Why Feeling Stuck Isn’t a Block — It’s a Nervous System Response
“Sometimes holding still is the most honest way the body says: I’m not ready to move yet.”
Some days, it’s like moving through fog. You know there are things you care about—things you want to do—but your body says no. You stare at the list. You scroll. You overthink. You might even cry. And then comes the voice:
“I’m lazy.”
“I’m sabotaging myself.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
I’ve been there more times than I can count. What shifted everything for me was realizing that this kind of stuckness isn’t a mindset issue—it’s a nervous system response.
We’re taught to see stagnation as a flaw. Something to push through, fix, or feel ashamed of. But often, your body is doing exactly what it was designed to do—protecting you in ways that aren’t always visible or logical. This isn’t about bypassing accountability. It’s about getting curious. What if the part of you that “can’t” right now is actually overwhelmed, overstimulated, or simply tired from carrying too much for too long?
In this post, I want to unpack what feeling stuck really means—through the lens of the nervous system. Because when you stop fighting it and start listening, everything begins to shift. Not instantly. But deeply.
What We Commonly Call ‘Stuckness’
We all have our own version of stuck.
For some, it looks like procrastination that spirals into days of avoidance. For others, it’s a foggy kind of numbness—where even simple decisions feel impossible. You might find yourself bouncing between overplanning and complete shutdown. Or maybe you stay busy with everything except the thing that actually matters to you.
This kind of inertia gets mislabeled constantly: lazy, flaky, unmotivated. We internalize it and start to believe the story—“If I just tried harder, I’d be okay.” But trying harder doesn’t always help. In fact, it often makes things worse.
What’s really happening in these moments isn’t a failure of willpower—it’s your nervous system hitting the brakes. When your body senses danger—real or remembered—it prioritizes survival over productivity. And that “danger” isn’t always obvious. It might be accumulated stress. Burnout. Emotional residue. Unresolved grief or trauma finally surfacing.
When we judge ourselves for being stuck, we fall deeper into what’s known as the shame spiral: we feel bad for not doing enough, which adds more pressure, which leads to more freeze. It’s a loop no amount of motivational quotes can pull us out of. Mindset tools can be powerful—after the body feels safe. But when your system is dysregulated, they can feel dismissive or even shaming. What’s needed isn’t more force. It’s safety. It’s presence. It’s repair.
This isn’t laziness. It’s your body trying to protect you. And sometimes, protection looks like stillness. When that stillness is honored, it can become the doorway back into motion.
The Nervous System Explained (Gently)
Let’s slow it down.
When most people hear “nervous system,” it can sound clinical or abstract. But really, your nervous system is the subtle thread running through everything—your emotions, your habits, your reactions, your relationships. It’s not separate from who you are. It is you.
Polyvagal theory, developed by Dr. Stephen Porges, helps illuminate this. It outlines how our autonomic nervous system responds to threat through three primary states: ventral vagal (safe/social), sympathetic (fight or flight), and dorsal vagal (freeze/shutdown) [1]. These responses aren’t conscious decisions—they’re wired survival reflexes.
When your system perceives threat—whether it’s real danger, emotional overload, or the slow burn of chronic stress—it doesn’t ask, “Is now a good time to be productive?” It asks, “Are we safe?”
If the answer is “no,” your body may default into freeze:
You feel heavy or foggy.
Getting out of bed feels impossible.
Words won’t come.
You can’t make the decision.
There’s a quiet hum of shame or disconnection you can’t quite explain.
This is the dorsal vagal state—a functional shutdown of sorts meant to conserve energy and avoid overwhelm. It’s the same response animals use when they play dead. And while it may sound extreme, researchers have shown that humans experience this too—especially after unresolved trauma or persistent nervous system dysregulation [2].
The problem is, our culture rarely recognizes freeze for what it is. Instead, it’s framed as apathy, laziness, or low motivation. So we blame ourselves. We add shame to an already overwhelmed system. And that deepens the dysregulation.
But when we start to understand what’s happening on a biological level, it opens the door to compassion. It doesn’t solve everything—but it changes the conversation from “What’s wrong with me?” to “What’s my body trying to tell me?”
“Stillness isn’t failure. It’s your body remembering how to protect itself.”
Why This Happens (And Why It Makes Sense)
Your body remembers what your mind tries to override.
That stuck, frozen feeling didn’t just appear. Maybe you’ve spent years holding everything together—navigating emotional labor, chronic stress, trauma, or burnout. Even if you’ve “done the work,” your nervous system may still carry echoes of experiences that weren’t safe or fully resolved.
The brain is wired to detect patterns—especially patterns of threat. And the nervous system doesn't distinguish between physical danger and emotional overwhelm. It responds the same way [3]. When it senses something even vaguely similar to a past wound or pressure point, it acts fast—often without conscious awareness.
