Caitlin Olson - ITP.

one of the easiest sensory cues I use at home: warm, cozy feet. 🧦

okay, first thing: I clearly have no idea how to make slipper content aesthetic.

your feet are taking in SO much information all day: temperature, texture, pressure, balance and where your body is in space.

so yes, I’m a big believer in making that sensory input as pleasant as possible ✨

warm slippers. fuzzy socks. soft rugs. heated blankets.

I want the body getting little cues of comfort wherever I can sneak them in.

warmth, softness and gentle pressure can be really nice sensory input. your feet are packed with sensory receptors that are constantly sending information back to your brain about what’s happening around you and underneath you.

is it going to regulate your entire nervous system? no lol.

but somatic work and nervous system regulation don’t always need to involve a whole practice. I’m all about finding tiny ways to make the body feel a little more comfortable and give the nervous system pleasant, predictable sensory information without turning it into another thing you have to “work” at.

this work is incredible, but not because it teaches you how to never feel overwhelmed, activated, angry, anxious or sad again.

it doesn’t.

for me, the magic is in having somewhere those things don’t need to be immediately fixed.

somewhere we can get curious about what your body is doing, what it might be protecting, and what happens when we give it a little more time, choice and support instead of asking it to hurry up and feel better.

sometimes that looks like movement. sometimes breath. sometimes shaking, tears, laughter, anger, stillness or absolutely nothing noticeable at all.

and sometimes the work is simply having another human stay present with you while something feels hard.

not dragging you toward the light.

just sitting beside you long enough for your eyes to adjust.

that’s the kind of work i believe in. 🖤

i’m always going to tell you to choose yourself.

even when you don’t really like yourself.
even when you’re carrying shame.
even when you’re still figuring out who the f**k you are.

you don’t have to love every part of yourself to start being on your own side.

and you definitely don’t have to trade who you are for approval while you figure it out.

let people misunderstand you.
let people dislike you.
let people have their version of you.

just don’t abandon yourself trying to change it.

You can know where the pattern came from.
You can name the coping strategy.
You can recognize the loop while you’re literally in it.

And still find yourself doing the same thing.

Overexplaining. People pleasing. Shutting down. Bracing for conflict. Replaying the conversation. Trying to anticipate everyone else’s needs. Knowing you’re safe, but not necessarily feeling safe.

That doesn’t mean the awareness isn’t working. Awareness matters.

But sometimes the pattern isn’t being maintained by a lack of understanding. It’s being maintained because your body learned that response through repetition, and repetition is often part of how we begin creating something different too.

This is one of the reasons I use simple body-based practices like tapping in my work.

Not because tapping magically fixes the pattern. But because somatic work gives us somewhere else to go besides endlessly analyzing it.

Notice the pattern.
Notice what happens in the body.
Interrupt the familiar loop.
Practice another response.

And then do it again.

That’s where the work gets interesting.

I’m not giving up on titration 😂

Because this is actually one of the most important things to understand about somatic work.

Less can be more.

Titration is a trauma-informed somatic practice where we work with small, manageable pieces of an experience rather than diving into everything at once.

We can touch into something for a moment, notice what happens in the body, come back to steady, and go from there.

We don’t need the biggest release. We don’t need the whole story. We don’t need to push until something happens.

Sometimes one little drop gives us plenty to work with.

Okay. I have now explained titration with significantly less yapping. ✌🏼

Okay, this one is newer to me.

I’ve been learning more about fascia and the relationship between the tongue and pelvic floor, so naturally I had to try it on myself first.

Using a little paper towel for traction, I gently held the end of my tongue, rotated it to one side, turned my head the opposite way and stayed there for five slow belly breaths.

This was probably my fifth or sixth attempt. The first few times, my body actually shook. After a couple breaths, I felt a little surge of fear and a very clear I do not like this.

I didn’t force it. I released, reset and tried again gently, giving my body time to get familiar with something completely new.

Then this happened.

One deep breath… two gentle pops through my low back. Afterward, I genuinely felt more space through my low back and lower torso, like something had softened.

I’m not going to tell you I “released trauma from my fascia” or pretend I know exactly what changed. I can only tell you what I felt.

What fascinates me is how often the body responds in places we weren’t even paying attention to. Sometimes a tiny shift in one area creates a completely unexpected experience somewhere else.

If you’re just sitting around reading this right now, try it. Grab the edge of your T-shirt, gently pinch the tip of your tongue, roll it to one side (don’t yank it), turn your head the opposite way and take five slow belly breaths.

Keep it gentle. This is traction, not a tug of war with your tongue. 😂

And if you do try it, tell me what you notice.

You start the work.

And sometimes, even by the third or fourth session, you start noticing little things.

Not massive breakthroughs. Not “I healed my trauma.”

Small shifts.

You notice you’re actually irritated before you automatically say “it’s fine.”

You catch yourself holding your breath.

You realize you don’t actually want to say yes to something.

You notice your shoulders aren’t sitting at your ears all day.

You feel an emotion without immediately needing to explain where it came from.

You recognize that you’re overwhelmed before you’re completely f**king exhausted.

You leave a conversation and don’t spend the next three hours replaying it.

You rest without needing to justify why you deserve to.

Maybe you speak a little slower.

Maybe you take up a little more space.

Maybe something happens that normally would have completely thrown you, and you realize…

Oh. That didn’t hit me the same way.

This is the part of somatic work I wish we talked about more.

Because yes, we work with the hard stuff.

But the point isn’t to spend the rest of your life analyzing your nervous system.

The point is that eventually you understand yourself well enough that you can actually go live your life.

And sometimes the first signs of that are incredibly small.

But you notice them.

And that matters.

This is a very different life than the one I was living ten years ago.

Saturday morning. Waking up slowly, coffee with Scott, taking the boys for a walk, spotting some wild looking bird out on the pond and immediately needing to know what it was.

So now we’re Googling birds, passing the binoculars back and forth, arguing over whose turn it is to look at the double crested cormorant.

And I’m just… happy.

Nothing profound happened this morning. I’m about to head to the gym and carry on with my day.

But I think that’s exactly why I’m so grateful.

I really, really like this little life we’ve built. 🦋💜😍

A lot of people ask me how I got so comfortable showing myself on social media.

Talking about my feelings. Sharing my experiences. Saying what I actually think. Occasionally doing something mildly cringe on the internet.

And I think the answer is genuinely that I just… stopped caring.

Not in an “I don’t care about anyone” way.

I care deeply. Probably obnoxiously deeply.

But I trust myself now.

I trust that I lead with integrity. I trust my intentions. I trust my kindness. I trust my intensity. I trust the weird little instincts that make me me.

Including apparently ripping into an orange with my teeth instead of walking six feet to get a knife.

There’s actually something really satisfying about using your mouth. Biting. Pulling. Making noise. Letting the body be a little more primal instead of constantly making everything neat and socially acceptable.

And maybe that’s the whole point.