How’s Your Sleep? (Part 1)

Understanding the Nervous System + Sleep Connection

If your sleep has been unpredictable lately—hard to fall asleep, waking up at 3 a.m., or dragging through the day—you’re not alone.

Whether you’re navigating a transition, shouldering (invisible) labor at home or work, or just absorbing the weight of the world, your sleep may be telling you something important: your nervous system is overloaded.

As a Somatic Experiencing® Practitioner in Palm Springs, I often work with high-performing, mission-driven women who can do it all—until their body says otherwise. And sleep is usually one of the first signs that something in the system needs tending.

Why Sleep Isn’t Just About “Shutting Down”

We often think of sleep as a binary: on or off, asleep or awake. But sleep is a delicate biological rhythm governed by your autonomic nervous system—the same system that manages stress, digestion, and heart rate.

When you’re under chronic stress, your body can get stuck in sympathetic activation (fight/flight) or a dorsal state (shutdown/freeze). In either state, your system doesn’t feel safe enough to deeply rest.

You might notice:

• Racing thoughts as soon as your head hits the pillow

• Waking up between 2–4 a.m. with a pounding heart or anxious mind

• Feeling “tired but wired” all day

• Difficulty falling back asleep after waking

Sleep Requires Safety—Even if You're Not Consciously Stressed

Here’s the thing: even if you’re doing “all the right things” with sleep hygiene—no screens, lavender tea, sound machines, sleep mask and blackout cirtains—if your nervous system is dysregulated, your body won’t let you fully rest.

You might be holding tension from:

• Past trauma or unfinished stress responses

• Cultural pressure to overperform or prove your worth

• Grief, transition, or loss that hasn’t been metabolized

• Long-standing patterns of high achievement and self-sacrifice

Sound familiar?

Somatic Experiencing®: A Gentle Way Back to Rest

Somatic Experiencing (SE) is a body-based approach to healing stress and trauma. Rather than pushing your body to “calm down,” it listens for where your nervous system is stuck and offers gentle, titrated support to restore resilience and safety.

In our work together, we don’t just talk about what’s keeping you up at night—we work with the sensations, rhythms, and impulses of your body so that rest can become available again, naturally.

Clients often say things like:

“For the first time in years, I can fall asleep without a podcast blaring in the background.”

“I wake up less and feel more rested—even on short nights.”

“I didn’t realize how much I was bracing all day until I started feeling safe enough to let go at night.”

A New Relationship to Sleep Starts with Awareness

Before changing habits, supplements, or even your bedtime, try asking:

What’s my nervous system holding right now that hasn’t had space to settle?

Sometimes, that question alone opens the door to a different kind of relationship with sleep—one that’s less about fixing and more about listening.

Next up in this series…

In Part 2, we’ll explore how life transitions—especially perimenopause—affect sleep, and how Somatic Experiencing can support you through these hormonal and identity shifts. Stay tuned.

Want to work together?
If your sleep has been a struggle and you suspect stress is part of the picture, I’d love to support you through private somatic coaching—online or in Palm Springs. Contact me here to learn more.

Burnout Isn’t Just Too Much Work—It’s Too Little of What You Truly Need

We tend to think of burnout as the result of doing too much: too many deadlines, too many responsibilities, too many people needing us.

But in my work as a Somatic Experiencing Practitioner and trauma-informed coach in Palm Springs, I’ve come to understand a deeper truth:

Burnout isn’t just caused by too much work—
It’s caused by too little repair.

Too little connection.
Too few safe places to land.
Too long pretending we’re fine.

Your nervous system is trying to help you survive

We’re wired to regulate, to rest, to return to balance. But when you're always “on”—bracing, fixing, performing—your body doesn’t get the time or space it needs to complete the cycle. Instead, it starts to shut down or push harder.

Burnout becomes a loop.

And the only way out? It isn’t just subtracting what’s harmful.

It’s adding back in what’s been missing.

Here are five powerful things to add to your life that support burnout recovery through a somatic, trauma-informed lens:

1. Micro-moments of repair

You don’t need a 10-day retreat (although it can help 😉).
You need consistent, body-based signals of safety.

