There’s a reason why insight alone doesn’t create change (and why many of us get stuck in therapy). You can know every step you need to take to move toward something you want. You can understand your patterns, your family dynamics, the neuroscience behind your behaviors, and all the reasons you get stuck.
But if the thing you’re reaching for has been encoded by your brain as unsafe, you’ll keep hitting the same wall. You’ll get close, you’ll cognitively know what you need to do, you’ll write out a checklist, maybe you’ll even start. But then find yourself slowing down, zoning out, talking yourself out of it, or quietly backing away. Not because you’re lazy or unmotivated or undisciplined, but because your brain is doing what it was built to do, keep you safe based on your old neural pathways.
For many people I work with, especially intellectualizers, this is one of the most painful parts of their healing process. They already know so much. They’ve thought about it from every angle. They can name exactly where their beliefs come from, exactly when they learned to shut down or perform or disappear.
But understanding that cognitively doesn’t change the fact that their nervous system still responds to authenticity, boundary setting, emotional expression, or rest as if it were dangerous. If your brain learned early on that connection was preserved by being smaller, quieter, more agreeable, or more helpful, then doing the opposite, even if it’s what you consciously want, won’t feel safe. It will feel threatening, even if no one is threatening you. Yes, even in our adult lives. Yes, even when we think (emphasis on think, my intellectualizer friends), we ARE safe.
Sometimes, that message wasn’t loud or overt. It might not have come from trauma or abuse. Instead, it might have been the small, repeated experiences that shaped your internal map (or an emotionally immature parent).
Maybe you were a loud, playful, expressive child, and the people around you were serious, quiet, and emotionally contained. Maybe you learned, in subtle ways, that your big energy and playfulness made others uncomfortable. That your joy or your sadness or your opinions took up too much space. Maybe no one ever said it outright, but you noticed that you were liked more, included more, when you turned the volume down on your feelings. So your brain used that data to make a prediction, a template if you will: it’s safer to be reserved, logical, compliant. It’s easier to shut your needs down and take care of others all the time. Over time, it becomes second nature. You don’t even realize it’s happening, it just feels like who you are.
Then, years later, in your present day life, you try to make a change. You try to show more of yourself, set a boundary, rest instead of push, or express what you really feel. And your body says no. Not with words, but with a wave of shutdown, a spiral of overthinking, or a flood of shame and freeze. You tell yourself you’re self-sabotaging or stuck or broken. Or that you’re just not trying hard enough, or haven’t found the right self-help book, or made the right to-do list.
But what’s really happening is that you’re trying to build a new life on top of an old map - imagine an atlas full of roads, but the roads don’t lead to anywhere cool or fun or new, they only lead to safety and shutdown. That new route, that change you wanted to make? It doesn’t exist, and so your brain flips through the atlas, sees it doesn’t exist, and determines it must be unsafe.
This is where people often get discouraged (and I’ve been there myself, many times!). They think if they just understood more, or journaled harder, or came up with the perfect plan, then they’d be able to follow through. But the brain doesn’t change through planning. It changes through experience. If the pathway that says “being authentic is dangerous” has been firing for thirty years, it won’t stop just because you’ve named it.
And no, you can’t manifest or affirmation your way to safety. Changing this pathway has to be done by gently, repeatedly contradicting the old input with new input. And that input has to come in small, manageable pieces, little, tiny sparks of safety that the brain can take in without shutting down.
I often call this the “maybe, possibly, potentially” practice. It means we don’t leap into a new state and expect our body, brain, and nervous system to adapt to it. We don't try to suddenly embody full authenticity or rest or joy and expect that we will be successful and never criticize ourselves or overwork again. We start smaller. We consider the possibility that maybe, maybe, it was safe to say no when our friend asked us to go to dinner because we were exhausted. We think about letting the barista know we asked for iced, not hot. We try on dipping a tiny pinky into feeling some grief that has been lurking underneath our I-don’t-have-feelings exterior.
We don’t rush into the new identity, we microdose it. And, over time, that allows the brain to build new pathways into the atlas that say - it is safe, I can go this way, there aren’t any tigers on this path.
