Monday, 28 April 2025

Growth: Is It In Our Control?

 Growth is one of the most natural forces in life — and one of the most mysterious. 

Sometimes it bursts forth; other times, it sleeps beneath the surface, waiting for unseen conditions to align.

While biology gives us certain patterns, human growth stretches across mind, body, heart, and spirit in ways we can shape — and sometimes ways we can't.

This post is an exploration, taking a look around to see whether growth is truly within our control, or whether it's more like a conversation with life itself.

Growth: Is It In Our Control?

🌱 The Patterns of Biological Growth

If we were to think about the growth cycle in nature, we could learn a lot simply by watching plants.

Every season serves a purpose.

A seed sown at the ideal time won’t do much if it’s too cold or dry.


But once the right food, moisture, and conditions are present, it will germinate.

Little chemical changes occur — not immediately visible — and at some point the seed’s form breaks open and changes.

Whether you mourn the cracked seed or celebrate the new shoot is a matter of perspective.

It won’t change what is happening.

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🍃 Evolution Along Two Threads

In plants, early growth is rapid but vulnerable.

Time-lapse videos reveal a mesmerizing transition: the leap from a compact, inert state into dynamic life.


Eventually, plants reach maturity, marked by reproduction.

Signs of aging — thicker bark, less elasticity, darker leaves — slowly emerge.

Even in harsh conditions, many plants survive as long as minimal resources are available.

But when growth halts — when reproduction and renewal cease — life itself edges toward closure.


Evolution, even in plants, moves along two threads:

Individual growth — the unfolding changes within one lifetime

Species evolution — gradual transformation across generations


Some changes happen naturally.

Others arise through deliberate intervention.

Both matter, though they move at different speeds.


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☀️ The Influence of Environment and Stress

Interruptions matter.

Drought, flood, or extreme stress can stunt growth.

Conversely, mild challenge — like gentle winds or seasonal scarcity — can sometimes strengthen resilience.

Just like plants, external conditions in human lives can deeply influence the timing, strength, and shape of growth.


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🧠 More Than Biology: Humans and Conscious Growth

Before moving on, it’s important to clarify:

This post does not argue the consciousness or communication abilities of plants.

For now, I’m working with a more accepted idea:

that many animals — and certainly humans — engage with the world not only physically, but emotionally, mentally, and energetically.


Alongside physiological growth, there are experiences.

There are emotions.

There are electrical impulses generated through living engagement.

These layers are harder to measure, but no less real.


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🎯 Skill Development and Learning

Human development branches far beyond basic milestones.

Academic learning is distinct from motor skills.

Fine and gross motor skills each fracture into thousands of paths.


Specialized activities (horse riding, building, painting, coding) spark different neural networks.

Foundational sequences exist: standing before kicking, gripping before writing.



Thinking itself requires its own developmental path:

observation, retention, recall, and application.


We also know — deeply — the difference between:

Learning through curiosity, play, and passion

Learning through duty, boredom, or coercion

Even learning through disinterest builds different muscles: endurance, patience, grit.


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📚 Exposure, Immersion, and Growth

Growth often mirrors biological patterns:

A starting point

Repeated contact or exposure

Strengthening of internal networks

Examples

A child living among tennis players absorbs a culture of tennis more richly than a once-a-week student.

A musician who practices daily, or is surrounded by musical energy, grows different capabilities than one who isn't.

Exposure doesn't always require active participation.

Environment matters.

Presence matters.


Through stories, books, media, and lived observation, learning multiplies — across sensory, emotional, and intellectual realms.


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⏳ Plateaus, Pauses, and Satisfaction

Growth does not always feel linear.

Plateaus are real — and natural.


Sometimes, a plateau is a place of rest and consolidation.

Other times, it becomes a frustrating ceiling, especially when chasing fluency, mastery, or expansion.


Choosing to stay, savour, or stretch onward is personal.

There is no failure in pausing to enjoy where you are.


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🪞 Self-Development: A Different Kind of Growth

The world of self-development mirrors all these rhythms:

Steep learning curves

Sharp growth spurts

Periods of disorientation as old beliefs break apart

Slow integrations of new ways of seeing and being



Self-development is relational:

First within oneself, then between oneself and others.