Progress is often sold as a matter of discipline. But if your body doesn’t feel safe, no amount of discipline will make it move. One part of you might be ready to step forward, while another part still feels the cost of last time. That internal split is draining—but it’s not a flaw. It’s how your biology protects you.
So instead of asking, “Why am I like this?” try, “What part of me is still protecting me from something it remembers?” Because beneath the frustration might be a very intelligent survival strategy that simply hasn’t been updated yet.
Rethinking the Narrative of ‘Blocks’
We talk about “blocks” like they’re walls we should be able to smash through. Writer’s block. Creative block. Emotional block.
But what if you’re not blocked?
What if you’re paused?
The language we use matters. Saying “I’m blocked” implies resistance, failure, or weakness. It keeps us trapped in performance-mode even when our systems are begging for rest. Reframing it as “My nervous system feels frozen right now” or “My body is protecting me” isn’t just softer—it’s more accurate.
These aren't excuses. They’re invitations to work with your body instead of against it. Blocks suggest that more effort is the solution. But nervous system dysregulation doesn’t respond to pressure. It responds to presence, safety, and time.
This simple shift in language can create just enough breathing room to hear what’s actually going on beneath the surface. And sometimes, that’s all it takes to move from stuck to slowly, gently thawing.
How to Gently Work With ‘Stuckness’
So what can you actually do when you’re stuck—and you know it’s nervous system-related?
Here are five gentle, body-based practices I return to often. They’re not about forcing yourself to be functional. They’re about re-establishing connection and safety from the inside out.
1. Ground through sensation.
Place your bare feet on the ground. Put one hand over your heart, the other on your belly. Take a slow, audible exhale. Let it be imperfect. Let it be enough.
2. Orient to the present.
Look around your space. Name five things you see. Name a few sounds. Let your eyes land softly on the objects around you. This is called orienting, and it’s been shown to help interrupt dissociation and bring the brain back into the here-and-now [4].
3. Use rhythm instead of force.
Instead of pushing into action, try slow movement. Rock side to side. Walk with no agenda. Sway to gentle music. Research shows that rhythmic movement can regulate the vagus nerve and support emotional resilience [5].
4. Dialogue with your body.
Write from the body’s voice. Ask, “What are you protecting me from?” or “What would help you feel 1% safer today?” You might be surprised by what surfaces—or simply feel a sense of inner validation from asking at all.
5. Seek co-regulation.
We’re not meant to regulate alone. Pet your dog. Sit in nature. Ask for a hug. Human and non-human connection can down-regulate an overwhelmed nervous system faster than self-regulation alone [6].
The goal isn’t to feel instantly better. It’s to give your system signals of safety. That’s when thawing becomes possible.
“The thaw doesn’t rush. It begins when you let the water hold you.”
Why This Reframe Matters
Seeing freeze as a nervous system response—not a personal failure—transforms how we respond to ourselves in hard moments. Instead of spiraling into blame or trying to “push through,” we begin to listen. We ask better questions. And that listening builds trust.
It tells your body: I’m not here to control you—I’m here to care for you.
When you stop pathologizing your stuckness, you make space to actually feel what’s underneath it—without judgment. And from there, the next step isn’t something you force. It’s something that arises. Like breath returning. Like warmth after a long winter.
You don’t need to earn your way back into flow. You just need to stop fighting yourself long enough to hear what your body’s been saying all along:
“I needed you to slow down. I needed you to notice.”
That kind of noticing is what real change is built on.
Where the Thaw Begins
If you’ve been feeling stuck, frozen, or like you’re falling behind—pause. Nothing is wrong with you.
This isn’t weakness. It’s a whisper from your nervous system: “I need gentleness. I need safety.” And those whispers rarely get heard in a rush. They arrive in the quiet. In the still places we’re often too quick to bypass.
Healing isn’t always forward motion. Sometimes, healing looks like not moving. Like listening. Like softening into the part of you that hasn’t felt safe in a long time.
You’re not broken. You’re not blocked.
You’re paying attention.
And that—truly—is where the thaw begins.
Ready to work with your body, not against it?
If your nervous system is asking for something deeper, my sessions are designed to meet you exactly where you are. Slow, intentional bodywork. Energetic grounding. A space to soften without pressure.
Book a session and let’s begin from where you actually are—not where you think you should be.
References
Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-regulation. Norton & Company.
Van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Penguin Books.
Schauer, M., & Elbert, T. (2010). Dissociation following traumatic stress. Zeitschrift für Psychologie/Journal of Psychology, 218(2), 109–127.
Ogden, P., Minton, K., & Pain, C. (2006). Trauma and the Body: A Sensorimotor Approach to Psychotherapy. Norton.
Dana, D. (2018). The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy: Engaging the Rhythm of Regulation. Norton.
Cozolino, L. (2014). The Neuroscience of Human Relationships: Attachment and the Developing Social Brain. Norton.
