When we talk about somatic practices for regulation, it’s easy to fall into the language of “fixing” or “hacking” ourselves. As if we’re machines with a glitch that needs troubleshooting. As I’ve explored in Embodied Self Regulation: How the Vayus Help Us, our bodies have their own wisdom—one that doesn’t need fixing— it just needs listening.
But you’re not a machine. You’re a living, breathing, feeling human. And your nervous system isn’t broken—it’s responding. Responding to everything you’ve lived through, everything you’ve learned about safety and danger, everything your body has stored along the way.
So when we talk about somatic practices—grounding, orienting, resourcing—we’re not talking about rewiring yourself into someone new. We’re talking about expanding your options and building new neural pathways alongside the old ones so that in moments of challenge or discomfort, you have more than one path to choose from.
Why Somatic Practices Matter for Mental Health
Part of tending to our mental health is learning how to care for ourselves. And caring for ourselves doesn’t mean hacking our systems or fixing what’s “wrong.” It means learning to listen—with curiosity, with compassion, without judgment. This is what somatic practices for regulation invite us into.
There’s a word for this listening: interoception. It’s your ability to sense what’s happening inside your body. Your heartbeat. Your breath. The tightness in your chest or the flutter in your belly. These aren’t problems to solve. They’re messages—your body’s way of communicating.
When we learn to listen through embodied somatic practices, something shifts. We stop fighting ourselves and start relating to ourselves. We recognize that both sides of our nervous system have value—not just the “good” one.
Neither Side is the Enemy
The sympathetic nervous system gets a bad reputation. In popular culture, it’s reduced to “fight or flight”—something to calm, soothe, and shut down. But sympathetic activation is also what gets you out of bed in the morning. What helps you meet a challenge? What fuels your passion, your creativity, your ability to advocate for yourself and others? It’s not the enemy.
And the parasympathetic nervous system—often framed as the hero—isn’t always lovely. Yes, it’s the rest-and-digest response. But it’s also the state that can tip into lethargy, depression, or collapse. The dorsal vagal response says shut down, hide, disappear. (If you’d like to learn more about the dorsal vagal state and how it shows up in the body, this gentle guided video walks through both pathways of the vagus nerve in an accessible way.)
We need both. We need the full range. A healthy nervous system isn’t one that never activates or never rests. It can move between states. That has options. That can respond to what life asks of it and then come back to center.
The Hard Part About Somatic Practices: Listening to Your Body
Let’s be honest about something: listening to your body is hard. Sometimes it’s the last thing you want to do. This is why gentle somatic practices for regulation are so important—they meet you where you are, not where you think you should be.
Because when you tune in, you might not find peace. You might find panic, anxiety, or a racing heart. A knot in your stomach that’s been there so long you forgot it was possible to feel anything else.
For many of us, we stopped listening for good reason. Our bodies became places of discomfort, danger, or overwhelm. Why would anyone want to turn toward that? This is why somatic practices must be approached with patience, compassion, not pressure. As I wrote in Yoga and Recovery: A Gateway to Compassionate Self-Care, the practice is about meeting yourself with kindness—especially when it’s hard.
Why Listening Is So Difficult
And here’s the other piece: our nervous systems aren’t uniform. Some pathways become hypersensitive—reacting strongly to even small stimuli. Others become under-sensitive—numb, disconnected, slow to respond. Both are normal, both are adaptations. Both can be shaped by our biopsychosocial experiences: our biology, our psychology, and the social environments we’ve lived in. For those of us who are neurodivergent, these patterns can be even more pronounced.
So when we talk about “listening to your body,” we’re not talking about forcing yourself to feel everything all at once. We’re talking about approaching with curiosity and self-compassion, at your own pace, with permission to pause whenever you need to. Sometimes listening means noticing that you can’t feel anything right now—and honouring that too.
This is why self-compassion matters so much. When it’s hard, that doesn’t mean you are doing it wrong. You’re not failing if your body feels like a difficult place to be. You’re human. And you’re learning, slowly, to build a different kind of relationship with yourself.
What Somatic Practices Taught Me
I was sixteen the first time I walked into a yoga class.
People pleasing said yes when I wanted to hide. I was in a dark place—the kind of dark that makes it hard to imagine a way through. A friend had asked me to come with her, though I didn’t know until later that she was afraid to leave me alone. At sixteen, she didn’t know what else to do. But she trusted her teacher.
When we arrived, I’m certain she shared her fears. I never heard that conversation, but I felt what came after.
The class itself was gentle. Nothing dramatic. Just breath, movement, and stillness. But in the end, the teacher invited us to stay for tea.
She didn’t try to fix me. She didn’t ask what was wrong or offer solutions. Instead, she just sat with us. Made tea. Connected.
