My friend Ken is often anxious. Every time I see him, he’s talking about the impending “AI-pocalyse”. He’s chronically on his phone and never has enough time. He says he’s worked for years to feel “less autistic.”
Doctors put him on medications, and he sees a talk therapist. He doesn’t seem to credit these two things for helping him. In fact, he’s frustrated that he can’t find a doctor to help him safely taper off the psych meds he was put on years ago. So he’s just kinda stuck on them, despite not needing them for the original thing he started them for.
I suspect variations of Ken’s story are common. More common than anyone other than demonic profiteers would like.
A mutual friend of ours, Lizzie, asked me to go hiking. I suggested we swim in the cold river by the waterfall. She thought it was a joke. I’ve been swimming in cold water since 2019, so I forgot that regular people don’t do that, and are unaware of what that feels like. They just assume it’s crazy.
Ken decided to join us.
As we hiked through the lush, early spring forest, Ken fired off text messages, mumbling about not having enough time and his chronic anxiety.
“You want less anxiety?” I pulled his phone out of his hands and put it in my backpack, where my phone was also quarantined.
“Thank you,” he said.
I took off my shirt to go to the waterfall. Lizzie noticed the continuous glucose monitor on the back of my bicep.
“Chris, do you have diabetes??” she asked, bewildered.
“No,” I said, “These are like $50 and over the counter now, so I put one on to see what spikes my blood sugar.”
“Wow, I might try that because I feel like my blood sugar is linked to my anxiety.”
It’s all connected — the gut, nervous system, hormones, neurotransmitters.
We hiked around in bare feet and found a hole to swim in. I went first. It was colder than I thought it would be, in the high 50s.
I held my nose and dunked myself, emerging born again.
Lizzie and Ken both took a dip, yelping like the primates we truly are.
We stood around admiring the river, basking in lucidity and presence. Not a fucking notification to speak of.
“Isn’t it wild,” I said, “that this would be a totally novel experience for like half the country.”
“And seventy years ago,” Lizzie said, “This was like all there was to do.”
Walking back to the car, his phone still in my pack, Ken said calmly, “I think I need a digital detox.”
I’ve noticed.
I drove us through hilly, forested, southern New Hampshire, listening to Stick Figure and Sturgill Simpson. I slammed the brakes. Someone is selling sourdough in front of their house. We ate chunks of spongy sourdough, warm from the midday sun, and headed to a chilly mountain lake for more swimming. I could argue that breaking bread with friends is a nervous system therapy.
Afterward, back at my house, I showed Ken the new vagus nerve stimulator I’d been telling him about.
He put it on and instantly felt the calm.
“You said this thing is $150?” he said.
“More like $250”
“I feel a sense of calm.”
We’d already been doing vagus nerve stimulation via our cold water swims, which I’d wager amplified the effect of the Pulsetto’s electrical current through both sides of Ken’s neck.
I told him about Wim Hof, whose story inspired me to experiment with cold water and breathwork. Wim’s wife, suffering from psychiatric disorder, died by suicide. Wim learned to use breathwork and cold exposure to become a master of his mindbody, to the point where he can control his autonomic nervous system, including his body temperature, and even his immune system. In a scientific study, he trained others to do the same.
Over the past six years, I’ve been experimenting with nervous system therapies to create a more preferable experience of life. Cold therapy, breathwork, yoga, VNS, Somatic Experiencing, cranial sacral, sound therapy, photobiomodulation, psilocybin, neurofeedback, dancing, Christianity. Each warrants an entire essay or an entire book.
My definition of a nervous system therapy is anything that deliberately works with the flow of electricity in the nerves and neurons to create a more preferable experience of life. Many things can be a nervous system therapy if approached with that lens.
The nervous system refers to our neurons and nerves. The three big neural networks are in the head, heart, and gut. The largest, most critical nerves are the spinal nerves and the vagus nerve. Neurons communicate with chemical messengers called neurotransmitters, many of which are made in the gut (serotonin, GABA, histamine, dopamine) and the endocrine system.
I’ve come to view psychiatric disorders/mental illness as nervous system disorders. Anyone in America knows how widespread nervous system disorder has become: anxiety, depression, sleep problems, gut problems, autism, migraines, are tragically rampant.
It’s woeful how slow establishment conventional medicine has been to implement modalities beyond drugs and talk therapy for treating root causes of America’s health problems. Very few doctors will prescribe cold therapy, VNS, dancing, neurofeedback, breath work, or yoga. Dr. Navaz Habib is one of the few, who pointed me toward VNS.
Pathological anxiety is the number 1 nervous system disorder in America, affecting tens of millions. The results are in, and the standard drugs and talk therapy approach has not resulted overall in less anxiety in America.
It’s the early days of nervous system therapies, and I’m excited where it goes, after decades of the myopic view of medicine as patented pharma chemicals—daily perpetual drugging.
Anxiety is being trapped in your head, in a tornado of thoughts, pulled a million ways at the same time. And of course, running out of time!
How do we get out of the head and into the body? Put awareness into the body. Right now, if you'd like, shift awareness into your feet and see what happens.
It's impossible to have your life force over-indexed on your head when you’re submerged in fifty-degree water. This I know.
There’s no quick fix for modernity-induced nervous system dysfunction. It’s an ecology of practices over months and years that can evolve a nervous system from torment to bliss.
True wealth is nervous system health.
Thanks for reading, and have a great rest of your day. Check out my experimental book of that combines memoir, sci-fi, and poetry. To my surprise, it’s only received five star reviews.
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Cold water was used as a treatment for depression (aka melancholy) since the antiquity, yet it’s ignored by psychiatry which prefers just talking about it instead.
Thanks for writing this, I hope other essays are coming. ;)
Was always skeptical of the cold plunge hype but recently tried a proper one for the first time. Felt amazing afterwards!