The Physiology of Sustainable Queer Activism: Staying Regulated While Creating Change By Payam Ghassemlou, MFT, Ph.D., SEP

 

Most members of the queer community who are paying attention are aware of the urgent need to address the critical issues surrounding attacks on the rights of LGBTQ+ people. In my somatic therapy work with concerned queer activists who are deeply passionate about making the world a better place, I have noticed a recurring pattern: this sense of urgency is not simply held as a conscious awareness; it can become a chronic, lived bodily experience. What begins as an understandable response to hateful acts against members of the LGBTQ+ community can become deeply embodied, shaping how a person’s nervous system responds, even when they are no longer consciously focused on an immediate threat.

The urgency to fight to protect our rights can become so deeply embodied that it overrides the body’s need for rest, recovery, and self-care. We can remain aware of the urgent need to create change without becoming physiologically stuck in a state of urgency. When socially conscious people who care deeply about making the world a better place begin to neglect respite and remain in a constant state of activation, their bodies may eventually bear the consequences. Prolonged stress and ongoing physiological activation can contribute to exhaustion, burnout, sleep problems, digestive problems, chronic fatigue, and other stress-related health consequences.

Effective activism does not require us to remain in a constant state of emergency. Caring deeply about the rights of LGBTQ+ people and taking time to rest are not opposing forces. Respite, recovery, and regulation are essential to sustaining ourselves so that we can continue creating meaningful change over the long term. Chronic dysregulation can weaken our efforts toward liberation by chipping away at our sense of vitality and our capacity to remain engaged.

Some gay activists have shared with me that they feel unable to take a break from being angry and mobilized around the injustices affecting marginalized communities such as BIPOC and LGBTQ+ communities. Stepping away from that state of mobilization can bring up guilt and even a paralyzing sense that they are betraying their values. This approach to activism can cause the body’s capacity for mobilization to override its capacity to rest and recover. In the long run, such an approach is not sustainable.

The human stress-response system is adapted to respond to challenges, but it is not adapted to sustain prolonged activation indefinitely. In many cases, continuing to fight despite the body’s need for a break can eventually result in profound exhaustion. Collapsing from exhaustion is not the same as restorative rest. For some people, extreme exhaustion can involve withdrawal, immobilization, or a shutdown-like state. Many activists can become caught between prolonged mobilization and exhaustion, moving between these extremes rather than finding a sustainable state of regulation and recovery.

Mobilization and withdrawal are both important protective responses, and each can serve a function depending on the circumstances. The problem arises when these responses become prolonged, inflexible, or difficult to shift out of these states. When the body remains in a chronic state of activation or exhaustion without adequate recovery, it can place significant stress on the body and contribute to burnout and other stress-related health consequences.

The need to fight for our rights is very important. There is no question about that. Those of us who are awake and paying attention can respond to the critical issues of our time without ignoring the importance of nervous system regulation. No socially conscious person who cares not only about the rights of LGBTQ+ people but also about global issues such as climate change, ecocide, threats to democracy, and racism should ever have to choose between fighting for the well-being of humanity and the Earth and protecting their own health and well-being.

We can care about LGBTQ+ rights. We can care about the rights of other marginalized people. We can remain informed and involved. We can operate from urgency physiology when that is the necessary platform from which to take action. And we can practice self-care to replenish ourselves.

By “urgency physiology,” I mean the heightened state of attention, arousal, and mobilization that can arise when we perceive a threat or feel that immediate action is needed. There are times when this state is appropriate and necessary. The goal is not to eliminate urgency or become detached from the realities around us. The goal is to develop enough flexibility to mobilize when action is needed and to shift toward recovery when the immediate demand for action has passed.

Nervous system regulation and standing up for marginalized communities can both be part of sustainable activism. Personal and collective healing are interconnected. Taking care of our capacity to remain engaged, responsive, and connected is not a retreat from activism; it can help make activism sustainable.

The key to effective activism is developing nervous system flexibility—the capacity to move between states of urgency when action is needed and states of respite and recovery when restoration is needed. Developing this flexibility requires understanding how chronic stress, trauma, and nervous system responses can interact, as well as using somatic approaches that can help us recognize when we are becoming stuck in patterns of chronic activation, defense, or exhaustion.

