Honestly? It's been a rough year for me.
I’ve watched my country slide toward authoritarianism—and felt the sting of knowing that the high-control religion I grew up in is largely fueling it. The last couple of months, in particular, have brought many moments when my nervous system has wanted to shut down.
When I meet how I’m feeling with the same kindness and friendliness I offer my clients, I pause and ask myself:
What are you needing, love?
And the biggest answer that comes back is: rest, care, and soothing.
I know I'm not alone in this. Many of my clients are expressing the same thing right now—the same dysregulation, the same wish that we could be doing more, and the same feeling of being both helpless to change the course of events and at the mercy of what's wrong.
Which brings me to…
🐿 The Squirrel
A few days ago, in a dream class I'm taking with Leslie Ellis, she invited us on a guided daydream—gentle invitations, nothing directive—and asked us to invite an animal into our awareness.
The first image that came? A squirrel.
Immediately I thought: Ugh. I hate squirrels.
So I tried again. And a wolf appeared. Ah—better. Strong, sleek, mysterious. I could work with that.
Or maybe a whale? I thought. Deep, soulful, majestic.
Something felt off, though. I was picking and choosing, trying to control my unconscious—which I knew wasn’t the point.
And right on time, Leslie said, “Go with the first animal that comes.”
Dammit. Back to the squirrel I went.
“Can you get a sense of this animal?” she said.
Yes, I could: frenetic, vigilant, anxious. In my mind’s eye, I could see their little mouths scrunched up and all in my face, scrounging and hoarding… Sure, they can do amazing acrobatics on high wires, but still—
As a Focuser with decades of experience noticing when I’m identified with a part of myself, my bias was glaring. Surely not everyone feels like I do about squirrels.
“How would you describe this animal to someone who had never seen or heard of it?”
It was so hard to see past my bias that I reached for my phone and invited Quinn (that’s what I call my ChatGPT) to help me:
“Tell me about squirrels as if I’d never seen or heard of them,” I prompted.
Quinn, of course, doesn’t have my bias. And what they told me made me stop short:
Imagine a creature powered by caffeine and curiosity. Small as a loaf of bread, but much lighter, with bright eyes, spring-loaded legs, and a tail that looks like a feather-duster but is made of fur. The tail isn't just decoration—it's also—this bit!!!!— a puffy blanket for themselves when they sleep.
Awww. 🥹
They leap from branch to branch with reckless confidence, front paws like tiny hands, and their teeth—which they use to crack nuts and strip bark—are always growing.
Wha—?! 🤯
They bury thousands of snacks and forget where most of them are.
😳😅😂 (It’s almost, uh... endearing?)
Entire forests get planted because of their poor memory.
Damn! Wow.
They make rapid clicking and chattering sounds to scold away intruders. Their acrobatic displays say, "This is my tree, back off." (Boundaries!)
In short, said Quinn, tiny daredevils of the treetops—clever, nervous, playful, relentless—nature’s mischievous electricians (the kind that can take down a power grid!).
Whoa.
The tail-blanket? The accidental reforestation? The bold boundary-setting?
Suddenly I felt curious about this wee mammal's superpowers.
Where is the help?
There’s a reason that many of my coaching sessions and SSP Listening Labs in my nervous system community begin with glimmers and looking for cues of safety.
Safety and help are always here. It’s just that, in our preconceptions, prejudices (like mine against squirrels!), and patterns formed long ago in the midst of trauma, our tendency is to only see what’s wrong—to only find danger.
And so we practice looking for the help, even when especially when(!) we feel unsafe and overwhelmed.
The point isn’t to argue, “No, the world isn’t on fire,” but rather to say, Okay. The world is on fire. Where is the support? Where is the help? Where is my safety?
Sometimes, help comes from places we least expect. And resourcefulness from parts of ourselves we’ve judged, dismissed, or find irritating.
Like my squirrel.
(Um, Heidi, did you just actually say “MY” squirrel?)
In a year when the world has felt perpetually on fire, running on division and giving off fumes of exhaustion, my squirrel has so much wisdom for me:
About taking steps—leaping, even—when not every variable is controlled. (Trusting my body to know how to land.)
About resourcefulness. Which right now may look like gathering and fluffing up "my tail" for a cozy-coze winter.
About not putting pressure on myself to remember every. single. thing. (The things I forget might be the seeds of future forests?)
As someone whose earliest survival skills were formed in high-control religion and kept in line through fear of hell, can I respect—or at least not talk shit about—the vigilance that once kept me safe, which still surfaces when I’m having a hard time?
When I see myself through friendly eyes, I find a huge no wonder, and from there I’m in a much better place to practice curiosity, healthy boundaries, and cozy rest.
What about you? If you close your eyes and invite an animal into your awareness, which one comes? If you want to tell me, just hit reply. I’d love to hear.
Until next time,
xoHeidi
PS. When I told my husband about the squirrel in my guided daydream, he laughed and said, “I love squirrels.”
Later that day, he came home and said, “I almost wrecked the car trying to avoid a squirrel. I just kept thinking, Don’t hit the squirrel! Don’t hit the squirrel!”
PPS.
I’m shaping what comes next in my writing and in my programs, and I’d love your help.
Especially if you come from a high-control system or religion, or if you’re living with a nervous system that feels stuck in anxiety or shutdown, I’d love to chat.
If you’re open to a free 30-minute Zoom, I’ll ask a few gentle, inviting questions and then mostly listen. I’m pretty sure you’ll find it clarifying and grounding for yourself—and what you share will help me understand what my people most need and want right now.
There's no pitch, no pressure—just curiosity and care.
PPP(!)S. Do you like getting The Awarewithall? Forward this issue (or another favorite) to your friends.
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(This piece was edited with AI collaboration.)