She had no way of knowing that tea held something for me. My Irish grandmother, quiet and steady, had taught me to make it years before. Tea was comfort, even when words weren’t there. Even when no one said it would be okay.
So we sat. We drank tea. We connected. And something in me softened, just a little.
A Lesson for Everyone Who Holds Space
That teacher didn’t change my life in one grand gesture. She showed up. Held space. She offered connection without expectation. And in doing so, she gave me something I didn’t know I needed: a small experience of safety in a body that had forgotten what safety felt like. This experience shaped everything I later explored in I am not resilient: A story of discovery and recovery—that healing isn’t about grand transformations, but small moments of being seen.
That’s what somatic practices do. Not fix you. Not save you. Just offer, again and again, a small experience of coming home.
As Brené Brown said, “Stillness is not about focusing on nothingness. It’s about creating an emotional clearing to allow ourselves to feel, think, dream, and question.”
That’s the invitation here. Not to empty yourself. To clear enough space that you can feel what’s real.
Somatic Practices for Regulation to Explore
Below are practices organized into three categories: Grounding, Orienting, and Resourcing. Each offers a different way of coming home to yourself through simple somatic practices for regulation.
You can find expanded versions of these practices, along with the science behind them, in my free e-book: Coming Home to Your Body: Embodied Practices for Safety and Regulation.
Grounding: Finding Your Foundation
Grounding connects you with what’s solid and supportive beneath you. It’s especially helpful when you feel unsteady, overwhelmed, or like you’re floating outside yourself. This grounding practice is a core somatic tool for regulation.
Simple Grounding Practices to Try
Sit and press your feet into the floor. Feel the soles connecting. Notice the sensation travelling up through your legs and into your back as your chair holds you. This proprioceptive pressure—the body’s awareness of where it is in space—increases sensory input and helps restore presence and stability.
Shake it out. Stand with a loose stance and gently shake your hands, arms, legs, or whole body for 30-60 seconds. This isn’t about looking good. It’s about discharging excess survival energy built up in the sympathetic nervous system—the energy of fight or flight that got mobilized but never released. Shaking helps bring the nervous system back toward a more neutral state.
Place one hand on your heart, one on your belly. Focus on the torso. Feel the space in front of your spine. Slowly bring your awareness to the center of your body. This practice of midline awareness supports sensory integration and a more organized sense of self.
While standing in a line—the grocery store, the post office, anywhere you’re waiting—bring your attention to your feet. Feel the soles of your feet connecting with the floor. Notice the subtle shifts of weight as your body makes micro-adjustments.
While sitting at your desk, instead of leaning forward into your screen, sit back. Feel your full weight being held by your chair. Notice where your back makes contact. Let the chair do its job.
Stand barefoot on grass, sand, or a textured rug. Focus entirely on the sensations under your feet—the temperature, the texture, the way the ground responds to your weight. Sometimes, the most grounding thing we can do is simply rest. I wrote about this in The rest I didn’t know I deeply needed.
When You Feel Unsteady or Overwhelmed
Find a quiet spot to sit, perhaps on the floor, the ground, or leaning against a tree. Press your palms into the floor beside you, or lean your back against a wall, a tree, or a piece of sturdy furniture. Breathe slowly and imagine yourself as heavy as a solid and unmovable mountain or a deeply rooted tree. With each exhale, feel yourself sinking a little deeper into the support beneath you.
Orienting: Coming Back to the Present
Orienting uses your senses to remind your brain where you actually are—right now, not then. This orienting practice is another essential somatic tool for regulation.
Simple Orienting Practices to Try
Slowly turn your head and scan the space around you. Notice shapes. Colors. Points of interest. Let your eyes wander without judgment. Orienting to your environment engages the sensory system and restores present-moment awareness when you feel anxious, spaced out, or caught in a loop.
Name what’s around you. Five things you can see. Four you can feel. Three you can hear. Two you can smell. One you can taste. This classic 5-4-3-2-1 practice works because it pulls your brain out of abstract rumination and into concrete sensory data.
Map a new space. When you enter an unfamiliar environment, take a quiet moment to notice: Where are the doors? The windows? Where’s the light coming from? What furniture is here? What colours, textures, and artwork do you see? This simple act of orienting helps your nervous system shift from uncertainty toward familiarity. You’re telling your brain: I see where I am. I know what’s here. I can relax into this space.
When You Feel Spaced Out, Anxious, or Ruminating on the Past or Future
If you’re feeling dissociated, panicky, or stuck in a loop, try a strong sensory anchor. Hold a piece of ice and focus entirely on the sensation of cold. Splash cold water on your face. Take a cold drink and hold it in your mouth for a moment before swallowing. These intense, neutral physical sensations can swiftly pull your focus back to the present moment because they demand your brain’s attention. They interrupt the spiral.