• A slow exhale.

• A hand on your chest.

• Looking out the window and softening your gaze.
  
  

These tiny practices restore your nervous system in seconds—and help build capacity over time.

Burnout recovery begins with moments of presence, not massive life overhauls.

2. Relational safety

Burnout often comes with isolation—especially for high-achieving, compassionate women. We power through quietly, assuming it’s all on us.

But the nervous system is co-regulatory by design. We need safe connection to settle.

• A trusted friend.

• A somatic practitioner.

• A group space that values authenticity over performance.
  
  

These are more than “nice to have.” They’re essential tools in somatic healing.

3. Ritual and rhythm

Burnout flattens time. One long stretch of “go” without pause.
But our bodies respond to predictable rhythm and simple rituals.

• A candle before work.

• Tea in the same mug.

• A walk around the block after lunch.
  
  These tiny anchors reintroduce a sense of internal steadiness. And over time, they begin to repattern your nervous system toward safety.

4. Somatic permission to pause

Knowing you should rest doesn’t mean you can.

Many people struggle to rest because rest doesn’t feel safe in their body.

This is where Somatic Experiencing and trauma-healing work comes in. We work gently, in small doses, to expand your window of tolerance so your body can begin to associate stillness with safety—not danger.

Rest becomes part of a natural, regulated state.

5. A story that honors your wholeness

Burnout is often rooted in invisible myths:

• “I must earn my worth.”

• “If I stop, it’ll all fall apart.”

• “I’m only lovable when I’m useful.”
  
  

  These stories live in the body, not just the mind. To truly recover, we need to rewrite the myth we’re living inside.

At my Myth & Meaning retreat in Greece, we use embodied practices, group work, and archetypal storytelling to help women uncover and reclaim more life-affirming narratives.

You are allowed to live a life that honors both your strength and your softness.

The bottom line?

Your nervous system isn’t broken.
It’s doing what it was designed to do: keep you safe.

But you were meant for more than survival.
You were meant for connection, ritual, breath, and beauty.

And it’s not too late to come home to yourself.

Ready to transform your burnout this summer?
Click here to learn more about the Myth & Meaning retreat in Greece.

The Angst of the Mother’s Day Card Dilemma

I found myself in the greeting card aisle again.

Mother’s Day approaching, the shelves bursting with flowers, glitter, and scripted words that felt like they were shouting at me.

A wall of pinks and pastels.
Heartfelt declarations.
And a quiet knot forming in my stomach many years ago now.

I picked up a card that read:

"Mom, you’ve always been my rock, my soft place to land."

Not quite.

Another:

"Your unconditional love has shaped every part of who I am."

Nope.

And then:

"You’ve loved me perfectly from the very beginning."

I had to set that one down fast. Each card felt like a betrayal of truth.

Too much.
Too sweet.
Too far from my experience.

Not because my mother and I didn’t love each other deeply.

But because the love we shared was complicated, and for many years, hard-won.

That’s what so few people talk about when it comes to Mother’s Day. That for a lot of us, the day brings up more than brunch and roses.

It brings up longing.
Confusion.
Sometimes grief.

And yet—dominant culture doesn’t really make room for that.
There’s no card that says:

"I see the effort you made and I’m still healing from what you couldn’t give."

Or,

"Happy Mother’s Day. We’ve come a long way."

Eventually, I found a plain card with just three words on the front:
Happy Mother’s Day.
No butterflies.
No florals.
No declarations of eternal closeness.

It felt simple and honest.
Not syrupy.
Not performative.
A gesture that acknowledged duty, and yes, love—but didn’t deny reality to get there.

That, I realized, was the most loving card I could offer.
One that honored the truth of the past and the boundary of the present.

And if you’ve ever stood in a card aisle with that same sinking feeling,
I want you to know:

You’re not broken.
You’re not ungrateful.
You’re not alone.

The tension you feel? That’s real.
And it’s not just you.

So many of us walk the line between gratitude and grief when it comes to our mothers. Especially those of us doing trauma-informed healing work.

