where is my butt? finding grounding in dysregulation
“Yeah, I call that ‘where is my butt,’” my client says, a hint of humor breaking through as we review ways to anchor herself during anxious moments. It’s a refreshingly simple concept. While Instagram reels and self-help books might tout breathwork, meditation marathons, or aesthetic journaling as the gold standard, let’s be real—when you’re deep in the trenches of distress, picking up a pen or sitting in stillness can feel hard. The next, most accessible rung on the ladder: Where is your butt?
Can you feel where it meets the chair, the couch, the floor? Is it heavy, grounded, held? Notice how the Earth, in its quiet, reliable way, supports you without asking for anything in return. That gentle push back from the surface beneath you—that’s gravity working with you. Can you bask in that sensation, even just for a moment? The smallest, simplest reminder that you are held, that you’re safe right here, can be enough to crack open the door to more calm.
Here’s the thing: I hear shame creep into conversations with clients and friends all the time. Shame about not using the “right” coping mechanisms. The ones they think they should be using. They’re trying to leapfrog over dysregulation with effort-heavy skills, like attempting a 10-minute mindfulness exercise while their nervous system is in full-blown chaos. Maybe you’ve been there too—stuck on the couch, doom-scrolling and berating yourself to “just get up and do the dishes already.” But what if the first step wasn’t so harsh? What if it started with something like music instead? Four taps on your phone to play a favorite dopamine-boosting song. Maybe that’s all you need to soften the edges of resistance, to start melting the paralysis into something more approachable.
In the most overwhelming moments—whether you’re frozen in fear or spiraling with anxiety—the tiniest shift can be the most powerful. Can you notice one part of your body that feels okay? Maybe your chest feels tight, but what about your second toe? Is your nose calm? Even the act of finding that one quiet place is a move toward grounding. And from there, you can titrate—dip a toe back into the harder sensations, bit by bit, without overwhelming yourself.
I used to read things like this and feel parts of me sneer. That sounds like BS. Or boring. I wanted a solution that felt extraordinary—a magical fix, an exciting portal that would pull me out of the pain. Something grand, not this “simple” stuff. But here’s the thing: simplicity doesn’t mean insignificance. It’s the closest rung on the ladder—the small, reachable step—that helps you pull your head up above the discomfort.
Meeting yourself where you are doesn’t mean you’re stuck there forever. It’s not about dismissing how big or scary or overwhelming something feels. It’s about offering yourself permission to exist exactly as you are in this moment. Permission to feel the full weight of the sensation or emotion, without the added burden of “this shouldn’t be happening.” Your body was built for this—it’s a deep, expansive container for whatever you’re experiencing. And that doesn’t mean it’s easy. It doesn’t mean the pain is less real. But it does mean it’s okay.
