Nervous System Lens
I recently shared a post about being labelled “furthest from the labour market” — a term that, like many labels, carried more weight than just the words themselves.
At the time, I didn’t realise how deeply that label would trigger core beliefs about not being good enough. It’s not just the label, but the emotional charge it brings — it’s an echo of a much older story: You’re not good enough. Never were. Never will be.
What I’ve come to understand is that when your nervous system is stuck in survival mode, your inner critic becomes louder, sharper, and more destructive. From a dorsal vagal state, that critic morphs into something much more sinister: an inner terrorist. It’s relentless — you’re worthless, you’ll never make it, you don’t belong. In this state, the evidence of inadequacy seems to appear everywhere, confirming everything the inner critic says.
But here’s the crucial point — none of this is actually about being “disordered”. It’s about being dysregulated.
When we’re able to shift into a ventral vagal state — a place of calm connection and balance — those destructive inner narratives fade away. What takes their place is a more balanced, compassionate system. Instead of a voice of harsh judgment, I now have an internal compass that calmly assesses every perspective, resolving conflict swiftly and peacefully. In this state, I no longer carry the weight of “not good enough” — I understand that I am enough, and always have been.
This shift isn’t a magic fix. It’s a process of self-regulation and nervous system awareness. It’s about understanding that we aren’t defined by labels or the voices of our inner critics. We are not broken. We are not “furthest from the labour market.” We are simply human, with our own unique needs for safety, connection, and healing.
When we begin to understand and regulate our nervous system, we unlock a profound ability to move beyond those old, destructive stories. We learn that we are capable of far more than we thought, and that the labels we once believed define us don’t have the power to hold us back anymore.
Understanding the different states of the nervous system can significantly impact how we interpret and respond to behaviour- particularly children’s behaviour, especially in settings like schools or during conflict resolution.
When a child is in a ventral vagal state, they are calm, connected, and able to engage in problem-solving. In this state, they can process both positive and negative emotions in a balanced way, which allows them to navigate conflicts with a sense of equilibrium. They’re more open to listening, empathizing, and resolving disputes through communication.
However, when a child shifts into a sympathetic state — the fight-or-flight response — their behaviour often becomes reactive. In this state, they may lash out (fight) or withdraw (flee), unable to engage in rational problem-solving. Their thinking becomes clouded by the urgency of the perceived threat, and the ability to calmly resolve conflicts is compromised. In this moment, the focus is survival — protecting themselves from the emotional or physical distress they’re experiencing.
If the child enters a dorsal vagal state, they may appear withdrawn or shut down. This is the “freeze” response, where they feel overwhelmed by the situation and are unable to respond at all. In this state, negative thoughts dominate, and the child may feel hopeless, powerless, or disconnected from the situation or others.
By recognising these states, we can shift our approach. Instead of viewing a child’s behaviour as “bad” or “disruptive,” we can see it as a response to their nervous system being dysregulated. For example, a child acting out in class might not be “misbehaving,” but instead reacting from a sympathetic state where their stress has triggered a fight-or-flight response. Similarly, a child who is shutting down or withdrawing may be overwhelmed and stuck in a dorsal state.
This understanding allows us to offer more effective and compassionate responses. In conflict resolution, for example, instead of trying to engage when a child is in a sympathetic or dorsal state, we can first help them regulate their nervous system, bring them back to a ventral state, and then address the issue calmly and collaboratively.
When we support children in regulating their nervous system, we can guide them toward healthier responses, fostering better emotional regulation, conflict resolution skills, and ultimately creating a safer, more understanding environment for them to thrive.
In short, the ventral vagal state allows for balance, where both positive and negative can be processed, while the sympathetic state focuses on reacting to perceived threats, and the dorsal vagal state reflects the collapse or shutdown when overwhelmed by negative emotions.
Plot Twist: The Secret of the Hypervigilant Brain
“A brain shaped by years of hypervigilance is finely tuned for survival.
