There’s a moment from when my son Devon was around 10 that I’ll never forget.
We were on what should have been a sweet family walk. One child was happy. One was content in a backpack. And Devon was in a full-body meltdown—the kind that rattles your nervous system and makes your heart race.
I remember feeling completely overwhelmed. I had read the books. I had taken him to professionals. I was doing everything I knew how to do… and nothing was helping.
His dysregulation often triggered mine. I would yell back, and the energy between us would tighten instantly. From the outside it looked like anger. From the inside, it felt like we were both trapped.
What I wanted wasn’t just fewer meltdowns.
I wanted Devon to feel safe in his body.
And I wanted peace that was real—not forced calm, not holding my breath, but true safety for both of us.
For a long time, I couldn’t find that.
Then something unexpected happened.
While attending a training meant to support my work as a birth doula, I learned about trauma in a completely different way—not just as something that happens later in life, but as something the nervous system can carry from pregnancy and birth.
As I listened, something clicked.
Devon’s early story included bed rest, premature labor, an emergency C-section, and NICU time. I realized that the fear I had carried through all of that… hadn’t disappeared. And it might not have belonged to just me.
I volunteered for an energy work demonstration, thinking it was for Devon. What I didn’t realize was that it was just as much for me.
As the work unfolded, I could feel how my constant vigilance—my always-on fear—was looping between us. His nervous system touched mine. Mine touched his. We were stuck in a shared survival pattern.
And then something softened.
Not overnight. Not magically. But enough that my body remembered what safety felt like again.
When I got home, things were different. Devon’s anger eased. My anxiety softened. Our home felt calmer—not because we were trying harder, but because something underneath had shifted.
That experience changed my life.
What I learned is this:
You can’t fully support a child’s nervous system if yours is still stuck in survival mode. Healing has to include the relationship, both bodies, and the space between.
And when safety is restored, shame dissolves.
Nothing was “wrong” with Devon.
Nothing was “wrong” with me.
Our nervous systems were just doing their best.
If this feels familiar—if your life feels like one long brace for the next meltdown—I want you to know this:
You are not broken.
Your child is not broken.
And you are not alone.
There is a path back to safety, connection, and peace.
If you’d like to explore what that could look like for you and your child, I invite you to schedule a free clarity call. Together, we can talk about nervous system support and whether energy work might be a helpful next step.You deserve support.
Your nervous system deserves rest.
And your child deserves to feel safe in their body.
