We were catching up over coffee. An old friend—someone I’ve known for more than forty years. The conversation started light. Familiar. We talked about kids, work, life. It felt comforting to reconnect.

And then she said something political.

It wasn’t just a passing comment. It was shaped by conspiracy thinking, frustration, and a kind of hardened certainty. And it hit me hard—not only because of what she said, but because of who said it. Someone I’d always known to be kind, generous, thoughtful.

Something shifted in me instantly. There were a few tense words exchanged—nothing heated, but just enough to make it clear that we were in completely different places. That we likely wouldn’t be meeting for coffee again.

I didn’t say all the things I was thinking. I didn’t speak up the way I sometimes imagine I could have.

Not because I didn’t care—but because I couldn’t. At that moment, I felt a wave of tension rise in my body. My guard went up. I was defensive, uneasy, trying to hold steady. I didn’t shut down completely, but I also didn’t feel like I had access to the part of me that could respond clearly and with compassion.

Afterward, I asked myself:

Why didn’t I say more? Should I have? Would it have changed anything?

That reflection brought me back—again—to what I’ve learned through Stuart Shanker’s work and the Self-Reg lens.

When someone is caught in what Stuart calls a “Gray Brain state,” they’re not in a reflective place. These are deep, subcortical circuits generating powerful sensations—panic, grief, fear, rage, urges to control, urges to withdraw. They’re survival systems. And when they’re activated, the ability to think clearly or engage meaningfully just isn’t there.

And the care circuit—the one that allows us to feel for and with others, that can co-regulate stress through connection—also wasn’t online in that moment. Not for her. And, honestly, not fully for me either.

That realization helped me let go of the idea that there were magic words I missed. There weren’t.

But it also reminded me of something else: the work of co-regulation, of building the conditions for real dialogue, begins with my own state. And I wasn’t balanced either.

What helps me now:

• ​Self-Reg. I pay attention to the early signs ​of dysregulation in myself—the tension, the sense of urgency, the emotional charge. These are cues that I’ve shifted out of balance. And when I notice them, I see it not as failure, but as responsibility. A call to ​do what I need to do in the moment or over the coming days to come back to a state where I can be present​, open and not reactive.​
  
• I remind myself that the stress isn’t just in “the other.” It’s in me, too. We’re all carrying it. And if I want to model a different way forward​ for others, I have to do the ongoing, daily work of noticing my own imbalance and gently finding my way back.

As Margaret Mead said:

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

So I keep showing up. Imperfect. Still learning. Still regulating. Still committed to the work of being fully human—especially when it’s hard.

Because this isn’t just about politics. It’s about presence. And staying close to who we are, even when the world pulls us apart.