Nervous System Regulation, Apparently

A field report from a woman who has tried everything including breathing correctly.

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They say calming one’s nervous system is a totally achievable process. I, however, have yet to figure out how to do such a thing.

I’m told to “take a deep breathes.” In and out through your nose. This is the cornerstone of all advice, obviously. Often offered nonchalantly by people who seem not to be stressed themselves and who have apparently never experienced the particular full body reaction to arguing with your husband moments after your toddler was also screaming in your face.

Inhale deeply, exhale slowly, and instantly your body forgets about stress and responsibilities. Bravo, you did it.

My therapist recently asked, “How can you reduce stress in your life?”
Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? Simply remove all stressors from your life. Get a new job, resolve all problems in your marriage, achieve financial stability, and raise a perfectly regulated child. Once you’ve done that, your nervous system should settle right down. It’s really more of a lifestyle tweak.

“I’m tired all the time,” I tell my doctor.
“What do you do for self-care?” she asks.

Bitch, please. I do more self-care than the average monk. I sleep as much as possible, I eat well, I go to yoga, I drink an absurd amount of water, so much so that I am peeing all the damn time. I take personal time. I limit my alcohol consumption. I get weekly acupuncture, spend time in my garden, and I take goddamn antidepressants.

She smiles and suggests journaling.

I want to punch her in the throat and direct her to said Substack.

What about meditating? This is excellent guidance, because nothing says calm like sitting quietly trying to tune the world out while your intrusive thoughts replay every choice you’ve ever made while also simultaneously building a grocery list.

I’ve developed the kind of 11s between my brows that suggest I’m constantly trying to solve a problem I cannot identify and will never finish solving. They’re really settling in. Very committed. At this point, a nervous system reset might not do much, but Botox probably will. At least I’d look less like I’m actively bracing for impact.

Of course, all of this advice comes wrapped in a kind, well-meaning tone that suggests your nervous system is a delicate instrument that can be tuned with care. Which is a comforting idea, right up until your body decides to interpret a mildly inconvenient situation as a full-scale emergency and you’re left wondering why you’re experiencing fight-or-flight in response to your toddler refusing to put on her shoes.

In the end, calming your nervous system is supposed to be about safety, slowness, and self-compassion. And maybe, occasionally, it actually is. But more often, it feels like trying to convince a smoke detector to relax while someone in the other room forgot about dinner burning on the stove.

Of course, there’s also this broader, quieter expectation that nervous system regulation is an individual responsibility. That if you’re disregulated, it’s a personal project. Something to optimize. Just journal through it.

But I can’t help wondering about the larger context of it all.

Is it actually easier for some people to “calm down” than others? Or is that a question we’re not really supposed to ask out loud?

Because it does feel like women, especially mothers, are often expected to carry more of everything. More emotional tracking, more anticipating, more remembering, more smoothing over. More of the invisible labor that keeps things from tipping over.

And then, on top of that, we’re told to teach our children how to regulate their emotions when we are barely dealing with our own.

To stay calm while managing everyone else’s emotions. To breathe through the interruptions. To soften our reactions. To be the steady one in the room, even when no one is steadying us.

It makes me wonder what “nervous system regulation” even means in a world that doesn’t particularly encourage nervous system safety in the first place.

We don’t really live in a society that rewards calm. Or protects it. Or even makes much space for it.

We live in a society that runs on urgency. On responsiveness. On being available, efficient, accommodating. Even rest has become something to record and compare. What was your sleep score?

So of course my body feels like this sometimes. Of course it stays slightly braced, slightly on alert, even when nothing is technically wrong.

It’s not completely personal. It’s cumulative.

And still, the advice comes back to the same place. Breathe. Slow down. Take a walk. Touch some grass. HYDRATE.

As if regulation is something you can do alone, quietly, in the margins of a life that keeps asking you to be “on.”

I don’t really have a neat conclusion for that. Just a kind of ongoing curiosity about what we’re asking of ourselves, and whether it’s actually designed to be achievable in the way it’s often presented.

I’ve come to the conclusion that a fully healed nervous may not be possible at this time in my life due to certain personal circumstances that can’t currently be changed. I can’t get that full nervous system overhaul that wellness people with a monthly subscription or a new morning routine promises. More just small, almost invisible moments where my body isn’t gripping quite so hard.

So—more deep breaths. I try to unclench my jaw several times a day because it aches from grinding my teeth at night. I drink more water, because keep hydrating!, they say. I keep going to yoga and I keep writing on this here Substack.

Not because any of it feels perfectly healing, but because, somehow, it works just enough most days.

And honestly, at this point, that’s basically enlightenment.

Also, have you tried box breathing?