Nellie’s Origin Story
In a Wired for Connection podcast interview, Dr. Peter Levine discusses the way our past experiences can reside in the body and offered practices that send signals of safety to the brain via the vagus nerve—the longest cranial nerve, a bundle of nerves actually, travelling from the brainstem down into the abdomen. He said that only 20 percent of the information travels from the brain down the vagus nerve to the body, but 80 percent travels from the body to the brain, giving our autonomic nervous system a definite impact on our overall health. “Most of us have experienced some wound or injury that gets stuck in our body,” says Levine. “Because it's in our body, that's where it has to be healed.”
One practice he offers relates to tight shoulders. He says chronic shoulder tension can be attributed to habitual bracing and past experiences of shaming, humiliation, or being hit regularly. He described how to do the practice, encouraging listeners to notice any sensations, feelings, thoughts, and images that come up. He suggested continuing this practice multiple times a day over several weeks will help reset the nervous system. Without thinking, I raised my shoulders slowly and incrementally, only a millimeter at a time, toward my ears and then held them in this tense scrunch for a moment before letting them drop. The unbelievable release I experienced told me I had no clue what “relaxed” shoulders felt like. I wondered why I had so much tension and the answer in the form of a memory of my brother and I watching TV on a normal weeknight in my childhood home floated up into my consciousness . . .
The rule was I had to go to bed the minute Miami Vice ended, but I knew Mom would be fast asleep already, exhausted after working back-to-back doubles at the hospital. Credits were still rolling over the various scenes of people enjoying the Miami lifestyle edited to the beat of drums and a raucous guitar riff, so technically, the show hadn’t ended yet. TV was my happy place: all those cool people in fancy outfits with all their problems worked out and resolved in an hour or less. It was like a safe rollercoaster ride. That night, however, television betrayed my trust, distracting me from my older brother’s evil plotting.
The credits finished and the screen switched to a commercial about a furniture store, so I reached up from where I was sitting and switched the TV off. My attention snapped outward to the now darkened room around me. At some point the light had been switched off, and my brother was no longer lying half on and half off the couch behind me as usual. My stomach coiled into a knot and a familiar dread tightened the skin on the back of my neck as a rush of panicky questions flooded my brain. Did he go to the bathroom? Maybe he got up to microwave another Hot Pocket? Maybe he was tired and went to bed already? That last question was so ridiculous, even I knew it was just a ploy to keep my mind from knowing the terror I was about to endure.
Oh, no! Please god no. It was like realizing there was no way off the high dive at the community pool except to just step off the end, knowing certain death by a painful drowning would be waiting for me. Ever since Mom forbade Stephen from using physical pain to terrorize me, my brother put all his creative energies into finding new methods for his cruel intentions. His initial foray into non-violent torture was to draw on me while I was sleeping. At first, it was just me walking into a room, everyone busting a gut from laughing so hard, and then me screaming and running to a mirror to see what he did. Mom finally put an end to his “innocent little fun” when Stephen started using permanent markers on my face and my fifth-grade teacher, Ms. Webb, sent notes home informing my mother that my pirate scars and handlebar mustaches were disrupting the class.
Mom tried to monitor his expert-level creativity in all things torture-related but working all day and sometimes into the night at the hospital took its toll on her attention. Sometimes we never even saw her in a whole day except when she was sprawled out on top of her bed, fast asleep and still in her nurse’s uniform, one white clog dangling from a foot.
So, that night I knew I had to fend for myself, and the enemy was my brother, the one who I loved with all my heart but feared more than the boogeyman. He was the boogeyman. His thick red hair, unbelievably strong hands (nothing hurt worse than when he poked my upper arm with his steel-like index finger), and an unusual number of freckles splattered all over his face intrigued and frightened me at the same time. His fascination with ninjas, swords, and anything that had to do with developing extra senses to maim or kill an enemy terrified me.
It would be many years later when a therapist suggested I bring in a picture of my brother. At the next session, I handed her his picture. Her face got super serious and she said my name slowly, overloaded by a heavy dose of concern. I didn’t understand her reaction. She flipped the picture toward my puzzled face and asked, “You realize this is an extremely menacing picture, right?” The image was of my brother holding a knife close to his face, teeth bared and looking as if he were about to murder the person who took the photo (me, of course). I did not “see” the photo until the moment I saw it through her eyes. It still shocks me how acclimated I was to his rage, how normal his violence seemed to me, so much so that I would choose that picture without really thinking about how illustrative and revealing it was.
