I’m a neuroscience and trauma-informed coach and the founder of Regulated Living. What you’ll find here are the tools, resources, and support I wish I had earlier in my own healing journey.
Hi! I'm Amanda
Episode 156: Spotify | Apple Podcasts | YouTube
View transcript on Buzzsprout
After wrapping up the five-part stress management series, several listeners wrote in with follow-up questions and reflections — and a few of them were too good not to respond to directly. The questions below get at something the frameworks alone can’t fully answer: what do you actually do with this information when you’re living it in a real, complicated life?
This episode responds to three listener messages. Each one reflects something different — a practical question about how to return to something you love, a moment of real change that deserves to be named, and a pattern that a lot of people share but rarely say out loud. The responses are meant to be useful whether or not the specific situation is yours.
“Amanda, could you please provide some examples of reorienting items in our baseline stressors — the majority of mine come from emotional and mindset. For example, I love to teach. Since my anxiety reached a breaking point I cannot commit to teaching anything without spiraling into overwhelm — my mind races and it’s miserable. Followed by so much regret. I would really like to shift this experience so I can return to teaching.”
The most important diagnostic question here isn’t about teaching at all. It’s this: did your anxiety reach a breaking point because of teaching or because of life? Maybe both. But teasing that apart matters considerably, because the answer points in different directions for next steps.
From the stress series: a trigger is a boulder. Something in the present connects to past fear or hurt and creates an immediate, disproportionate reaction. Overflow is the final drop, a small input causes a big reaction because the bucket was already full, not because of what that input means.
So when you spiral into overwhelm around teaching is teaching itself the trigger? Or is your bucket already at the brim, and teaching (a genuinely big lift) just happens to be the thing that tips it over? Those two scenarios need different responses.
The work is more logistical. You look at the overall stressor load, identify where there’s leverage, and use the 3 D’s delete, delegate, do differently to bring the load down enough that teaching stops being the thing that tips you over.
That said, even in a more strategic approach like this, protective patterns almost always surface along the way. The primary focus is the load, and the underlying work tends to show up naturally from there.
This is a different conversation entirely. What may have happened: at some point probably during or around the time your anxiety reached a breaking point your nervous system made an association between teaching and threat. Teaching isn’t actually threatening. But you were in a state of significant dysregulation when you were doing it, and your nervous system, which is always scanning for patterns and filing what feels dangerous, filed teaching under danger. Now every time you approach it, that stored association activates. The racing mind, the spiraling that’s your nervous system doing exactly the job it was assigned to do.
The hopeful part: your nervous system learned that association, which means it can unlearn it. That’s neuroplasticity. But, and this matters, that process requires capacity first. You cannot rewire an association when your system is in survival mode. The brain doesn’t have the resources for that kind of learning when it’s focused on threat. Regulation before rewiring. Every time.
In practice, this might look like starting much smaller than feels necessary. Explaining something to a friend over coffee. Recording a voice memo of yourself teaching a concept just for you. A five minute explanation to your kid about something they’re curious about. The goal isn’t to perform, it’s to start rebuilding the association between teaching and safety, in doses your nervous system can actually tolerate right now.
This is the “do differently” from the series. Teaching isn’t being deleted from your life, you love it, and it’s clearly aligned with your values. But finding a version of it that asks less of your nervous system right now starts to create new data. New experiences that don’t end in overwhelm. Experiences your nervous system can begin to file differently.
One more frame worth applying here is the anxiety equation: anxiety = overestimation of threat + underestimation of your ability to manage it. Where are you overestimating the threat of teaching right now? Where are you underestimating what you can actually handle?
The mindset and emotional category of your baseline stressors, which is where you said most of yours live, almost always needs more than strategic editing to shift. The stories, the protective parts, the beliefs about what teaching requires or what it means if you fall short, that’s the deeper rewiring work. And it’s most effective when you have enough regulation capacity to actually hold it. Building that capacity is exactly what happens inside RESTORE, identifying the patterns, creating a personalized roadmap, and doing the deeper work when your system is resourced enough to integrate it.
“I did this recently and let go of something to give time to myself and the relief was immediate. My mom died about eight months ago of ALS and I have been supporting my stepdad who has been lonely and a bit lost since she died. But I did this at the cost of my own self care… After eight months of putting myself aside after eight months of also doing that to be one of the primary caregivers of my mom when she was sick I finally chatted with him about skipping one dinner so I could have time for myself and my kids. Happily he was very understanding and genuinely seemed okay to lessen the visits.”
Before the practical piece, the weight of what was in this person’s bucket deserves to be named clearly. Losing a mom to ALS means watching it coming, being there through all of it, carrying the anticipatory grief alongside everything else life was already asking. And then moving directly from primary caregiver to primary grief support for a stepdad , while working full time, while raising kids, while processing your own loss.
The fact that you were functioning at all is a testament to your capacity. The fact that you’re doing this work matters.
Now, what you did. You looked honestly at your life and made one edit. One dinner. And the relief was immediate.
That felt sense of relief is data. Your nervous system giving you real-time feedback. The physical exhale, the sense of something releasing that’s your body confirming you made the right call. In the series, we talked about how edits don’t always feel clean. Sometimes they come with guilt, grief, or relational friction. This time, there was none of that. Immediate, unmistakable relief. And that experiential connection now gives your nervous system a little more momentum to consider editing again somewhere else.
What strikes me about this edit is how much it wasn’t really just about the dinner. There was an unconscious contract being honored one that said your needs come last, that showing up for people you love means running yourself empty for them. You’d been carrying that contract through your mom’s illness, through her death, through your stepdad’s grief, for eight months straight. And you gently, kindly, with real care for him put a small boundary around one night. The world didn’t end. He was fine. And you got a little of yourself back. That’s the work.
“As a yoga teacher, I sometimes think ‘I should be able to figure this out on my own.’ But often I can’t. So I am learning to reach out to my therapist who has chided me for going it alone when she is literally there to support me, or turning to my friends… This week I am going to work on not binge watching TV shows when I am avoiding moving forward in my life.”
The “I should be able to figure this out alone” belief especially for people who teach wellness to others, is one of the most common unconsciously signed contracts I come across. The story that knowing the tools means you should be able to use them on yourself, without support. That needing help is somehow a contradiction of what you teach.
It’s not. If anything, the people who understand this work most deeply are often the ones who understand most clearly why having someone alongside you matters. Your therapist is right. Let her help you.
The impulse to flush everything and start from scratch, which came up in this message, is something a lot of people feel but rarely say out loud. It’s often a nervous system response to overwhelm. When the bucket is too full and the see-saw is badly tilted and everything feels stuck, starting over feels like relief. Everything is new, so nothing is yet heavy. But what you’re actually longing for isn’t a new life. It’s a lighter one. And that’s available without burning everything down. Which is, at its core, what the whole stress management series was pointing toward.
The TV and consumption piece is worth sitting with too. When every quiet moment gets filled with input, your nervous system doesn’t get the space to process, to integrate, to hear itself. Stillness feels uncomfortable when you’re dysregulated because stimulation has been doing the work of avoiding that discomfort. The inner knowing, the creativity, the sense of what you actually want and need, that lives in the quiet. It’s worth protecting some space for it.
*Want me to talk about something specific on the podcast? Let me know HERE.
Disclaimer: This article is for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or qualified mental health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition.
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