Imagine the power of that same brain when it’s re-trained to scan for connection, opportunity, growth and for good.
The Reticular Activating System doesn’t lose its focus—it simply learns to trust.
When we begin to trust ourselves, our brain becomes our greatest ally.”
— Deborah Crozier
The Reticular Activating System (RAS), located within the brainstem, is a key neurological network responsible for filtering sensory information and directing attention. It determines which environmental stimuli are brought into conscious awareness, significantly influencing what we notice and respond to. In the context of trauma, the RAS becomes attuned to threat and danger, perpetuating a state of hypervigilance. However, post-healing, that same system can be recalibrated to seek cues of safety, connection, and opportunity—a shift supported by both neurobiology and therapeutic practice.
Trauma dysregulates the nervous system, activating the amygdala and sensitising the RAS to detect and prioritise threat. This results in a persistent state of alertness, where perceived danger is filtered through and amplified, often regardless of actual risk.
As noted by van der Kolk (2014), trauma leaves a physiological imprint on the nervous system, particularly affecting areas involved in threat detection and arousal. The RAS, in collaboration with the amygdala and brainstem structures, plays a key role in maintaining hypervigilance.
Because trauma is held in the body, effective healing often begins with bottom-up approaches that address dysregulation at the level of the autonomic nervous system. Somatic interventions (e.g., grounding, breathwork, EFT, movement, sensory awareness) help to regulate physiological arousal, re-establish safety in the body, and quiet the overactive threat detection systems—including the RAS.
Porges’ Polyvagal Theory and the work of practitioners such as Peter Levine (Somatic Experiencing) and Bessel van der Kolk emphasise that bottom-up regulation is foundational in trauma recovery. These methods support the recalibration of the nervous system, gradually shifting the RAS away from a constant threat focus.
Once a level of bodily safety and regulation is achieved, top-down approaches—such as Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT), narrative processing, and cognitive reframing—can become more effective. These interventions allow individuals to reinterpret past experiences, challenge unhelpful beliefs, and develop new cognitive patterns. As beliefs shift and attention is retrained, the RAS adjusts to prioritise different kinds of input, including cues of opportunity, safety, and connection.
Research in neuroplasticity shows that intentional cognitive focus alters neural pathways. Mindfulness-based practices, CBT, and narrative therapies have all demonstrated measurable changes in attentional bias, suggesting that the brain—including the RAS—can be reoriented over time (Siegel, 2012; Davidson & McEwen, 2012).
In conclusion, The Reticular Activating System, once conditioned by trauma to scan for threat, can—through an integrated healing process—be repurposed to identify and prioritise opportunity, connection, and hope. This transformation is supported through a combination of bottom-up (somatic) and top-down (cognitive) approaches that honour the body’s role in storing trauma and the mind’s capacity for reframing and growth. The interplay of these modalities not only restores regulation but also reshapes perception—opening the door for a more empowered and engaged life.
The hypervigilant brain becomes exceptionally finely tuned after years—sometimes decades—of scanning for threat. This constant state of alert trains the Reticular Activating System (RAS) to filter for danger with remarkable precision, often without conscious awareness.
But imagine the potential of that same brain, once healing has taken place—when the nervous system is regulated, and trust in self is restored.
A brain that once scanned for threat can become a brain that scans for opportunity, connection, and meaning.
The RAS doesn’t just protect—it focuses. And once re-trained, it becomes a powerful ally, helping individuals tune in to what truly matters: relationships, purpose, creativity, and safety.
When we begin to trust ourselves again, the brain doesn’t lose its vigilance—it redirects it. The same system that once kept us alive can now help us thrive.
#ReconnectAndRegulate
#STAND #ParentsAsProtectors
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"We Are Energy First"
Humans are often taught to see themselves as solid, physical beings - but at our core, we are made of energy. Every cell in our body carries an electrical charge. Our hearts generate an electromagnetic field. Our brains communicate through electrical impulses. This isn't just spiritual language - it's biology and physics.
