You’ve likely detected these unseen signals if you’ve ever walked into a room and sensed that something was off or wrong with someone else, even if they didn’t explicitly say or do anything to suggest it. You picked up on their nervous system energy and other biochemical and hormonal signals. Or maybe you’ve turned around after feeling someone else’s watchful gaze or attentional presence, only to catch them looking your way, a phenomenon verified by research.⁴⁷ These unseen signals play a role in creating our instinctual feelings or those that we sense without rational cause.

Many of us react to others based on seen signals—that is, what someone else directly says or does. But we’d be able to reduce far more conflict within our relationships if we started paying attention to their unseen signals as well.

Unseen signals have helped us as humans stay safe for eons, enabling our ancient ancestors to communicate danger to others in the same family or group without having to speak, yell, or make visible or audible gestures that could attract the attention of predators or warring parties. In modern times, unseen signals still serve the same purpose, alerting those around us that danger is imminent or nearby when we don’t feel safe enough to communicate that information directly. Remember, our hearts emit powerful unseen electromagnetic signals that can transmit messages of safety, so much so that playing a parent’s recorded heartbeat to their baby can reduce the baby’s crying by 40 to 50 percent.⁴⁸

Though unseen signals are evolutionarily advantageous, they don’t always work in our favor when it comes to our relationships. If our nervous system is stuck in a stress response and our heart is emitting stressful or incoherent energy, our body will communicate stress, tension, and danger to those around us, even if the only threat is our stressed body. Whatever the cause, those around us will receive and absorb our stress signals, causing them to feel physically unsafe and possibly activating their own stress response. Then, as in a game of table tennis, we’ll keep lobbying danger signals back and forth, ratcheting up the collective stress level.

Here’s the thing: love has to feel safe in order for us to be open to receiving it. But the reality for many of us is that the only version of “love” we experienced as children did not consistently feel safe. Because trauma bonds are neurobiologically conditioned and familiar, we continue to seek safety in habitual patterns, regardless of how unsafe they continue to make us and those around us feel. With few of us ever feeling peaceful and at ease, we stay stuck in cycles of stress reactivity, often acting like cornered animals with each other, creating or escalating conflict rather than joining together in truly loving and collaborative relationships.

We can, however, begin to harness the power of co-regulation, the interpersonal and physiological process of using the state of our nervous system to connect and shift the physiological state of another’s nervous system. Simply put, we can use our body’s calm and relaxing energy to help the bodies around us to feel more calm and relaxed in our presence.

Let’s say you’re out for a celebratory dinner with your sibling after you just got a promotion when you make a comment that your meal was cold or bland. Your sibling, who picked the restaurant and has been looking forward to taking you out, suddenly feels that you’re criticizing their choice and, fearing that you will be upset the rest of the dinner, starts to act in ways that could end up ruining the night. They freeze up and become quiet, distracted, and uninterested in their food (a common sign of the freeze or shutdown response is loss of appetite because of our slowed digestion).

Though you may not feel that their reaction is justified or even that big a deal, it doesn’t matter to your body; your nervous system will sense their stress, possibly activating your own stress response. You may go into fight mode and get angry at them for “overreacting,” snapping at them to stop being so sensitive. Or you may go into fawn mode and start asking every several minutes if everything is okay, offering to share your dinner, or bringing up subjects that usually excite them. No matter how your nervous system reacts, your body and theirs will continue to volley stress signals back and forth, increasing the overwhelm for both of you, causing your sibling to shut down and withdraw even more and you to dial up your yelling or appeasing. Pretty soon, dinner is unbearable and your night out together is actually ruined.

Practicing body consciousness and co-regulation could have helped you recognize what was happening in real time and possibly change the outcome of the evening. When you first noticed that you were activated at the restaurant—your jaw started to clench, your breath quickened, or your heart began to pound, indicating a fight-or-flight response—you could have taken a few slow, deep belly breaths, turned your attention to the feeling of your feet supported by the floor under the table, and told yourself that you were safe. You could have reminded yourself that your sibling’s learned perfectionism has nothing to do with you and is a stored trauma response and coping strategy developed as their best attempt to stay safe in your overly critical family environment.

By helping yourself feel physically and emotionally safe, you no longer have to become overwhelmed by your sibling’s stress and can avoid your habitual tendency to snap at them or hound them about what’s wrong. Instead, you change the climate of unseen stress signals reverberating around the table, creating physical and emotional safety for you both. Although there are other verbal and physical ways to co-regulate in such a situation (we’ll talk about these later in the chapter), the work described here is all nonverbal.

