I’m sitting here in my cozy office on a rainy June day, listening to the creek and the soft sounds of summer drifting in through the sliding door. Outside, a fully leafed-out cottonwood tree sways gently. Even as I write these words, I feel more spacious inside — a little more room to breathe. My shoulders drop just a bit. I feel lucky to have these moments to pause, to sense into myself, into a deeper sense of well-being, into what else is true.

And then, when I turn my attention to the topic I want to write about — anxiety — I notice that I can approach it a little more easily than when I first sat down. As if, just by acknowledging it gently, I’ve made a bit more space. My capacity to engage with it has grown, even if just a little. These moments of pause often bring a surprising sense of freedom to my day-to-day experience of anxiety — and this is something I both practice myself and often witness in the therapy room.

Anxiety is a word that comes up all the time — in my office, in conversations with friends, and definitely in my own inner dialogue:
I’m anxious about an upcoming family event. I’m anxious about climate change. I’m anxious about my child and how they’ll grow into adulthood. I’m anxious about my health or the health of those I love. I’m anxious about the world, in general.

Tight body. Shallow breath. Racing thoughts. Elevated heart rate. The mental movie of worst-case scenarios begins to roll.

In those moments — for myself and for many of my clients — tracking becomes one of the most valuable tools. Sometimes, in session, we pause and get curious: Where do you feel that in your body? What happens if you stay with that sensation just a little longer? When we give ourselves space to sense the experience of anxiety — not just analyze or talk about it — we often find a bit of relief, a little more perspective, and the ability to respond instead of react.

I am uncertain about most things these days — truly, most things.
But one thing I’ve come to trust is that connecting with the nervous system never lets us down. Even five seconds of slowing down creates a doorway: to feel anxiety as a protective part, not a problem to fix. To recognize that it’s trying to help — trying to keep us from being hurt, overwhelmed, or left behind.

And once we can honor that? There’s often a bit more room to choose. To shift toward a body part that feels steadier. To try a regulating activity. To speak to ourselves with compassion instead of criticism. These are things I do in my own life, and they are practices I get to gently introduce and explore with the people I work with.

From this place — from that truer version of ourselves that emerges when we feel safe and connected — we’re more able to move through the world. To soften. To reconnect. To show up for ourselves and for others.

In this time of deep uncertainty and collective stress, I believe that offering a regulated nervous system first to ourselves, and then to others, is one of the most generous and loving things we can do.

With care,

Laurie