Our nervous systems are things unto themselves.  They have their own logic and memory and needs, and have to be attended to as we would our bodies.  As the body needs its fill of exercise, set mixtures of proteins, carbs, minerals, so too the nervous system needs its own kind of nutrients, in the form of stimulation, novelty, meaningful relationship, positive thoughts, truth.  This is a really important perspective to have on one's own self, because seeing the nervous system as having its own needs and integrity allows us to relate to it much more skillfully, precisely, and therefore, effectively. 

One of the most important needs the nervous system has is to experience what the neuroscientists refer to as "self-regulation," which means that its capacity to channel energy and information is kept within its "range of tolerance" (another neuroscience term).  More colloquially, it needs to not get too stressed and overwhelmed, and to trust that it can self-regulate, can indeed come back to it's regular, normal functioning.

It's a bit analogous to an electrical circuit.  A wire in the wall at home can only take so much electrical current before the wire begins to melt or burn out (become unable to transmit the electrical energy, its purpose).  Circuit breakers are built into these lines in order to stop the destruction of the wires, by "blowing" when the current becomes too strong for that circuit.  At a mechanical level, this is a way of "self-regulating."  An energy surge is "understood" by the circuit breaker as dangerous to the overall system, and therefore "regulates" by breaking the circuit (by breaking a filament in a fuse, or tripping a shut-off mechanism).  The circuit ceases to function, to carry energy, but the overall system is protected from damage.

Which is also the way that depression is intended to protect the human nervous system.  When we get flooded and can't "self-regulate" in a modulated way (like gradually turning down the current), then the backup regulation kicks in and shuts us down totally.  Functioning diminished (we're laying in bed all day) but nervous system protected.  I.e., depression.

So practicing with self-regulating before the circuit breaker of depression blows is critical to preventing repeated relapses of depression;  or, elegant self-regulation  prevents the need to regulate inelegantly.

THE CHECKLIST

Since the nervous system (the brain, the spinal cord, the peripheral nerves) essentially serves to process information (from external and internal sources), then any "channel of input" is a place that we can intervene to change the "output."  All the five senses as well as the different aspects of mind (primarily, thought and imagination), because they are sources of information that are then interpreted, made sense of, and "outputted" into behavior, are places where we can intervene to produce better "downstream" outcomes.  Which results in a relative ease of self-regulation, and therefore, diminished intensity and time in overwhelm. 

So, here's a checklist to use when feeling overwhelmed (or headed in that direction).  Use this checklist as a reminder of ways to change your experience ("output") by changing you internal and external environment ("inputs").  But treat each possible change as an offering to the nervous system, allowing it to have the final say on whether it's useful or not, without demanding anything "should" be calming.  What works, works.

The Five Senses

1)   Sight:  looking around your environment, see if there is anything that can be changed or modified in the visual field that would increase a sense of soothing?  (This might be opening or closing eyes;  more or less natural or ambient light;  what you're looking at (a rug vs. the freeway outside);  a pattern or a flat neutral surface, etc.)

2)   Sound:  listening to the existing soundscape, is there anything that can be changed or modified in the aural field that would increase a sense of soothing?  (This might be turning on or off of music;  opening or closing the windows;  listening to talk radio;  stopping to focus on the sounds more intensely, etc.)

3)   Taste:  is there anything which I can taste which would be soothing?  (What might be wanted?  Something bitter, or sweet, or watery, or lemony?  Or maybe stopping with tasting whatever you're imbibing.)

4)   Touch:  feeling into your tactile field, is there anything to

 increase or decrease that would prove soothing?  (Maybe changing clothes to something softer;  or closing the window so the cold breeze isn't on your skin;  or rubbing a cloth;  or asking for touch from a friend;  or petting your dog, etc.)

5)   Smell:  Scanning the olfactory realm, is there anything I can change or modify which would feel soothing?  (Maybe lighting or snuffing incense or candles;  closing or opening doors/windows to control ambient smells;  smelling oils or scents (as in aromatherapy), etc.)

Body

1)   Physical:  Scanning my bodily experience, is there any changes which I could make that would feel soothing?  (Laying down or standing up;  going for a walk or stopping and sitting on a bench;  stretching or jumping up and down; letting body twitch and shake;  changing clothes, blankets;  etc.)