Don’s experience offers another example of how co-regulation can work. After beginning to work from home during the covid pandemic, Don adopted a new meditation routine. Every day during his lunch hour, he meditated for ten minutes usually alone in his bedroom. One afternoon, though, he decided to meditate in the living room where his toddler son was playing. For the rest of the day and evening, he noticed that his son was calmer and had fewer tantrums. That was when Don decided to experiment and meditate every afternoon near his son, which produced the same results fairly consistently as the boy’s body absorbed his father’s peaceful, calm nervous system energy. When Don added a second short meditation practice before his son’s bedtime, the boy had an easier time falling asleep. If meditation isn’t part of your routine, we can co-regulate with others when engaging in other forms of regulatory behaviors, like gentle stretching, rhythmic swaying, or joyful dancing with them.

It can be particularly helpful to practice intentional co-regulation whenever there’s conflict or tension in a relationship. One partner can suggest to take a pause from the conversation to create safety by doing breathwork together or holding each other until they’re both relaxed. If hugging feels too intimate or uncomfortable, you can hold hands, sit next to each other in silence, or gaze into each other’s eyes.

For many people, touch and direct eye contact can feel unsafe, so it’s helpful to experiment to find what’s most comfortable for you and your loved ones. We’ll continue to explore more ways to co-regulate with others at the end of this chapter.

CO-REGULATION BEGINS IN CHILDHOOD

As infants and young children, we experienced soothing co-regulation if our parent-figures regularly smiled, gave us loving looks, used calming voices, hugged or cuddled us, and were consistently in a parasympathetic state when they interacted with us. When we became stressed or distressed and our nervous system was activated into fight, flight, or freeze or shutdown mode, our parent-figures (often unknowingly) used the safety of their own nervous system to bring ours back to a calmer, more receptive state.

If we experienced consistent moments of soothing co-regulation, we learned over time that we could trust our parent-figures, predicting and relying on their ability to provide us comfort and support. Physiologically, research shows that infants who receive this attunement and emotional security from their mothers have increased vagal tone for up to five years afterward (mothers who co-regulate with their children have better vagal tone, too)⁴⁹ and young children have lower coristol levels.⁵⁰

Of course, no parent can be present and attuned to us all the time. Studies show that if our parent-figures co-regulated with us for just 30 percent of the occasions when we needed them, we grew up somewhat regulated or securely attached.⁵¹ If they were unable to soothe us during an upsetting experience, initiating a repair process (something we’ll talk more about in the next chapter) after they themselves were regulated increased our chances for a secure attachment. But very few of us received these consistent, soothing co-regulation or needed moments of repair.

Most of us instead grew up without an emotionally attuned parent, and as a result, we never learned to feel truly safe or secure in our body or relationships. Though many of us may have received loving looks and occasional hugs from Mom or Dad, if those looks and hugs went away when there was conflict or other overwhelming emotions in the home, we likely didn’t receive comfort or support when we needed it most. That created fear, confusion, and emotional inconsistency or insecurity for us as children, and, as a result, we never learned how to regulate our own emotions. Today, as adults, we’re likely still emotionally underdeveloped and unable to self-regulate, often reacting to current conflicts, stress, or other emotional upset in the same ways we did as children. Some of us try to avoid conflict and discomfort altogether, sometimes “ghosting” others to flee from any possible upsetting interactions rather than communicating directly. Others sulk and stomp away from conversations when we don’t get our way or fall silent, completely ignoring those around us.

Even the most well-meaning parent-figures who desperately wanted to help us weren’t able to actually soothe us unless their bodies first felt safe to them. When I was young, my mom was rarely able to soothe me because she never felt safe in her pain-ridden body. Instead, I absorbed her dysregulation and cycled through my own nervous system stress responses. Any slight discomfort would immediately throw me into fight-or-flight mode. Without the emotional resilience or tools to cope with this constant physical agitation, I grew up running around the house and “bouncing off the walls,” as my mom described it, trying to discharge my overwhelming energetic discomfort. Looking back, I think that my agitated energy, coupled with the lack of healthy coping tools in my family, was a big reason why I was funneled into countless after-school programs and activities, which were a socially approved, even celebrated outlet for my pent-up energy.

