A Felt Sense of Safety: Lessons from the Nervous System and the Heart

This is a love note from winter —
a season of soft dark, deep pause, and quiet wisdom.

What began as a class on polyvagal theory became something much more intimate:
a remembering.
A reweaving.
A deeper listening to the wild, whispering language of my body.

This winter, I entered a three-month container:
Applied Polyvagal Theory in Therapeutic Yoga for Trauma Recovery,
taught by the luminous Dr. Arielle Schwartz, with guest teacher Dr. Stephen Porges.

I didn’t take this course out of curiosity — I took it because my body asked me to.

At the time, I felt frozen. Drained. Unreachable in ways I couldn’t explain.
My nervous system was curled into a protective shell, and I didn’t have the energy to push.
So instead, I did something different —
I surrendered to winter. I let myself go bear.
I let the silence speak.

What I received was not loud or flashy. It was slow, steady medicine.
A reorientation toward compassion.
A remembering of how the nervous system carries not just survival — but longing, love, and the ache to belong.

“The body holds the story of our life experiences. Healing asks us to listen to that story with compassion and curiosity.”
— Dr. Arielle Schwartz

Bliss in Ignorance. Power in Awareness.

There is a strange peace in not knowing.
A certain numbness that feels like safety.
Before I understood my nervous system, I thought my shutdown was “just being quiet.”
I thought my distance from my own heart was personality — not protection.

But then I learned about the dorsal vagal state — the body’s deep freeze, where energy recedes and sensation fades.
It wasn’t laziness.
It was my nervous system pressing pause on life to keep me alive.

And when I touched into the ventral vagal state —
that space of connection, presence, and warmth —
I felt something return.
Something I didn’t even know had been missing.
A map back to myself.

There was grief in this knowing.
Grief for the years spent in survival.
Grief for the parts of me I abandoned because I didn’t know they were trying to help.

But also… relief.
Because now I see clearly:
What I thought was “me” was my body asking for safety in the only way it knew how.
And with that understanding came a new softness.
A new kind of power.

The Nervous System is Not Separate from the Heart

This course blended the language of yoga with the science of the nervous system —
reminding me that healing is a union.
Of body and breath.
Of story and sensation.
Of heart and root.

“Safety is not the absence of threat. It is the presence of connection.”
— Dr. Stephen Porges

We practiced titration — taking in healing slowly, like drops of water into dry soil.
We practiced asking: Where am I now?
What do I need?
What’s the kindest thing I can do for myself in this moment?

We practiced arriving.
Again and again.
Because embodiment isn’t a destination — it’s a return.

The Medicine of Touch

As a bodyworker and Zero Balancer, this work moves through me.

In each session, I meet people in that liminal space —
between form and energy, between silence and sensation.

The nervous system is always speaking.
Through tension, through withdrawal, through over-efforting or collapse.
Sometimes it says, “I’m tired.”
Sometimes it says, “I’m scared.”
Sometimes it just says, “Be with me.”

Understanding polyvagal theory has changed the way I touch.
It’s made me slower.
More attuned.
It’s taught me that touch can be a bridge to regulation.
That presence is a healing force.

This work is a co-regulation.
A sacred witnessing.
A remembering that the body already knows how to return — it just needs safety.

Where I'm Headed Next

This spring, I’m continuing this journey by stepping into a 60-hour Somatic Attachment Therapy Certification —
to deepen into the relational field.
To understand how early bonds shape our nervous systems.
To open my heart space wider, for myself and for those I serve.

Because healing happens in relationship.
With self. With others. With the unseen.

This is the path I’m walking —
rooted in nervous system literacy, intuitive listening, and the magic of gentle presence.

I’m not here to fix.
I’m here to hold.
To feel.
To remember.
To return.

Let’s end with a breath.

Inhale.
Exhale.
You’re home. ❤︎‬