On fear, the story, and the pause that changes everything.

I take a deep breath. That’s the practice, especially when I notice the pattern of toxic thinking playing quietly in the background — the kind that sounds like everyone is out to get me.

I’ll be honest. I often play out scenarios in my mind that make people out to be what they are not. And even if my thoughts were true, it’s still within my control whether I continue giving them attention, because attention is what gives them power — not only over my mood, but over my actions and then the reactions of others.

For example, I’m currently in a situation where one of my clients produces the majority of my income, and he knows this. When I’m imbalanced, my mind starts creating a story that he’s intentionally pushing me to produce more by saying he may not survive another year, while offering no increase, no advancement, no compensation for the extra effort. And the story keeps looping: he’s doing this on purpose.

But when I pause and actually look at reality — at the history and the facts — I see something different. Yes, he hasn’t increased my retainer in several years, but he has offered something else. Support, freedom, respect for my boundaries, appreciation, gratitude — things that, in many cases, hold a kind of value money can’t replace.

With the self-awareness I’ve developed over the years, I can now witness these thoughts as they arise. I can take a breath and acknowledge them for what they are — patterns, and in this case, not true.

And even if they were true, I still have power. I can walk away, I can ask for change, I can voice my concerns — but from presence, not from the story, from clarity, with facts, with grounded awareness.

And yes, even that can bring up fear — the kind of fear that freezes you, that tells you it’s safer to stay quiet. But we meet it in the same way. We look at it. We ask, what’s actually scary about walking away? What belief is sitting underneath this? Fear is a false belief appearing real. And when you see it that way, you can question it.

This is where the shift happens. When we stop feeding the story and begin to inquire into it, we move out of that narrowed, reactive state — the sympathetic activation where all appears urgent, threatening, and limited — and return to something more open, more regulated, more true.

This is where Byron Katie’s work comes in. Her process, outlined in Loving What Is, begins with simple but powerful questions: Is it true? Can I absolutely know that it’s true? And in asking, something opens. We begin to see more clearly.

Which brings me to the three C’s of regulation in polyvagal theory: context — do I understand what’s happening? Can I see this situation as it is, rather than through the distortion of fear or past patterns? Choice — do I recognize that I have options?

And then, connection. Am I alone in this?

This one is quieter, but deeply important. Connection doesn’t always mean someone physically sitting next to you. It can be the awareness that you could get in touch with someone, that there are people who would listen, that support exists — even if you haven’t accessed it yet.

It can be your relationship with yourself, the part of you that pauses instead of reacting, the part that witnesses instead of spiraling. It can even be something more subtle — a sense of being held by life, by awareness itself, by something steady below the noise.

And when that connection is present, even slightly, things begin to regulate. The story loosens its grip, the fear loses some of its authority, and you come back — to breath, to body, to choice.

And once you are connected to yourself, there is a deeper knowing. A guidance within. Because connection doesn’t just mean reaching out to anyone. In polyvagal theory, there is something called co-regulation. When we’re dysregulated, our nervous system is scanning for signals from another person that it’s safe to come down. Someone calm and grounded can offer that without even trying. But someone who is equally anxious, who confirms the fear or adds to it, can pull you further in.

A simple example of this: when my client reaches out anxious about not surviving another year, I notice something happens in me too. I’m not the one in jeopardy, and yet his fear lands in my body. That’s co-regulation working in reverse. His nervous system, which is likely carrying the anxiety of his own investors, passes it along — and suddenly I’m caught in a story that isn’t even mine to carry.

Knowing this doesn’t make it go away, but it changes my relationship to it. I can feel the anxiety without becoming it. I can recognize where it came from. And I can choose, consciously, not to send it back amplified.

That’s the practice, too.

Developing a relationship with yourself is essential to developing this inner knowing.

I take another inhale, then a longer exhale. I remember that not everything I think is true, and in that moment, there is freedom.

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And if you want somewhere to start — something small and real:

When you pick up your phone and feel your stomach drop, put it back down, face down.

One slow inhale through your nose, a longer exhale through your mouth.

Then ask yourself: what are the actual facts here, without the story? Wait ten seconds.

And when your mind is spinning about someone’s intentions, say their name quietly.

Then find three moments, real ones, where they actually showed up for you. Not imagined. Actual. Let those sit next to the story without trying to fix anything.

That’s usually enough to create the gap. And the gap is where the choice lives.

I’ve been collecting small practices like this. I’ll share them soon. You can subscribe here.