The Ground Is Moving

​Why So Many of Us May Be Feeling Unsettled Right Now

There’s a particular kind of anxiety that can be hard to name. It isn’t always linked to one clear situation, and it doesn’t necessarily ease when things are “figured out.” It can just sit there quietly in the background of daily life — or sometimes a little more persistently.

In the therapy room lately, and in conversations more generally, I’ve been noticing how many people are carrying something like this — a kind of low-level unease, as if the ground is just slightly unsteady beneath them.

I find myself wondering if some of this might be connected to the wider world we’re living in. There’s a lot happening — conflicts, uncertainty, ongoing instability in different parts of the world. Even if we’re not directly affected, or not taking it in consciously, it can still register somewhere in us. News travels quickly, images linger, and sometimes the body takes in more than we realise.

As human beings, we tend to look for some sense of safety — not perfect control, but enough predictability to be able to settle, to connect, to rest. When that sense of predictability is disrupted, whether in obvious or more subtle ways, the nervous system can begin to shift.

You might notice your mind becoming busier, trying to anticipate what’s coming, or a kind of restlessness that’s hard to switch off. For some, it shows up as difficulty relaxing; for others, it might feel more like numbness or disconnection. None of these responses are unusual. They may be ways your system is trying, as best it can, to take care of you.

Writers like Bessel van der Kolk, author of The Body Keeps the Score, have helped bring this into wider awareness — that our bodies often register and hold experience in ways that don’t always feel logical or conscious. And perhaps this includes not only our personal histories, but also something of the collective atmosphere we’re living in.

In my own work, which is informed by psychosynthesis, I tend to hold these experiences in a more holistic way — not just as something happening in the mind, but as something that includes the body, emotions, and a wider sense of meaning. Often this means gently paying attention to what’s happening in the body alongside thoughts and feelings, allowing those responses to be part of the process rather than something to override or move past.
​
At the same time, many of us carry a quiet pressure to be okay — to stay steady, to keep functioning, to not be too affected. And when anxiety shows up, it can be easy to turn it back on ourselves. Why am I feeling like this? Shouldn’t I be handling things better? It can feel as though we’re the only ones struggling, even when that’s rarely the case.

Something that can make this kind of anxiety particularly difficult is that it doesn’t always come with a clear solution. The sources of it can feel diffuse, hard to locate, or larger than any one of us. There isn’t always a single problem to fix, or a certainty we can arrive at. And while it’s very natural to try to think our way out of discomfort, this kind of unease doesn’t always respond to more thinking.
​
Sometimes it can help to begin somewhere simpler, and a bit more immediate.
​
If it feels okay, you might take a moment to gently look around the space you’re in. Notice a few things you can see, a few sounds you can hear, and perhaps one sensation in your body — your feet on the ground, or the support of the chair beneath you. There’s nothing to get right here. It’s just a small way of reminding your system that, in this moment, you’re here.
You might also find yourself wondering: what feels uncertain in my life right now? And alongside that, is there anything that feels steady enough — even if it’s quite small or easily overlooked? There’s no need to force an answer. Sometimes just letting the question be there is enough.

If things do feel a little unsteady, the invitation may not be to force them into certainty — especially when so much, collectively, remains uncertain. It might be something more modest than that: just beginning to notice what’s here, and finding small ways to stay in contact with yourself as things move.

Not perfectly, and not all at once. Just in ways that feel possible.
And perhaps, over time, this kind of gentle noticing — of the body, the mind, and the wider context we’re part of — can begin to offer its own kind of ground.

If you find yourself wanting to explore this more, it may be something that can be gently held in conversation, rather than something you have to navigate alone.