Now, where this becomes especially important is in our nervous system.
Our nervous system is like our body's electrical wiring. It doesn't just respond to the world - it constantly reads the environment for safety or threat. That's energy - it's vibration, its sensation, its the subtle shifts we can't always name, but we can definitely feel.
Have you ever walked into a room and sensed the something was off, even though no one said a word?
That's your nervous system picking up on the energy - on tone, posture, expression, tension. We feel each other energetically before anything logical happens.
This isn't just a feeling - it's Neuroception.
Neuroception is the nervous systems way of scanning for cues of safety or danger, without us even realising it. It's how we "just know" when something feels off. Its how children sense tension in a room before anyone speaks. It's why someone's words can say "I'm fine" but their energy says otherwise - and we feel the truth, not the script. You may have heard me say many times before - when we are connected, we Feel the truth viscerally. - that's Neuroception.
This is why healing after trauma can't happen through words alone. The nervous system doesn't speak in language - it speaks in energy, tone, expression and felt safety.
To truly reconnect and regulate, we have to work with our energy system - by becoming more aware of our won nervous system state - the work our attendees have been doing in our reconnect and regulate sessions - getting into the daily habit of measuring SUD levels, recognising when we're in survival modem and by gently returning to a sense of safety.
Because real connection doesn't come from what we say, it comes from the energy we hold.
The Lens that Shapes our Nervous Systems
“We can only see through the lens of our experience.”
– And that lens is shaped by the nervous system.
When someone has predominantly lived in a ventral vagal state — a state of nervous system regulation characterised by safety, connection, and a sense of ease in the world — their worldview is shaped by consistent access to internal and external resources. From this state, logic, reason, and relational clarity come naturally. However, this baseline of safety can make it difficult to truly grasp the inner landscape of someone who has spent significant time in a dorsal vagal state — where the nervous system has shifted into shutdown, disconnection, and a sense of helplessness as a protective response to overwhelm or threat.
Those who have not experienced this dorsal collapse often unconsciously assume that everyone has access to the same cognitive and emotional capacities they do, even during distress. This leads to a kind of perspective bias, where the belief in their own “rational” view becomes fixed, because they have never known the felt reality of trauma shutting down those very faculties. In contrast, individuals who have experienced dorsal states often doubt themselves — not because they are irrational, but because survival responses inhibit full access to logic, confidence, and voice. This internal struggle can make it difficult to assert or even clarify their perspective in the presence of someone firmly rooted in ventral.
What’s often overlooked is that many people in positions of authority — in services, leadership, and systems — have been able to access those roles because their nervous system allowed them to engage in education, employment, and relationships. That access is a privilege of ventral regulation.
This is precisely why curiosity is essential. Without curiosity, what happens instead is dismissal: the person in ventral may confidently reject the views of someone in dorsal, not out of malice, but out of an inability to feel into what the other is navigating. Dismissal then deepens the shutdown response for the person already struggling, reinforcing their self-doubt and widening the disconnect.
True understanding comes from recognising that lived nervous system states shape how we process, perceive, and respond to the world. If we want to build bridges between different experiences, especially in trauma-informed spaces, we must prioritise openness over certainty, and curiosity over correctness.
Instead of disagreeing or correcting, we can ask: “What shaped your view?”
Because until we’ve lived in another’s nervous system, we are only ever seeing through our own lens.
You’re Not The Problem
“You’re not broken.
You’re not failing.
Your nervous system is doing exactly what it was designed to do to keep you safe.”
When trauma happens and escape isn’t possible, the body doesn’t just move on—it adapts for survival. This is the dorsal vagal response, a deep shutdown state that can leave you feeling numb, disconnected, exhausted, or stuck.