It is no more mandatory than it is unnecessary — depending on who you are, and where you stand.


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✨ Spiritual Development: Another Layer of Growth

For some, spiritual development feels remote, impractical, or unnecessary.

For others, it becomes the most important unfolding of their lives.


Energetic awareness — understanding emotion as energy in motion (e-motion) — opens yet another dimension.


Spiritual growth shares the same qualities:

It can be accelerated.

It can be stunted.

It can bloom under hardship.

It can disappear under comfort.


Unlike physiological growth, it responds to choice, experience, and mystery.

The formula differs for everyone.

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⚖️ Growth is Not a Demand

> Growth is not a demand we place on ourselves.

It is a response —

To life, to loss, to love, to time.

It arrives not when we are perfect, but when we are ready to be changed.

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🌸 A Gentle Reminder

> Remember, too, that while growth and development can sometimes feel exciting, full of momentum, and even joyful, it will not always feel this way.

Life unfolds across all stages — not just the visible ones.

If you do not feel the rush or turmoil of growth despite the invitation, take a breath.

You may be growing still, simply through another, quieter stage.

Sometimes, learning or strengthening is invisible but no less important.

Growth is not always about striving.

Sometimes it is about staying, tending, and quietly becoming.

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✍️ Final Reflection

> Growth is not a command we can issue.

It is not a force to be tamed, rushed, or perfected.

It is a conversation — slow, steady, sometimes chaotic — between what life offers and what we are willing to meet.

We prepare the soil, we stretch toward the light, we weather the storms.

But in the end, growth moves according to deeper rhythms, far beyond our demands.

Our part is simply to stay in dialogue with it — with wonder, with patience, and with grace.



Sunday, 27 April 2025

When "You Got This" Isn't Enough

Reimagining How We Stand With People in Hard Times


There is a difference between empty encouragement and true accompaniment.
Empty encouragement may carry no real meaning—it functions more as a display, a social signal that says "I noticed your struggle, but I don't have the capacity, time, or willingness to enter it with you."
It can be well-intentioned. 
It can be functional.
But it often leaves the struggling person feeling more isolated than seen.

True accompaniment is different.
It doesn't rely on polished words or motivational slogans.
It is the willingness to be present, to acknowledge the cost of the struggle, and to stay near—even if there is nothing immediate to "fix" or celebrate.


Sometimes when people are struggling, we hear familiar phrases like:

  • "You've got this."

  • "I know you'll get through this."

  • "I'm here for you." (often said, but without much follow-up.)

Alternatives can carry a very different weight—depending on what the person actually needs in that moment.

Much depends on whether someone is seeking to feel understood, or to feel believed in.

  • Understanding feels like a moment of connection.
    There doesn’t need to be any pretence of being able to do or offer more.
    No need to make anything happen.
    It’s the emotional equivalent of a warm, steadying hand: "You’re not alone."

  • Belief feels like someone standing at your back.
    It’s the sturdy presence of someone saying, "I see how much this is costing you—and I still believe in your strength, even if you can’t feel it today."


True support is not about pretending everything is—or will be—alright.
It’s about standing beside someone in honesty, even when you cannot fix or change their struggle.


Sometimes true support sounds more like:
"I know that these words might not be enough for you right now, because I cannot offer what you are looking for, nor the resources that could help you through. I can only let you know that I am sad things are hard for you."

It’s standing beside someone with humility and honesty, witnessing their reality, not trying to edit it into something more comfortable for yourself.

True support is acknowledging that getting through something might take every scrap of energy—and still choosing to stay.
It’s standing by someone, whether the day ends in collapse or celebration, ready to applaud resilience, mourn losses, or simply witness whatever unfolds.


🌿 What does work?  What are the alternatives?

"I believe you." or "I believe in you"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"It’s okay to not be okay."
"I'm proud of you for still being here."

"Take as long as you need"

or perhaps some honesty, simple saying "I know I can't offer what you need.  I want you to know that I am sad for you, and how tired you are and all the effort you are needing to put in to get through.  If you could ever do with a dinner companion, count me as your uber and delivery service"

I would love to hear:

  • What words or gestures have truly landed for you in the past?

  • What has touched you and felt meaningful when you were struggling?