For me, that healing changed everything.

I became my mother’s caregiver at the end of her life. And in that sacred space, we found something new—
forgiveness,
closeness,
deep recognition and mutual appreciation.

It didn’t erase the pain of the past, but it let love come through anyway.

I saw her not just as a mother, but as a woman.
A soul doing her best with the tools she had.
And with that shift, something opened in me.

I was no longer waiting for her to become what I needed: I was becoming that for myself.

That’s the real miracle of healing.
You stop trying to rewrite the old story,
and instead learn to be the kind of parent you always longed for.

Not just with your head,
but in your body.
In your spirit.

You learn to listen to your own needs.
To offer tenderness without self-abandonment.
To hold boundaries with kindness and strength.

This is the quiet, powerful work of re-mothering.
And it’s available to all of us—especially on days when the world wants to hand us someone else’s script.

And here’s something else we don’t talk about enough:

A complicated relationship with your mother can also impact how you relate to other women.

Sometimes it shows up as distrust.
Sometimes comparison.
Sometimes fear of intimacy.

That’s why being in spaces with boundaried, self-nurturing women can be so reparative.

It shows your nervous system a new template.
A new possibility.

Women who listen.
Who don’t demand you shrink.
Who hold space for your truth and theirs.

That’s what we practice together—in my 1:1 work and at my group offerings. We gather as we are, healing our wounds not just through words and intentions, but through embodied experience.

If this Mother’s Day feels tender, here are three ways to parent yourself with love:

1. Listen to your body, not the greeting cards.

Your nervous system might be carrying old imprints: tension, dread, longing, guilt.
Instead of pushing them away, try pausing and noticing what’s true in your body.
Put your hand on your heart.
Breathe.
Ask yourself, What would a loving parent do right now?
Even just witnessing your body’s truth with compassion is an act of healing.

2. Protect your energy with clear, kind boundaries.

You don’t have to attend events that feel performative.
You don’t have to pretend to feel something you don’t.
And if your mother (or her memory) still carries pain, you can bless her and still choose space.
Boundaries (no matter what culture we are from) are a form of love—especially when they keep you grounded in what’s real.

3. Offer yourself what you most needed and never got.

Did you need tenderness?

Encouragement?

Consistency?

Someone to remind you that you are good, worthy, safe?

Start there.

Write yourself a note.
Make your favorite childhood meal.
Light a candle and say the words you always wished someone would say. Be the mother now.
The one who sees you, believes you, celebrates your growth.

Mother’s Day doesn’t have to be about pretending.

It can be about honoring.
Honoring your mother for what she gave.
Honoring yourself for what you survived.
And honoring the work you’re doing now to become more whole, more free, more you.

That’s something worth celebrating.

And it doesn’t need glitter to shine.

Ready to give yourself the gift of nurturing, care and support this year? Join my intimate 7-night retreat this August in Greece. Get the details and celebrate yourself here.

The Wisdom of Wings: What the Myth of Icarus Can Teach Us About Resilience Today

Imagine this: a father and son stand on the edge of a labyrinthine tower, wings made of wax and feathers strapped to their backs. Below them, the deep blue sea stretches endlessly; above, the blazing sun waits. Daedalus, the master craftsman, warns his son, Icarus:

“Fly not too high, lest the sun melt your wings. Nor too low, lest the sea weigh them down.”

And so begins one of the most iconic myths of ancient Greece—a tale of freedom, flight, ambition, and consequence.

But what if this story isn’t just a warning about overreaching?

What if it’s also a metaphor for how we navigate our own emotional and energetic range?

The Window of Resilience: Our Modern-Day Wings

In trauma-informed healing work, we often talk about the Window of Resilience—the optimal zone in which we can feel, think, and respond with flexibility and presence.

When we are within this window, we are connected. We can access our intuition, creativity, and power. When we move outside of it, we swing into either:

• Hyperarousal (too much activation, like anxiety, overwhelm, rage),
  or

• Hypoarousal (too little activation, like numbness, shutdown, or depression).

This isn’t just nervous system theory—it’s life in motion.

