My Nervous System Said No

For years, I thought I had an Anxiety Disorder.

I went to therapy. I practiced mindfulness. I took supplements. I did breathwork that made me dizzy.

I treated my anxiety like a broken car alarm—an annoying noise that was going off for no reason. Shut up, I would tell my body. Everything is fine. We are safe.

But the alarm wouldn’t shut off.

I woke up with a tight chest. I ground my teeth at night. I had a low-level hum of dread that started on Sunday afternoon and didn’t fade until Friday night.

Then I struck a match and burned my life down. I quit my job. I left the city.

And within two weeks, the alarm stopped.

I didn’t have an Anxiety Disorder. I had a Reality Disorder. My body was screaming at me that I was in the wrong place, and I was gaslighting it.

The Body Knows Before the Brain

We live in our heads. We worship the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain that makes plans, rationalizes decisions, and writes emails.

But the prefrontal cortex is a liar. It can convince you of anything. This job is a great opportunity. This commute isn’t that bad. This relationship is fine.

The Nervous System cannot lie.

The Nervous System is ancient. It is reptilian. It cares about one thing: Safety.

When you are in an environment that is constantly over-stimulating, aggressive, or misaligned with your values, your Nervous System goes into “Threat Mode.” It floods you with cortisol. It tightens your psoas muscle (ready to run). It shallows your breathing (ready to fight).

If you ignore these signals for a decade, you don’t just get “stressed.” You get sick.

The Subtle Violence of Noise

I realized that one of my biggest triggers was just noise.

The city is never silent. Even at 3 AM, there is a hum. A siren. A truck. The refrigerator of the bodega downstairs.

My Nervous System never got to “Zero.” It was always at a “2.”

This sounds minor. But a constant “2” means you never hit deep restoration. You are always slightly vigilant.

When I moved to the quiet, the silence was deafening. It actually frightened me at first (see Essay 05).

But then, my body exhaled.

I remember sitting on my porch and listening to a bird. Just a bird. No cars. No bass from a passing Jeep.

And I felt my shoulders drop two inches. I hadn’t realized I was wearing them as earrings for five years.

Respecting the Animal

We forget we are animals.

If you took a wolf and put it in a disco, it would have a panic attack. You wouldn’t say the wolf had an “Anxiety Disorder.” You would say, “Get the wolf out of the disco.”

Humans are more adaptable than wolves. We can survive the disco. But we pay a price.

The price is dissociation. To survive the noise/crowds/stress, we leave our bodies. We live entirely in our screens and our heads. We treat our bodies like inconvenient meat-sacks that hurt sometimes.

Returning to your body requires returning to an environment where your body feels safe.

The Calibration

It took me six months to re-calibrate.

At first, I was jumpy. I would hear a car backfire and flinch. I would check my email 50 times a day, expecting a crisis.

But slowly, the baseline shifted.

Now, I can feel stress coming. It’s not a constant state; it’s a specific event. “Oh, I am stressed because I have a deadline.”

I can deal with that. I can’t deal with the existential dread of Being Wrong.

Listen to the Alarm

If you think you have anxiety, look at your life.

Are you skipping sleep? Are you drinking caffeine to wake up and alcohol to calm down? Are you constantly over-stimulated? Do you feel “unsafe” in your own schedule?

Maybe you are broken. Or maybe, just maybe, your alarm is working perfectly.

It is telling you there is a fire.

Don’t smash the alarm. Put out the fire.

Move.