Your Nervous System Doesn’t Care About Your Intentions

I want to talk about everyday life and balance, but not the curated, color-coded, “drink your greens and meditate at sunrise” version. I mean real life balance. The kind you’re trying to figure out when you’ve been through some shit and you’re still standing, even if you don’t totally recognize yourself yet.

If you’re new here, I’m Coree. I lead community walks and hikes. I run a community. I talk a lot about movement and being outside. What people don’t always see is that there was a long stretch of my life where I couldn’t do any of that. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t have anything left.

There was a season where life was heavy in every direction. The kind of heavy that doesn’t come with one neat headline. It’s the pile-on. It’s the constant decision-making. It’s carrying more than you can hold and still being expected to show up like a normal person who definitely has their water bottle and emotional stability packed for the day.

Most mornings back then, I didn’t want to come out of my room. Noon would roll around before I even thought about eating. The idea of exercise felt laughable. People would say things like, “You should take care of yourself,” and I’d think, wow, groundbreaking advice. Let me just squeeze that in between survival and heartbreak.

And it wasn’t just stress. It was what stress does to you. The coping. The numbing. The dopamine loops. The bingeing. I still remember one Christmas when I bought candy for gift bags, brought it into my room at night, and ate two entire bags without even slowing down. Hand to mouth. No pause. Then I felt sick and ashamed and exhausted, which of course made everything worse.

That’s how weight came back on for me. Not because I was lazy or careless, but because I was overwhelmed and disconnected and just trying to get through the day. I didn’t hate myself. I just didn’t have space for myself.

What do you do when everyday life is the reason you “can’t get it together”?

You stop trying to get it together in one heroic leap. You start looking for the smallest move that makes your day feel a tiny bit more livable.

Not optimized. Not impressive. Just livable.

Because when your life is loud and your body is tired, the goal is not intensity. The goal is less friction.

The thing nobody tells you about “balance”

Balance doesn’t start with exercise. It starts with feeling human again.

If movement feels like too much right now, that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means your system needs something else first. Regulation. Pleasure. Rest. A reminder that you exist outside of what you’re responsible for.

Sometimes balance looks like a walk. Sometimes it looks like sitting in the sun. Sometimes it looks like a drive into nature with your favorite music and zero intention to improve yourself in any way. All of that counts.

What helped me wasn’t motivation. It was permission.

At some point, I realized that I mattered too. Not in a big dramatic way. Just in a quiet, practical way. I was allowed to take up space again, even if my version of “showing up” looked nothing like it used to.

I didn’t start with workouts. I didn’t start with routines or plans or goals. I started with sunlight.

Some mornings, the only thing I could do was step outside and let the sun hit my face. Sometimes I didn’t even walk. I’d sit or lie on my patio like a lizard who had completely given up on productivity. Breathing was enough. Being there was enough.

And here’s the part that surprised me. That counted.

Why “go outside and breathe” actually works

When you’re under long-term stress, your nervous system doesn’t care about your intentions. It cares about safety. It’s looking for signals that say, “You’re okay right now.”

Sunlight helps. Fresh air helps. A little space helps.

That’s not woo. That’s biology.

Those small moments outside were working even when I felt like nothing was happening. My body was settling before my mind caught up. I was slowly coming out of fight-or-flight, one very boring, very gentle moment at a time.

If you like the spiritual language better, here’s the same idea in a different outfit. When your state shifts, your next decision shifts. When your next decision shifts, your life shifts. Nothing dramatic required.

If you can’t walk yet, do this instead

There were days I couldn’t walk, but I could drive. So I’d get in the car and take the Apache Trail. No destination. No mileage. Just me, the road, and something beautiful enough to remind me that the world was bigger than what I was carrying.

Highly recommend, by the way. Cheaper than therapy and no health insurance required.

And if driving isn’t your thing, pick your version of “nature exposure”:

• Sit on the patio.

• Stand in the doorway and let the light hit your face.

