Writing with the Vagus Nerve: Your Nervous System Knows the Way Home

A Mini Lesson on Creative Safety and Regulation Through Writing

Dear ones,

Last week, I was lying on the floor of one of my mentor Jillian Pransky’s luminous restorative yoga classes—nestled between bolsters and blankets, held in stillness. Jillian spoke softly about the vagus nerve—this long, wandering nerve that travels from the brainstem through the throat, heart, lungs, and gut. It’s the thread that connects mind and body, voice and breath, thought and emotion.

She said:

“The vegas nerve is the main cable; it’s the wiring that allows your body to tell your mind the state of the union: how things are really going. Not just how you feel about your environment and your safety, but how you feel about your feelings—and how you feel about the feelings about your feelings.

It’s the vagus nerve that tells your brain whether it’s okay to relax..…”

And something in me clicked.
I’ve known this about the body, about yoga. But in that moment, I realized:
This is what writing does too.

When we write—not to perform, but to listen inward with care—we're practicing the same kind of tenderness Jillian teaches on the mat.

We're tending to the nervous system.
We're building a bridge between silence and voice.
We're telling the body: You’re safe. You can stay. You can speak.

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This post marks the beginning of a new series on the vagus nerve and the nervous system’s role in healing through writing. We’ll explore a different facet each installment—and practice together every Friday in our Narrative Healing Labs.

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The Vagus Nerve: A Bridge Between Body and Voice

The vagus nerve is the longest cranial nerve in the body. It flows from the brainstem through the vocal cords, heart, lungs, diaphragm, and digestive system. It governs your parasympathetic nervous system—your “rest and digest” state, where healing, restoration, and connection become possible.

When the vagus nerve is toned and engaged, your body knows it’s safe to soften. Safe to feel. Safe to create.

That’s the essential state for deep, embodied writing.
Not because you avoid hard truths—but because your body is supported enough to stay with them.

This is the difference between retraumatization and revelation.

Writing as a Vagal Practice

A reflective writing practice—especially when held in rhythm, ritual, and relationship—can gently tone and activate the vagus nerve.

Writing doesn’t just help you express yourself. It helps your nervous system feel held.

Like singing, humming, breathwork, or gentle movement, writing can become a kind of neural exercise—sending a message to the body:
I’m safe. I’m connected. I belong here.

Dr. Stephen Proges, author of Polyvegal Theory, writes, “When people feel safe, they become more accessible to the world around them… More creative, more spontaneous, more alive.”

Here’s how:

• Your breath slows as you begin to write.
  That first moment—pen in hand, a quiet page in front of you—your shoulders drop. Your exhale deepens.
  This isn’t a coincidence. It’s your body responding to rhythm.
  As your breath slows, your vagus nerve gets the message: You can soften now.
  This is the ground where honest, embodied storytelling takes root.

• Tears or laughter that arise as you write are signs of safe release.
  A line surprises you. A memory returns. A laugh bubbles up, or a tear escapes.
  That’s not drama—it’s discharge.
  When your nervous system feels safe, it lets go of what it’s been holding.
  Writing becomes emotional digestion.
  You’re not just remembering—you’re metabolizing. You’re healing.

• Using your voice—especially reading aloud—stimulates the vagus nerve.
  The vagus nerve innervates the vocal cords.
  So when you read your writing out loud—even to yourself—you’re sending your body a signal:
  I have a voice. I matter. I can speak and stay connected.

In Narrative Healing circles, we read aloud not to impress, but to be seen. To be met.
When someone says, “I feel that too,” the nervous system responds.
That moment of resonance isn’t just moving.
It’s regulating.

Creating coherence from chaos tells the body: I’m no longer in danger.
Trauma disrupts time and order. It fragments meaning.
Writing helps reweave it.

Each time you shape a memory into a sentence—however imperfect—you’re not just telling a story.
You’re showing your body:
This happened. I lived through it. And now I’m the one holding the pen.

That shift—from overwhelmed to author—is one of the most powerful forms of nervous system healing I’ve ever witnessed.

“Your body is not the obstacle to your voice. It is the home of it.”

Even the structure of writing can regulate.
A trusted prompt. A timed session. A weekly ritual.
These aren’t just productivity tools—they’re anchors.

The nervous system thrives on rhythm.
And community writing offers the two things it craves most:
structure and connection.

This is why our circles feel so steady, so nourishing.
We write to be with ourselves—but not by ourselves.

A Somatic Writing Ritual

Before you begin writing, try this:

• Place one hand on your heart and the other on your belly
  
  

• Inhale gently for 4 counts
  
  

• Exhale slowly for 6 counts
  
  

• Repeat three times
  
  

• Then write for 10 minutes using one of these prompts:
  
  

🖋 A moment I felt safe in my body was…
🖋 If my nervous system could speak, it would say…

Let your words come from breath, not pressure.
From body, not performance.
Let them be unfinished, tender, true.
That is more than enough.

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Join Me This Friday in Labs

If this resonated with you, I’d love to explore it more—together.

This Friday in our Narrative Healing Lab, we’ll take this lesson off the screen and into the body. I’ll guide a somatic writing practice designed to activate the vagus nerve through breath, voice, movement, and words. No experience necessary—just bring your journal, your breath, and yourself.

📅 Friday at 12 Noon ET
🌀 Theme: Writing with the Vagus Nerve

Join our Narrative Healing Salon Membership includes weekly live classes, monthly expert talks & more.

Let’s practice together. Your nervous system will thank you.

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With love,
Lisa

P.S. I’d love to hear what surfaced for you. Did something shift in your breath or body while reading? What does your nervous system want to say today? Share your reflections in the comments—or pass this along to someone who may need the reminder: you are safe, and your story matters.