For years, I didn’t understand what was happening to me. Every few months, my body would crash. I’d struggle to get out of bed, completely drained—physically, emotionally, mentally. Everything felt heavy, like wading through treacle just to motivate myself.
A black cloud would loom overhead, a constant presence that coloured everything in misery. My thoughts would spiral: What’s the point? Nobody cares. I don’t know why I bother. I felt weak, pathetic, like I was failing. But I wasn’t failing—my body was in survival mode.
When you’ve lived in that state often enough, you start to recognise it in others. I can spot it instantly—the exhaustion in their body language, the posture that slumps in defeat, the words that speak of despair. It’s in the deadness of their eyes—a sign of being completely disconnected from the present moment. They are stuck in the purgatory of dorsal shutdown, where everything feels like it’s just too much to move forward or escape from. Dorsal is the place where life ends. It’s the point where we’ve been so overwhelmed that the system is frozen, unable to go on.
This shutdown response isn’t just personal—it plays out in so many forms of trauma. When a child can’t escape an abusive home, they disconnect to survive. When someone is trapped in poverty, addiction, or domestic violence, the nervous system collapses under the weight of survival.
It happens in:
• Childhood abuse – when a child can’t leave an unsafe home, they disconnect to survive.
• Cycles of poverty – when no matter how hard someone tries, the weight of survival becomes too much.
• Addiction – often a response to numb the pain of unresolved trauma.
• Crime & incarceration – when the nervous system has adapted to survival in an unsafe world - these are just a few examples..
And when mothers are separated from their children, the grief, helplessness, and loss of control can send them into deep dorsal shutdown—numbness, despair, and self-destruction.
It’s difficult to understand the dorsal vagal perspective when you’re in a ventral vagus state, where things feel more connected and regulated. From the outside, what might look like attention-seeking behaviour is often connection-seeking—a desperate attempt to feel safe again. The challenge is, we often don’t have the words to articulate this need. For a long time, I didn’t either.
This is why I became a person-centred therapist—because the core conditions of empathy, unconditional positive regard, and congruence deeply aligned with my own experience of needing a space that felt safe and understanding. It’s these conditions that allow people to heal and reconnect with themselves—something I’ve experienced firsthand.
I’m also sensitive to energy—especially where someone is in their nervous system. When the energy changes, I can feel it. This sensitivity helps me understand where a person is in their journey and meet them exactly where they are, offering support that feels safe and validating.
Understanding dorsal changes everything. It means that what looks like laziness, lack of motivation, or emotional detachment isn’t a character flaw—it’s your body’s way of protecting you. You are not the problem. Your nervous system has been in survival mode.
#TraumaInformed #ReconnectAndRegulate #MentalHealth #SelfCompassion
PTSR
For years, I was trapped in a cycle I couldn’t escape. Not because I didn’t want to, but because my nervous system had locked me in survival mode.
Why? Because an abuser tried to end my life & almost succeeded.
I couldn’t get away. My body did what it was designed to do—it tried to fight, then to flee, but when neither was possible, it shut down. I lost consciousness. My body played possum.
When I came to—thanks to my attacker being disturbed—everything felt numb. I was frozen in shock, unable to move or process what had happened. My nervous system had activated its final survival strategy: dorsal collapse. I was heavy, tearful, but emotionless. Just existing.
Then, after a couple of weeks, something shifted. My body began to thaw, and the last thing I had been doing before the attack returned with force—I was running.
Only now, I wasn’t waiting for an attack to begin. My hypervigilant brain had locked onto the external world, scanning for danger in everything. Every disagreement, every frown, every sign of disapproval became a threat.
My brain filled in the blanks:
“Don’t wait to be killed, Deborah. That person looks angry—RUN.”
Different faces. Different places. But the same response. I ran. And I kept running.
This is what trauma does when the body doesn’t get to complete its natural cycle of fight or flight. When survival energy gets trapped, it doesn’t just disappear—it waits. It adapts. It finds new ways to keep you ‘safe,’ even when the threat is no longer there.