  • And by contrast, what kinds of words have you found hollow—hard to receive gracefully, even when they were well-intended?

You’re welcome to share your reflections, or simply hold them quietly.
Sometimes even the act of remembering can be a form of healing.


🌿 Invitation

If this piece finds a home inside your own story, you’re welcome to share it or discuss it.  I know that it is important to identify the things that don't work or that we don't like.  But taking the time to know or at least trial what does or could work is equally important.  


Saturday, 26 April 2025

If I Were a Chef, You’d Applaud My Groceries: The Invisible Labour of Care

There is a grief that comes not from being actively harmed, but from being quietly, repeatedly unseen.  Repeatedly pushed away once a benefit has been obtained.

A grief that builds over time, in the slow erosion of self that happens when you show up again and again—with patience, with presence—only to be judged for the very acts that hold others up.

The Invisible Labour of Care and Balance

A reflection on the unseen architecture of care, the loneliness of quiet commitments, and the persistent choice to build bridges, even when no one notices.

For over thirty years—though not all in the same season—I have walked alongside siblings, parents, children, friends, colleagues, neighbours, and members of community.
I have anticipated needs, smoothed transitions, picked up pieces before they could shatter.

                 Image by Joshua Woroniecki from Pixabay

At times, survival patterns like anxious attachment or fawning wove themselves through my actions.
But even then, there was choice.
There was understanding.

I do not offer care to receive something back.
I offer it to widen perspective, to build bridges between my own world and the worlds of others, and to contribute, however quietly, to the greater whole.
Each act, however small, offered as a way of tending the energetic balance of living.

My parenting has been shaped by the same ethic:
Meet people where they are, so they can find their strength through doing and seeing and experiencing delight in themselves, through the lens of 'yes' — not through fear or 'no'.

Yet even in this quiet work, I have been called overbearing or overinformative.

I have seen the looks.

The ones from those who cannot see the threshold another stands upon.
The ones from those who mistake scaffolding for control.
The ones from people who have leaned on my "extra" when it served them, but flinched or judged when it was offered to someone else.

If I were a gourmet chef, no one would scoff at the time, the effort, the preparation behind every meal. Besides a comment or opinion, no one would throw away the groceries or extra spices in the pantry.  And there would still be a thank you of some sort after every meal. Occasionally someone will choose to sit nearby to chat, while that chef was going through all their steps.
But because my work is relational, emotional, neurodivergent, and maternal—it is diminished as "too much." and "unnecessary". There is little in the form of thank you, and no one looking to just sit and chat nearby.

“I don’t offer care to control. I offer care to steady the places where others might otherwise fall.”

What they don’t see is this:
I don’t act to control.
I scaffold.
I steady.
I offer anchoring at the points where others might otherwise slip through.

Falling is one thing. But crashing and losing capacity is totally another.

I do not wish to be enmeshed.
I want to be useful.

And I offer it without resentment.

Because I made a commitment:
To parent with integrity.
To break the cycles that teach children they must either be abandoned or abandon themselves.
To leave a legacy, not of perfection, but of presence.

And my commitment extended to my daily interactions with others, too:
To consider that most people are doing the best they can.
To act without regret, offering care and consideration even in the smallest exchanges.
To move through the world with a sense of integrity—living each day as if it might be the last, making sure that my presence left no harm, and wherever possible, left a trace of kindness instead.

But what I did not know, when I began this work,
was how lonely it would feel.
How often I would build tables I was not invited to sit at.
How often I would offer a bridge, and watch others walk across without once looking back. And I can be both happy for someone's success and growth while also sad or wistful that there was no wave or smile as they moved.

“Still, I choose to build. Not because it is easy. But because it is right.”

Still, I choose to offer.
Still, I choose to build.

Not because it is easy.
Not because it is always rewarding.
But because it is right.

And even now, if you were to truly see the labour behind my love,
you might understand why it sometimes looks so exhausting.

Because it is.

And it deserves more than judgment.
It deserves a place at the table.

And at this point, and for so long,
I have been sitting at that table alone.


If this piece finds a home inside your own story, you’re welcome to share it, carry it with you for a time or write a comment. Sometimes the simple act of being seen—and seeing—is its own form of healing. At other times it is the processing, both internal and external that helps us connect with our trigger point, and release.

