The night I began to shake…

It’s May 2022. Post Covid.
I’m surrounded by humans again, something that still feels a little new.

Kate Northrup’s cross-pollination dinner happens to be held in my father’s former restaurant, the one he owned for forty years, I worked in all through my teens, and he sold right before the pandemic

I showed up excited to see old friends and meet new people.  I got to get dressed up. Look at that confidence! 

I had no idea how tender it might feel to be there. I didn’t expect to be so shaken.

I walked in and my body slowly began to tighten and then tremble. I couldn’t tell what the shaking was from. Was I cold? Was it that I hadn’t been in a large group of women in years?  Was it being in a familiar place that now felt different? Maybe it was the ache of something more recent, a fracture with a group of women I was close to?

It wasn't perceptible to those around me. But it was constant and uncomfortable for me. 
 

I began looking for layers of support.

I took off my heels so I could feel my feet on the ground.
I turned away from some of the louder conversations.
I asked Beth, the new owner, for hot water with lemon.
I went to my car and found a long, heavy brown sweater, the kind you can wrap around yourself like a blanket.
And I gave myself time to land back in my body.

Small things. Simple things.
Each one said to my nervous system:
You’re allowed to be here exactly as you are. I'm going to take care of you.

The circle was filled with amazing, soul-deep, ambitious women who spoke with such clarity about their work in the world. 

I didn’t have polished words that night. But I was resourced enough to speak from truth. 

When it was my turn to introduce myself I was able to say, “My name is Sarah. I’m feeling a bit shaky. I'm happy to be here.  I'm still crawling out of a cave. That’s what's real today.”

There’s a principle called the Yerkes-Dodson Law, which shows how support changes your capacity.

Same amount of pressure without support equals panic.
Tunnel vision. Cortisol spike. You’re scanning for threat, primed for fear.

Same amount of pressure with support equals stretch.
Your perception widens.
Your nervous system rebalances.
Your Reticular Activating System starts filtering for safety instead of just threat.
You see more. Feel more. Access what’s actually here.

In this scenario the stretch was to be there, honestly, connect authentically and leave when I wanted. 

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Think of a time you were moving through change, uncertainty, or fear. Did you try to fix it immediately? Analyze it? Make sense of it?

I know. Me too.

What happens when we ask instead:
What would a layer of support look like right now?

A blanket.
A cup of tea.
A hand on the heart.
Bare feet on the earth.
A friend.
A steadying practice.

You’re not bypassing the hard thing when you do this.
You’re allowing the body to feel enough safety while staying present with what’s hard. And from that place, what’s been out of alignment begins to shift on its own.

What I didn’t realize that night was how those small layers of support would keep giving.

The very next day, I led the mastermind group through breathwork and a cold ocean plunge.  We walked in slowly, utilized our breath, co-regulation, and nature until we were fully present, unafraid, and perhaps even joyful in the cold. There was choice throughout.
 

The day continued on with a hot tub, breakfast, and a few hours of somatic nervous system work. 

That whole day, I felt embodied, clear, and connected.

And here’s the full-circle moment.

At that very dinner and mastermind, I met Dr. Maura Moynihan.  Last week she was on my podcast and recalls me at that moment three years ago as a lighthouse. Interesting.

Support didn’t rescue me.
It revealed me.

Maura shared a powerful moment from her own life — a night when, instead of turning away from something she had long feared, she gently stayed with it. Nothing around her changed, yet everything in her experience did. 

By meeting what was hardest with enough inner support, a grip she’d carried for years simply loosened… and ease quietly took its place. 

To hear more examples about meeting edges, and building capacity through layers of support instead of pushing through: Listen to the full conversation here.

With gentle support,

Sarah