• Walk to the mailbox like it’s a luxury outing.

• Open a window and breathe like you’re trying to remember you have a body.

Yes, I’m serious. Also yes, it counts.

The coping makes sense, even when you hate it

Let’s talk about the bingeing for a second, because I know somebody reading this thinks she’s the only one doing weird little survival rituals at night.

When life is heavy, your brain goes hunting for relief. Fast relief. Easy relief. Predictable relief. That’s what dopamine does. It’s not a character flaw, it’s a nervous system trying to self-soothe with whatever is available.

My “available” was candy I bought for other people.

Hand to mouth. No pause. Then sick, ashamed, exhausted. Then the next day felt even harder, which made me want relief again. That loop can feel brutal, especially when you’re already stretched thin.

The point isn’t to shame yourself out of it. The point is to give your system another option that actually helps.

A simple “balance plan” for real life

This is not a glow-up plan. This is a get-your-feet-back-under-you plan.

Step 1: Pick one daily anchor

Choose one small thing you can do most days, even on messy days:

• Step outside for 2 to 10 minutes after you wake up.

• Sit in the sun with your coffee.

• Take a slow lap to the end of the block.

• Drive a scenic route and breathe like you mean it.

Keep it so doable it almost annoys you. Annoying is sustainable.

Step 2: Make it easier than your brain expects

If your brain says, “That doesn’t count,” congratulations. You have found the exact right starting point.

Stop early on purpose. Leave a little energy in the tank. Teach your body that showing up does not equal suffering.

Step 3: Add movement when it feels like a “yes”

Not a forced yes. A real yes.

When your system starts to settle, walking gets easier because you’re not fighting yourself the whole way. That’s usually when women say, “I don’t know why, but I feel like I can do it again.”

You can know why. Your state changed.

How I found my way back, without making it a whole production

When I was ready for more, it didn’t come all at once. It came in layers. Outside every morning, even briefly. Then short walks. Then consistency without pressure. Then community. Then joy sneaking back in when I wasn’t looking.

Not because I pushed. Because I made space.

And I want to say this clearly, especially if your brain is being rude to you right now. You are not behind. You are not failing because your capacity looks different in this season. You’re a human being doing human things in a life that sometimes gets ridiculously lifey.

Q&A

What if all I can do right now is sit outside or drive?
Then that’s what you do. You’re not behind. You’re listening. Start where your body can say yes.

What if walking feels emotionally loaded?
That makes sense. Don’t force it to be the doorway. Use sunlight, air, and nature first. Let your system soften, then decide.

What if I feel guilty taking time for myself?
Of course you do. That guilt is common when you’ve been carrying a lot. It doesn’t mean the guilt is right. It means you’ve been trained to put yourself last.

What if I keep coping with food at night?
You’re not weird. Your nervous system wants relief. Add one non-food relief option earlier in the day, like outside time, a drive, a shower, music, or ten minutes of quiet. Give your system another way to come down.

If you’re in the “I can only breathe” season

If all you can do right now is go outside and breathe, then go outside and breathe. If all you can do is sit in the sun for five minutes like an exhausted houseplant, do that too. If all you can do is drive somewhere beautiful and let your shoulders drop for the first time all week, I’m calling that a win.

You don’t have to earn your way back to yourself by suffering. You can come back gently. You can come back in small pieces. You can come back as many times as it takes.

I know this because I did. I’ve rebuilt from places I didn’t think I would make it out of. I’ve had days where the best I could do was exist and not fall apart in public, which honestly deserves a trophy. I’ve had seasons where I wasn’t sure I even wanted to keep going, and I did anyway. Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But stubbornly. One breath. One step. One ordinary choice at a time.

So if you’re here, reading this, thinking, “Okay, maybe I could try,” that’s enough for today. That’s you showing up. That’s you starting.

Go outside. Let the sun hit your face. Do one thing that feels good. Then do it again when you can.

Sometimes that’s how balance begins.

– Coree