How I Rewired My Stress Response with Meditation and Hypnotherapy

Remember that time you were totally relaxed about speaking in front of a crowd? Yeah... me neither.

(Well, not before I learned how to actually calm my nervous system instead of just pretending to.)

I used to be a black belt in Worst-Case-Scenario-Jitsu. Fluent in catastrophising. Constantly rehearsing what could go wrong—just in case life threw me a curveball (or ten). My brain genuinely thought it was doing me a favour. Its main job is to keep me safe, after all. And predicting disaster? That’s one way it tries to keep me alive.

But here’s the catch: every time I imagined a disaster unfolding, my body responded as if it were happening. Cue stress hormones. Racing thoughts. Tight jaw. Tense shoulders. Protective posture. The full stress response, on loop.

All of this was happening quietly, in the background—without me even realising it.

 It wasn’t just “self-care”—it was my brain searching for relief.

Why Catastrophising Isn’t Clever (Even Though It Feels Like It)

As I progressed in my studies about human behaviour, the brain, and the nervous system, I learnt that stress can interfere with the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for planning, decision-making, and problem-solving. When that part goes offline, clear thinking becomes much harder.

So while I thought I was planning for every outcome (739 of them, to be precise), what I was actually doing was:

• Draining my energy

• Fueling anxiety

• Making it harder to respond creatively or calmly when real challenges showed up

Enter: A Fancy Little Word That Changed Everything

Then I stumbled upon neuroplasticity. The idea that our brains can change. Like, literally rewire.If I could train my mind to expect the worst, then surely, I could teach it to expect something better too?

That thought cracked something open. I began to understand why I’d always felt intuitively drawn to meditation, and to creative outlets that allowed me to slip into softer, more relaxed brainwave states.

It wasn’t just “self-care”—it was my brain searching for relief. So I followed that thread. I started meditating more intentionally. I paid attention to when things worked out—no matter how small.

I also looked back and wrote down all the moments when meditation or the Silva Method (something I’d learnt in my twenties) had actually made a difference.

It became clear that those mindful, heartful moments weren’t just nice extras.

They were essential.

They gave my nervous system a breather. They softened the constant mental noise. And they helped balance out the stress that both life—and my own thinking—kept generating.

Catastrophising wasn’t part of who I was—it was something I’d learnt.

As I kept meditating and practising self-hypnosis, something began to shift. My mind felt calmer. My reactions softened. I found myself staying curious about how things might unfold—rather than preloading every possible disaster.

I began to think: “Maybe this will turn out better than I imagined.” Or even, “Maybe the universe has my back.”

And the more I leaned into that way of thinking, the more it started to feel... natural.

When I began my hypnotherapy training, the final piece clicked into place. Catastrophising wasn’t part of who I was—it was something I’d learnt. A habit of thought. A protective strategy I’d picked up somewhere along the way.

That realisation changed everything. Because if these beliefs weren’t truly mine, I could let them go. And if my mind had absorbed old stories so easily, it could just as easily adopt new ones—ones that felt lighter, kinder, and far more supportive.

The key?

Change has to happen where the beliefs live—in the subconscious. That’s where hypnosis and meditation together become such a powerful team. They create space for calm. Space for rewiring. Space for real, lasting change.

Interestingly, on a recent visit home—after Covid, and three years of practising as a hypnotherapist—I noticed something that really landed. I wasn’t the same.

The old patterns, the usual emotional hooks—they were still there around me. But they didn’t pull me in like they used to. It was like watching an old film I no longer had a role in.

Where I once would’ve absorbed the tension or matched the mood, now I could stay grounded. Observing, not reacting.

And that’s when it really hit me:

The work I’d done had quietly rewired something deep.

I was no longer bracing for the worst. I was anchored. Present.

There was more ease. More space. A lightness I hadn’t felt in years.

A Quiet Kind of Freedom

The biggest shifts aren’t always loud. Sometimes they show up in how calm you feel walking into a room that used to trigger you. Or how quickly you bounce back after a tough day. Or the moment you realise you’re not living from old fear anymore—but from quiet trust.

This is the work I do now, and what I love most about it: Not fixing you (because you’re not broken), but helping you gently unlearn the patterns that were never truly yours.

If something in you is ready for that kind of shift—subtle, steady, and deeply real—I’d love to walk alongside you.

You can learn more about Mental Leap Hypnotherapy, or just reach out. No pressure. Just a conversation. A breath. A beginning.