Resourcing: Accessing Your Inner Strength
Resourcing draws on memories, people, or places that evoke safety and comfort. It reminds your nervous system that connection and care are available—even when you’re alone. Resourcing is a gentle somatic practice for regulation that taps into your brain’s capacity for positive association. This connects to what I’ve shared in Why we need community to thrive! about the importance of connection—even when we’re physically alone.
Simple Resourcing Practices to Try
Bring to mind someone who loves you. A partner, a child, a friend, a pet, a teacher who believed in you. Let their face appear. Allow the feeling of their care to fill your body. Notice where you feel it—chest? Belly? Warmth spreading?
Recall a memory that makes you smile. A moment of laughter. A beautiful sunset. A small victory. Let the warmth or lightness of that moment grow with each breath, as if you’re inflating it from the inside.
Think of a place where you feel completely at peace. A spot in nature. A cozy corner of your home. A memory from childhood. Invite the sights, sounds, and sensations of that place to become vivid around you. What would you see if you were there now? Listen to what you would hear? What would you feel?
Create a comfort file on your phone. Fill it with photos, voice notes, and saved messages that evoke warmth. When you’re struggling, open it intentionally. Let the feelings wash over you. Place a hand on your heart as you do.
If You’re Feeling Unsafe, Alone, or in Need of Comfort
This is when resourcing matters most—when your nervous system is convinced you’re on your own and can’t get through this. In these moments, somatic practices for regulation can become a gentle lifeline.
Open your comfort file if you have one. Let it do its job.
If you don’t have a file yet, or if you need something right now: bring to mind one person who loves you—or who has loved you, even if they’re no longer here. A grandparent. A childhood friend. A teacher who saw you. A pet who adored you. Let their face come into your mind. Let the feeling of being seen by them wash over you as best you can.
Place both hands on your chest, one over the other, or cup your own face in your palms. This might feel strange at first. That’s okay. You’re teaching your nervous system something it may never have learned: that comfort can come from within, that you can be the one who holds you.
If tears come, let them. If nothing happens, that’s okay too. Just the act of turning toward yourself with gentleness is its own kind of resource.
You can also whisper to yourself—out loud or silently—the words you most need to hear right now. Not affirmations that feel false. Real words. You’re not alone. I’m here. This will pass. I’ve got you.
This isn’t about making the hard feelings go away. It’s about showing your nervous system that even in the middle of them, you’re not abandoned. You’re here. You’re paying attention. And somehow, impossibly, that can be enough to get through the next moment.
A Note on the Practices You’ll Find Elsewhere
As you explore somatic practices, you may come across techniques like visualizing a dimmer switch for your emotions, using an imaginary remote control to change distressing images, or watching your feelings pass by like scenery from a train window.
These cognitive grounding techniques can be helpful for some people. They work by creating a little distance between you and overwhelming sensations—a reminder that you have some choice in how closely you hold your experience.
If they land for you, use them. If they feel disconnected or forced, leave them. That’s the invitation with all of this: take what helps, leave what doesn’t. Your nervous system will let you know.
Returning Home, Not Fixing
The goal of these somatic practices for regulation isn’t to become someone new. It’s to come home to who you already are—to the body that’s been carrying you all along, to the nervous system that’s done its best to keep you safe.
Every time you ground, orient, or resource, you’re not fixing a problem. You’re building a relationship. You’re telling your body: I’m here. I’m listening. You matter.
And over time, with repetition, that relationship shifts. New pathways form. Old ones become less automatic. You find yourself with more choices, more responses, more ways through.
Not because you rewired yourself. Because you showed up, again and again, with compassion—the very heart of somatic practices for regulation.
As that teacher asked me all those years ago, after tea and stillness: Would you like to come again tomorrow?
She wasn’t just asking about the class. She was asking me to come back to myself. To my body, to my mind, to my spirit. To the parts of me I’d learned to abandon in order to survive.
The answer, always, is yes. One practice at a time. One breath at a time. One return after another.
If you’re looking for even more ways to care for yourself, you might find 50 Ways to Care for Stress and Overwhelm helpful as a companion to these practices.
About the Title
You’ll notice the language throughout—coming home, returning, expanding options—is intentional. This isn’t about “fixing” a broken nervous system or “hacking” your way to wellness. It’s about building a kinder relationship with yourself, integrating what you learn, and, slowly and gently, expanding what’s possible.
This aligns with approaches like Motivational Interviewing and the Stages of Change, which recognize that healing isn’t linear and can’t be forced. It’s a process of becoming ready, of small steps, of returning again and again with compassion.
Welcome home.