our nervous systems are still in 2020

even when the world insists things are back to normal, my nervous system hums with a quiet, familiar alertness. and i don’t think i’m alone in that...

for many of us, 2020 didn’t end with vaccines or returning to whatever “normalcy” looks liked… it ended in our bodies, months or even years later… and for some, not at all.

the pandemic didn’t just alter how we worked, studied, or socialized. it reprogrammed our stress responses. it rewrote what “safety” feels like. and even now, as we move through our routines like commuting, hugging, attending birthdays again… our bodies whisper: are we sure it’s safe to relax?

the body remembers: pandemic edition

i’ve always had some level of social anxiety… that background hum that makes crowds feel like static. but working in acute care during covid turned that hum into a full-blown alarm system. i was vent trained and a medical float nurse, which basically meant my nervous system was already trash before the pandemic even started. then the world caught up to how i’d been feeling internally for years: hyperaware, overstimulated, waiting for the next code or death.

in some ways, lockdown almost felt like relief. i was allowed to disappear. i could live inside my coping mechanisms without having to explain them. the world was finally quiet enough to match the way my anxiety liked things. but of course, that comfort came with a cost; because the longer you live in survival mode, the harder it is to remember what safety feels like.

my body learned vigilance as routine: my shoulders practically lived by my ears, my jaw ached from being clenched for entire shifts. my shoulders actually still snap & crack extremely loud to this day & it’s honestly turned into a bit of a party trick. our nervous systems don’t listen to government updates or hospital memos. they listen to the body’s own data: heart rate, tone of voice, the way someone’s eyes shift behind a mask. during covid, we learned that distance equaled safety and closeness could mean danger. that conditioning doesn’t vanish just because the world reopens.

so even now, when i’m technically “safe,” my body sometimes forgets. the mind might say, you’re fine, it’s over, but the vagus nerve that deeply sensitive messenger running through my chest and gut still acts like we’re mid-crisis. still braced. still scanning.

adolescence, interrupted

in my graduate research, i reviewed studies exploring how covid-19 altered adolescent development. what i found was sobering: social isolation during lockdown didn’t just interrupt learning, it interrupted becoming.

adolescence is a period defined by identity formation, peer bonding, and learning to regulate emotions through social feedback. many teens missed those milestones. some found belonging online, but digital connection doesn’t regulate the body the same way in-person interaction does.

several studies from ellis et al. (2020) to giannakopoulos et al. (2021) found that adolescents experienced elevated anxiety, depression, and in some cases, suicidality during lockdowns. others coped through increased substance use or withdrawal (dumas et al., 2020; hawke et al., 2020).

for marginalized youth, bipoc, queer, disabled… these effects were compounded by inequity, disrupted support systems, and unsafe home environments.

in short: their nervous systems learned early that the world outside wasn’t safe. and now, re-entry feels like exposure therapy.

our collective somatic hangover

even outside adolescence, most of us carry what i call a somatic hangover. the symptoms don’t always look dramatic and they might show up as irritability, fatigue, hypervigilance, avoidance, or that subtle hum of dread before social events.

in trauma-informed language, this isn’t “overreaction.” it’s the body remembering. the pandemic was a global threat response that demanded chronic activation of the sympathetic nervous system (our fight/flight mode). but few of us ever had the collective exhale; the return to the parasympathetic, to rest.

to me, it feels like we’re all walking around half in fight mode, half pretending we’re fine.

relearning safety, slowly

somatic therapy teaches that regulation doesn’t come from logic! it comes from sensation!! from reintroducing safety cues through gentle, embodied practice.

here’s what that’s looked like for me:

• orientation: before entering a room or social space, i pause. i notice light, colors, exits, warmth… not as threat assessment, but as grounding.
• co-regulation: sharing space with people who feel safe, even in silence. our nervous systems mirror each other.
• rhythm: keeping predictable routines! meals, walks, music, bedtime. rhythm tells the body, “we’re safe enough to rest.”
• boundaries: allowing slowness. saying no to overstimulation. restoring the right to pace myself.

i often frame it this way: we’re not trying to go back to how things were, we’re learning how to exist in this new nervous system landscape with compassion.

for those still catching up

if your body still feels like it’s living in 2020; if you freeze in crowds, if you find socializing exhausting, if your heart races for no clear reason… you are not behind. if you find yourself feeling jumpy, drained, or socially anxious without “reason,” that’s your nervous system doing its best to protect you. there’s no shame in that. we can’t intellect our way out of survival physiology; we have to move, breathe, feel, and be witnessed out of it.

you are healing on body time.

there’s no timeline for coming down from survival mode. especially for those of us who navigated additional layers… racial trauma, healthcare burnout, collective grief…our nervous systems have been doing double duty for years.

healing, in this phase, is less about doing and more about noticing. about letting yourself arrive where your body actually is, without judgment.

the work of recovery from the pandemic, from burnout, from trauma… isn’t about forcing ourselves to “go back.” it’s about learning what forward means now.

our nervous systems may still be in 2020, but our healing can happen here!! it can happen in this breath, in this small exhale of release, in this reminder that safety is a practice, not a guarantee.

thanks for reading!
- paula