I can assure you that on my journey from then and for years, I had symptoms consistent with what many label as disorders. But with understanding trauma and doing the work, I have no ‘disorders,’ no symptoms I can’t manage. I wasn’t disordered—I was stuck in survival mode.
But living in a constant state of hypervigilance isn’t living at all.
I consider the behaviour of the perpetrator to be disordered and the systems that let him away with it - not the victim. That individual was willing to end the life of a young mother due to his own trauma. People who behave in this way, projecting their rage onto others, need support to heal. These are outer expressions of inner turmoil.
trauma. People who behave in this way, projecting their rage onto others, need support to heal. These are outer expressions of inner turmoil.
Recovery isn’t just about understanding trauma—it’s about rewiring the nervous system, teaching the body that it is safe to stay. And that’s the hardest, most important work of all.
#Trauma #PTSR #Hypervigilance #SurvivalResponse #HealingJourney
We Need to Stop ...
We Need to Stop Tiptoeing Around This Conversation…
I have delivered the STAND Grooming Prevention workshop to countless child protection charities and safeguarding teams over the years. Every time, the feedback is the same:
- Can you see how STAND contributes to grooming prevention? – YES
- Can you see how STAND contributes to the prevention of child abuse? – YES
- Can you see how STAND protects children and families? – YES
- Will you recommend this workshop to others? – Don’t know. Unsure.
Why?
“It might upset people.”
“It could cause distress.”
But when I ask how?, there’s no real answer.
STAND doesn’t even mention child abuse directly. There’s nothing emotionally manipulative or graphic about it. It’s simply the truth—and that is what makes people uncomfortable
The Hard Truth is – Children Are Already Distressed
In my experience, the conversation around child protection is still wrapped in layers of hesitation—concerned about upsetting people, maintaining balance, and not causing distress.
But here’s what so many fail to see:
Children are already distressed and they are already dealing with the consequences of adult discomfort.
They are already carrying the weight of silence, dismissal, and unspoken fears.
The fear of making people uncomfortable cannot come at the cost of children’s safety.
If we keep softening the message, avoiding the raw reality of what happens when abuse is ignored, minimized, or mishandled, then we are failing the very people we claim to protect.
It is not alarmist to tell the truth. It is necessary.
And if we are too afraid to have these conversations, how can we expect children to speak up when something is wrong?
One of the biggest challenges parents face—without even realising it—is emotional disconnection.
When we haven’t processed our own pain, when we’ve been taught to suppress difficult emotions, we struggle to hold space for others—especially our children.
A child who senses that their emotions overwhelm a parent will stop bringing them.
A child who feels their distress is too much will learn to silence themselves.
A child who isn’t met with presence will find someone else to listen—and that someone isn’t always safe.
If we want to protect our children, we must first learn to recognise and hold our own emotions.
Because when we understand our own emotional responses, we can:
• Recognise when something doesn’t feel right.
• Trust our instincts instead of dismissing them.
• Respond to our children’s emotions instead of reacting from our own fear.
This is how we break the cycle of silence.
It’s Time to Take a Stand!
And this is exactly why STAND: Parents as Protectors exists—to give parents the tools they need to reconnect and regulate, to recognise the invisible tactics used by perpetrators, to slow down and trust their instincts, and to create a culture where children feel safe to speak.
If we truly care about child safety, we have to stop prioritising adult discomfort over children’s protection.
The question isn’t whether this conversation is difficult. It is.
The question is: Are we willing to have it anyway?
Join us for the Free STAND: Parents as Protectors online workshop.
Secure Your Place -by Signing up now. Because waiting until it’s too late isn’t an option. Starts May 2025
Flow: The Joy of Being in Alignment
Years ago, while waiting in a dentist’s office, I read an article that stayed with me. It told the story of a high-profile marketing executive who, burned out and exhausted, retreated to New Zealand in search of work-life balance. When one of the indigenous staff members picked him up, he asked what had brought him there.
