In healing spaces, intensity is often rewarded because it’s visible. Tears. Breakthrough language. Big emotional arcs. A sense that something happened.

But the nervous system doesn’t equate charge with safety. And safety—not intensity—is what allows patterns to actually reorganize.

Human beings have an innate desire for narratives of salvation. In times of social fragmentation, economic precarity, and spiritual longing, we instinctively search for charismatic figures who promise answers. We elevate leaders, mentors, and gurus onto pedestals, granting them a moral immunity that we deny to everyone else. This act of "prophet-making" is not merely a harmless form of admiration; it is a structural flaw that systematically dismantles community care.

These aren’t hot takes. They’re lived truths.

Disabled bodies have always been doing the work of adaptation, listening, pacing, and recalibration— the very things healing spaces claim to value, while often structuring themselves to exclude us.

Co-regulation is a nervous-system process, not just proximity. It’s what happens when bodies settle together through safety, presence, and attunement. When breath slows in response to another’s steadiness. When being witnessed doesn’t escalate the charge, but helps metabolize it. During times of collective upheaval, many of us reach for connection- but this is where a quiet confusion often takes hold.

Healing and spirituality are so often thought of as ascending above something. The danger is ascending above others as a hierarchy develops in the form of self care at the expense of others, selective care- who is and isn't worthy of it, and consumer based notions of healing and wellness afforded to few.

Healing can feel like a loaded word for those disabled and navigating chronic health. Ongoing states of exhaustion and pain activate our nervous system, heighten isolation, and darken our mind and emotions. And, it can be overwhelming to find the energy and ability to build healing practices and routines.