When I wasn’t busy and going seven days a week, as my mom characterized it, I would complain about how bored I was and nag others to play with me. I said it so often that it became a family joke. Sadly for me, none of us knew that for my dysregulated body, “I’m bored” really meant “I’m feeling uncomfortable on my own right now and need to feel connection or support.”

As a child, I could easily erupt in anger and start yelling viciously, usually at my mom over some disappointed expectation, like an imperfection in the ponytail she combed into my hair while I got ready for school. “I hate you!” I would scream. Without a calming presence available, my emotions were often out of control, so much so that one morning I accidentally broke my little toe while storming down the hallway after seeing myself in the mirror.

Sometimes I even acted out in the presence of apparent support. During one softball game, while I was pitching a particularly difficult inning, my mom tried to shout helpful advice from the sidelines where she always sat. Unable to tolerate the discomfort I felt at being seen while underperforming, I shot her a deadly glare from the middle of the pitching mound, not caring who saw me, even though nearly everyone watching the game did. In that moment, I felt so threatened by and ashamed of my visible imperfections, I didn’t care how I appeared to anyone else. I was dysregulated and emotionally pushing my mom away from me to try to manage the overwhelming shame I was feeling.

Over time, my stress and related emotional dysregulation became so consistent that my nervous system eventually shifted into shut-down mode, making it almost impossible for me to connect with or co-regulate with anyone else. By the time I became an adult, I routinely exceeded my body’s internal resources and increased its allostatic load, or the cumulative effects of chronic stress. Unable to relax by myself or co-regulate with others, I rarely slept and suffered chronic digestive issues that only further depleted my physical and emotional resources. As my stress cycles continued and increased in frequency, I relied on my learned childhood coping strategies, distracting myself by staying constantly busy and eventually by using substances to try to manage my feelings and numb my deep-rooted pain.

After becoming aware of my body’s conditioned habits, I started to regulate my nervous system. Gradually, I had to teach myself not only to feel safe within my own body but to feel safe enough to open myself up to co-regulating with others. I practiced consciousness check-ins (see here) by assessing my body’s stress levels throughout the day, especially if I noticed a shift or change in my heart rate, breathing, or muscle tension. I started to recognize when my body was reacting to perceived stress in either my external or internal world, giving me the space and opportunity to make new choices about how I coped with it.

When I noticed that I felt internally agitated, which would normally have caused me to emotionally erupt, say mean things, or distract myself, I paused to check in with my body instead of allowing my autopilot brain to determine my next action. If I noticed myself pushing people away or being emotionally cold or distant with them, I created the space to connect with them instead of isolating myself, if I had the energetic resources. And, if I didn’t have the energetic resources, I directly communicated as much and acknowledged my need for time and space before reconnecting. Whenever I noticed this hyper-independence reflected in my mind, noticing thoughts like I don’t need them or I can and will take care of myself, I paused to remind myself that I do want to be open to receive support and connection from others.

Pausing doesn’t always prevent me from doing what I feel compelled or habituated to do, but it does give me the opportunity to make a different decision. In the moments when I return to old habits, I give myself the gift of grace and loving compassion, reminding myself that every new moment offers me a new opportunity to practice being the love I seek.

HOW TO KNOW WHEN OTHERS ARE ACTIVATED

Fight, flight, freeze or shutdown, and fawn modes produce similar outward behaviors. If you’re able to recognize when you’re in one of these stress responses, you’ll likely also be able to tell when someone else is. In chapter 3, we talked about the stress modes associated with the four stress responses: Eruptor for fight, Distractor for flight, Detacher for freeze or shutdown, and Pleaser for fawn. Anyone can shift into Eruptor, Distractor, Detacher, or Pleaser mode some, most, or all the time, depending on whom they’re with and what’s happening around or within them.

To help you identify which nervous system state others may be in, take some time to answer the following questions. If you believe that a particular response best describes your loved one, consider how often (and when) they react this way, which can provide clues to help you recognize when the person shifts into a threat-based state in the future. If you find it helpful, write down your answers in a separate notebook or journal.

Eruptor mode (fight response). An Eruptor focuses most of their attention outward. They may scream, yell, storm out, throw things, or slam doors. They may also attempt to dominate or control the conversation by overpowering others or the room with the volume or content of their speech. They may appear calm on the outside but be seething on the inside, wavering on the verge of eruption. When you’re around an Eruptor, you may feel scared or as though you’re walking on eggs, waiting for the next outburst.

