My Nervous System is Demanding a Reset
& I'd really rather not stop to grant it one.
There’s a certain kind of tired that no amount of sleep can fix.
A buzzing in the body. A tightening in the chest. A hollowness that lives somewhere behind the ribcage. It's not exhaustion, not really. It's something more feral. Like being stuck between fight and flight and freeze all at once — while trying to make dinner, respond to texts, and pretend everything’s okay.
I’ve been living there lately.
In that in-between space.
The one that pulses with noise, even in silence.
That place where my nervous system has quietly (but completely) short-circuited.
There’s no neat origin story I’m going to share here. Not because it doesn’t exist, but because some stories are still too sacred. Some truths feel safer unnamed.
What I can tell you is this: my body noticed before I did.
I couldn’t sit still without fidgeting. Couldn’t sleep without startling awake. Couldn’t eat without my stomach twisting. My heart pounded over nothing. My breath caught in my throat like it was afraid to go deeper. I told myself it was just stress. Just hormones. Just a rough week. But weeks turned into months, and my body kept waving the white flag.
And finally, I listened.
Because here’s the thing — when your nervous system demands a reset, it’s not being dramatic. It’s being honest.
It’s saying: You’ve carried too much, for too long, without putting any of it down.
It’s saying: The grief, the fear, the trauma, the tension — they’ve woven themselves into your muscles, your breath, your bones…
And they need out.
It’s saying: Survival isn’t supposed to feel like this.
So, I’ve been unlearning the hustle.
The urgency.
The constant push to do more, to be more, to prove more.
I’ve been trying to learn to pause. It’s not very easy.
To sit with the tremble.
To honor the overwhelm.
To let my body speak before I drown it out with logic.
Some days, that looks like excessive attempts at breathwork.
Or sitting crosslegged on the couch with the tappers in my hands and my eyes closed.
Other days, it’s laying on the floor in complete stillness.
It’s choosing softness, even when everything in me wants to fight.
It’s letting people in, even when I want to disappear.
It’s turning the volume down on everything else, so I can hear the tiny whisper inside that says: You are not broken. You are responding. You are healing.
This isn’t a how-to post. It’s not a transformation story. There’s no before and after.
Just a middle.
Just a moment of truth, shared with you — in case your body is buzzing too. In case you also feel like you’re stuck in safe mode, doing your best just to stay upright.
You’re not alone. You’re not making it up. And you don’t have to explain everything to justify needing rest.
Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is stop.
And let ourselves reboot.
Thank you Amanda. What a brave and beautiful post! I know the state you are describing and also the need to wait until the story is word ripe before sharing it. First, we are called to live it, to let the body lead. I wish you well!