Relationships/relating

1)   Relationships:  Is there any changes to the "relational field" which would feel more soothing?  (Maybe calling a friend to talk;  increasing amount of people around you, as going to a café or park;  changing who you are around;  asking for a change in relating from who you're in contact with, as in, "Could we talk about something lighter?" or, "Could you tell me a joke?", etc.)

Mind

1)   Mind (thought and imagination):  Scanning the contents of your mind, is there anything that can be changed which

would feel soothing?  (Bring to mind a friend who is loving and safe;  have a rational conversation with yourself (with your scared parts);  repeat a mantra to yourself;  imagine the very worst outcomes you can imagine from the situation;  say kind, soothing words to yourself, as if to a scared child; read a book or watch something online/tv;  etc.)

Ok, so having that checklist (which I'd encourage you to take and fill in with strategies or changes that often work with you, to remind you when you're sinking), I'll give an example below.

THE APPLIED CHECKLIST:  AN EXAMPLE

I'm going to fictionalize my experience of writing this newsletter (this time, anyway, I've actually stayed within my "range of tolerance" throughout). 

So:  Let's say I'm sitting at my office, at my desk, dressed in my usual work clothes, writing away.  Let's say it's winter and it's a typical overcast San Francisco afternoon.  My thoughts are flowing, I'm feeling good about the content, I'm focused and concentrated.  The room feels warm and cozy, and the background traffic noise is a pleasant hum. 

Then I check my email in between thoughts, and there's a letter, let's say from a famous psychiatrist who also specializes in depression and anxiety, to whom I've sent the piece of writing I'm most proud of.  (I.e., this would be a person who is important and meaningful to me.)  I excitedly open the email and the first line of his response is, "I've never read greater drivel in my whole career."  From there, it then it gets worse. 

So, email read, how am I feeling?  Well, emotionally, probably some mix of humiliation, shame, and fear.  Cognitively, the thoughts may have changed from, "Hey, I'm a pretty good writer, and I've got important things to say, etc." to, "I can't believe I thought I could write, or that any of it was important, and he's going to tell everyone, I'll be laughed at, etc."  Physically, I notice a fierce tightening in the gut, tension along my upper back, and feel nauseous, heart suddenly racing, skin flushed.  At the level of the nervous system, I feel hyper-activated (as if a car just hit me), jumpy, and notice a kind of electrical twitching throughout my body.  I'm having, it would seem, a very strong reaction.

Actually, I'm overwhelmed.  Meaning, my nervous system can't handle, within it's range of tolerance/capacity, the stimulation it's receiving (mostly internal, in this case, in the form of thoughts and images that are translating into body).  But I'm not so flooded with reaction that I don't notice it happening (this spontaneous "noticing" being one of the supreme values of a mindfulness practice), and therefore the nascent depressive shutdown ("See, it's really all futile!") can be caught and worked with.

Ok, so how can I work with it?  Well, let's say I have the checklist in a drawer, so I pull it out and go through it.  I first acknowledge to myself, "Wow, that sure felt like a sucker punch, so what would help? [itself a change in thought, implying acceptance of the situation and my reaction, and relationally, that I'm non-judgmentally with myself]."  Starting with the visual field, I look around the room and ask myself, would I feel more comfortable (i.e., more self-regulated) if I changed anything in the visual field?  I notice that, in the state I'm in as opposed to before I read the psychiatrist's email, the sunlight seems dingy and depressing.  So, I close the shades and turn on another lamp.  Then I notice what that feels like (i.e., I'm experimenting with what works) and there is a kind of somatic soothing effect that I can feel in my body, and feel as a slight decrease in the sense of overwhelm.  (When we start working with ourselves in this way, focusing on the nervous system as an aspect of ourselves to be nurtured on its own terms, we start to be able to measure where we are on the "overwhelm scale," which then shows up a bit like how we notice humidity, kind of a sense unto itself.)

Then I think, aurally, what would be soothing.  Checking into that sense, I think, "Maybe some music?"  I imagine turning to iTunes, but when I conjure that image, some part of me (you could say my nervous system) kind of wrinkles it's nose.  "Ok, not music."  Nothing else comes to mind in terms of the sound-scape, so I move on.

