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.
In my own life, I had to learn how to tolerate the fear and discomfort I felt when I was physically distant or perceived myself to be emotionally distant from a loved one, especially in my romantic relationships. If I sensed a break in my connection to a partner or perceived that they were upset with me, I assumed I was likely to blame, a presumption that caused my body to tense up and my ego story of how unconsidered I was to flood my mind. Physically and emotionally, I was taken back to the young girl who had been emotionally abandoned by her mother. Without the words to describe the memory, my body enacted my deep pain in uncomfortable embodied sensations and behavioral reactions.
As I became a conscious witness to these sensations and reactions, I started to teach myself that not all distance in relationships is bad. In fact, some distance is necessary to create relational balance. Every human being needs time and space in solitude away from others to recharge and replenish their individual energy stores, even if only for a few moments at a time.
Starved for emotional connection, I noticed a related pattern of forcing myself to be receptive to others whenever they were available for or desiring connection and shaming myself for the moments when I didn’t feel open or available, for whatever reason. I am now learning to allow myself these moments of desired space to enjoy being in my own presence by listening to calming music through headphones, driving myself to the lake for a few hours, or even taking a solo staycation at a nearby hotel. I’m learning ways that I can support myself emotionally, too, even if it’s just by going on a walk or taking a bath when I feel internal agitation (those moments when I’d proclaim “I’m bored” from years ago) instead of looking to others to blame or expecting them to help me feel better. I can now see these moments for what they are, an indicator that I may need some time alone to soothe and reconnect with myself before I can more fully connect with those around me.
Soothing ourselves, or finding our way back to safety, whether alone or by co-regulating with another person, is foundational to the embodiment of true compassion. Whenever we feel unsafe or threatened, we become hyper-focused on ourselves, seeing experiences only from our own perspective and as they relate to our immediate survival. As a result, we can end up acting in ways that hurt those around us. The same is true of those we love, and if we can learn to have grace and compassion for ourselves, we can extend it even to those that have hurt us. The harmful things they reactively do when they feel scared, stressed, overwhelmed, or angry don’t reflect who they truly are, either.
Compassion is an embodied response that’s dependent on nervous system regulation and safety. To feel true compassion for others and to want to support them in their suffering, we must first be able to feel or attune to their suffering. To emotionally attune to others, we have to be able to climb out of our own body’s survival state so that we can see the experience from their perspective. We can do this only when our body feels safe enough to allow our mind to shift its attentional focus away from our own experiences. Extending compassion and patience to ourselves while we develop this new practice of embodying safety is especially important for those of us for whom safety itself is an unfamiliar experience. As with anything unfamiliar, both our body and our mind will try to resist these new experiences and attempt to return to their familiar, more stressful habits as we venture into the threatening unknown.
Embodying safety and compassion is particularly helpful in moments of active stress or conflict. If we can stay calm and grounded within our body, we’re better able to depersonalize other’s stress reaction, understanding it as the threat-based adaptation it is. As a result, we’re less likely to scream back, force them to connect, or shake them out of it, knowing that these types of behaviors will likely only escalate their internal stress level and we’ll be more likely to respond compassionately.
How can we create safety when someone else is upset? We have three options when we know someone’s nervous system is activated in a stress response:
We can hold space for them while consciously reframing our experience of the situation so that we don’t take their mood, words, or reactions personally. Understanding they’re in a stress response often allows us to remain compassionate and responsive to their pain. We’re less likely to become reactive ourselves and more likely to be able to join them in their emotional experience.
We can remove ourselves from their presence until they’re regulated. This is often the best approach for someone in Eruptor mode. To remove yourself without being condescending or dismissive, you can say, “I need to take a break from this interaction or experience right now.” Though doing so may further aggravate someone in Eruptor mode, especially if they’re already activated, it’s critical to communicate to them that maintaining your own safety is a priority for you. And remember, if you ever begin to feel that you’re in physical, emotional, or sexual danger, it is important to call emergency services.
We can co-regulate using the techniques already explored and those that you’ll learn more about now.
