Why Overstimulation Is Making It Hard to Feel Like Yourself

Sometimes I think we make healing way more complicated than it actually is.

Not because we’re dramatic, but because the world we’re living in is genuinely overstimulating in ways the human body was never designed for. And when something feels overwhelming and confusing, the instinct is to look for complex solutions. New identities. New diagnoses. New tools. New labels.

But a lot of what we’re experiencing from anxiety, depression, numbness, loss of direction, disconnection from intuition, isn’t a personal failure or a broken psyche. It’s a nervous system doing exactly what it’s meant to do in an environment that never really lets it rest.

Think about the baseline of modern life for a moment. Lights on late into the night. Screens inches from our faces. Notifications, background noise, traffic, appliances humming, constant information, constant comparison. None of this screams danger, but all of it asks the body to stay alert. Just a little. All the time.

The nervous system doesn’t know how to be “a little alert forever.” It only knows how to mobilize or shut down. So over time, it adapts. Not by staying activated (that would burn us out completely) but by turning the volume down on sensation.

That’s where numbness comes from.

And numbness doesn’t always feel like emptiness. Often it looks like restlessness. Irritability. Anxiety. Depression. Feeling disconnected from your body. Feeling unsure of who you are or what you want. Losing access to clarity, creativity, pleasure, or inner guidance. Living mostly in your head because your body doesn’t feel like a safe place to land.

From a physiological standpoint, this makes perfect sense. When the nervous system is overwhelmed, it prioritizes survival. Blood flow shifts away from areas responsible for digestion, creativity, and pleasure. The vagus nerve — which plays a huge role in regulation, safety, and connection — becomes less responsive. Stress hormones stay elevated. The brain looks for certainty and control instead of nuance and intuition.

In other words: the system that helps you feel present, guided, and alive goes offline.

What’s wild to me is how simple the remedy often is.

Not easy, but simple.

Healing doesn’t usually require accessing something new. It requires reducing what’s already there. Less stimulation. Less urgency. Less pressure to perform, fix, or figure everything out immediately.

Slow breathing sends a signal of safety to the brain. Gentle touch brings awareness back into the body. Pausing, even briefly, allows the nervous system to recalibrate. When sensation returns, so does information. The body starts communicating again. Clarity then isn’t forced, it re-emerges.

This is why practices that seem almost too simple actually work. Not because they’re symbolic or spiritual in a performative sense, but because they speak the body’s native language. Sensation. Rhythm. Slowness. Presence.

And when the body feels safe enough to soften, something else returns too — a sense of awe.

You start noticing small things again. Patterns. Synchronicities. Moments that feel meaningful without needing to be explained. You feel guided, not because life suddenly became clear, but because you’re able to listen again. That inner voice didn’t disappear. It just couldn’t compete with the noise.

We often talk about identity crises, mental health struggles, and spiritual disconnection as if they’re separate issues. But so often, they share the same root: a nervous system that hasn’t been given the conditions it needs to feel safe, settled, and responsive.

Healing, in this light, isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about coming back into relationship with your body and with life as it actually is. Slower, subtler, quieter than we’ve been taught to tolerate.

There’s something deeply humbling about realizing that clarity, direction, and even joy don’t come from adding more. They come from removing just enough for the system to breathe.

Sometimes healing isn’t a breakthrough. It’s a long exhale. And sometimes that’s enough to change everything.