Effective activism does not mean caring less. It means developing the capacity to care deeply without sacrificing our ability to recover. We do not have to choose between liberation and our own well-being. We need both.

 

© Dr. Payam Ghassemlou, MFT, Ph.D., SEP

Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (Psychotherapist), providing online therapy in California, Oregon, and Florida.

www.DrPayam.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Queer Perspective on Somatically Befriending Vulnerability

Since being vulnerable does not always come easily to many of us, it is important to have empathy for anyone who struggles with it. The internet is flooded with writings and talks on encouraging people to show vulnerability. Having trouble expressing it often gets associated with a lack of authenticity. Such judgmental interpretations can frequently trigger shame in people who don’t feel safe enough to be vulnerable due to certain socio-demographic factors. There is a misconception that expressing vulnerability is a matter of courage or just making a mental decision. By helping others reclaim it, I have realized the issue has little to do with bravery or honesty. It has more to do with the state of one’s nervous system. By having a somatic perspective on understanding vulnerability, we can open a new path toward befriending it.

There are many different paths toward befriending vulnerability which includes using the body to build a greater capacity to embrace it. Our response to many emotional experiences can be felt in our bodies. For example, Lucas, a 30-year-old cis gender gay man, disclosed having difficulty asking guys on dates. Doing so makes him feel very vulnerable. Among other bodily reactions, he reported tightness in his chest along with uncomfortable restricted breathing when faced with uncertainty to his invitation. Lucas has a history of growing up with the stress of homophobic mistreatment. He often felt unsafe at school due to the devastating experience of being bullied or called derogatory names. Fight or flight was not an option when he was feeling helpless and hopeless dealing with his traumatic school environment. Instead, his body resorted to numbing and shutting down. This response became his default whenever faced with overwhelming situations like entering a vulnerable state. Lucas’ reactions to becoming vulnerable had nothing to do with a choice or a lack of courage. It had more to do with his body’s threat alarm being frequently on.

In general, LGBTQ children are often at risk for being bullied, and they need protection. Lucas and many other queer youngsters growing up place their trust in individuals and institutions who were supposed to protect them from harm. Failure to receive such a protection at a critical developmental phase became a source of hurt and betrayal. The trauma of growing up gay in a world that did not embrace LGBTQ identity with kindness and acceptance led Lucas and many others to associate vulnerability with fear and betrayal. Given his traumatic history, Lucas needed help learning how to feel safe in his body when becoming vulnerable. Regulation of his psychophysiological arousal in response to vulnerability has been an important healing task for Lucas, especially when it came to making connections with other single gay men.

Taking a somatic approach toward working with vulnerability involves understanding the role of the autonomic nervous system (“ANS”). The ANS is the part of the nervous system that governs the fight, flight, or freeze instinct and is responsible for the unconscious bodily functions like breathing, digesting food, and regulating the heart rate. It also plays a vital role of supplying information from our organs to our brain. This system works automatically (autonomously), without a person’s conscious effort. The ANS is central to our experience of safety, connection with others, and our ability to bounce back from life’s overwhelming experiences. Relying on neuroception, a term coined by Dr. Stephen Porges, our ANS can differentiate between safety, danger, and a life threat. Neuroception, as Deb Dana (author of The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy) explains, is automatic, and it does not go through the thinking part of our brain. Everything from sound to smell to temperature in our environment, people’s tone of voice, and eye contact can influence our neuroception. It is like “internal surveillance” that looks for cues of safety and danger inside the body, in one’s environment, and in relationship with people. It helps us take immediate action in the face of danger or threat. The goal of neuroception is to keep us safe and alive. Based on my training in Somatic Experiencing®, Touch Skills Training for Trauma Therapists, Polyvagal Theory, and other body inclusive approaches, I have learned the autonomic nervous system is a relational system that has been shaped by experience. We now know previous negative life experiences and traumas can significantly affect how our neuroception accurately assesses safety, danger, or a life threat. This can explain why many people including Lucas with history of being judged, humiliated, and violated often avoid entering a vulnerable state. Their faulty neuroception causes them to feel unsafe in the absence of real danger.

