being regulated is a privilege: root causes of rage, anger, and somatic oppression

in healing and wellness spaces, we often celebrate the ability to regulate the nervous system - to stay calm, grounded, and “in the window of tolerance.” but what if regulation itself is a privilege? what if some bodies - and lives - are shaped by conditions that make regulation not just difficult, but nearly impossible? some of us are praised for staying calm. others have never known a room that felt safe. some bodies learned to breathe in peace. others learned to survive by holding their breath for years. regulation is not just a nervous system skill. it is an environmental condition. it is a social structure. it is a privilege. an inherent privilege in not needing to be hypervigilant or to co-regulate. without also naming, confronting, and working to transform structures of systemic oppressions, the work of practitioners offering tools to regulate nervous systems remains partial. 

tapping is great, but can one tap their way out of oppression? bodywork can be profoundly transformative. but can receiving care alone protect someone from a world that persistently threatens their safety and existence? somatic experiencing is powerful, but can one “voo” their way out of anti-black racism? lived experiences and life realities are multifaceted. healing work must recognize that personal regulation does not exist in a vacuum. here are some reflections on that complexity.

the nervous system and structural oppression

the autonomic nervous system (ans) - our inner compass of safety - doesn’t only respond to personal trauma. it also responds to poverty and economic instability, unstable housing or forced displacement, lack of access to healthcare or healing spaces, and being racialized, criminalized, sexualized, or invisibilized. it responds to living under threat of war, genocide, or violence. it responds to growing up in emotionally neglectful environments, or in families where stress is the norm. it also responds to religious shame about the body, to being policed or punished for one's sexuality, sexual identity and expression, to surviving sexual abuse or chronic sexual boundary violations. many people have never had the chance to know their body as a source of pleasure, autonomy, or choice. when sexuality is silenced, controlled, or punished - especially through cultural, religious, or familial oppression - the nervous system learns that embodiment itself is dangerous. chronic exposure to these conditions creates sympathetic over-activation (fight/flight), dorsal vagal shutdown (freeze), or fawning (self-abandonment to maintain safety). studies show that marginalized groups - including femmes, black, indigenous, queer, disabled, and sexually oppressed communities - live with higher allostatic load: the accumulated wear and tear on the body from chronic stress. this is not a personal failure. it’s a systemic response.

what makes regulation possible?

let’s be honest about what regulation requires. not just breathwork, mindfulness apps, or cold plunges, but actual material, relational, and cultural support. things like stable housing. financial security. access to nourishing food, clean water, and healthcare. the presence of a support network: friends, chosen family, or community members who show up and care. access to healing spaces where you are seen and held with dignity. living in relative peace and safety, not under constant threat, violence, or systemic neglect. and importantly, culturally competent practitioners who take racism, classism, ableism, sexual trauma, and systemic oppression seriously. regulation is easier when your basic needs are met. when your "no" is respected. when your body is not constantly scanning for danger. when your sexuality is not a source of shame, fear, or danger, but a source of connection, vitality, and choice.

healing is not neutral: the importance of culturally competent and trauma-sensitive care

too many bipoc and marginalized people walk into therapy or somatic spaces only to have their anger pathologized. to be told they’re “too activated” or “too emotional.” to experience microaggressions from space holders who haven’t unpacked their own privilege. or to be gaslit when speaking about racism, colonization, displacement, sexual abuse, or intergenerational trauma. this is especially true in the realm of sexuality. survivors of sexual violence may find themselves retraumatized in spaces that push touch or pleasure without adequate attunement. queer and trans folks may be misgendered, pathologized, or invisibilized. people raised in religious or cultural shame may be told to “just relax” into pleasure when their body is still holding centuries of collective trauma. healing spaces are not automatically safe. they must be made safer through attunement, cultural humility, and lived empathy. practitioners, including myself, must understand our social positioning and how it impacts our capacity to hold space. 

rage and anger: sacred, not problematic

rage is not the opposite of regulation. it is the body protesting injustice, often after years of silence. anger tells us a boundary was crossed. rage often speaks for generations who were not allowed to speak at all. many people, especially femmes, bipoc, queer, and neurodivergent folks, are conditioned to suppress anger or are punished for expressing it. somatic work aims to reframe anger and rage not as problems, but as intelligent signals from the body. 

anger is a sacred no. rage is a sacred eruption. neither are mistakes.

as jennifer mullan points out in her book decolonizing therapy “grief and rage are healthy responses to colonization and colonial ongoing violence.” and sometimes, that rage lives in the pelvis. in the womb. in the jaw. in the places where we were silenced, touched without consent, told our pleasure didn’t matter, or denied the right to say no. somatic work that honors rage also honors our right to reclaim pleasure on our own terms.

somatic bodywork as a practice of liberation

somatic practice becomes a radical act when it helps people reclaim voice and agency. when it allows anger and grief to move without punishment. when someone learns to say "no", and it’s actually respected. when they begin to discover what safety feels like, maybe for the first time in their lives. when they can begin to trust their body again after trauma, oppression, or disconnection. when they feel their sexuality belongs to them, not to their past, their perpetrator, or their culture’s scripts.

this isn’t about calming down. it’s about coming home.

practices and invitations

containment touch for big emotions
wrap your arms around your torso, thighs, or shoulders. hold yourself with firm presence. feel your edges. let the body know: i can hold this.

rage ritual: move it through
choose music that mirrors your rage. let your body stomp, punch pillows, growl, shake, sweat. then pause. let your body settle. honor what came through.

mapping safety: your basic needs and sexual sovereignty inventory
ask yourself: do i have a place to live that is as safe as possible? do i have access to food, healthcare, emotional support? can i say no without punishment? can i explore pleasure without shame? what would safety actually mean in my context? this is not about self-help guilt. it’s about truth-telling. you deserve more than coping. you deserve real care.

space-holder reflection
me as a practitioner, should reflect on these questions: do i know my social location and how it affects what i can hold? can i name the systems that harm my clients, or do i rush toward “healing” without naming violence? am i creating safety for my companions (“clients”) whose lives are shaped by realities i’ve never lived? am i sensitive to the intersection of sexuality, trauma, and cultural shame?

closing reflection

regulation is not a moral achievement. it is often a map of privilege. your rage is not the problem. your body is not broken. your sexuality is not a wound to be hidden. your nervous system is responding exactly as it should to what it has survived. what you deserve is not just tools, but justice, dignity, and a place to exhale.

some feelings don’t need fixing. 

they need a home.

by dennis obanla

Berlin, june 6th, 2025