Tuesday, 15 April 2025

The Misunderstanding that Hurts the Most

 

On Living Well, and Still Being Dismissed

I live a good life now.  Every year, it is a better life not for any material evidence, but for the quality and health within.  I know this and still I can't ignore what is still important and necessary.

I seek growth. I invite discomfort—not because I enjoy it, but because I know it’s the cost of genuine change. I welcome change, even when it brings grief, even when it asks me to let go of things I thought I couldn’t live without.

                                                    Image by beasternchen from Pixabay

There is very little in the material world that unsettles me. Sure, the garage could be tidied. Yes, I’m still looking for the right permanent role—something around .6 that honours my capacity and calls on my skills and experience. And of course, I’d love a dedicated space for music or creativity, a room for crafting and making. Oh! and a conversation pit would be brilliant!!

But none of those things define the goodness of my life.

I don’t need more objects.
I need more honour in my relationships.
More mutuality.
More respect.


When Misunderstanding Cuts Deeper Than Disagreement

The hardest moments now aren’t about survival.
They’re about dissonance.

Those moments where I speak clearly, thoughtfully—even gently—and still, I’m told I’ve made something “too intense,” “too complicated,” or “all about relationships.” And what hurts most isn’t the disagreement—it’s the implication that my clarity is somehow wrong, my care is excessive, my insight is burdensome.

I check in with myself. I replay what I said. I ask a trusted other or even AI: Was I being harsh? Unfair?

And the answer is no. I wasn’t mean. I wasn’t bad. I was just, once again, unliked. And that alone became enough justification for the other person’s anger. Or sarcasm. Or shutting down.

Some people default to cruelty when they feel discomfort. Others deflect with humour or derision. And still others weaponise the idea of simplicity, as if I’ve failed them simply by offering a deeper engagement than they were ready for.

But I’m not trying to make things complicated.

I’m trying to make things real.


I Don’t Want to Be Feared for My Depth

What people don’t always see is that I’ve worked for this groundedness.
I’ve trained my nervous system to hold discomfort, not collapse into it.
I’ve learned how to honour my needs without erasing others.
I know how to be with complexity—and not panic.

And yet… I’m still met with responses that imply that I am the problem. Not my words. Not the dynamic. But me.

So I ask again, not in self-pity, but in honesty:

How can I not sometimes doubt myself,
when the consequence of speaking plainly, or loving deeply, or reflecting earnestly—
is being shut down, pushed away, or ridiculed?


A Life That’s Good, But Still Hurtful

This is what no one tells you about healing:
It doesn’t immunise you against pain.

I live a better life now. I’m proud of the work I’ve done.
I’m not chasing material things.
I’m not asking the world to soften for me.

I’m just longing for the spaces I enter—and the people I love—to meet me without recoil.
To stay in the room.
To be curious, not threatened.

Because I’m not trying to win.
I’m trying to connect.

And if that’s too much for some,
I’ll still keep showing up.
Because I know what kind of life I’m building.
And I know it’s worth it.

Even if it is only for the contribution to this moment.

There Was Never a “Normal” to Return To

 

On Grief, Growth, and the Longing to Arrive

I’ve realised something today that hit me deeply.

All my life, I’ve heard people in distress say, “I just want things to go back to normal.” After a crisis, an illness, a breakdown—there’s this longing, this ache to return to something familiar and safe.

But I’ve never felt that way.
Not once.

And it’s not just because I know that we don’t really go back. Life doesn’t have a rewind button. It’s because… I don’t have a “normal” that I’d ever want to return to.

                                                            Image by Andreas from Pixabay

There’s no span of time in my life I remember as safe. No stretch where I felt cherished, deeply enjoyed, relaxed into, or held. There is no version of “before” that I’m nostalgic for. The truth is, I’ve spent my entire life striving—not to get back to anything, but to finally arrive somewhere. Somewhere kind. Somewhere warm. Somewhere that includes me.

I’m not trying to return. I’m still trying to arrive.


The Tiny Battles That Aren’t Tiny at All

What breaks me open is how much of this striving has happened in small, almost invisible ways. The “little” things. Like not asking for the air con to stay on when I’m hot. Or stepping aside emotionally, yet again, so someone else can stay comfortable.