Since “how we move through the world is guided by our ANS,” it is important to examine how growing up in a homophobic and transphobic environment negatively affected the working of the ANS. In my counseling work with gay, lesbian, bisexual, queer identified, and transgender people who have experienced homophobic or transphobic mistreatment, I have noticed their nervous systems are often shaped toward self-protection versus making connections. Repeated past humiliation and rejection by others have made it difficult for many of them to be open and willing to love and be loved. Given the important role that ANS can play in people’s ability to embrace vulnerable situations and form relationships, it is important to learn how to regulate it. When working in a regulated way, the ANS does not enact the response to the present moment situation based on one’s past conditioning.

Autonomic regulation has less to do with talking about our past trauma events and more to do with shifting our autonomic state that can be stuck on FFF (fight/flight/freeze) toward safety and relaxation. When Lucas was invited to share about his history, it was done for the purpose of having greater empathy for his suffering and learning how fear became associated with vulnerability. Lucas’ personal stories with homophobic mistreatment was handled with care and in a titrated manner to avoid re-traumatization. In general, encouraging people to get into their trauma stories all at once can become overwhelming for them because the nervous system cannot tell the difference between the original event and the telling of the event. Healing does not always need to involve re-telling the story. As Peter Levine, the founder of Somatic Experiencing International, stated, “Trauma is not in the event, but in the nervous system.” Based on my personal and clinical work, I also concur that trauma becomes embodied during a person's life and can affect the working of the ANS. Much of the healing from this trauma needs to happen through the body. In particular, the nervous system needs to be regulated.

The work of Stephen Porges’ Polyvagal Theory has brough to light the role of the vagus nerve in how we experience safety and connection. The vagus nerve which is divided into two pathways, the dorsal vagus and the ventral vagus, is the main component of the parasympathetic nervous system. The ventral vagal of parasympathetic system plays a crucial role in our experience of safety in our bodies. Activation of the ventral vagal force in the ANS includes but not limited to awareness and tracking of pleasant bodily sensations. For example, when I invited Lucas to notice his body being supported by the couch, he commented, “I can sense my body feels relaxed and comfortable.” By bringing awareness to comfortable sensations in his body, he began to breathe deeper and noticed a sense of expansion in his chest area along with his shoulders becoming more relaxed. For Lucas, tracking bodily sensations that were comfortable invited the flow of the ventral vagal of safety and connection.

Another useful somatic intervention involved identifying and embodying helpful resources that contributed to his healing journey. For example, attending LGBTQ Pride events and volunteering at the Los Angeles LGBT+ Community Center felt empowering for Lucas. By tracking his pleasant bodily sensations as he was sharing about these helpful resources, he was creating a physiological event in his body which contributed to regulating his nervous system. As the therapy session progressed, he found it easier to imagine and plan on asking a guy he met at his gym on a date without experiencing tension in his body. Repeated awareness of pleasant sensations in his body increased his ability to distinguish sensations of distress versus sensations of well-being. The more he focused on what felt good on the inside the more his autonomic dysregulation settled, and his window of tolerance expanded.

What makes each one of us feel vulnerable is unique and personal. What feels vulnerable to Lucas can feel quite different to another. Regardless of what activates it, the admission ticket to a more meaningful life for Lucas involved embracing vulnerability. It was important for him to liberate vulnerability from years of cumulative stress of dealing with homophobic bullying, and other fearful situations that he had to endure. By welcoming vulnerability and learning how to work with its transformative power, he was able to enrich his life. A “body-inclusive” therapeutic approach offered Lucas tools and practices to lower his activation and regulate his nervous system in response to his life stresses.

Payam Ghassemlou, MFT, Ph.D., SEP, is a psychotherapist (www.DrPayam.com), somatic experiencing practitioner (www.SomaticAliveness.com), and artist (https://somaticalivenessart.etsy.com).
 
Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist online anywhere in CA & Florida.

*Names and other details have been changed for privacy and confidentiality.