How often (and when) do I feel as though I might say or do the wrong thing, shifting my loved one’s mood almost instantly?

How often (and when) do I feel as though my loved one’s anger or upset takes up all the emotional energy in the room?

How often (and when) do I hold back on sharing my feelings, beliefs, or opinions for fear of how my loved one will react?

Distractor mode (flight response). A Distractor focuses most of their attention on anything other than difficult or upsetting experiences happening around them. They may be a workaholic, have an endless to-do list, obsessively use technology or watch TV, numb themselves with substances, or keep themselves constantly busy. Sometimes, a Distractor is a Super Mom, Super Boss, or Super Partner—the one who keeps everything running but is otherwise emotionally absent. When you’re around a Distractor, you may feel disconnected or ignored (unless you’re actively engaged in the same distraction, e.g., work, alcohol, chores, and so on).

How often (and when) does my loved one tend to be busy, going from one thing to the next?

How often (and when) do I want to connect with my loved one but end up feeling a lack of attention or presence from them when we’re together?

How often (and when) does my loved one spend their free time playing video games, scrolling on social media, or focusing on another activity that keeps their attention glued to an external source and away from our interactions?

Detacher mode (freeze or shutdown response). A Detacher focuses most of their attention inward. They’re not actively erupting or distracting; instead, they don’t appear to be feeling or be connected to much of anything. Though the response can be difficult to identify since a Detacher is often physically present and can even appear to be actively engaged, they’re emotionally empty, distant, or aloof. When you’re around a Detacher, you may feel distant or shut out, no matter what you do or say and may also feel consistently rejected when you attempt to emotionally connect.

How often (and when) do I find myself pleading for my loved one to tell me what they’re thinking or feeling?

How often (and when) do I feel emotionally disconnected from or shut out by my loved one?

How often (and when) do I feel rejected or criticized when sharing new interests or experiences with my loved one?

Pleaser mode (fawn response). A Pleaser focuses most of their attention on trying to make others happy. They’re always anticipating what someone might want, attempting to meet others’ needs, showing up in service of others, or actively avoiding conflict. A Pleaser doesn’t often know or say what they want and remains deferential to other people’s opinions. When you’re around a Pleaser, you may feel overwhelmed, emotionally suffocated, or resentful.

How often (and when) do I witness my loved one doing things because their family or friends are telling them they need to do so?

How often (and when) does my loved one come to me to seek something (validation, emotional support, soothing contact), and how often do I feel comfortable or safe seeking the same from my loved one?

How often (and when) do I witness that my loved one says or does something in order to keep the peace or keep other people happy, often resulting in more conflict in the long run?

Being able to notice when our loved ones are dysregulated can help us bring them back to safety by using the co-regulation tools below. The practice can also help us depersonalize their behaviors, knowing that their reactions are a reflection of their felt lack of safety rather than a reaction to us.

LEARNING TO CO-REGULATE

Just because we didn’t experience consistently soothing co-regulation as children doesn’t mean we can’t learn to practice it as adults. To start, it’s helpful to know when our nervous system is dysregulated. If we don’t feel safe, we won’t be able to help anyone else feel safe, no matter what we do. Instead, we’ll have the opposite effect, sending them messages of stress and danger, whether through unseen signals or seen ones, like angry looks or hurtful or passive-aggressive comments.

When we recognize that our nervous system is activated, we can help our loved ones feel safe by removing ourselves from their presence. If we have to or want to be around them, we can make a conscious effort to bring our nervous system back to safety by practicing the self-soothing techniques covered in earlier chapters, including intentional breathing, grounding, and reminding ourselves that their behavior may be based in their past trauma, not present reality. We can also, of course, always ask them to help us co-regulate if they are grounded and safe in their own body.

As we continue to regulate our own nervous systems, we’ll become less likely to get stuck in a stress response. Like we’ve already explored, we can begin by prioritizing nutrient-rich foods while limiting inflammatory ones; moving our body regularly in ways that nourish us; getting enough good-quality sleep; increasing our capacity to tolerate physical and emotional discomfort; witnessing our ego stories of unworthiness; and connecting with our heart whenever possible. These choices help increase our stress resiliency, giving us the ability to tolerate a greater degree of upsetting or uncomfortable experiences without becoming overly activated and reactive or distracting from and avoiding them entirely. The more stress we can learn to tolerate, the less likely we are to project our anger or blame onto others, feel ashamed of our reactions, or suppress our Self expression.