Staying In the Room

Hey wild-hearted wanderer,

I’m writing to you today on a topic that’s not only dear to my heart, but gets me turned on—the concept of the Not Self.

If you’ve been in this space with me for awhile, you will have heard me refer to it before. In case this term is unfamiliar, you can head here first. But essentially, the Not Self is, firstly, Human Design lingo, and secondly, it refers to the part of us that acts out of our conditioning. That conditioning can be societal or familial; it can be a learned behaviour or it can be as simple as our way of trying to fit in with the conformed expectations.

As a whole, this letter is inspired by one of my Human Design teachers, James Alexander, whose work truly opened up my eyes to the Not Self and deconditioning in a completely new way.

I’m sure if you’re in the Human Design community, you will have heard the Not Self being referred to as voices in our head, as well as our unhealthy patterning and behaviour that generally stems from external conditioning.

Personally, I’ve noticed that the way we speak of the Not Self is often rather disempowering. And honestly, that was my own experience with it when I first entered into the Human Design community. I often thought the Not Self was something to be eliminated; something to get passed in order to be your true self.

But the deeper I delve, the more I believe that the Not Self is often misunderstood and viewed as something inherently bad or wrong; something we need to erradicate and fix about ourselves.

But I’ve come to see that this is not entirely the case. Rather, the Not Self is something we need to befriend. It’s an aspect of our design whether we like it or not. It’s part of our journey here on Earth. Resisting and ignoring that part of us will only prolong our journey to true embodiment and safety.

So, in order to start embracing and understanding our Not Self, we need to bring in the body. Because this is not simply a mental construct; it’s an embodied defense. It’s often our somatic reality—a learned protection mechanism that’s stored in the body and activated in our nervous system via sensations.

Therefore, the process of deconditioning is nervous system repair.

It’s the slow, embodied process of tracking the stories and the sensations that are attached to each other—learning to feel what we once avoided, and bringing awareness to the protective patterns we once thought were us.

Each center, gate and channel in the bodygraph can act like a map. It’s a guidepost showing us where we’ve been conditioned, and how that conditioning lives in the body. The undefined centers especially reveal where we’re most likely to override our truth in service of safety, connection, or control.

What’s often overlooked in these explorations is the embodiment piece. Yes, awareness is what creates the space between sensation and reaction. It’s what allows us to pause, witness, and choose. But when our bodies don’t feel safe to be with these sensations and reactions, we will never truly be embodied. Simply put, we’re missing the capacity to stay.

Something in our body has learned that being fully present isn’t safe. So we end up resorting to our Not Self behaviours and patterns.

What begins as a thought or impulse quickly becomes a loop.

We notice a conditioned pattern arising. This can occur through various day-to-day activities: when we’re receiving critical feedback, or we’re in a difficult conversation with our partner; when someone has said something we find offensive, or when someone is pressuring us to say yes to something we don’t want to do. Or it can be something that happened in the past but the present circumstance is somehow resurfacing the memory on a somatic level and triggering us to act accordingly.

A physical sensation follows—a racing heartbeat, a holding of our breath, feeling tension in parts of our bodies, or even sensing into the urge to scroll mindlessly in order to escape or eat our emotions and numb the sensations that are present.

Whatever it is, our nervous system flags this sensation as dangerous or overwhelming. It’s a threat to our safety. And the mind steps in to override, avoid, or rationalize the sensation.

And that’s when the Not Self strategy kicks in. It’s there to restore safety, whether that shows up as people-pleasing, proving something, staying busy, or disappearing.

Sometimes, the resistance protects us from what feels like too much.
Other times, the very pattern becomes the safety.
Even when it limits us.

These patterns might create the illusion of safety by keeping us from feeling the deeper discomfort of abandonment, rejection, or shame. But they also keep us looped in the Not Self, because they bypass the body’s actual needs.

For me, one of my most ingrained embodied defenses has always been either to run and hide or blame and accuse the other. It wasn’t until I began exploring my own design more intimately that this pattern started to make deeper sense.

In Human Design, our Personality Mars is, among our assertion and willpower, also our indicator of immaturity. It’s the part of us that comes online when we’re triggered, more specifically on a line level.

In my case, the defensive coping strategies show up in the 2nd Line fashion.

You may have heard the 2nd Line being talked about with regards to its naturalness, its talents and its ease. But denial and blindness is also a big part of its being. The 2nd line can’t always see itself clearly, especially when it comes to its own blindspots. Mechanically, this is rooted in the lack of visibility into their own being. Just as their natural talents often get called out, so can their lack of self-awareness be gently pointed out by those closest to them.

When this line sits in Mars, it can amplify a defensive reaction. It’s not as simple as just reacting—there’s an inherent need to justify the reaction. As 2nd Lines, we believe we’re right. The other is wrong. The problem is out there with the other rather than within us.

(Sidenote: If you’ve followed the Blake Lively drama, you might find this interesting: she’s a 2/4 Manifesting Generator with her Personality Mars in 2nd Line. In fact, she has seven 2nd Lines in her bodygraph. That’s a lot of potential for blindspots.)

