Scrolling through Instagram these days, I often wonder how people ever coped before we were inundated with self-help techniques on how to “thrive.” Before tapping, humming, and an endless carousel of “wellness hacks” popped up at every scroll, what did we do when we felt overwhelmed or unsettled? How did we “self-soothe” without someone online telling us exactly how?
The truth is, many now turn to social media for advice that historically would have come from more informed, nuanced sources—professionals who understand how the body and mind function together. Many online voices encourage quick fixes: tapping your forehead, humming certain notes, or practicing a specific breathing exercise. Yes, these might create short-lived comfort, but they rarely address what’s really going on under the skin. When dealing with deeper layers of trauma or chronic stress, these techniques alone won’t necessarily foster long-term change.
In recent years, the idea of having a “regulated” nervous system has become a talking point, much of it sparked by growing interest in trauma research. Books like Bessel van der Kolk’s The Body Keeps the Score introduced a wider readership to how the body records and holds onto trauma. At the same time, other works, such as Peter Levine’s Waking the Tiger and Babette Rothschild’s The Body Remembers, highlight the complexity of how challenging experiences shape our inner worlds.
What we’ve learned is that trauma often leaves its mark on the autonomic nervous system, affecting how we respond to future stressors. If an event was “too much, too soon, too fast,” or if there was “too little” support afterwards, the body might hold onto those reactions long-term. When this happens, the nervous system can remain on high alert or numb out completely, even when the danger has passed.

A regulated nervous system can flexibly respond to genuine threats and then return to a stable baseline once the situation has passed. It also allows room to experience a range of emotions—sadness, fear, joy, and even grief—without becoming overwhelmed. By contrast, a dysregulated system might respond to non-threats as though they’re life-or-death scenarios or fail to respond adequately to situations that genuinely warrant concern. These patterns can show up as emotional swings, persistent feelings of being “stuck,” or even physical health issues that defy easy explanation.
Most of us have experienced something akin to dysregulation at certain points in our lives. This isn’t necessarily a sign of permanent dysfunction; often it’s about context. Hormonal cycles, major life changes, and cumulative stressors all affect how we feel and respond. Temporary upheavals do not automatically mean we’re dysregulated. In fact, fluctuation is part of being human.
It’s understandable to be drawn to simple solutions, especially when they’re presented in neat, digestible posts. But “quick fixes” often assume we should always aim to be calm, steady, and relaxed. True somatic understanding acknowledges discomfort as part of life, not a failing. Tools like mindful breathing or gentle movement can help us stay with discomfort a bit longer, long enough to understand it, rather than pushing it away at the first sign of tension.
If we only use these techniques to escape what we’re feeling, they risk becoming safety behaviours that mask what the body is trying to tell us. Sometimes, it’s in the discomfort that real understanding and healing begin. This approach, valuing the body’s messages rather than silencing them, underpins much of the work being done in fields like somatic therapy, which is gaining a lot of attention, where people are increasingly curious about how body-based approaches might complement other forms of support.
There’s no harm in picking up a few tips and tricks from social media, but it helps to know their limits. An ongoing conversation is unfolding in research, literature, and clinical practice about how best to understand and work with the nervous system’s responses. My work, based in Hertfordshire, has it’s primary interest in holistic wellbeing, reflecting this broader shift towards considering the body’s role in mental health.
Ultimately, “regulation” is not a perfect, constant state, it’s more like a dance between challenge and stability. By recognising this, we make space for authentic, embodied resilience, rather than chasing a polished, picture-perfect image of unending calm. Such a perspective encourages us to see discomfort not as the enemy, but as part of the human experience, a signpost that there may be more to understand, integrate, and heal.