Back to that night . . . frozen and abandoned in the nearly pitch-black living room, the familiar internal gaslighting began. Ugh! You idiot! You should have been paying attention! How did you not hear him get up? You should have known he would be waiting for you to slip up. Idiot! Idiot! You stupid idiot!”
Blood drained from my limbs and a hyperfocus on any movement or sound around me funneled my mind into one key concern: Can I keep my cool and make it all the way to my bed without getting so scared that I pee my pants? That night was my reckoning with Stephen’s superior hiding skills in his favorite game of “How Can I Torture Dawn Without Touching Her?” and his idea of winning: inflict maximum humiliation. I had no choice; the test had begun whether I wanted to prove myself or not.
I inched toward the hallway, my eyes darting to all the possible places he could hide. Could he be in the kitchen crouched behind the counter? Maybe under the table in the dining room? Was he waiting to pounce on me from the bathroom just off the kitchen? I noticed all the remaining lights in the house were out—just another part of his plan to disorient me into hysteria. It felt like hours had passed, but I finally made it through the gauntlet of the dining room and kitchen and stood peeking around the corner down the dark hallway toward the bedrooms. When the hallway did not flood with light in response to flipping the switch, my heart jerked painfully. He must have sabotaged the other switch by leaving it in the halfway position, rendering my switch useless. I groaned silently; this was a sign of intense participation on his part. Tonight my pain, although a certainty, would be drawn out and excruciating.
I started to break. My resolve to beat the master at his own game drained from my body like wax from a tilted candle. “Stephen? Stephen, where are you? Please don’t. This isn’t funny anymore.” He didn’t respond to my disgusting pleading. I knew he wouldn’t. I imagined him hiding in the darkness grinning, almost giddy with excitement, knowing he was going to scare me so bad I could possibly lose control of my bladder.
I switched tactics, feigning disinterest. “This is stupid. Just come out and stop this. Go ahead and scare me. I don’t care.” Silence. Time to pull out the big guns; this was a desperate situation. “Mom! Stephen is trying to scare me, and he won’t let me go to bed.” My voice sounded so pathetic and weak. No answer. Oh god, Mom! Please wake up! One last shot, a little louder and with slightly more force: “Mom?!”
“You two stop it and go to bed now!” her warning was garbled by the pillow and too few hours of sleep. Ugh! That was dumb! Now Stephen would be extra mad I got us in trouble and disturbed mom. I was truly on my own. I reverted to the begging victim again. “Please Stephen, just stop, okay? Please?” I uttered that last ‘please’ with too many syllables, like I was beating a drum with it.
The silent response unnerved me, and the beginning of tears stung my eyes. I fought them back and in blind desperation, darted to my bedroom door to scan the room for any threat with all my senses as if I were a futuristic robot. With just the kitchen light shining from what felt like a world away, I could just make out my messy but empty bed. No breathing sounds came from the closet. Mounds of dirty and clean clothes on the floor looked undisturbed. Okay, he’s got to be under the bed. That’s the only place left.
My heart was beating so loud I was sure my position had been compromised. I moved forward like a condemned man to his death sentence. About three steps into my surrender, the pile to my right erupted in a spray of clothes and stuffed animals as my brother silently lunged out of the dark at me with clawed hands and crazed eyes. My blood-curdling scream gave more evidence to my level of fear than inked spikes could have shown on an EKG. I nearly passed out from the piercing scream echoing in my head. Stephen watched the terror escape from my lungs with his hands over his ears and a demonic smile stretched across his stupid, freckled face.
He turned and walked out of my room like a victorious fighter leaving the ring without a scratch. Just as the last traces of my scream faded from the air, Mom, now wide-awake and pissed, shouted from her bed, “Dawn Michelle! Quit that screaming! It’s almost one in the morning. Do you want to wake up the neighbors? Go to bed NOW! I’m not going to tell you again!”