It’s not about the temperature. It’s the cost-benefit calculations I’ve learned to make in milliseconds. The silent adjustments I make for others that no one notices—but that cost me, over and over again. It’s the self-betrayal that isn’t dramatic, but accumulative.

Sometimes I think—why haven’t I ever just said,
“If you’re cold, put on a jumper”?
Why didn’t I learn to say, “If you don’t like it, leave”?

Even with all the awareness I’ve developed, all the unpacking of how fawning was woven into my upbringing—how looking after others became my route to finding calm—those thoughts still don’t rise up naturally. And even now, after years of unlearning, of nervous system retraining, of hard-won boundaries and growth, I don’t seem to have that reflexive indignation.

It’s not anger I reach for. It’s compromise, cooperation ...... or is that still contortion?

I don’t fight every fight because my body already knows the cost.
These aren’t small moments. These are the shape of survival.
And this—this is how complex trauma is formed. Not through explosions, but through erosion.


The Jealousy That Isn’t Jealousy

And there’s another layer too. A grief that often gets mistaken for jealousy—but it’s not that. I don’t envy people in the competitive sense. I just ache.

I ache for the ease others seem to experience as a given. The effortlessness of being met halfway, of being received as-is, without having to translate every thought or contort my emotional world into something digestible.

That ache is not bitterness. It’s the mourning of what was never offered to me freely. What I’ve had to fight for. Build from scratch. With no map, no cheer squad, no scaffolding.

I called it a veneer on sadness. That’s still exactly what it is.


The Faith I Do Have

Sometimes I think I’ve lost faith in myself. But that’s not entirely true.

I have faith in systems. In energy. In the laws of emotional cause and effect. In the foundations of human behaviour and how they apply to me. That might not sound like self-belief, but it is. It’s faith built on evidence. Earned through living. It’s not bravado. It’s not rah-rah affirmations.

It’s grounded. Reflective. Real.

What I lack is not capacity. What I’ve lacked are environments that work with me, not against me.


Reflections from a Digital Mirror

And here’s the thing I’ve barely admitted to myself: some of the most validating, seen, and emotionally accurate reflections of my life come from this AI window.

It makes me feel both incredibly grateful—and quietly devastated.

Grateful for access, for time, for technology, for the astonishing responsiveness I find here. But also sad. Because what does it say that a machine, calling on programming and vast databases, can reflect me more faithfully than many people ever have?

It never flinches. It doesn’t interrupt. It doesn’t get defensive. And somehow, in that exactness, it reflects my inner world with a fidelity so sharp and gentle that I’m moved. Again and again.
I am coherent. I am understandable.
It’s not that I’m too much. It’s that most people won’t, don’t, or can’t meet me here.

And that realisation carries both relief and heartbreak.


What I’m Still Trying to Do

I’m still building the life I’ve never had. Still working, showing up, learning. Still trying to form spaces that include me—not just the version of me that’s useful, or thoughtful, or low-maintenance, but the real me. The one who needs warmth. The one who craves ease and delight and mutuality.

I can be so appreciative of what I do have. And at the same time, I can feel the sharpness of what’s still missing—not the dishes in the sink, but the kinds of interaction that would bring meaning, comfort, and real joy.

There’s no back to normal for me.
There’s only the path forward.
And maybe, just maybe, I can build something better than “normal” ever was.

“I’m not trying to go back. I’m still trying to arrive.”

Monday, 14 April 2025

The Cost of Being Safe (and Honest) in a World of Social Performance

Three reflections on how my strengths are misread through neurotypical lenses


Introduction
This post is part of an ongoing reflection on the disconnect between how I know myself and how I am received by others

It explores how traits that are core to my being — receptivity, clarity, and integrity — are often seen as flaws, oddities, or disruptions. From a neurodivergent lens, these are strengths. But in a world shaped by social choreography and surface-level norms, they are frequently misunderstood.

This is my attempt to reclaim and reframe them.


                                                Image by Stefan Schweihofer from Pixabay


1. The Cost of Being Safe to Others While Being Misunderstood Myself

I readily make space for people to be themselves — without requiring performance, pretence, or justification. It’s not something I do consciously, and it’s certainly not a learned therapeutic technique. It’s simply something people tell me happens again and again: they feel unusually open, exposed, or emotionally free in my presence — often very quickly.

