The Collapse Isn't the End

It's a Prediction

Jul 10, 2025

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Lately, as I’ve stepped into more visible roles again, I’ve become increasingly aware of how often my body braces against life not going according to plan.

It’s subtle, but unmistakable—when something unexpected happens, I don’t just feel surprised.
My body perceives a threat.

My chest contracts. My breath shortens. My head drops. A wave of dread rushes through, and it feels like something is happening to me—like life is punishing me or spiraling out of control.

It’s not a reaction. It’s a prediction.

What I’m seeing more clearly now is this: that wave of dread isn’t a direct response to the moment. It’s not a neutral observation of reality.

It’s a prediction—my brain, drawing on old data, filling in the blanks about what this moment means, before the facts have even landed.

Neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett explains that our emotions aren’t simply reactions.
They’re constructions.

“Emotions are not reactions to the world; they are your constructions of the world.”

Our brains use past experience to forecast what’s about to happen, and then wire our body to feel accordingly. So when something small disrupts the day, the brain doesn’t calmly assess. It fills in the blanks with fear. It says:
"Get ready. Danger is coming."

And the body, loyal and brilliant, obeys.

SafeSeat... and what came next

I’ve spent years working with the SafeSeat—learning how to stay with emotional intensity, how to meet internal discomfort with presence and compassion.

That practice has been foundational.

But recently, something deeper is coming online.

It’s not always about tolerating the feeling.
It’s not about finding meaning.
It’s not even about offering comfort.

The key insight for me now is this:

If the brain is forecasting collapse, the most powerful thing we can do is offer a new prediction—through something it didn’t expect.

Not soothing.
Not fixing.
But something unpredictable.

This is why I dance

Not to escape.
Not to override.
But to offer my body a different choreography. A new rhythm. An unfamiliar pattern.

When I move unexpectedly, hum randomly, stretch strangely, lie on the floor, speak aloud, or laugh for no reason—I’m not being silly. I’m feeding new data to my prediction machine. I’m telling my brain:
“You didn’t see this coming. And that’s a good thing.”

Maybe this is for you, too

Maybe you know that tightening.
The mental spiral.
The flood of dread that arrives when something doesn’t go as planned.

Maybe you’ve tried to stay with it, to breathe through it. And maybe that helps... sometimes.

But what if, alongside staying, you try something unexpected?

What if freedom doesn’t come from mastering the collapse, but from surprising it?

Not broken. Just learning.

We’re not here to fix anything.
There’s nothing wrong with us.
The brain is doing its job: predicting based on the past.

But now, we get to offer something new.
A different movement. A different sound. A different internal response.

We’re not “healing.”
We’re re-patterning.
We’re offering our emotional vulnerabilities a new dance.

The dance is the medicine

There are still moments when my system contracts.
When my shoulders round and the old story whispers: This is too much.

But now, more often, there’s a pause.
A breath.
A tiny spark of spaciousness.

And then:
A stretch.
A sound.
A step sideways out of the script.

This, to me, is real freedom—not in control, not in perfection, but in the willingness to interrupt the forecast with something alive, present, and unscripted.

The collapse isn’t the end. It’s a prediction.
And we’re learning—breath by breath, movement by movement—how to offer something new.

What emotional forecast does your body tend to predict in moments of disruption?
(Can you feel the script loading before the facts are in?)
What’s one small, surprising movement you could try when you feel yourself collapsing into a familiar pattern?
(It doesn’t have to be dramatic—it just has to be different.)
Where in your life could you trade understanding for unpredictability—and offer your brain a new experience instead of a new explanation?

Thanks for reading The View From My Couch. If this stirred something in you, I’d love to hear what your “new dance” might be. What small, surprising move interrupts the script in your own system? Feel free to share below or drop me a private note.