In hindsight, that has often been my experience.

When conflict arises, when I feel misunderstood or attacked, hurt or exposed—especially by someone close to me—my instinct is to disappear, to protect myself from potential shame or judgement. Or, the flipside of it is that I lash out, unable and, often, unwilling to see my part in the dynamic.

But this pattern of behaviour wasn’t always conscious to me. Even so, this pattern of denial often felt like my truth.

Not just physically, but emotionally. It’s a reflex meant to protect me from the intensity of sensation that confrontation stirs, especially with a completely open Solar Plexus and an undefined Ego—my system can easily resort to being overwhelmed whilst trying that she’s right.

And for much of my life, it worked—at least on the surface. I could avoid the discomfort. I could escape the truth. I could place up these excessive barriers that also meant I didn’t have to deal with my own bullshit.

But it came at a cost.

The somatic sensation never actually left. It lodged itself deeper. When I left the room, I left fuming. That original sensation of body tightness and shallow breathing grew in power, leaking into later moments through avoidance, passive distance, or explosive anger.

But with greater awareness, something is shifting. I’ve started staying.

When the urge to run arises, I name it internally. I feel it in my chest, my throat, my jaw. And instead of leaving, I stay in the room. Especially with people who matter. I allow the sensation to be there so that it can be acknowledged. And I voice my truth, even when it feels shaky.

What I’m discovering is pretty profound:
When I stay, the sensation moves.
It doesn’t get stuck in my body.
It doesn’t fester.
It doesn’t have power over me.
Rather, it flows. It moves through me.

Each time I stay, I feel my body’s capacity growing. The confrontation still activates something, yes. But it’s no longer a wave that crashes and knocks me under. The sensation no longer signals danger. It becomes a wave I can ride. And the biggest part of it is that I no longer feel the need to prove I’m right. It’s safe to be in the wrong. It’s safe to be vulnerable and seen in my own blindspots.

Through nervous system work and the language of Human Design, I’ve started to meet this part of me with more curiosity. I’ve begun to sense the moment when the familiar loop wants to activate. And instead of being swept up by it, I can pause. I can be fully in it.

Human Design gives us a map of our energetic patterns;
nervous system work helps us feel safe enough to embody them.

Human Design, when approached gently, can illuminate these shadows—not to shame us, but to help us witness the terrain of our own conditioning with clarity and compassion. We can begin to see that the pattern isn’t who we are. It’s just what we learned to do when it didn’t feel safe to be ourselves.

This is how capacity builds—slowly, with repetition, and a deep trust in the body’s wisdom.

As a result, deconditioning can take on a whole new meaning. It’s no longer about fixing something within us. It’s not about shaming or judging the parts of us we feel are less worthy. But we also can’t rely on affirmations or forcing new beliefs or patterns without doing the somatic “work”. Because, quite often if not all of the time, these patterns live within our cells.

Ultimately, the process of deconditioning is about creating enough inner safety to stay with the uncomfortable sensations. To witness the moment our old strategies activate—and choose something different. It’s about bringing our mental as well as somatic awareness into these activating situations, and instead of reacting blindly, we can show up with more curiosity and compassion, to ourselves and others.

One powerful way to do this is through the breath.

Breath awareness becomes a bridge. It invites us back into the body when the Not Self wants to escape it. In my own life, I’ve found that using breath as an anchor throughout the day—especially in the quieter, in-between moments—helps me train my body to feel safety even in discomfort. It’s like laying down new tracks. The body starts to learn: I can stay. I don’t have to flee or fight. I can feel this and still be okay.

This is how capacity builds—through the gentle invitation of breath, again and again, until the body begins to trust that the discomfort won’t overwhelm it.
That we can stay with ourselves, no matter what arises.

This is the exciting edge where nervous system work and Human Design meet.
Where we stop trying to fix the mind and start listening to the body.
It’s slow. It’s tender. It’s vulnerable.
But it’s also liberating.

Take This With You

Here’s a mini breath practice you might try the next time you feel yourself getting activated. Use it as you find yourself in activating situations or as a tool for downregulation afterwards to bring yourself back into your body in the present moment.

Pause.
Gently bring your attention to your body. You might place a hand on your chest or belly.

Inhale slowly through your nose for a count of four.
Let your belly expand. Notice where the breath lands.

Exhale softly through your mouth for a count of six.
Let your shoulders drop. Feel gravity holding you.

Repeat until you feel grounded again.
As you do, whisper inwardly: “It’s safe to be here now.” Or any phrase that resonates.

Afterward, just notice: What’s shifted? What feels a little softer, or more present?

If you have any questions about how I use breath for my own nervous system regulation, feel free to reach out! Or if you’re curious about the possibility of exploring your own Not Self landscape with me through these modalities, head here to fill out a form.

I’m curious: do you know the patterning around your own defense mechanisms? Can you tell the mental and the somatic apart in these situations? What frameworks and methods have allowed you to cultivate safety in your own body?

I’d love to hear from you.

Thank you for reading today’s letter. If you know anyone who would benefit from hearing these words, please forward this letter to them. And if you want to explore more of my work, feel free to visit the links below.