Stop Regulating Everyone Else’s Nervous System

(Unless You’re Getting Paid for It)

You know what’s fun? Realizing that your lifelong talent for reading a room faster than a psychic on speed isn’t actually a superpower—it’s a survival mechanism. Ta-da! Welcome to the magical world of childhood trauma, where hypervigilance gets mistaken for empathy, and your nervous system has a full-time job it never applied for.

See, if you grew up in a household where emotions were like unexploded landmines—silent, buried, and very likely to ruin dinner—you probably became an expert at emotional weather forecasting. Was Dad in a rage cloud? Did Mum have her Sad Silent Storm face on? You could feel it before they even entered the room. You were the human version of a canary in an emotional coal mine.

But here’s the kicker: you didn’t do that because you were naturally empathetic. You did that because your tiny nervous system had one job—keep the peace or get caught in the crossfire. And so began your side hustle as a mini-therapist, conflict-diffuser, and feelings-minder for everyone except yourself.

Eagle Eye, perched quietly by the fire as usual, drops this wisdom without looking up:

“The medicine you needed, you became. But the healer still needs healing.”

Meanwhile, Pieter, polishing his metaphorical glasses with the smugness of someone who saw this coming three lifetimes ago, adds:

“We would also like to point out that emotional contortionism is not a sustainable profession. You’re not Gumby. Stop bending to fit into spaces you were never meant to shrink into.”

You see, when you grow up prioritizing everyone else's emotional comfort, your own needs start to feel… annoying. Inconvenient. Selfish, even. You develop this weird guilt for having a nervous system of your own. As if the best way to earn love and safety is to erase yourself like a well-trained ghost.

And that, my friend, is where healing kicks the damn door in.

Healing isn’t about becoming more regulated for others. It’s about reclaiming your nervous system like a stolen bike. It’s letting your body know: “Hey, it’s safe now. We’re not doing that anymore.” It’s not flinching every time someone sighs too loud or looks mildly disappointed. It’s remembering you don’t need to manage everyone’s emotional weather report before you decide whether you’re allowed to be sunny.

It’s messy. You might cry at weird times. You might get angry and not have a damn clue why. You might sit in a café and suddenly realize you have no idea what you like, because your whole personality has been based on making other people comfortable. That’s okay. It means the real you is finally coming online.

And here’s the good news: the world doesn’t end when you stop taking care of everyone else first.

You start sleeping better. Your shoulders stop trying to crawl into your ears. Your relationships shift—some get weird (because you stopped playing therapist), and some get real (because you started showing up as you).

Pieter again, with his trademark lack of tact:

“Empaths who don't learn boundaries are just unpaid emotional assistants. And nobody thanks the assistant. They just expect more copies made.”

So here’s your permission slip, stamped by your guides and signed in metaphorical glitter:

Stop regulating everyone else's nervous system. It’s not your job. It never was.

Start tending to your own. Breathe. Feel. Take up space. Eat the damn cake. Say no and mean it. Let people be disappointed—it won’t kill them.

And if anyone complains?

Tell them Pieter said to go regulate themselves.

Ready to fire your inner emotional secretary and reclaim your soul’s office?

If this hit a nerve (probably one you’ve been busy soothing in others), it’s time to come home to yourself.

We’ve got books, healing, sarcasm-laced wisdom, and consultations that don’t involve you carrying someone else’s emotional laundry.q

Visit www.living5d3d.com

Your nervous system will thank you. Probably with a nap.