The fly and the cheetah.

By Amy Osborne, M.A., E-RYT

Nobody told me I would stay stuck so long. If I hadn’t known about nervous system regulation through trauma informed mindfulness, I would probably still be stuck there. The mud and the muck. 

When a small animal - say a monkey - is chased by a bigger animal in the jungle - say a cheetah - there is a physiological process it goes through in order to survive. Humans are equipped with the same physiological response system.

First, fight or flight. The heart rate increases to pump blood and oxygen more efficiently throughout the body. This allows us - or a monkey - to run faster. Pupils dilate to expand your peripheral vision, and digestive and urinary functions of the body are put on hold. Muscles tense to quicken the pace and ensure we’re harder to catch. 

Once safely out of harms way, a monkey, dog, cat or squirrel will shake its body to release the physical tension and “re-set” the nervous system. Then, a big long stretch of the spine, another release, followed by a final yawn. (Sound familiar, when Fido is done chasing that squirrel?)

While this might suffice for some animals, community-oriented animals (including humans) need one additional thing to feel completely restored and regulated...

The final step: return to the village and tell the tale. Be received by the community and embraced for having survived the threat. Until then, the stress or trauma release cycle is not complete. 

Enter COVID-19. And release the cheetahs. 

A year and a half after the cheetahs’ full reign, my nervous system is still on edge. I remind myself that my apparent “funk” (low energy, lack of motivation, irregular sleep, body tension, etc.) is nervous system de-regulation after an extremely long period of cheetahs. 

So many cheetahs. 

Now that some time has passed, I should be “over” it right? Keep going. Move on. Get over it. 

But my nervous system is convinced otherwise, still waiting for the next cheetah to pounce. Everything is a potential cheetah. 

As I distance myself from that period of intense change and unpredictability (2020), I find myself mistaking the annoying, incessant buzzing of a fly for the stealth and peril of a cheetah.

The low hum as the fly circles around. The itching awareness of its nearness. The persistence of its presence.

Still - not a cheetah.

My body tightens. My heart rate quickens. My mind races for solutions on how to make it disappear. 

Have I been running from cheetahs for so long that I’m mistaking them for flies? Unable to discern in my pandemic fatigue and sustained state of nervous system de-regulation…

Can I consider that the stressors I now face are not as extreme as the problems faced this time last year?

It’s okay to let go. Move your body, shake it out. 


Only flies remain now. 

This distinction has served as a reset for my tired, over-exerted nervous system (and I hope may help yours too).

An appreciation for the enormity of what has passed and an acknowledgement of the actual solace of this moment. Trusting that I am prepared, I know how to survive. But now is the time for rest. 

Perhaps I’ve stayed stuck because I forgot the final step. And with COVID’s isolation mandates, how could we?

Tell the tale. 

Being heard and seen for what you have experienced as a human being is integral to the nervous system’s self-regulatory process. Empathy. Relatability. Sameness. 

We must tell the tale of our personal valor in unfortunate circumstances; we did the best we could. Move through it, and release. 

I pray the cheetahs have fled your village and you have the capability to tell your tale as many times as you need to begin to heal. In a journal, over coffee with a friend, to the friendly clerk at the grocery store. Only then can we fully integrate, move through, and move on. 


By sharing my own tale, this is my final goodbye to my 2020 cheetahs, as I learn to find comfort in the formerly agitating persistence of flies. 

Bring on the flies.