And doesn’t that sound familiar?

Flying too high—too close to the sun—might look like burnout, overdoing, or constantly proving your worth. Flying too low—too close to the sea—might look like playing small, staying silent, or shrinking yourself to be “safe.”

Ancient Myths as Mirrors for Modern Lives

Here’s the thing: Greek myths weren’t just entertainment. They were encoded messages about how to live wisely, bravely, and in balance with the forces of nature—both outside and within.

The myth of Icarus reminds us of something vital: True power lies in finding the middle path—the space where we can stretch, risk, feel, and still remain tethered to our own inner knowing.

In our world, though, women aren’t usually punished for flying too high.

We are conditioned, subtly and not-so-subtly, to stay close to the sea.

• To quiet our brilliance.

• To swallow our rage.

• To smooth over conflict.

• To put others’ needs before our own wisdom.

So if we’re going to learn from this myth, we may need to flip it a little.

For Many Women, the Greater Risk is in Rising

In my work as a coach and Somatic Experiencing Practitioner, I see it every day: the fear of rising.

Not the fear of failure, but the fear of what will happen if we stop dimming our light.

Flying “too high” might mean:

• Saying what you really think in a meeting.

• Raising your prices.

• Leaving a relationship that no longer honors your becoming.

• Saying yes to a dream that no one else can see but you.

And it might feel scary. But this is what reclaiming your wings looks like.

Resilience isn’t about staying small. It’s about expanding the range of what you can tolerate without abandoning yourself.

What You Can Do Right Now

As you go about your day, try asking yourself:

• Where am I right now? Within my window of resilience, or outside it?

• Am I shrinking when I could be rising?

• What would it mean to fly in my own centerline—balanced, powerful, present?

And if you want support in doing that, or if the land of Greece is calling you home in some deep, ancient way—I’d love to walk with you there.

Returning to the Land of Myth: A Retreat for the Soul

This September, I’m offering a 7-night retreat in the Peloponnese, Greece, called Myth & Meaning.

We’ll gather under the olive trees, surrounded by mountains and sea, to reconnect with the archetypal stories that still live in us.

Through embodiment practices, Somatic Experiencing, mythology, and circle work, we’ll explore:

• What myths are you still living?

• Where are you flying too low or too high?

• How do you come back into your own window of resilience?

• And what happens when you allow yourself to reclaim your wings?

This isn’t just a vacation. It’s an epic journey to something ancient, wise, and utterly alive in you.

Isn’t it time you answered the call?

The Myth and Meaning Retreat in Greece (august 31 - September 7) is now open for registration for a limited time. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THE DETAILS AND Join us.

My (Three) Favorite Things in a Serious Crisis

This is the blog post I never wanted to write. 

Picture it:

One moment I’m in nature under gloriously scented pines, reveling in the crisp air, smelling intoxicating coffees percolating at surrounding campsites, hearing the laughter of families and friends on a holiday weekend. The next, a massive fire truck and ambulance are there to tend to my injuries after a brutal, inescapable attack from a canine.

With more and more people turning to somatic modalities for healing stress, anxiety and trauma, (not to mention chronic sleep difficulties, digestive issues, autoimmune conditions and relationship and boundary issues), it’s often easy to overlook how transformative these somatic modalities can be when shock trauma happens.

In a situation of inescapable attack - like with an unpredictable animal, or being robbed at knifepoint or a sexual assault - the nature of the threat is such that it’s often impossible to fight or flee, our first lines of protective responses. When those options don’t work, freeze is often the only other life-saving option available. And while helpful in the short-run, over the long run unless those defensive orienting responses are completed in the nervous system, serious complications can arise. 

In this blog post, I share three things I recently did when faced with an inescapable attack to mitigate the likelihood of developing symptoms of post-traumatic stress. 

1. Physical support

When I was attacked by a 70 lb dog earlier this year, as good fortune would have it, a park ranger was coming around the bend on a golf cart and saw the whole thing. He asked what I needed and my training as a Somatic Experiencing Practitioner kicked in. When experiencing a shock trauma, the human nervous system needs to co-regulate with another system if at all possible. Intuitively, I asked the kind ranger to place his hand on my shoulder and keep it there for a while. 

