What Happens When Millions Of Dysregulated Nervous Systems Collide Online

If you feel overwhelmed right now — I do too.

I keep noticing how fast my body reacts before I’ve even decided what I think.

I’ll be in the kitchen, having my normal morning cup of tea.

Then I open my phone.

And it’s almost immediate. Something in me tightens. My jaw. My chest. That low hum under the skin like I’m bracing for impact.

And the reality is nothing is happening.

I’m just reading.

ICE. Epstein. Climate chaos. The economy. Someone shouting in a thread. Someone absolutely certain they’re right.

And I can feel this pull in me. that gravitates toward heat, toward saying something sharp, toward planting a flag.

Especially around Epstein.

There’s been this voice in my head like — you should say something. You have a platform. You work with nervous systems. You’ve experienced abuse. You should have a take. A strong one.

And I have written so many versions of this.

Some of them were furious, some were kind of unhinged if I’m honest.

And some were smart but… biting.

I could feel the charge in them. That clean, righteous anger that feels powerful and almost addictive.

“How are people not seeing this?”

There’s a part of me that loves how clear it feels in that moment. How decisive because it feels like I’m doing something and that I’m creating impact.

But when I sat with those drafts — really sat with them — I could feel where they were coming from.

A tight body. Fast thoughts. A need to discharge something - NOW.

So when I’m really honest with myself I see it wasn’t clarity, it was activation.

So I didn’t post.

Not because I’m above anger, I’m really not. I felt myself feel a. lot of it.

I let the rage be there. The disbelief. The fear. The oceans of grief that sits underneath all of it.

But I didn’t want to broadcast from the sharpest edge of my pain.

I know what that feels like in my body.  Like if I don’t say this now I’ll explode.

But I’ve learned that urgency and truth aren’t the same thing.

Meanwhile the pattern kept happening.

Some days I scroll for way too long. Like I’m looking for the missing piece that will finally make everything make sense. And as I sit there I notice my heart is racing but I’m not moving. It’s such a weird thing — being completely still and somehow running internally.

Other days I just go flat.

I’ll look at the news and feel nothing. And then immediately judge myself for that. Shouldn’t I be more outraged? More vocal?

But if I’m honest, sometimes it’s just exhaustion. My system quietly saying, this is too much input.

What I’m noticing — in myself especially — is how fast my body tightens and then my mind rushes in with certainty. And now I know who’s wrong.

When I’m in that state, nuance actually irritates me. I don’t want complexity. I want clean edges and  I want someone to be clearly bad because that settles the adrenaline.

There is something stabilising about having an enemy when your nervous system is lit up.

I don’t like that about me. But I can feel it.

And then sometimes — not always — I pause.

I focus and feel my feet on the floor. I let my jaw unclench and take one breath that goes all the way down instead of stopping halfway.

And then things soften. Not disappear, but just… soften.

The anger is still there. The care is still there. The issues are still real.

But they’re not driving me anymore.

I don’t think what we are experiencing is just political division. I really don’t.

I think it’s what happens when millions of dysregulated nervous systems collide online.

We are taking in so much. So fast. Before we’ve even had breakfast.

Of course it feels polarised and existential.

Of course everyone feels dangerous when we’re this activated.

What I've come to realise for myself is that this isn’t about what we believe.

It’s about what state our bodies are in while we’re believing it.

I can feel the difference in myself.

When I’m charged, disagreement feels like a threat to my being.

When I’m steadier, disagreement is uncomfortable — but it doesn’t feel like danger. And that changes how I speak. Or whether I speak at all.

What I now see is that my regulation hasn’t meant caring less.

If anything, it’s meant not letting adrenaline decide what I amplify.

Sometimes the most responsible thing I can do is close the app and let my body settle.

Sometimes it’s waiting longer than feels impressive or giving myself the permission to say nothing.

And sometimes it’s speaking — but only once the heat has moved through.

I’ve realised that I don’t have to carry the whole world in my nervous system at once.

So if you’re overwhelmed right now, it makes sense.

Just… maybe check your state before you add more heat.

That’s what I’m trying to practice.

Imperfectly.