In many therapeutic and self-regulation frameworks, there’s a strong emphasis on change — identifying the state we’re in and then finding a way to move out of it. We’re often encouraged to ask ourselves, “What helps me shift?”, “What brings me back?”, or “How do I get to a more regulated place?” These questions can be incredibly useful. They offer tools, direction, and hope when we feel stuck, overwhelmed, or cut off.
But what gets lost when our orientation is always toward movement, toward fixing or improving our internal state?
There’s a subtle but significant difference between noticing a state and allowing it. The former can sometimes carry an implicit judgment — “This isn’t where I want to be.” The latter invites something more radical: “This is where I am. Can I be with it?”
Some states are uncomfortable, heavy, even frightening. Of course we want relief. But in certain moments, the effort to escape may create more tension than the state itself. In trying to move out of our experience, we risk abandoning the very parts of ourselves that most need our presence. The part of us that feels collapsed, frantic, frozen, or numb — it might not need a strategy. It might need witnessing. Contact. Compassion. Time.
There’s wisdom in our physiology, even in its distress. And sometimes the most healing move isn’t movement at all. It’s staying. Sitting alongside. Listening, without agenda.
This isn’t to say that resources and pathways out of dysregulation aren’t valuable — they are. Sometimes we do need to shift. But if every moment of discomfort or activation becomes something to “fix,” we can miss the deeper healing that happens when we are simply with ourselves, as we are.
Gently and without pressure:
What if I didn’t need to move out of here? What if I could just stay, for now, and see, companion and be curious about what’s here with me?