One practice I use often, and share with clients, is a simple sensory check-in. Slowly turn your head and name three things you see in your space. Then three things you feel on your body. Hair on your neck. Your back against the chair. A blanket on your lap. Then turn again and name three more things you see. We’re not trying to create a big feeling or force a breakthrough. We’re just signaling to the brain: look, we’re here. And we’re okay. And it’s safe enough to notice. We peak at safety out of the corner of our eye, just for a moment.
That’s the hard part about rewiring our brains. Safety itself might not feel safe. Especially for those who’ve had to rely on hypervigilance, over-functioning, or shutting down our needs and emotions to get through. A relaxed body might feel exposed. Joy might feel destabilizing. Even (and especially!) positive change can trigger old alarms. That’s why we don’t force the nervous system to leap, we invite it to take one small step, and then pause and notice. We let ourselves adjust. And then we take another step. That’s how new roads are built.
And yes, it can feel slow. Painfully so. Especially for people who are used to figuring things out quickly, performing well, and holding it all together. But this work doesn’t respond to pressure. So instead, we try on little bits of presence. Noticing when something felt just a little bit better (or more neutral). Noticing when something was 1% more manageable instead of overwhelming. Noticing when you felt the pull to shut down but stayed present a few seconds longer.
Change that lasts comes from these small moments of tracking (it’s neuroscience!). You might just notice a new feeling and say to yourself, I’m not going to make a big deal of it, I’m just going to notice it. Maybe that moment of connection with a friend felt easier than usual. Maybe you were tired and gave yourself permission to rest for five minutes. None of it has to be big or dramatic to matter (it’s actually better if it isn’t because it’s easier for the brain to accept it and feel safe!). These are the exact moments your brain uses to redraw the map.
This is also why so many people feel confused when they can name their issues but still feel stuck. It’s not because the awareness is useless; it’s because awareness is only the first layer. Beneath it, your nervous system and brain are still holding onto the strategies that once kept you safe. And until you begin to relate to those strategies, observe them, tend to them, and gently build alternatives, they’ll keep showing up. Not to ruin your progress, but to protect you and keep you safe (the number.
Your brain isn’t trying to sabotage you, it’s trying to keep you alive! It wants predictability and familiar, safe, known roads. It wants to keep you tethered to what has worked in the past, even if what worked no longer serves you here in the present. The work of change is about recognizing and observing that and then, little by little, offering a different path. Not with pressure or punishment. But with neutrality and curiosity.
If you want to spend a bit more time being curious about this in the coming weeks, here are some ideas of things to explore:
When I think about something I want, some outcome I’'m striving for, but struggle to move toward, what thoughts, emotions, and body sensations? What might my brain be trying to protect me from?
What was I taught, directly or indirectly, about showing emotion, having needs, being authentic, or wanting more for myself? Where might those lessons still be living in my current patterns?
Can I remember a small moment recently when something felt slightly more possible or less scary than it used to? What made that moment feel different? How is it to notice it now?
If I spoke to the part of me who feels shut down or ashamed with quiet curiosity, what might it say it needs to feel 1% safer?
Wishing you wellness,
*trisha*
~I visited the English countryside recently, and found so many glimmers in nature. Here are two glimmers: sunset in the countryside and some beautiful lilacs; idyllic!
~I tried a great recipe and had to share- Vietnamese Paleo meatballs from I Heart Umami. I didn’t make with the vermicelli noodles, but had some brown rice, cucumbers, and carrots. Delish and easy to make!
~Here are some Summer posts from Positively Present on Instagram. And if Summer isn’t your thing (shoutout to those going through a heatwave right now), there’s a post for you too.
This was so incredibly helpful. I am talking to a therapist but have been unable to silence the reoccurring intrusive thoughts. I have made changes in my daily routine. Your post today gave me much hope for gradual, but real change.
"Changing this pathway has to be done by gently, repeatedly contradicting the old input with new input" was exactly the reminder I didn't know I needed