what your nervous system hears

Melanie Chavez • October 31, 2026

why your body stays on alert long after the danger has passed

In the last two posts, we talked about what trauma really is and how the body holds onto what the mind tries to forget. Today I want to talk about the system that does a lot of that holding: the nervous system. Once you understand how it works, so much of what you feel in your body starts to make sense.


Your nervous system is your body's communication network. It connects your brain to every part of you, constantly sending messages back and forth. Part of it you control, like deciding to lift your arm or take a step.


But a big part of it runs entirely on its own, beneath your awareness. That part is called the autonomic nervous system, and it's in charge of all the things you never have to think about: your heartbeat, your breathing, your digestion, your blood pressure, your body temperature. It keeps you alive without asking for your input.


The autonomic nervous system has two main branches, and they work a bit like the gas pedal and the brakes in a car.


The sympathetic nervous system is the gas pedal. It's what kicks in when your body senses danger, and it's often called the fight or flight response. Your heart rate speeds up, your breath gets quick and shallow, your muscles tense, and stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol flood your system. Blood moves away from things like digestion and toward your arms and legs so you can run or defend yourself. In a truly dangerous moment, this response is a gift. It's what gets you out of the way of a speeding car.


The parasympathetic nervous system is the brakes. It's often called rest and digest. When it's in charge, your heart rate slows, your breath deepens, your muscles soften, and your body turns its attention back to healing, digesting, sleeping, and restoring. Much of this work happens through the vagus nerve, a long nerve that wanders from the brainstem down through the throat, heart, lungs, and belly. This is the state where we feel calm, open, and connected to the people around us.


There's also a third response worth knowing about. When a threat feels too big to fight or escape, the body can move into freeze or shutdown. Everything slows down. We go numb, foggy, or far away. It's the body's way of protecting us when there's nowhere to go, and many people who have lived through overwhelming experiences know this state well, even if they've never had a name for it.


In a healthy rhythm, the body moves between these states all day long. Something stressful happens, the gas pedal engages, and once it passes, the brakes kick in and we settle again. Some people call the range where we can handle life's ups and downs and still feel like ourselves the window of tolerance. Inside that window, we can feel stress without being swept away by it.


Trauma changes this rhythm. When we've lived through something overwhelming, or through years of stress without enough time to recover, the nervous system can get stuck. The window of tolerance gets smaller. It doesn't take much to push us out of it, and it takes a lot longer to come back.


For some people, the gas pedal gets stuck down. The body stays on high alert, constantly scanning for danger even when we're safe. This can look like anxiety, racing thoughts, irritability, trouble sleeping, a jumpy startle response, or never quite being able to relax. For others, the body leans into shutdown. This can look like exhaustion, numbness, depression, feeling disconnected from yourself or others, or just going through the motions. Many people swing back and forth between the two.


And because the nervous system runs so much of the body, the effects don't stop at our moods. When stress hormones stay elevated for long periods, it can affect digestion, sleep, immune function, muscle tension, and inflammation. This is part of why so many people carrying unresolved stress and trauma also live with headaches, stomach issues, chronic pain, or a body that just never feels rested.


Here is the most important thing I want you to take from this: none of this means you are broken. Your nervous system learned these patterns to keep you safe. It did its job. It's just still doing it long after the danger has passed. And the beautiful thing is that the nervous system can learn again. With patience, practice, and support, it can begin to feel safe, and the window can slowly widen.


One small way to begin is simply through your breath. Try breathing in gently through your nose, and then letting your exhale be a little longer than your inhale. Longer, slower exhales are one of the simplest ways to signal to your body that it's okay to settle. Do this for a few rounds and notice what shifts, even if it's something small.


In the next post, I'll share more practices for supporting and regulating your nervous system, simple ways to come back into your body and back into that place of safety. For now, I'd invite you to sit with this: when life gets hard, where does your body tend to go? Does it speed up, or does it shut down?



Your body has been working so hard to protect you. It deserves to know it can rest now.

