From a Relational Neuroscience perspective, the nervous system registers this as a bid for safety. It’s a moment when we open ourselves with the hope that another person will meet us with attunement, presence, and care. When that doesn’t happen, the cost includes a physiological setback. The system that was seeking regulation through connection instead becomes dysregulated by misattunement.
The impact isn’t just in the session. The aftermath can be just as grueling. Trying to make sense of what happened, trying to regulate alone what should have been a co-regulated experience, adds to our load.
These repeated ruptures become part of our body’s history. They don’t vanish after the appointment ends. They accumulate. Each one can deepen our sense that it’s not safe to ask for help, that turning to others results in harm instead of relief.
This is what allostatic load looks like: not just stress from life events, but the toll taken by unmet needs, unresolved ruptures, and the constant work of adapting to a world that fails to meet us in our humanity. It is exhausting. And yet the dominant systems of “care” often ignore this reality. They frame distress as a flaw within the individual rather than a signal of unmet relational and physiological needs.
This is the conundrum. We seek care to reduce the burden on our systems, and too often that “care” adds to it. The places we turn to for relief can become sources of harm. It shouldn’t be this way. Attunement should not be a rare luxury in healthcare; it should be foundational. Our nervous systems are built for connection, and without it, no amount of expertise or intervention will fully support healing. This is why I insist that my practitioners can attune, witness with compassion, offer empathy, and validate my lived experience in this body. If they cannot, they will cause harm, so they are disqualified from my care team.