Gulping air like a fish out of water, I tried to inch my mind past the terror. I climbed into my bed like a soldier who barely made it back to base camp alive. Not only did I step right into Stephen’s stupid plan, but now I had upset Mom. The pain and exasperation in her voice hit my heart hard. With my eyes stuck wide open, I cinched the covers up under my chin and chanted inwardly, It’s over. It’s ok. It’s all ok. It’s over now.
Of course, years later, I realize it’s never over. After so many years of this early conditioning of my nervous system, even now as an adult, simply contemplating this memory makes my back tighten and my shoulders creep even higher toward my ears. I also realize now why scary movies, a friend having a laugh and jumping out from behind a door, or really any hint of nefariousness in my field mobilizes my nervous system into a fight or flight state. My body floods with adrenaline and blood evacuates from my hands and feet in a lifesaving move back into my torso as my nervous system prepares my body for an attack.
Deb Dana in her book, Anchored, encourages readers to name our nervous system so we can befriend it and learn more about it with compassion and understanding. I named mine Nellie (yes, as in Nervous Nellie) and have been practicing bringing more awareness to when she’s working or more importantly, overworking on my behalf. When I feel a tight twitch behind my ears or a stiffening down into my lower back, for instance, I try to inwardly say, Oh, ok, Nellie. What’s happening? What’s got you bothered? Let’s check this out and see what’s what.
It’s been a confusing dance of “Am I crazy to be talking to myself like this?” and “I don’t care what people think, Nellie! It’s you and me against the world!” I do know that being able to respond with compassionate curiosity as opposed to just feeling melted in a puddle of embarrassment and shame has given me a peek into a way of life that contains more relief and ease. So now, when I move a bit beyond my comfort zone (starting my business comes to mind) and my body goes into a full-on anxiety sweat or I feel conflicted about a hard decision and that familiar sensation of “numb” dulls my thoughts and spirals me into an hour-long doomscrolling session, instead of harsh recriminations, I try to meet her with concern and wonder. I do my best to leave some space and listen for what may have been an origin story to a particular response, whether it was a specific experience like surviving Stephen’s ninja game that night or simply all the co-regulating she had to do with the nervous systems of the people in my formative years. Nellie seems to appreciate the pause, the checking-in, and even eases a bit, especially when I bring in some intentional breaths. A long inhale through the nose with an even longer exhale out through the mouth helps slow everything down so I can do some processing before reacting with a response that doesn’t fit the actual circumstances of the moment.
Time and experience may have softened the uniquely conditioned way my nervous system learned to protect me (I am far less likely to be snappy in my responses), but goodness me oh my, there have been some extremely bumpy years! During the first four years of my teaching career, for example, I was basically a highwire act with no net and could not find my way to soften even a little bit under the pressure of being “Teacher,” the one in the room who I thought was supposed to know everything! Those poor students endured “Super Uptight, Short-Tempered, and Just Do What I Say Because I Said It” Dawn as their teacher. My defenses barely concealed my intense fear of failure. I perceived any question students asked as evidence of my ineptitude as an instructor. Have you ever met a student who didn’t have a question? No, because that’s literally their job! How the students and I made it through those early years is a miracle—all our nervous systems were on high alert and working overtime! Thank goodness time and experience eased my tension enough to understand I am far less of a “teacher” than I am an aligned partner in their learning journey. Being gracious and forgiving allows space for making mistakes (mine and theirs) so we can do the challenging work of opening to new information. Hmmm . . . sounds a lot like my budding partnership with Nellie, or any relationship for that matter.
I am still growing my ability to understand Nellie, honor her good intentions, and ultimately align with her awesome powers. I mean, come on! She impacts multiple major organ systems including the muscles of the throat and neck (speaking, swallowing, etc.), heart rate, respiration rate, immune system and inflammation, nervous and mental health systems as well as digestion. I want to learn more about her “language” and help update any “outdated programming” so I have a more of a say in how I respond to challenging moments and the world around me. The more I nurture her with ventral vagal moments (the most recently developed part of our autonomic nervous system, around 200 million years ago), the more I experience peaceful, creative connections with myself and others.
To learn more about how to befriend and understand your magical autonomic nervous system, Deb Dana’s book Anchored has been very helpful. More resources can also be found on the FAQs section of my website at www.soulworkscreative.com.