In this week’s post, I share an experience that tested every idea I had about composure and strength, and what it revealed about the courage that begins only after the crisis has passed. Join me for an exploration that challenges how we look at resilience.
JANUARY 30, 2026
There are moments in life and work when composure isn’t optional.
We have to hold it all together, lead through crisis, or keep things moving even when everything inside us is falling apart.
This mental toughness helps us function long enough to make decisions and protect what needs protecting.
But composure alone isn’t what builds resilience.
Resilience begins after, when the nervous system starts to regulate again and we are confronted with what we had to suppress to get through.
I learned that lesson in a way I never expected, during a live group session that took an unthinkable turn.
Over the summer, I decided to be bold and step out of my comfort zone, as I saw a real need for nervous system work to become more accessible.
I opened a free group space where anyone could join for thirty minutes of shared nervous system regulation practice in real time.
It was meant to be a simple way to offer support and connection for those who felt called to it or who might not otherwise be able to join our programs or work with me directly.
I had no idea that one of those sessions would become a moment that changed how I think about safety and what it really means to stay present.
In my inaugural online video session, we had a full house and I was excited to see so many people interested in nervous system work.
We started with some focused breathing so everyone could settle in and become present in the space.
A window kept popping up asking me to allow a participant to record. Between explaining the practice and these distractions, I started feeling more and more nervous and finally stopped admitting people.
I returned fully to the practice and began the demonstration.
Suddenly, a participant streamed explicit material on video. It happened so unexpectedly that for a few seconds my mind couldn’t quite register what I was seeing on my screen.
My body reacted first. I couldn’t breathe and my hands started shaking. I felt a deep rush of heat move through me. I immediately ended their stream, removed and reported the person, and continued with the group. On the outside I looked composed, but inside my body was still flooded with adrenaline. My thoughts raced between disbelief, anger, and concern for everyone who had just witnessed this.
The sinking feeling set in that the idea I had cultivated so carefully and thoughtfully had been entirely destroyed.
But when I looked around the room and all the participants were still there. Nobody had left.
It dawned on me that this was exactly the kind of thing we were all here for. Nervous system regulation in real time.
I expressed this to my participants and supportive and loving comments began to pop up in the chat.
Everyone felt I had handled this beautifully and these kinds of unexpected moments were exactly why we needed to come together in practice.
For the rest of that evening, I kept telling myself that I had handled it well. I had done what needed to be done. But later, when the adrenaline began to fade, the weight of the experience started to settle in.
The real work began when I let myself feel everything I had pushed aside during the session.
I cried myself to sleep that night and decided I would not host any more free group sessions.
I invite you to think about a moment when you had to stay composed while something inside you was breaking. Maybe it was during a crisis at work, a difficult conversation, or a personal loss you had to keep private. What did your body go through in the hours or days that followed?
How do you meet yourself in that space after everything has settled, when doubt creeps in and nothing feels certain anymore? When you start questioning your choices, your work, even your ability to keep going? What do you reach for in those moments when giving up feels easier than staying open to what might come next?
In the weeks that followed, I thought a lot about whether I would ever open a group space again. Every part of me wanted to retreat to what felt safe and predictable.
Eventually, I decided to continue, but this time with stronger boundaries and clearer systems in place. I learned more about every control and setting Zoom had to offer to protect the healing space.
Even now, I still feel that flicker of uncertainty each time I open a new session, but I no longer try to silence it. That feeling has become part of the practice and a reminder that safety is not the absence of fear but the capacity to stay present with it.
Emotional courage is what allows that presence to exist.
Maybe we need to give ourselves permission to hold the space where resilience starts to unfold because that’s where emotional courage outgrows mental toughness every time.
By Petra Brunnbauer
Petra Brunnbauer is an award-winning Mind-Body Coach, founder of The Jōrni®, host of the globally-ranked Jōrni Podcast, and author of The Functional Freeze Formula™. With a Master’s in Psychology and as a doctoral student in Mind-Body Medicine, Petra is committed to advancing holistic approaches to health and healing.