This week, as I continue easing into #MyPeacein50, I’m turning toward something many of us tend to rush past — the moment our bodies start screaming at us.

Last week, my husband and I took a bucket list trip to Bali and Singapore. It was incredible — serene temples, stunning landscapes, and food that made me feel like I’d stepped into both Crazy Rich Asians and Eat, Pray, Love.

But what the movies don’t show are the overcrowded airports — loud, chaotic, overstimulating. If you know my husband, you know this is his worst nightmare: noise, crowds, people bumping into him. Add in airport issues back in San Diego that nearly cost us our first flight, and it was a perfect storm. His nervous system went into overdrive — reactive, frustrated, easily irritated. And mine followed suit — frozen, anxious, desperate to smooth it all over. We were both completely activated and exhausted.

In moments like that, my instinct is to shut it down and “get through it.” I rush past my body’s signals, telling myself I’ll deal with them later — when I’m in the villa in Bali or the hawker market in Singapore, everything will feel better. And for better or worse, that’s what I did.

But this week, I want to try something different when these types of stressful situations emerge. Instead of overriding my body, I’m going to listen — in real time.
Not later. Not after the crash. But right in the middle of the day — during emails, between meetings, while reheating leftovers, even standing at the kitchen sink.

Here’s what I’ll practice:

• Ask: Where am I right now? (Emotionally, physically, energetically.)
• Keep a few sticky notes around the house with phrases like:
• “You can pause here.”
• “Your body is speaking — are you listening?”
• Place my hand on my heart and take a conscious breath.
• And when I feel tension, urgency, shutdown, or anxiety? Say softly: “Thank you for trying to protect me.”

This isn’t a reset button. It’s a relationship. I don’t expect it to be perfect. I do hope it helps me shift from reacting to responding — with compassion. And maybe, by the end of this week, I’ll feel a little more at home in my body.

💬 Personal Reflection

There’s a rhythm I know all too well: wake up with a mental to-do list already running. Move through meetings and conversations while holding tension in my jaw. Skip lunch. Power through. Say “yes” to one more thing. End the day mentally fried and physically exhausted, unsure how I got here — again.

And then my body says: Enough.

It’s rarely dramatic. Sometimes it’s a dull ache. A racing heart. A blank stare. A sudden detachment from everything I care about. A deep fatigue that rest doesn’t seem to touch.

For years, I met those moments with self-criticism. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just hold it together?

Even as a psychologist, even as someone who teaches nervous system regulation, even as someone who has walked alongside others in healing — I’ve struggled to practice what I preach.

But something is shifting. Slowly.

I’ve been circling back to the work of Peter Levine (affiliate link), and Emily and Amelia Nagoski — whose book Burnout (affiliate link) has lived on my nightstand for years now. Their message continues to land:

Your body is not broken. Your body is brilliant.

So this week, I’m going to say something I’ve never said consistently before — not when I feel great, but when I feel off-center: “Thank you, body, for trying to protect me.”

This is how we change the story. Not by pretending everything is okay, but by listening to the signals we used to ignore. These moments aren’t just interruptions. They’re invitations.

🧠 The Science Behind It

Let’s ground this in the nervous system. When we experience stress — and that includes emotional, relational, or sensory stress — our autonomic nervous system goes to work. It’s fast, automatic, and not under our conscious control.

These protective responses show up as:

• Fight – hypervigilance, irritability, control
• Flight – anxiety, overworking, panic
• Freeze – shutdown, dissociation, fatigue
• Fawn – people-pleasing, over-accommodation, disappearing your own needs

These responses are survival strategies, not character flaws. They’re shaped by history, trauma, and cultural conditioning. They helped us navigate childhoods, workplaces, relationships — often without the tools we needed to feel safe in our own skin.

My default is usually a flight/fawn combo: move fast, stay productive, make everyone else comfortable. On the outside, I look calm and competent. Inside? I’m often managing a whole cascade of inner tension.

The brilliance of these patterns is that they worked. The limitation is that they can keep us locked in urgency — even when we’re safe.

The Nagoski sisters describe stress as a tunnel with a beginning, middle, and end. If we don’t complete the stress cycle — through movement, breath, connection, or expression — our bodies stay in a reactive loop.

Which brings me back to this week’s practice. I’m not trying to avoid stress. I’m trying to complete the cycle — to signal safety, even in small moments.

And I’m remembering that awareness is the first step. The more I notice what’s happening inside me, the more options I have. The more I practice pausing, the more I create space to choose how I want to respond. That’s regulation. That’s resilience.