By doing so, my body avoided going into overwhelm. It trembled and shook, and the supportive physical contact helped my nervous system feel contained. 

Later, while we waited for the paramedics to arrive, the other ranger Paige and I sat together back to back. (Also - big shout out to both her and John for their wise compassionate care!)

Because our mammalian nervous system is like that of other animals, our bodies know we are safe and the ordeal is over when we can experience that kind of supportive, non-judgmental physical contact. 

Just like you will intuitively kiss a child’s boo boo, offering physical contact in the moment can do a lot to prevent the development of long term symptoms (like in my case avoiding places where there are large dogs or going camping again, a common symptom of unresolved post-traumatic stress).

It certainly did for my system.

2. Singing 

As we waited for care to arrive on the narrow mountain road under the majestic trees, I was reminded of and started spontaneously singing the childhood classic “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music: 

When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I’m feeling sad,

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don’t feel so bad!

And while the lyrics were helpful, what was really powerful was that my nervous system was naturally reaching for a very wise strategy.

The vagus nerve, the largest nerve in the body, contributes greatly to our self-regulation. The ability to calm down when we are too agitated – but also to reach for the healthy aggression that can often help protect us – is all related to the functioning of this massive nerve. Things that help support vagal tone including humming, chanting and singing, and spontaneous social engagement.

By singing, not only was my mind distracted from the blood gushing down my leg and the searing pain (Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudel, doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles), but I was able to discharge some of the build up of energy that could have easily lead to an anxiety or panic attack or even shock, a critical condition brought on by the sudden drop in blood flow through the body. 

Plus when Paige joined in and sang with me, I actually had a moment of relief in what could have been an utterly terrifying and isolating experience. (Remember one definition of trauma is anything that overwhelms our capacity to cope, and leaves us feeling helpless, hopeless or unable to respond).

Trauma is anything that overwhelms our capacity to cope, and leaves us feeling helpless, hopeless or unable to respond.

By discharging the high level of energy in my system in a conscious way supported by presence, I was able to advocate for myself and hopefully prevent further traumatization (which often happens after a shocking incident like a car accident, fall, or dog bite).

3. Social engagement

After experiencing some physical support with contact from the park rangers, followed by the singing, there was one more piece that helped me regulate enough to be able to think clearly.

When the massive fire truck and paramedics arrived, I let the folks near me know it was important to speak in low voices. I also gently let them know that, despite the fact that it was a sunny summer morning, I needed the emergency response folks who were helping me to take off their sunglasses to make eye contact with me. 

(I should add that it was wonderful, empowering and affirming that they did - and not something I took for granted or would have necessarily happened for others, unfortunately). 

Again, because we are mammals, the need for contact with other mammals of the same species was incredibly helpful to my limbic system and other subcortical brain structures. These are the parts of the brain that keep our hearts beating, our lungs pumping and keep us alive with no conscious effort on our part. 

This system (the autonomic nervous system) is what is keeping you alive all day every day. 

Because eye contact is one of the primary ways we attach to other human beings for safety (check out what a baby does when there is a loud sound - it will often orient to the eyes of the primary caregiver), it’s incredibly helpful. If you’ve ever tried to have an intimate conversation with someone wearing sunglasses or glued to their phone and felt really uncomfortable, this is why. 

By simply letting folks know that my nervous system needed low voices and eye contact (kind of like a vulnerable baby does), the experience of medical intervention was far less jarring and traumatic.

While I certainly would have preferred to enjoy an easy weekend of camping, by having these somatic tools in my back pocket and using them, I’m hopeful I’ll continue to recover from my injuries. 

I hope you’ll reflect on these tools for regulation and how you might use them not only in a crisis, but in your daily life - at home, at work, on vacation and with the populations you serve. By doing so, you are taking an active role in your own healing and that of us all.

Let me know how it goes!

Ready to take the next step in your healing? The Refuge of Boundaries experience is coming in the fall of 2023. Click here to get on the list and be the first to know when doors open.