Reaching Your “Ceiling for the Feeling"

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on a concept I came across called the “ceiling for the feeling.” It’s not my phrase, but it resonates so deeply with the work I’ve been doing personally—and with what I see so often in my clients.

The idea is simple but profound: our nervous systems are wired for what’s familiar, not necessarily for what’s best. When we step outside of our comfort zone—whether into more stress or into more ease—our system tends to auto-correct, pulling us back into what it knows.

What It Looks Like in Real Life

Imagine you’ve carved out an afternoon to rest. You make tea, sit down with a book, and for a few moments you feel your shoulders drop. Then suddenly, thoughts creep in: I should get up and do something productive. This is lazy. There’s laundry. Emails. Tasks waiting.

That’s your nervous system hitting its ceiling. Even though what you’re doing is healthy, restorative, and needed, your body and brain flag it as “unfamiliar” and try to steer you back toward what they know—busyness, productivity, distraction.

The same thing happens on the other end of the spectrum, too. Someone accustomed to calm might hit their ceiling when conflict arises, and they’ll rush to smooth things over instead of learning to sit in the discomfort and grow from it.

Why This Matters

This ceiling keeps us stuck. It prevents us from expanding our capacity to feel, to heal, and to change. It’s why we can crave transformation but find ourselves circling the same patterns again and again.

The work, then, is to notice the ceiling when it shows up—and instead of immediately retreating back to old habits, to stay with the feeling just a little longer. To breathe. To remind ourselves we’re safe. To let our nervous system slowly expand its tolerance for something new.

How Horses Reflect This

This is one of the reasons I love working with the horses. They sense our nervous system states immediately. When a woman comes into the pasture carrying tension, the horses often mirror it back. When she begins to soften, they soften too. If she hits her “ceiling for the feeling” and starts to pull away, the horses notice—and invite her gently back to presence.

It’s a living, breathing feedback loop. One that helps us practice growing our capacity for change in real time.

A Personal Note

This season, I’ve been doing my own recalibration work—slowing down, listening more carefully, and letting my nervous system find new rhythms. It’s not always easy. I bump into my own ceilings all the time. But each time I stay with it just a little longer, I feel more spaciousness, more calm, and more possibility opening up.

That’s the gift of this work: over time, our ceilings rise. Our capacity grows. We can hold more ease, more joy, more presence—without retreating back into what’s familiar but limiting.