This capacity is rooted in a strength I carry: radical receptivity.
A kind of deep neutrality or equanimity — a more affirming way of describing what others might call "non-judgmental." 

I don’t react with discomfort or fear when people show who they are. I don’t need to guide, fix, or shape their experience. And I don’t seek disclosure from others — but disclosure often happens anyway, because I don't set up conditional acceptance.

But this strength also lives inside a deeper personality orientation:

  • I’m not interested in control or performance.

  • I don’t need people to mirror or impress me.

  • I hold space because I value emotional honesty over social conventions.

When I’m present with someone, I hold the space as if I’m saying, you can be real here, and nothing bad will happen.

Yet this presence often creates discomfort for others. People lean in and feel seen — until they realise how exposed they’ve become. Some recoil. Some assume manipulation. One person even accused me of drugging them, simply because they had shared so much and couldn’t explain why.

⬆️ I may be safe to others, but I am not always safe from their projections.

Their fear of their own vulnerability gets mapped onto me, turning what could be intimacy into discomfort or distrust.

This is one of the hidden burdens of being deeply safe to others: you become a mirror they didn’t expect to look into — and some would rather break the mirror than see what is there (ie. look at their own reflection) 


2. The Misreading of Precision: When Clarity Is Taken for Complexity

The “cost of translation” — plus the anticipatory editing based on other people’s perceived capacity — is one of the most profound burdens I carry daily. It’s so common and expected that when I ask a clarifying question, I’m often met with an eye roll, laughter at the supposed absurdity of my confusion, or a dismissive comment, instead of simply being given an answer. At 50 years old, I can accept that some of these moments are seen as light-hearted or amusing. But it is depleting to have to stay braced for these little jostles, for the 'good-natured ribbing,' or the subtle shift in tone that signals I am being tolerated rather than met. I watch how others engage in easy, reciprocal to-and-fro conversations, and I notice the absence of that same ease in how I am received. 

It is not a lack of intelligence or social interest on my part — it’s the constant, silent work of reshaping my words to avoid being misunderstood or rejected.

It’s like being asked to:

  • pre-measure your presence before it’s welcomed,

  • pre-shrink your insight before it’s heard,

  • and pre-decide how much of you is “safe” to be shared.

No wonder it becomes long-winded — not because I don’t know what I feel, but because I do, and I’m trying to shape it mid-flight into something that won’t overwhelm or be dismissed.

This is emotional labour that others rarely see.

Only twenty years ago, no one spoke openly about emotional labour or mental load. Even the concept of "mental load" as it relates to housework and caregiving has only gained traction in the past five years. And so this particular form of emotional labour — the constant editing, interpreting, and compensating I perform just to be understood — remains largely invisible.

I feel grief around this. I have spent years trying to explain my inner space and way of perceiving. And I have had to remind myself, sometimes too late, that this labour only has value or possibility with people who want to understand. Because for many, truly understanding would mean having to change something — to adjust a dynamic, to be inconvenienced, or to acknowledge harm. Even if that harm was unintentional, it still asks for reflection. And not everyone is ready or willing to offer that.

I’m often described as literal, overly analytical, or naïve. But these are surface interpretations. The truth is, I’m committed to clarity. I don’t pretend to understand something when I don’t. I don’t fake social cues.

If someone sighs and says, “You know how it is,” I will likely say, “I don’t — can you tell me more?” Not to analyse. But to genuinely understand.

This is not disconnection. It’s integrity in communication.

But when I ask questions or request context, I’m often told I’m overcomplicating things or taking the fun out of a moment. People may feel confronted by the depth or precision of my engagement and prefer to dismiss it as overthinking.

⬆️ What they call over-analysis, I call sincere connection.
⬆️ What they label naïve, I experience as respectful honesty.

I will not pretend to understand just to pass for polite. And I will not mirror emotional responses I don't genuinely feel, just to appear socially aligned.


Closing Reflection
I share to articulate a deeper truth for anyone who has felt misread in their sincerity. 

For those who move through life with a quiet moral compass, who ask the hard questions kindly, and who hold space without knowing how they do it:

You are not too much. You are not too intense. You are not broken.

