Caitlin Olson - ITP.

A lot of people get praised for being independent.

What nobody talks about is how exhausting it can be when your nervous system believes needing help isn’t safe.

So you become the reliable one.
The capable one.
The one who figures it out.
The one everyone else leans on.

Meanwhile, receiving support feels uncomfortable, vulnerable, or even guilt-inducing.

Sometimes hyper-independence isn’t confidence.

Sometimes it’s a survival strategy that worked really well for a very long time.

And sometimes healing looks like letting someone carry a grocery bag, solve a problem, or show up for you without feeling like you owe them something in return.

Never gets old walking into a space that started as an idea and seeing it filled with people choosing themselves. Thank you for trusting me with your stories, your nervous systems, and your healing. 🦋💗🫶🏻💫

Currently booking from July 8 onward.

I’m so glad you got through it.

Truly. 💗

But I’m not entirely convinced your nervous system got the memo.

Because sometimes the story sounds like:
“It’s okay.”
“It is what it is.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Other people have had it worse.”

Meanwhile your shoulders are up by your ears, you haven’t taken a full breath in months (or years), and your body is still carrying the weight of something your mind decided was over a long time ago.

Surviving something and being unaffected by it are not the same thing.

Sometimes we just need someone to gently point out that carrying it well doesn’t mean it wasn’t heavy.

I’ve got you. 🫶🏻

Scary stuff, I get it.

Capacity gives you options.

The option to stay.

The option to leave.

The option to change something.

The option to accept something.

But first, you have to be willing to notice it. 💛

Not just before appointments either. Before work, before going into a store, and sometimes even before going home.

I’m guilty of this myself. My partner has texted me more than once asking if everything is okay while I’m sitting in the driveway for a few extra minutes before coming inside.

What’s interesting is how often I hear similar stories from clients.

I think most people assume it’s anxiety, avoidance, procrastination, or something that needs to be fixed.

Sometimes it might be.

Sometimes it’s simply a habit. Sometimes it’s the only quiet moment someone has had all day.

Life asks a lot of us. We move from work to home, from parenting to appointments, from one responsibility to the next without much time in between. Our schedules can change quickly, but that doesn’t always mean we do.

As a somatic practitioner, I’ve become fascinated by these transition moments. They often tell us a lot about what someone needs. A few extra minutes in the parking lot might be time to mentally prepare for what’s next. It might be a chance to decompress after a difficult day. It might be a moment of peace before stepping into another role or responsibility.

There isn’t one explanation, and that’s what I find most interesting about it.

I just know that when I hear someone tell me they sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes before coming in, I usually understand exactly what they mean. 🫶🏻

I’m curious. Are you a parking lot person too?

Sometimes the tears don’t come during the hardest moment.

They show up later. Maybe after everything settles down. Maybe when someone looks at you and asks, “Are you okay?”

There’s a reason so many people joke, “Don’t ask me that or I’ll cry.”

For a lot of us, it’s not really a joke.

We get used to getting through things. The appointment. The diagnosis. The breakup. The pressure at work. The family situation. Whatever is demanding our attention right now.

We focus on what needs to happen next and keep moving.

From the outside, it often looks like we’re handling it well. Sometimes it even feels like we are.

Then someone asks a simple, genuine question:

“Are you okay?”

And suddenly there’s emotion there that we didn’t even realize we were carrying.

Not because the question created it. Because it gave us a moment to notice it.

When we’re under stress, our attention often shifts toward coping, managing, and getting through what’s in front of us. There isn’t always space to fully feel everything in the moment.

Later, when things settle or someone offers genuine care and attention, those feelings can begin to surface.

That can feel surprising, but it’s a very human response.

Sometimes the tears aren’t a sign that something is wrong.

Sometimes they’re a sign you’ve been carrying a lot.

This is one of the reasons people find somatic work helpful. It creates opportunities to slow down, pay attention, and reconnect with what your body may have been holding while you were busy getting through it.

You know why we tell people to go touch some grass?

Because your nervous system wasn’t designed to spend 14 hours a day staring at rectangles.

Your feet contain thousands of sensory receptors that constantly send information to your brain about pressure, texture, temperature, and body position.

When you stand barefoot on the earth, feel the ground supporting you, look toward the horizon, and notice the world around you, your nervous system receives new information. 🦋

Information that says:

“We’re not trapped in traffic.”

“We’re not answering emails.”

“We’re not staring at a screen.”

“We’re standing in a field and everything is okay for this moment.”

Sometimes regulation isn’t more self improvement.

Sometimes it’s strolling barefoot with nowhere to go and nothing to do. 🫶🏻

We’re off to BC for a few days with our little family.

Truthfully, this trip is less about getting away and more about being together.

I haven’t talked much online about what we’ve been navigating with Samson because I’ve needed time to process it myself.

But this sweet boy has been at the center of our world for a long time, and right now we’re focused on making memories, slowing down, and appreciating every moment we get with him.

Because of that, I’ll also be taking a few days away from my somatic practice and will respond to emails, messages, and inquiries when I’m back online.

If you have a minute this weekend, we’d appreciate a little extra love sent Samson’s way. 🤍

As a somatic practitioner, I know now that it wasn’t really about the crosswalk.

It was about being seen.

When our nervous system doesn’t feel completely safe, it can become incredibly aware of other people. We start monitoring ourselves. Wondering how we look. Whether we’re doing something wrong. Whether we’re being judged.

For some people, it shows up at crosswalks.

For others, it’s walking into a gym alone.

Going to a coffee shop by yourself.

Dancing at a wedding.

Posting on social media.

Speaking up in a meeting.

Being the first person to arrive somewhere.

Trying to put change back in your wallet while someone waits behind you.

Parallel parking while convinced the entire street is watching.

It’s rarely about the thing itself.

It’s about how safe we feel being visible.

One of the things I love most about somatic work is that it gives us an opportunity to practice something different.

To feel a little safer in our body.

A little safer taking up space.

A little safer being ourselves.

A little safer being seen.

Thankfully, that’s something we can learn. You’re not alone.

Signed,

A former crosswalk avoider. 🤍

When I tried this exercise myself, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for. I was simply curious.

What I noticed surprised me.

I was digging my fingernails into my palms. My knuckles became incredibly tight. My entire arm started to shake.

When it was time to release, I couldn’t.

Not right away, anyway.

I had to take a deep breath and consciously allow my hand to soften. Even then, my fingers opened slowly, almost as if they weren’t quite ready to let go.

In somatic work, that’s the part I find fascinating.

Most people pay attention to the squeeze.

I’m interested in the release.

Because our nervous system isn’t just involved in creating movement. It’s involved in ending it.

The ability to contract is important.

The ability to release is equally important.

When we intentionally create tension and then slowly let it go, we give the nervous system an opportunity to experience both states and notice the transition between them.

That transition holds information.

Do you immediately soften?

Do you keep gripping even when the effort is over?

Do other parts of the body join in?

The jaw.

The shoulders.

The breath.

The nervous system tends to organize as a whole, not in isolated parts. Sometimes a simple hand exercise can reveal patterns that show up throughout the rest of the body.

This little exercise creates an opportunity to notice.

Can you soften when the effort is over?

Can your body recognize that it no longer needs to hold?

Can you release without rushing?

Awareness is the work.

If you’d like to try it, make a fist slowly. Hold for 3 to 5 seconds. Then release as slowly as possible and notice what happens in your hand, arm, jaw, shoulders, breathing, or anywhere else in your body.

I’m curious what you noticed.

Did your hand let go immediately, or did it take a moment to trust the release?