Physically, anything more comfortable?  I notice--again, my nervous system state has changed, as it is being activated differently, as the flight-or-flight circuitry is flipped on--that now I'm cold, where a minute ago it felt fine.  Rather than fight it or try to be heroic, I grab the blanket from the corner and wrap it around my shoulders.  Then I check in, and find, "No, that's not it, too hot, but around my legs would feel good."  I try that, and sure enough, notice a soothing sensation, and notice a flash of memory when Mom used to wrap us as kids in warm laundry.  (That thought becomes another input which produces a soothing output, and the sense of overwhelm decreases a little more.)

Taste?  Nothing is available--I forgot my lunch--though my mind, dutifully experimental, considers licking the fichus.   Rejecting that idea as probably not comforting (my mind imagines the scenario for a second), I move on to touch.  The blanket, now on my lap, has tasseled fringes, so I try rubbing that between my fingers.   No memories come to mind this time, but sure enough, the new tactile input produces another bit of soothing, so I keep that up.  Smell?  I notice that the air smells a little acrid from the car fumes--being somewhat overwhelmed, my senses are heightened and less tolerant--I get up and shut the window.

So, I've covered the five senses and am feeling less of the sense of overwhelm.  I notice, too, that even though I was not focusing directly on the mental or relational realm yet, just going through the checklist itself feels like an act of self-caring, which implicitly carries with it memories and sensations of love, being valued, being noticed, etc.  The primary focus is the senses, but the secondary meaning also carries potency, in terms of returning my jangled nervous system back to the range of tolerance.

I then think about the relational realm:  do I want to be alone or with others?  I imaging calling a friend, or going to the coffee shop, and the visceral response is kind of like I've put my finger in a light socket.  Ok, I get the message that my nervous system wants to be alone, that being in relationship to others right now would be more dysregulating.  (That said, I am relating caringly to myself and my nervous system does, in fact, register this as a real relationship, a real input relevant to self-regulation.)

Ok, so now the mental realm:  I notice, feeling physically more comfortable, the immediate negative thoughts are a bit quieter, less overwhelming to my rational side.  I see that the "I'm terrible" thoughts are still there, and I think, "Ok, maybe, but is this psychiatrist's feedback the only I ever get?" A part of me, grudgingly, says, "Well, no, not usually...but the positive feedback you do get, it's probably all lies."  "Ok," I respond, "perhaps, but if we think about those who have given that positive feedback, would they lie?"  Again, grudgingly, "Well, no, not really..."  What I notice then is a softening of the overwhelm, and a kind of energetic outbreath.  Some relief.

Then, enlisting the imagination, I think, "Ok, who among those people who really appreciates and values me and my writing, do I trust?"  Who comes to mind is a long-time colleague, very respectable and genuine and trustworthy, and as I let myself visualize her and feel into our relationship, her imagined self winks at me and says, "It's all good."  (Writers often talk about how their characters take on a life of their own, which happens because the elements of our imagination actually represent real dynamics and people, and given attention, will play out their own logics.) With her wink, I notice myself having a big outbreath, and the tensions in my body settle out and I feel safe and lovable again.  Shame recedes.  Then the feedback from the psychiatrist suddenly appears as just one opinion, not the definitive statement on my eternal self. 

Summary

Thus, I've gone through this process:  from self-regulated calm

(within my "range of tolerance"), 

to hyper-activation (triggered by the email), overwhelm, then methodical attendance to "inputs" (the checklist), attending to how my nervous system "likes" those input changes, and then a gradual return to "self-regulation," which is characterized by a return to the range of tolerance, to safety, and to a sense of basic "ok-ness."

Admittedly, it doesn't always go so smoothly, and the ability to self-regulate in this way is actually a skill, a kind of muscular learning that is not simply about new insight.  The nervous system has it's own rules and "tensile strength" that is not dependent on what we think of our belief systems.  Just like the physical system of, say, the femur has a breaking point, so too the nervous system. 

Working with the different "inputs" into the nervous system--the five senses, the mental realms (of thought and imagery), the physical realm of body posture, the relational realm--one is able to modulate the outputs, i.e., overwhelm and the attendant depressive shutdown.