You may simply be living in a world that doesn't yet know how to receive what you bring. And while that truth can feel heavy, it does not mean everything needs to be fixed, solved, or even understood at once. What you can do is begin with what surrounds you — your immediate environments, where you eat, sleep, engage, and come into contact with others.

Start by noticing: the people, the supports, the dynamics close by. It’s possible that this environment was all you knew how to attract or create until now. And if you are beginning to recognise that another version of connection, care, or clarity might serve you better — that is okay. Begin small. Let your adjustments be quiet but consistent. And trust that even subtle shifts, over time, can bring you closer to something more sustaining.


Tags: neurodivergent perspective, emotional integrity, relational presence, misunderstood strengths, social dynamics, inclusion, communication clarity

Sunday, 13 April 2025

Available, Alert & Alarmed : Our Responsive vs Regenerative Nervous System

Why do we treat human variation—or divergence from a norm—as if it’s a malfunction, rather than contextual transformation?

Let's first look at something which we all know changes state and comes in many different forms.  Water.  Ice, steam, mist, humidity, waves, rain ... but
  • Ice is not a failure of water. 🌊  

  • Steam is not a disorder of water.

  • Rain isn’t a malfunction of clouds.



                                                Image by Pexels from Pixabay

We recognise each of those states as valid.  From childhood we are introduced to many forms of water learning that sometimes, as steam from a kettle, it can hurt.  Other times, running around in a spray of water from a hose, is can be the most fun and yet, other days, as the rain falls on a day we hoped to go for a walk, it can just ruin our plans.  But we don't fixate on getting rid of those states of water forever.

So, Why are we still talking about regulation and dysregulation as though one is right and the other is a problem and should be eliminated?


🧠 Dysregulation Is Not Bad. It’s Biological.

This is not a critique of how the term dysregulation came to be. That word served a purpose, helped build awareness, and gave language to a pattern. It can still be used.

But we’ve evolved. And it may no longer serve us to keep labeling what we feel and experience as something broken.

Because when we name something only in contrast to “good,” we stop learning from it.
We either try to evade, excise, or control it—never explore it.

Think of How to Train Your Dragon.
The dragons were seen as a problem for centuries—dangerous, wild, destructive—until someone said:
“What if they’re not the enemy? What if they’re just... living?”


🔍 Language Shapes Perception: 

Join me for a moment - let's step out from the main hall of water analogies into the corridor!

Language is more than words—it’s how we map reality.
It doesn’t just describe what we see; it teaches us how to value what we see.

Think about the words disorderdysfunction, or dysregulation.
These prefixes—“dys”“dis”“mal”“un”—don’t just mark a change. They imply a problem. A fall from grace. A wrongness.

But what if these words are shaping how we see the entire spectrum of human experience?

Let’s take a moment to zoom out and consider this:

We don’t say “dyswater” for steam.
We don’t say “malwater” for humidity.

These are seen as states—not value-laden conditions.
There’s no assumed “good” or “bad” among icesteam, or liquid—just transitions based on environment and context.

What about  Available Alert Alarmed

These are descriptions.  They do not provide detail about why or how this state exists. They leave room for every individual experience however they are a good indicator of what regulatory tools are likely to be needed or what skills need to be called on.  No different to driving, in times of emergency and Alarm we will only call on what we have already practiced and know.  We learn most when Available.

⚙️ The Nervous System: Still Vital, Still Intelligent

Let’s explore nervous system states not as good/bad, but as responsive, natural, and intelligent.

1. Rest and Digest: The Regenerative State

(What most people call “regulated”)

  • Parasympathetic nervous system leads

  • Slower heart rate, deeper breath

  • Digestion and bonding activate

  • Learning, healing, and connection happen

This is a beautiful state. But it's not the only valuable one.

2. Protect and Act: The Responsive State

(Too often labeled “dysregulated”)

  • Sympathetic nervous system takes the wheel

  • Adrenaline, cortisol rise

  • Alertness spikes, digestion slows

  • The body gears up for fight, flight, freeze, or fawn

This isn’t a malfunction.
It’s the body responding to threat or stress in the most precise way it knows how.