By Melanie Chavez • November 4, 2026
simple practices to calm your nervous system and feel safe again
By Melanie Chavez • October 28, 2026
The lives, loves, hardships, and gifts that shaped who I am today.
By Melanie Chavez • October 26, 2026
why understanding your story isn't always enough to heal it
By Melanie Chavez • October 8, 2026
it isn't only the big moments, but the everyday ones too
By Melanie Chavez • October 8, 2026
why being liked was never the same as being loved
By Melanie Chavez • August 25, 2026
I’ve been thinking about babies lately. Not for the reasons you might think, but because they’ve helped me understand something about being human. Babies experience discomfort. They get hungry. They get cold. They get tired. Their bellies hurt. They want to be held. And when they’re uncomfortable, they let you know it—loudly. But a baby doesn’t lie awake thinking: Why does this always happen to me? What if this never gets better? What if something is wrong with me? Why can everyone else handle this when I can’t? What if I’m always going to feel this way? They experience the discomfort. We experience the discomfort and then tell ourselves a story about it. And I think somewhere in that space between what is happening and the story we create about what is happening, discomfort can become suffering. Discomfort and Suffering Are Not the Same Thing This distinction has been explored in Buddhist philosophy for thousands of years. Buddhism doesn’t teach that we’re somehow supposed to avoid pain. Quite the opposite. Life contains pain. Bodies hurt. People die. Relationships end. People disappoint us. We lose things we love. We don’t always get what we want. We age. We get sick. Things change when we desperately want them to remain the same. That’s part of being alive. There is a well-known saying that captures an idea often associated with Buddhist philosophy: “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” I think that can sound almost harsh when you first hear it. Because if you’ve experienced heartbreak, grief, trauma, illness, betrayal, or loss, suffering certainly doesn’t feel optional. And I don’t think the point is that we can simply decide not to hurt. Pain is part of the human experience. Buddhist philosophy doesn’t ask us to pretend otherwise. In fact, the recognition of dukkha—often translated as suffering, dissatisfaction, or unease—is at the very heart of Buddhist teaching. Life changes. We lose people. Bodies age. Relationships change. Things don’t always go according to plan. We experience things we don’t want, and we lose things we desperately want to keep. That’s the pain of being human. But Buddhist philosophy also asks us to look at what happens after the pain arrives. We resist it. We cling to what we wish were happening instead. We desperately want reality to be different from what it is. We replay what happened. We predict what will happen next. We judge ourselves for feeling the way we feel. We attach stories to the experience: This shouldn’t be happening. I can’t handle this. I’ll never be okay again. Why does this always happen to me? Something must be wrong with me. And now we’re no longer experiencing only the original pain. We’re experiencing the pain plus everything our mind has built around it. What Does “Suffering Is Optional” Really Mean? Pain is inevitable. We are human. We are going to experience loss, heartbreak, disappointment, illness, fear, grief, change, and moments that simply hurt. We cannot control everything that happens to us, and no amount of healing or spiritual growth will give us a life completely free from pain. But suffering? That’s where things get more complicated. Maybe optional doesn’t mean we consciously choose whether or not to suffer. Most of us aren’t consciously choosing it at all. Maybe it means that some of our suffering is created subconsciously through our resistance, attachment, fear, judgment, and the stories we continue telling ourselves about what happened. And if some of our suffering is created there, then perhaps some of it can also be released there. There is another Buddhist teaching that illustrates this beautifully: the two arrows. The first arrow is the pain life gives us. The second arrow is the suffering we add ourselves. And I keep thinking about that. Because I shoot myself with the second arrow all the time. I think most of us do. We Don’t Consciously Choose Suffering I want to be really clear about this. When I say that we sometimes participate in our own suffering, I don’t mean that someone wakes up in the morning and thinks: You know what sounds great today? Misery. And I certainly don’t mean that someone caused their trauma, abuse, illness, loss, or whatever painful thing happened to them. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the subconscious ways we participate in our own suffering after something painful happens. Someone says something hurtful to me. That’s the first arrow. Then I replay the conversation for three days. I imagine what I should have said. I wonder what they think about me. I tell myself they don’t respect me. Then I remember another time they hurt me. Then another. Then I imagine what they’ll say the next time I see them. The original conversation lasted five minutes. I’ve now lived it for three days. That’s the second arrow. And I know that pattern because I’ve lived it—repeatedly. Sometimes Suffering Sounds Like Resistance This shouldn’t be happening. They shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t feel this way. My life should look different by now. Sometimes it sounds like fear: What if this never changes? Sometimes it sounds like shame: Why am I like this? Sometimes it sounds like comparison: Everyone else seems to have figured this out. Sometimes it sounds like attachment: I cannot be okay unless this person stays. I cannot be happy unless I have this amount of money. I cannot feel successful unless my life looks this particular way. And sometimes suffering looks like trying desperately to control something that was never ours to control. The discomfort may be real. The grief may be real. The fear may be real. The heartbreak may be very, very real. But then the human mind gets involved. And we can turn one painful moment into a thousand painful moments. This Doesn’t Mean We Should Stop Feeling Actually, I think it’s the opposite. Avoiding discomfort can create its own kind of suffering. We numb. We distract ourselves. We stay busy. We scroll. We overwork. We overthink. We pretend we’re fine. We spiritually bypass what hurts by trying to turn everything into a lesson before we’ve even allowed ourselves to feel it. But maybe the answer isn’t escaping discomfort. Maybe it’s learning how to experience discomfort without immediately building a home inside it. Feel the sadness. Feel the anger. Feel the disappointment. Feel the fear. Let your body experience what is actually here. Then notice what your mind begins adding. That’s the practice I’m becoming interested in. Not: How do I make sure nothing uncomfortable ever happens to me? Because that’s impossible. But: How do I stop turning every uncomfortable experience into a story about who I am, what my life means, or what will happen next? That’s different. Maybe Babies Know Something We’ve Forgotten A baby can be absolutely devastated because they’re hungry. Then you feed them. And five minutes later, they’re staring at the ceiling fan like it’s the greatest thing humanity has ever invented. There’s something beautiful about that. The discomfort came. They experienced it fully. Their need was met. And the moment passed. They haven’t learned to carry yesterday into today yet. We have. Obviously, adult life is infinitely more complicated than a baby’s hunger. Some experiences leave real wounds. Trauma can change the nervous system. Grief doesn’t disappear because we decide to “let it go.” There are experiences that take years to process. There are things we may carry with us for the rest of our lives. But carrying something isn’t necessarily the same thing as suffering inside of it forever. And I still wonder if there’s something we can learn from the distinction. Pain asks to be felt. Suffering often asks to be believed. Maybe that’s part of healing: learning to recognize the difference. Learning to ask: What is actually happening right now? And then: What am I adding to it? Because perhaps freedom isn’t a life without discomfort. Maybe freedom is learning that discomfort can move through us without becoming the story of our lives. The first arrow may not always be ours to choose. But maybe, with awareness and practice, we can slowly learn to stop firing the second one. And maybe that’s what “suffering is optional” is really asking us to consider.
By Melanie Chavez • August 10, 2026
how we learn to disconnect from ourselves — and what healing might really mean
By Melanie Chavez • August 10, 2026
the gentle practice of caring less about everything else so you can care more about you
By Melanie Chavez • July 26, 2026
why we postpone happiness in the hopes of more later.
By Melanie Chavez • July 26, 2026
the real reasons doing less is doing more