The Nervous System and the Unknown

Why Uncertainty Can Feel So Hard to Bear

​If the last piece named something of the feeling, that sense of the ground being a little unsteady, then perhaps this is a place to gently wonder why that can feel so difficult to hold. Because for many of us, it isn’t only that things are uncertain. It’s how that uncertainty seems to land in the body.

In my work, I often notice that when people speak about anxiety, they’re not only describing thoughts. There’s usually something more immediate alongside it. A kind of tightening, perhaps, or a restlessness that’s hard to settle. Sometimes it shows up as feeling on edge, and at other times as a kind of heaviness or disconnection.

And very often, this seems to have something to do with not knowing. There’s something about the unknown that can feel particularly difficult to rest with. As human beings, we tend to orient ourselves through some sense of what comes next. Even if it’s only loosely held, there’s often an internal sense of direction , an expectation of how things might unfold.

When that begins to feel unclear or unreliable, something in us can become unsettled. It might not always show up as a clear thought. It might be more of a feeling in the background, a quiet questioning of what’s going to happen, or whether things will be okay. And even when those questions aren’t fully formed, the body can begin to respond.

Sometimes it’s as if the system starts preparing for something, even if it doesn’t quite know what that something is. There can be a subtle bracing, or a sense of needing to stay alert. At other times, it can go in a different direction , a kind of pulling back, or a sense of not quite being here.

What can make this confusing is that there isn’t always a clear reason for it. Nothing specific may have happened in that moment. And yet, something in the body is responding.

It can be helpful, perhaps, to remember that the nervous system doesn’t always organise itself around clear, defined threats. Uncertainty itself can be enough. When things feel unpredictable or open-ended, the system may struggle to find a place to settle. Not fully in danger, but not fully at ease either.

And over time, that in-between place can be quite tiring to live in. In somatic approaches, including the work of Peter A. Levine, there’s an understanding that the body holds and responds to experience in ways that are often faster than conscious thought. He writes in Waking the Tiger:
“Trauma is not what happens to us, but what we hold inside in the absence of an empathetic witness.”

While this is often spoken about in relation to trauma, I sometimes find myself wondering if something similar can happen with ongoing uncertainty. When there isn’t a clear place to process what we’re sensing , especially when it’s diffuse or collective , it can remain held in the body, without quite having somewhere to go.

So the question may not only be how to get rid of these feelings, but how to begin relating to them a little differently. Not all at once, and not in a way that overwhelms, but perhaps just by coming into gentle contact with what’s already here.

You might, for example, take a moment to notice what’s happening in your body right now. Not everything, just one small area. It could be your feet on the ground, or the way your body is supported by the chair. There’s no need to change anything , just noticing.

Sometimes it can also help to let your attention move between your inner experience and the space around you. Let your eyes rest on something neutral or even slightly pleasant and stay with that for a few moments. Not as a way of escaping, but simply as a way of reminding your system where you are. From here, you might find yourself wondering , gently , how you tend to respond when things feel uncertain. Do you find yourself moving towards action, or thinking more, or pulling away? And is there anything, however small, that seems to help you feel even slightly more anchored?
There’s no need to arrive at clear answers. Sometimes just noticing these patterns, with a bit of curiosity, can begin to shift something.

If uncertainty feels difficult, it may not be a personal failing. It may be something quite human , a nervous system trying to find its footing in a world that doesn’t always offer clear ground.
And perhaps the invitation isn’t to resolve the unknown, but to slowly build a different kind of relationship to it. One that includes the body. One that allows for support. One that doesn’t require you to hold it all on your own.

In my experience, this is often something that unfolds most gently in conversation , at a pace that can be followed, rather than forced.