“I need to find some work-life balance,” the executive admitted.
The retreat worker smiled knowingly. “There is no such thing as work-life balance,” he said. “Only flow.”
At the time, I was struggling with the same idea—trying to balance the demands of being a single-parent family and a full time employee while feeling like I was playing a role at work, zipping up a clown suit each day and acting the part. I could sustain it for 10 -12 weeks tops - at a time - before exhaustion hit. I felt like a ridiculous failure, a problem- and I was treated as such.
Tearful, drained, and barely holding it together, I was once pulled into a manager’s office and told to “pull myself together,” “give my head a shake,” and “stop wearing my heart on my sleeve.” In other words—suppress, pretend, and push through.
To me, work-life balance felt like holding two magnets together—the closer I got to one, the more the other repelled me. Work demanded performance, resilience, and detachment, while life longed for presence, emotion, and authenticity. No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t click together.
Mornings were the hardest. Dragging myself out of bed felt like wading through treacle, every step heavy with resistance. I’d push myself through the motions, exhausted before the day even began. Love Inc.’s ‘You’re a Superstar’ would be blasting from my CD player on the way to work, a desperate attempt to drag my nervous system out of collapse—forcing myself into some kind of functioning state.
But what if balance isn’t something we achieve—what if it’s something we become when we’re in flow?
“You don’t have to push the river; it flows by itself.” – Unknown
Flow isn’t about measuring time or effort to create a perfect balance. It’s about alignment—where what we do, how we feel, and who we are move together effortlessly, like a river finding its course.
We don’t find balance by splitting time between work and life like a mathematical equation. We find balance through purpose—doing what we love, what excites us, what makes us want to get up in the morning. The kind of work (paid or unpaid) that makes us feel alive, rather than drained.
Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi describes flow as a state of deep immersion—where time disappears, effort feels effortless, and we’re energized rather than exhausted. It’s the feeling of being fully alive in the present moment.
Flow isn’t something we force. It happens when we stop resisting ourselves—when we stop doing what we think we should do and start following what truly lights us up.
- Instead of forcing ourselves to perform, we align with what feels true.
- Instead of separating “work” and “life” like opposing forces, we integrate them naturally.
- Instead of suppressing emotions, we acknowledge them and move with them rather than against them.
- Instead of chasing balance, we follow purpose—and balance finds us.
When we stop fighting ourselves, life flows more easily. Energy returns. Joy sneaks back in. And we realise that balance was never the goal—harmony was.
“Balance is not something you find, it’s something you create.” — Jana Kingsford
Why Disorder?
Why Disorder?
Why Not Response?
Why Not Adaptation?
For so many who have experienced complex trauma, the word disorder can feel like a label they’ve carried since childhood. “There’s something wrong with you,” the world tells us, and after hearing it long enough, it becomes easier to accept.
But what if that’s not the truth? What if your brain isn’t broken or malfunctioning but brilliantly adapted to ensure your survival in a world that felt unsafe?
The RAS (reticular activating system) is the part of your brain that fuels hypervigilance—constantly scanning for danger to protect you. But did you know that this same part of the brain is also responsible for seeking opportunity? Yes, the very system that alerts you to potential threats is also wired to seek out possibility, potential, and growth.
Through processing and healing, you can begin to choose how you want to use this incredible brain. What if the skills you’ve developed through survival—skills like awareness, adaptability, and strength—are the building blocks for evolving into someone with an evolved, skilled set of tools for life?
You’ve adapted to survive; now you can adapt to thrive. The power is in your hands. Healing isn’t about “fixing” something broken, but about unlearning old narratives and embracing the wisdom you’ve gained along the way.
Your brain isn’t the problem. It’s been your ally. And with healing, you get to reclaim your power, tap into your potential, and rewrite your story.