🌀 Looking Back — and Ahead

Last week, I began this challenge with a simple invitation: How might I begin — with kindness?

I wrote about the power of soft starts, the trap of urgency, and the courage it takes to be gentle in a world that pushes for more. That practice helped me pause — to slow the internal pressure and give myself permission to begin without judgment.

This week, I want to build on that. Instead of just pausing, I want to listen. To tune in. To notice what I normally brush past. To ask myself — with curiosity, not critique — “Where am I right now?”

Next week, I’ll be exploring a more active practice: Walking as a way back into the body.

Walking has been one of my most consistent tools for emotional regulation. It helps me metabolize conversations, reset after screen time, and shift out of stress. But I’ve noticed that it’s not just the walking — it’s the intention behind it.

Am I walking to achieve something? Or to reconnect? Am I pushing my pace, or moving with awareness?

That’s where this is heading. But before I move, I want to listen. Because listening is movement — just on the inside.

💭 Reflection Prompts

If you’d like to try this practice with me, here are some questions to gently hold:

• What are the early signs that I’m entering a stress response?
• What is my default pattern — fight, flight, freeze, or fawn?
• When do I notice my body trying to get my attention?
• What happens when I respond with gratitude instead of critique?
• What would it look like to thank my body in the moment, not just after a breakdown?

You can jot these down, walk with them, or let them hang out in the background of your week. No pressure to answer perfectly — just stay curious.

💡 Real-Life Examples I’m Watching For

To make this real, here are a few situations I’m watching for this week:

• During a tough conversation: place a hand on my chest and breathe.
• When I feel tension in my jaw: ask what I’m holding back.
• When I feel the urge to push through: step outside for 2 minutes.
• When I space out on my phone: notice what I might be avoiding.
• When I feel like I “should” be fine: thank my body for trying to cope.

These aren’t solutions. They’re touchpoints — gentle reminders that my nervous system isn’t the enemy. It’s a compass. It’s doing its best to protect me.

🌍 This Practice Isn’t Just Personal — It’s Cultural

I want to name something here: this isn’t just about individual healing.

So many of us are trying to self-regulate in systems that are inherently dysregulating:

• Workplaces that reward burnout.
• Families that avoid emotion.
• Schools that silence instinct.
• Policies that punish rest.
• Cultures that uplift productivity and ignore pain.

So when you pause… When you check in… When you thank your body instead of pushing it harder… You’re not just caring for yourself.

You’re interrupting a legacy of survival. You’re saying: There is another way. You’re modeling what a trauma-informed culture could look like.

That’s revolutionary.

📆 The Weekly Flow

Here’s what this week looks like in the #MyPeacein50 rhythm:

• Monday → This blog goes live
• Tuesday–Thursday → I’ll share mini reflections, prompts, and quotes on Instagram, LinkedIn, and Facebook
• Friday → I’ll post a short video sharing how the practice went — the real, imperfect process

You’re invited to participate in any way that feels right:

• Quietly follow
• Comment or share using #MyPeacein50
• Download the free Calm Calendar
• Or simply try one breath, one check-in, one thank-you

There’s no right way. There’s just your way.

💌 A Final Word

This week, I’m not aiming to regulate my body. I’m aiming to relate to it.

To say: I see you. I hear you. Thank you for protecting me, even when it feels messy.

Because every time I choose presence over performance, Every time I say thank you instead of “pull it together,” Every time I breathe instead of brace — I’m building trust.

And trust is the foundation of peace.

So, wherever you are this week — in grief, in joy, in chaos, in numbness — I invite you to pause with me. One breath. One question. One gentle “thank you” at a time.

With care,
Lisa

💛 What I’m Loving This Week

• 
  Sound: The quiet hum of my white noise machine (affiliate link) in the background — a subtle signal to my nervous system that it’s okay to settle.
• Practice: Hourly check-ins prompted by the buzz of my Apple Watch. Just one breath and the question: “Where am I, really?” Noticing has become my superpower.
• Tool: Sticky notes around the house with reminders like “You can pause here” and “Your body is speaking.” Tiny nudges that pull me out of autopilot and into awareness.
• Quote: “What if your busyness is actually anxiety in motion?” — from the blog. This one has been echoing in my head all week and gently asking me to slow down.
• Song: “That I Would Be Good” by Alanis Morissette. A quiet anthem of self-acceptance — for the days when your nervous system feels loud and you need a reminder that you’re enough, exactly as you are.

See this link for other resources that I recommend to help protect your peace.