Our Nervous System
Nervous System Care: Why “Calm” Isn’t Just a Feeling
There’s a particular moment that happens on almost every forest walk I take. Somewhere along the path, my breath slows down and I stop noticing my to do list.
I always described this as “I’m feeling calm.” But what’s actually happening is more specific, and understanding it has changed how I think about wellbeing, both my own and the work I do with clients.
This is something I’ve learned over and over again through my different studies, and especially through my current uni degree. Every course seems to circle back to the same truth from a different angle: the body keeps score long before the mind catches up, and safety has to be felt, not just understood.
Two modes, one nervous system
Your autonomic nervous system runs largely on autopilot, and it operates in two broad modes:
Sympathetic, the “go” state. Alert, activated, ready to respond. Useful in short bursts 9exhausting when sustained).
Parasympathetic, the “rest and digest” state. This is where recovery, digestion, immune function, and genuine relaxation happen.
Most of modern life is designed to keep us in the first mode almost continuously: deadlines, notifications, traffic, decision fatigue. The body doesn’t distinguish well between “genuinely dangerous” and “chronically overstimulated.” It just registers threat and stays braced.
The vagus nerve: your body’s off switch
A key player in shifting out of that braced state is the vagus nerve, a long, wandering nerve that runs from the brainstem down through the throat, heart, lungs, and gut. It’s the primary communication line for your parasympathetic system, and it responds to specific, learnable inputs:
A slower exhale than inhale.
Humming, chanting, or toning (the vibration stimulates the vagus nerve directly).
Cold exposure, like splashing cold water on your face.
Time in nature. Research on “forest bathing” (shinrin yoku) has shown measurable reductions in cortisol and heart rate after time among trees.
Safe eye contact and co-regulation with another calm nervous system.
This is part of why practices like sound therapy, breathwork, and time outdoors aren’t just pleasant, they’re physiologically doing something specific. The vibration of a singing bowl against the body, the elongated exhale that naturally happens when you’re relaxed in nature, these are direct inputs to a system that’s often starved of them.
Regulation is a practice, not a personality trait
One of the most useful reframes I’ve come across is this: calm isn’t something you either have or don’t have. It’s a state your body can be trained to return to, the same way a muscle strengthens with repeated use. Every time you give your body a genuine signal of safety, a walk under trees, a slow exhale, five minutes of stillness, you’re not just having a nice moment. You’re building capacity.
This matters especially for anyone carrying stress, grief, or trauma, where the nervous system may be more prone to staying activated even in objectively safe situations. In that context, small, repeatable, low pressure moments of regulation matter more than occasional big gestures of “self care.”
What this looks like in practice
You don’t need a forest or a sound bowl to begin (though both help). Nervous system care can be as simple as:
Lengthening your exhale for a minute: in for 4, out for 6.
Placing a hand on your chest and noticing your heartbeat.
Stepping outside, even briefly, and letting your eyes soften on something green.
Humming a low note for 30 seconds.
Noticing, without judgment, when your body is bracing, and asking what it needs.
None of these require getting it “right.” The nervous system responds to repetition and gentleness, not perfection.
If you’re curious about how sound and breath based practices support this kind of regulation more deeply, I offer private sessions and community gatherings designed around exactly this, but the practices above are yours to use anytime, no booking required.
Jessica
