When your nervous system believes you are in danger, it pulls you out of the present moment. Thoughts race. Images intrude. The body tightens or goes numb. In those moments, reasoning rarely helps—because danger is being processed below thought. This is where your five senses become powerful allies. Your senses live in now. They do not time-travel. They do not imagine. They report what is actually happening in this moment. When you engage your senses intentionally, you give your body real-time evidence of safety. You are not telling yourself you are safe—you are showing your nervous system where you are. Let’s walk through this slowly. Sight Look around the room you are in. Notice color—not objects, just color. Is the light warm or cool? Are the tones bright or muted? Name the shades you see. Not “blue,” but slate, navy, sky. Let your eyes rest. They don’t need to scan for danger. Touch Notice where your body is supported. A chair. The floor. A bed. Feel the weight of your body being held. What does the surface feel like—firm, soft, textured, smooth? Notice the trust you have already placed in what is holding you. Temperature What is the temperature of the air on your skin? Are your hands cooler than your shoulders? Is your face warmer than your feet? Let yourself map the landscape of temperature from head to toe. Smell Is there a scent in the room? It might be faint. It might be neutral. Soap, fabric, air, coffee, nothing at all. You are not judging—only noticing. Taste Is there a taste in your mouth? Gum, toothpaste, coffee, or simply your breath? Let your tongue register what is present. None of this is dramatic. That’s the point. Safety often arrives quietly. Engaging the senses does not erase pain or memory. It simply brings you back into your vehicle—where choice exists. You can do this anywhere: in a grocery store, in bed at night, in a meeting, in a moment of panic. You are not trying to feel better.

Lesson 2: The Body Lives in the Present Your body is always telling the truth about now. Not about what happened ten years ago. Not about what might happen tomorrow. About this moment. Your mind can time-travel. It can replay conversations, revisit injuries, imagine disasters, rehearse arguments, or long for different outcomes. Your spirit can reach toward meaning, hope, prayer, or despair. But your body—your vehicle—does not leave the present moment. It cannot. This is not a flaw. It is your anchor. When trauma occurs, especially repeatedly or early in life, the nervous system learns to associate the present moment with danger. Over time, the body may remain on high alert even when the original threat is long gone. This can feel confusing, frustrating, or even frightening. You may wonder why your body reacts so strongly when your rational mind knows you are safe. Here is an important reframe: Your body is not overreacting. It is responding to the last moment it remembers as dangerous. PTSD and anxiety are not signs of weakness. They are signs of a nervous system that learned how to survive. The problem arises when the body does not receive enough information to update itself—to learn that now is different from then. Because the body lives in the present, it learns through experience, not explanation. Telling yourself to “calm down” rarely works. Explaining logically why you are safe often changes nothing. But when the body is given present-moment data—support, breath, temperature, sensation—it begins to re-orient. This is why grounding practices work. When you feel the chair beneath you, your body learns: I am supported now. When you notice the temperature of the air, your body learns: I am here now. When you slow your breath, your body learns: I am not being chased. You do not need to relive your story to heal. You need to teach your body what now feels like.

Before we begin, let’s set something straight: there is nothing wrong with you. If you struggle with anxiety, PTSD, overwhelm, or a constant sense of being “too much” or “not enough,” it is not because you are weak or broken. It is because your nervous system learned—very wisely at the time—how to protect you. This course is not about undoing that wisdom. It’s about helping your body recognize when protection is no longer required. Here is the core idea of this course: Your body is your vehicle. And the safest place to be is inside it. We are a spirit. We have a soul—our mind, thoughts, and emotions. And we live in a body. Your mind can travel effortlessly into the past or the future. Your imagination can replay memories or create entire scenarios in seconds. Your spirit can stretch toward meaning, hope, and possibility. But your body—your vehicle—lives in only one place: Right now. That is not a limitation. It is a gift. When trauma occurs, especially early or repeatedly, the body often learns that the present moment is not safe. So it develops strategies: leaving the body, scanning for danger, rehearsing catastrophe, staying alert at all times. Over time, this can feel like living outside the vehicle—watching life instead of inhabiting it. Anxiety and PTSD often aren’t about what is happening now. They are about a nervous system that is still responding to what once happened. The body does not lie, but it can be out of date. Think of driving a car while leaning halfway out the window, trying to steer the vehicle next to you. It sounds absurd—and dangerous. Yet many of us live this way internally: part of us in the present, part of us in the past, part of us managing imagined futures or other people’s reactions. Staying in the vehicle means bringing yourself back to the one place where choice exists—the present moment, inside your body. This does not mean forcing calm. It does not mean ignoring pain.

Welcome. There is nothing you need to catch up on here. Nothing to prove. Nothing to perform. Stay in the Vehicle is a space for learning how to remain present in your body—especially when anxiety, trauma, or overwhelm try to pull you somewhere else. Weekends are a good place to begin because they invite slowing down, not pushing forward. For today, there is only one gentle invitation: Take a moment to notice where your body is supported right now. A chair. The floor. A bed. Let the support do its job. You don’t have to hold everything up yourself. Take several unhurried minutes to check in with your body. Allow yourself to come back to your body. Just for this moment. Begin by noticing your back. What does it feel like to be supported there—by a chair, a bed, the floor? You don’t need to change anything. Just notice. Then bring your attention to your arms. Where are they resting? What is holding their weight? Move slowly to your legs, then your feet. Let yourself feel how gravity is being met for you, without effort. Without fanfare. Now notice the parts of your body that are supported indirectly—places that are not touching what is holding you, yet are still at rest because other parts are supported. How does that feel? What is it like to not be actively held, yet still safe? Still included? As you explore each area, gently breathe into it. No forcing. No fixing. Just breath arriving where awareness goes. Begin to notice what trust feels like in your body. Not the idea of trust—but the sensation of it. In your muscles. Your skin. Your bones. Does it feel the way you expected? Is it dramatic or almost unnoticeable? Is it grand… or very quiet? Showy… or gentle? There is no correct answer here. Only experience. Let this be enough for now. That’s it. That’s the beginning of practice. You are welcome to post, or not. Read, or not. Come and go as your nervous system allows. This space will meet you where you are. Later, we’ll begin with our first short lesson. For now—rest. You’re already doing enough by being here.

I’m really glad you’re here. Stay in the Vehicle is built around a simple, life-saving idea: when things feel overwhelming, unsafe, or confusing, the safest place to be is inside your own body, in the present moment. Not in the past. Not in the imagined future. Not managing other people’s reactions. Right here. This space is trauma-informed, gentle, and practical. Nothing here requires you to “push through,” relive your story, or fix yourself. We’ll focus instead on safety, presence, breath, and regulation—the foundations that make real healing possible. A few guidelines as you settle in: - Move at your own pace. Lurking is welcome. - Share only what feels safe. - There is no hierarchy of pain here. - Curiosity and kindness matter more than perfection. 👉 Your first invitation: Take one slow breath. Notice where your body is supported right now. That’s staying in the vehicle. When you’re ready, introduce yourself (or just say hello), and let us know what brought you here. You’re not late. You’re not behind. You’ve arrived.