Same Time Next Week: It Looks Like Jealousy. It's Actually Something Older.

Widening the Window of Tolerance in Relationships

When Alyssa walked into my office, she was the kind of person who fills a room. Warm, quick-witted, and deeply passionate about her work, she carried herself with a quiet steadiness that made it easy to understand why people trusted her.

Which is why, when she told me how dysregulated she was becoming in her relationship, something in me recognized it immediately. Not because it was unusual, but because it’s one of the most common things I witness in this work.

The way we move through the world and the way we experience ourselves on the inside are often two entirely different stories.

Alyssa described herself as “reactive,” and she noticed it more so whenever her partner spent time with friends; she would feel a rush of panic and anger, and a need for reassurance from him.

“It’s like my body goes into overdrive. I know he loves me, but it feels like he’s leaving me.”

From the outside, it looked like jealousy. But underneath, her nervous system was reliving an old threat: When people I love leave, I lose a sense of safety.

Each time her partner walked out the door, her body registered abandonment. Her heart raced. Her muscles tensed. Thoughts spun: He must not care about me. When he didn’t respond quickly, she collapsed into exhaustion and shame.

This is what it looks like to live outside your window of tolerance — not as a crisis, but as a pattern. A familiar loop the body runs because at some point, it had to.

As we worked together, Alyssa learned to catch the early cues that showed up before her body went into ‘overdrive’, a flutter in her chest, tightness in her throat. These sensations signaled she had left her window and entered survival mode. Instead of analyzing or judging, she practiced gentle regulation: a hand on her chest, three slow breaths, a quiet reminder to herself, ‘I’m safe. He’s just going out for the evening’.

She also began building anchors, practices that helped her feel connected and safe, independent of her partner’s proximity. Painting. Morning walks. Time with a trusted friend. Her sense of steadiness became less dependent on closeness.

Months later, she smiled and said:

“He went out last weekend, and I actually enjoyed having the night to myself.”

This wasn’t detachment; her Window of Tolerance had widened. Her ability to recognize what was happening, to name it, and then return to the internal sense of safety she had been working to cultivate increased. Her body had learned that connection doesn’t require constant closeness and that separation doesn’t equal danger.

That’s what flexibility looks like in real life. Not the absence of feeling, but the capacity to stay grounded even when circumstances shift. The nervous system isn’t broken when it responds this way. It’s doing exactly what it learned to do. The work is in teaching it something new.

About this piece

This essay is adapted from a chapter from my upcoming book, ‘Easing Into Change’. Client details have been changed to protect confidentiality.