nervous system freaking out. I understand the importance of co-regulation, of being around people who help my nervous system remember it’s safe to rest.
Most importantly, I’ve learned that reclaiming pleasure after survival isn’t selfish or indulgent. It’s biological recalibration. It’s my nervous system learning to trust that the danger has passed.
If you’re reading this and thinking, “This sounds like me,” know that you’re not broken. Your nervous system did exactly what it was supposed to do to keep you alive. And with patience and the right understanding, it can learn to let you truly live again.
The water is starting to soak into the soil. Drop by drop.
