Window of Tolerance
When the Nervous System Has Trust Issues
There’s a clip of JFK’s assassination I’ve probably seen a dozen times in my life. It’s one of those moments that’s so culturally overexposed it’s become wallpaper. But one night—not long ago, and not especially emotional—I was watching a Netflix docuseries and found myself weeping like I’d just received the news. Like I was in the motorcade. Like Jackie was my cousin and I’d forgotten to text her that morning.
No warning. One minute I’m reaching for popcorn. The next, I’m full-body sobbing like a teenager at their first heartbreak, except I’m a 40-year-old man in trackpants crying over a president who died decades before I was born.
This, my friends, is what happens when your Window of Tolerance has the emotional width of a straw.
And no—I hadn’t relapsed. I hadn’t skipped my medication. I wasn’t having trauma flashbacks or reliving a breakup (although yes, I did also cry at the sight of a red Mini Cooper the other day, because that was my ex’s car and apparently my eyeballs have GPS-enabled grief detection). I was, technically, fine. But when your nervous system is running on duct tape and delayed forgiveness, the difference between a reasonable emotional response and a Shakespearean breakdown becomes… porous.
Your coffee’s a little cold? Existential crisis.
A voicemail from the dentist? Full-body panic.
A slow love song from 2007? Grief spiral.
A text that just says “Hey.”? Emotional hostage situation.
Accidentally liking someone’s Instagram from 2014? Irreversible shame.
No one reading your blog? Identity crisis.
And God forbid someone says “we need to talk” and then waits. Honestly, just say it while I’m still alive.
You don’t choose to be sensitive. You just are. And the cruel irony is this: in recovery, when you’re finally sober, finally stable, and finally emotionally available… you are also, for a while, emotionally unhinged.
The Nervous System, Illustrated
At some point in my second month of rehab, when I was still pretending group therapy was optional, a support worker casually drew this diagram on the whiteboard. Two lines. A wave. And suddenly my entire emotional rollercoaster had a name—and a shape. It was the first time I understood what was happening inside me without needing a meltdown first. I figured I’d share it with you here, in case you’re also a sucker for visuals.
When your Window of Tolerance shrinks, even small emotional waves can throw you out of balance. This is what dysregulation looks like—when the wave doesn’t fit inside the frame.
And this is what we’re working toward: an average, flexible range where your emotions can rise and fall without knocking you sideways. Bigger window. Softer landings.
Emotional Volume: Unmuted
Here’s the cruel joke no one tells you in detox: when you were using, you weren’t “resilient”—you were sedated. Meth turned my emotional range into airplane mode. Someone could scream in my face, call me a disappointment, question my career, my masculinity, my socks—I’d blink once, clench my jaw, and carry on like a suburban dad who just missed a turnoff but won’t admit it. I thought that was emotional maturity. It wasn’t. It was pharmacological indifference.
Now? Now I’m furious at spoons. Not in general—just the one I dropped that made an unreasonable amount of noise. It hit the floor like a gunshot and suddenly I was ready to file a complaint with the universe. I’ve cried at the end of a rom-com so generic it should’ve come pre-apologized. I’ve wanted to punch the acoustics in a café because someone laughed at a volume reserved for airport reunions.
These aren’t “mood swings.” These are the micro-quakes of a nervous system learning how to feel without protective gear. And frankly, they’re exhausting.
This is part of my support team: my mum and my brother, Brian. When my Window of Tolerance shrinks to a pixel, these two somehow keep the lights on, the coffee hot, and the existential spirals contained. Mostly.
That said, I’m laughing more too. Uncontrollably, sometimes. The other day I went to the cinema alone for the first time in years—an act of self-care, apparently—and found myself laughing so hard I snorted. Audibly. In public. People turned around. I considered apologizing and then thought: No. This is sacred. This kind of laughter used to be rationed. Now it just… shows up. Like a rescue dog that trusts you again.
So yes, your Window of Tolerance might be a disaster zone right now. But if you’re laughing at memes that barely qualify as jokes and crying at old sports documentaries, that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re feeling. And that’s the prize.
Is there glamour in this? God, no. No one throws confetti because you didn’t yell at the barista. There’s no medal for surviving an emotional overreaction. But still, I’ve learned to track my nervous system like weather. If I’m overreacting, I check the basics: Did I eat? Sleep? Move? Connect? Breathe?
Most of the time, I haven’t. I’ve just muscled through like I used to, pretending my body’s not keeping score. That’s when the window slams shut. That’s when the spoon becomes a threat.
What Helps Reopen It
You can’t pry open your Window of Tolerance with willpower or good intentions alone. But you can inch it wider—gently, awkwardly, imperfectly—with care.
• Routine: In early recovery, structure isn’t boring—it’s life support. It tells your nervous system, “We’re safe now. You can exhale.”
• Therapy: Especially somatic therapy, EMDR, or anything that invites your body into the conversation. You can’t think your way out of dysregulation.
• Movement: Walk, swim, stretch, dance like no one’s filming. Emotion moves through motion.
• Sleep & Nutrition: Not glamorous, not optional. These are the beams holding the roof up.
• Connection: One safe person is sometimes enough. Just one. Let them know you exist.
• Creative Expression: Writing, painting, music—this is how the nervous system speaks in metaphor when words come out screaming.
No, you won’t become a Zen monk overnight. You might never become one. But that’s not the goal. The goal is making your window just wide enough to breathe again.
Not Calm—Capable
I used to think emotional stability meant nothing could touch me. No highs, no lows—just smooth, unbothered sailing. What I’ve learned is: if nothing gets in, nothing moves. You’re not stable. You’re stuck.
A wide Window of Tolerance doesn’t mean you’re suddenly stoic or enlightened. It means you can cry at JFK and still make coffee the next morning. You can snort-laugh in a cinema and leave with your dignity intact. You can be startled, hurt, even hit—and still choose what kind of person you want to be next.
Recovery isn’t the absence of feeling. It’s the radical act of staying with the feeling long enough to see it change.
So if today, your window is barely cracked open—if the sight of a car your ex used to drive wrecks you, or a romantic comedy sneaks up and emotionally undoes you—don’t panic. Don’t shame it. Just recognize it for what it is:
You’re not broken.
You’re just human.
Raw. Recovering. Fully alive.
References:
1. Siegel, D. J. (1999). The Developing Mind: Toward a Neurobiology of Interpersonal Experience. Guilford Press.
↳ Origin of the Window of Tolerance concept. Offers foundational understanding of how brain, emotion, and regulation interact.
2. Van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking.
↳ Explores trauma’s impact on the nervous system and why body-based therapies are often necessary for healing.
3. Levine, P. A. (1997). Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma. North Atlantic Books.
↳ Introduces somatic experiencing and how unresolved trauma manifests in the body—and how it can be released.
4. Ogden, P., Minton, K., & Pain, C. (2006). Trauma and the Body: A Sensorimotor Approach to Psychotherapy. W. W. Norton.
↳ A clinical guide to body-aware psychotherapy. Very helpful for understanding hypo- and hyperarousal states.
5. Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-Regulation. W. W. Norton.
↳ Heavy science, but key to understanding how the vagus nerve affects emotional regulation and social connection.
6. Maté, G. (2008). In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction. Knopf Canada.
↳ Connects addiction to trauma and dysregulation. Accessible and deeply human.
