what’s in My Resiliency Basket You ask?

Let me tell you how I began to hack my own nervous system

I didn’t always know how to self-regulate.

In fact, for a long time, I thought that stuffing down my feelings and pretending I was fine was what “control” looked like. I thought being strong meant not crying. I believed the more I could compartmentalize and push through, the better I was doing.

But my body always knew better.

Every time I swallowed an emotion, I felt it. It settled in my throat or my belly. It twisted and burned. It felt like tears trying to crawl out of my eyes, hot and acidic, while my throat closed up like a tightening fist. I later learned that the chemistry of our tears is different based on the emotions behind them—yes, scientists can tell the difference between happy and sad tears. If that doesn’t prove our bodies hold emotions, I don’t know what does.

Eventually, I started paying attention to that knot. I gave it numbers, 1–10. A level 3 was tolerable, something I could work with. But a level 8? That’s when I knew I’d hit the danger zone—my speech would quicken, my stomach would churn, I’d feel like I was floating out of my body. It was bright red and pulsing, like a fire alarm going off in my nervous system. And it always ended the same way: a shutdown, an outburst, or me running away.

I used to run—literally. I’d leave the house, turn off my phone, disappear for hours. I wasn’t trying to punish anyone or escape responsibility. I just had no other tools. My system was flooded, and I didn’t know how to cope. But that didn’t help anyone—not my loved ones, and definitely not me. I would come back full of guilt, shame, and confusion.

Now, things are different. It’s taken years of practice, and I still make mistakes. I still get overwhelmed. I still leave when I need to, but I do it differently. My partner and I talked through it—not during a meltdown, but during calm, connected moments. We agreed that when I start feeling myself rising past a 5 or 6, I check in. I say something simple like, “I’m starting to feel overwhelmed and I need to go.”

Then I go.

But here’s the important part: I’m not leaving to avoid feeling—I’m leaving so I can feel. I allow the emotion to rise up and move through. I don’t do breathwork to make it stop; I scream, cry, shake, and stem. (Everyone stems in some way—it’s a natural self-soothing response.) I let the energy discharge. I give my nervous system space to release what it's been holding.

I don’t turn off my phone. I keep my location on or text my partner to let them know where I am and that I’m safe. And when I come back, we finish the conversation. Always. We come back together and reconnect, and now I can speak clearly about what was happening for me—without shame.

This is what being regulated actually means. It doesn’t mean staying calm 100% of the time. It means knowing what your cues are. It means having tools ready. It means tending to yourself instead of exploding onto someone else. It means learning what you need before you need it.

That’s what the “Resiliency Basket” is all about.

Mine includes a soft blanket, 8D soundtracks, binaural beats, a pen that feels just right, and a few phrases written down that bring me back to my truth. It’s not always a literal basket—sometimes it’s a mental checklist. Other times it’s something I physically carry with me. The point is, it’s there when I need it.

If you don’t know what goes in yours yet, that’s okay. Start small. Start by noticing what helps you feel safe, held, comforted, or calm. Build it before the storm hits. You’re not weak for needing help. You’re human. And you deserve to feel your feelings all the way through—and come out the other side without shame.

Your body will thank you for listening.