Regulating Your Nervous System in Grief | Heidi Rimstad

The year was 2018.
I had just gotten divorced, was settling into a new home, and adjusting to kids being in and out more. One of them announced, very matter-of-factly, “This doesn’t feel like a home without an animal.”

Insert immediate guilt.

So, I began the animal search. I was actually looking for a dog—a German Shepherd, to be specific. While I was waiting to meet this particular dog, I was chosen by another.

A black-fur, blue-eyed, five-week-old kitten.

I am not—or rather, was not—a cat person. I was “just” going to play with him while I waited to meet the dog. But this tiny ball of fur knew exactly what I needed. He climbed up onto my shoulder and nuzzled into my neck, and in that moment I realized: I needed to be seen, loved, chosen, and healed.

Enter Bruno, aka Boonsie.

Boonsie is a healer. He is deeply intuitive to what I need and finds creative ways to get me to tune in. When I need to be, he lays on me like the world’s best weighted blanket. When I’m hurting, he sleeps by my head—offering warmth, presence, and quiet companionship. When I need to move or shift my attention, he dumps things, creates chaos, or gets mischievously naughty.

Since moving into an intergenerational home, I’ve watched Boonsie redirect his care toward one of my parents—becoming that same weighted blanket, comfort, and gentle healer for them.

Lessons in Sustainability from a Healer with Whiskers

This morning, I overheard my parent being greeted by Boonsie. You know the kind of greeting—where you’re not allowed to walk, not allowed to pick them up, but are required to bend over and rub their belly forever. I heard my parent say, “Where have you been?! I didn’t see you at all yesterday.”

And it struck me.

If Boonsie is a healer, then he must also know when he needs to take a break from giving—to reset his nervous system. He took a day of rest. He tended to himself so he could show up again.

Moving Through the Freeze of Global Grief

This… has been my struggle.

I have been frozen. Frozen in anger, sadness, rage, confusion, shock, grief, and disappointment—all tied to the state of this world and, quite honestly, to the reactions, beliefs, and decisions of people I like and care about.

I feel caught in a constant cycle of clear conviction and optimism, followed by deep righteous rage and grief. I feel lost, confused, petty, humbled—all of it—all the flipping time. It’s exhausting. And yet, I am acutely aware of the privilege I hold.

Insert guilt again.

Thoughts about not doing enough, not doing it “right,” not doing it like another colleague or human—and fears of being targeted—float constantly in my mind. I hesitate to have conversations with friends because I can’t risk the disappointment of their viewpoints or the emotional labor of arguing nuances. I want to show up with loving-kindness, yet the rage I feel doesn’t always align with love.

Not addressing the state of the world—especially my Minnesota community—feels irresponsible and risky. But sharing blogs or photos can feel like toxic positivity or spiritual bypassing.

Friends, I am gaslighting myself.

I am also dysregulated—deep in freeze and fawn. And as I type this, I can feel myself thawing, returning to ground.

Boonsie is my reminder that pausing and resetting is not only okay—it is necessary if we want to stay grounded, present, and capable of living our purpose.  We are living in extraordinary times, and regulation will take extraordinary measures.

I’ve had many conversations with people who feel helpless or like they aren’t doing enough. I always say the same thing: we cannot all show up in the same way, at the same time. We each have gifts. We contribute differently. And we must take care of one another.

Finding Your Ground Through Connection and Nature

Think of a forest.
If all the trees were planted on the same day and were the same kind, it would not be sustainable. Biodiversity is what allows a forest to thrive.

So, I rally again. I am finding my way back to center by intentionally shifting my focus toward the things that nourish rather than deplete. To regulate my system, I am choosing to:

• Re-engage with purpose: I’m focusing on causes doing good work—work rooted in care, love, and protection.
• Filter the noise: I’ve decreased social media and comment-reading (ugh, those can be truly gut-wrenching).
• Prioritize stillness: I’m increasing moments of quiet to tune into my capacity and discern where I can show up best.
• Seek wisdom: I am spending more time with people who have lived this reality for generations; I am humbled by their resolve.
• Return to the earth: I am increasing my time with animals and in nature. They embody a purity and wholeness that is vital to my regulation.

I will continue to contribute.
To be a voice.
A safe person.
A protector.
An advocate for those who are not given a chance to use their voice.

I will continue to challenge systems that are antiquated and no longer serve the greatest good of humanity or our shared world.