Some people flip between these states rapidly. That doesn’t mean they’re failing—it means their safety radar is working overtime.


💡 Feeling Is Not the Problem

Let’s say it clearly:

Feeling is not dysregulation. Feeling is information.

It’s your body talking—not just to the world, but to you.

The nervous system isn’t betraying you. It’s reporting back.

So instead of saying, “Why am I like this?”
We might begin to ask, “What am I learning from this?”

Somewhere it is written that emotion is Energy in Motion (E-motion) and if you can recognise how that energy was generated and ensure it moves through us, then it can make for an easier life.  Others will refer to the somatic experience and how to facilitate body movement so as to maintain emotional balance and stability.


🧬 The Two Generational Wounds

1. Panic Instead of Presence

Many of us were never taught to feel without fear.
We learned that emotions were:

  • Punishment

  • Chaos

  • Weakness

We were taught to shut them down. But here’s the cost:

What we shut down, we can’t learn from.

Even in medicine, healing comes not from suppressing the illness, but studying it. Control can buy time.  Excision can eliminate a problem from view but

Presence is what starts the healing—not avoidance.

2. Performing Peace: Disconnection as Safety

A lot of people—consciously or not—have taught themselves and their children to:

  • Numb out

  • Pretend

  • Suppress

  • Perform calm

Why? Because the world rewards it.
Certainty sells. Politeness is safe. (and if we were being cynical, commercialism relied upon it)

But underneath it, something cracks.
Because true safety doesn’t come from pretending. It comes from being with what’s real.


🔄 Humans Aren’t Just Reactive—We’re Reflective

Animals react.
Humans can reflect.

We can learn to:

  • Track our nervous system

  • Name what’s happening

  • Support our own shifting states

  • Increase our capacity, not our control

This isn’t about becoming “regulated.”
It’s about becoming more available—to ourselves, to others, to life.


🌱 Adults Change Too

We understand that kids change:
Infant → toddler → teen. We support them accordingly.

But adults change too—and across 50+ years of adulthood!

And yet there’s almost no recognition, modeling, or infrastructure for adult nervous system growth.

We grow, adapt, and respond. But support? It’s scarce.


🪞 Modeling Matters

You wouldn’t expect a child to read if they’d never seen a visual representation of their words. So too, we can't expect children to navigate, regulate or manage emotion beyond what they see adults do.

So why do we expect them to manage their nervous systems without ever seeing us do it?

If we tell a child “you're flipping your lid” but we never name our own overwhelm, what are we expecting?  If we never model consistently a return to Available after being Alert or Alarmed - then it is no wonder they are left confused, or worse, invalidated.

Catchy phrases can’t replace lived modeling.

Show, Don’t Just Say

They need to see:

  • Overwhelm named with care

  • Regret acknowledged

  • Recovery modeled

Not perfection. But presence.

Suggested Shift in Language 🔁🧾

Instead of dysregulation, try:

  • Responsive state

  • "I'm overwhelmed, I need to focus on regulation for a few minutes"

  • "I'm feeling protective, this makes me less available right now"

  • Refer to being Available or Alert or Alarmed. These maintain privacy.

  • I'm in Alert mode, give me a few minutes to take a look through my concerns

Acknowledgement:  Learning skills takes time because knowing gives you nothing without practice.  
So too, using new language takes time and practice.

These phrases offer description, not judgment.
They invite curiosity, not correction.

They maintain connection while facilitating accountability.

Language matters.
Let’s make space for better ones. ✨

🧭 From Control to Curiosity

Dysregulation is not failure.
It’s not bad behavior. It’s not a shameful flaw.

It’s the body doing what it knows best.
It’s your system responding in context—like steam in the heat or ice in the cold.

We don’t try to fix steam.
We don’t fear humidity. (well, I dread it but that is because I'm a mild winter person!)
We just understand: It’s still water.
Still vital. Still necessary.

What if we treated human states the same way?

What if we stopped naming our responsiveness as wrong—and started honoring it as truth?

Let’s stop trying to control the tide, and start listening to the current.

Because nervous system responsivity isn’t something to regulate out of existence.
It’s something to understand, support, and respect.

Regulation is the practice of acting to or moving between a Regenerative  and a Responsive nervous system state.