Not Everything Is a Red Flag

They don’t text back? Avoidant.
Do they easily cry? Wounded inner child.
They spiralled when you said “no”? Emotionally immature.

We love labels: they help us make sense of things

Ghosting, gaslighting, narcissism, love bombing, emotional unavailability, anxious and avoidant attachment… the list goes on. We’ve got language for everything now. And in itself, that’s not a bad thing.

Social media helped bring psychological concepts into everyday awareness. But when complex human behaviour gets boiled down to pop-psych buzzwords and 15-second diagnoses on TikTok and Instagram, something gets lost. Naming can be a powerful start, but it’s not the whole story.

The posts that go viral often simplify what is a messy, layered, and slow process: sitting with our patterns and building emotional resilience. I hear it regularly; someone stumbles on a post that perfectly captures their attachment style or a dynamic that’s hurt them, and they finally feel seen. This moment of recognition matters. But naming something isn’t the same as working with it. And even more so: not everything that feels uncomfortable is a red flag.

Let’s blame it on our parents

That’s the trend these days, or so it seems. And honestly? They weren’t exactly set up for success. Nervous system regulation? Emotional attunement? Those concepts weren’t even on the radar. Generations were told to suck it up, stay quiet, and keep things tidy. Boys don’t cry. Girls don’t take up space. Be good. Be grateful. Hold it together.

For many of our parents and grandparents, vulnerability wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unfamiliar. They were shaped by systems that prioritized survival and stability over self-expression. So emotional literacy—regulation, resilience, openness—wasn’t modelled. Not because it didn’t matter. But because no one showed them how.

Then the thread started to unravel

For decades, suppression was the norm. Then, slowly, something shifted. Gen X and older millennials began tugging at the thread. Gen Z today? They’re yanking it wide open. And yes, it’s powerful! But where do we go from here?

Recognizing a pattern is one thing. Working with it is another. Insight’s great, but it doesn’t rewire your nervous system. That part takes time. Practice. Getting it wrong and trying again. Over and over. Learning. Unlearning. Rewriting.

Because here’s the thing: you can’t think your way through a trigger. Not when your nervous system is already three steps ahead. And real change begins with safety, not just in others, but in ourselves. It starts with noticing what your body is doing before your brain fills in the blanks.

So let’s zoom in and see what’s actually happening in that moment.

You react before you understand why

Something feels off. Someone pulls away. Someone clings too close. A comment stings. You feel a flicker of disappointment, embarrassment, rejection, maybe even shame. Something uncomfortable.

That’s the cue: react, deflect, push it down. Because discomfort feels dangerous. And let’s be real, most of us were never shown how to stay with it.

Meanwhile, your mind is racing to make sense of it. And before you’ve even figured out what’s happening, your nervous system is already on high alert, doing exactly what it’s built to do: scan for threat. Keep you safe.

The problem? Your brain doesn’t differentiate between real danger and a perceived emotional threat.

Sensory input hits the amygdala (your brain’s built-in alarm system) a few milliseconds before it reaches the prefrontal cortex, the part responsible for logic, impulse control, and reasoning. In other words, your lizard brain reacts before your thinking brain even knows what’s happening. You feel and act before you think.

Autopilot activated

Your body just responds to feeling unsafe: Fight. Flight. Freeze. Fawn. Heart pounding. Palms sweating. Jaw clenched. Muscles bracing. It all happens before your brain catches up.

And when it does, it reaches for the nearest familiar story. The one that used to protect you. Maybe you go quiet. Maybe you lash out. Maybe you over-explain, shut down, hide and disappear, or decide the other person was to blame.

It’s fast. And mostly unconscious. You’re not choosing it. You’re remembering it on a level deeper than thought. But those knee-jerk reactions, even when well-intended, can keep you in a loop. They shield you from what’s underneath. So, how do we start shifting that?

Here’s where clay enters the chat

Clay is not here to fix you. Not to “heal” (another buzzword) you in three easy steps. It just changes the tempo. Like yoga or meditation, it slows you down. But it’s not about calming your mind or finding inner peace. It’s tactile. It’s physical. It’s sometimes awkward, even annoying. Things fall apart. Edges crack. The piece doesn’t turn out how you pictured. Good. That’s part of it.

Clay doesn’t only soothe. It surfaces things. It mirrors your state back to you. And that’s exactly why it works. It slows you down and gives you a place to notice what’s coming up without needing to explain it right away or push it away.

Not everything needs to be talked through. Sometimes, sitting quietly and letting your hands move is enough to start getting more comfortable with what’s happening within.

That’s the real work

Not the naming. Not the reacting. The staying. Staying with what’s uncomfortable, just a little longer than usual. Without flinching. Without fixing. Without jumping into the story. In that millisecond pause between feeling and thinking, if we get curious, that’s where patterns can start to shift. That’s where new coping skills can form.

Clay gives you something real to work with while you do that. It’s not a metaphor. Not a concept. Just a material that responds to your hands—and sometimes pushes back.

In a world obsessed with labelling, fixing, and moving on, maybe the most radical thing is to stay in the discomfort a little longer.

Gotta feel it to shift it

Want to try what it feels like to stay with something instead of fixing it? That’s what we do in the studio. It’s hands-on, a bit messy, and sometimes uncomfortable—in the best way. Read more about art coaching.