The Socks Story (and What They’re Still Teaching Me)

The Everyday Moments That Hold So Much

This morning, while putting away my son’s socks, I found myself unexpectedly emotional.

It’s funny how something as ordinary as socks can carry a story.

For some families, socks are just socks—bought, washed, put away, lost, replaced—without much thought. But for others, they’re part of a bigger story about nervous systems, connection, and the invisible work of helping our children feel safe in their own skin.

In our home, socks have been a thing. The wrong seam, the wrong fabric, the wrong feel—all enough to set off a wave of distress. For years, mornings began with tears, frustration, and the quiet tension that comes from two nervous systems trying to find each other again.

Over time, my body began to brace at the sight of a laundry basket. It wasn’t the socks themselves that felt hard—it was the felt memory of those mornings: the helplessness, the dysregulation, the worry about how the day would unfold.

And yet, this morning, standing in the quiet, I noticed something new. My body still remembers, yes—but now there’s also warmth, softness, gratitude. A knowing that we’ve moved through so much, together.

The Body Learns (and Unlearns)

Our nervous systems are incredible. They remember, protect, and adapt. When our kids’ systems feel unsafe—even because of something small like an itchy sock—our systems respond too. It’s an unspoken dance of connection. It’s how we were wired to survive together.

Through those years, I learned that my children’s sensitivities were also my invitations—to meet my own younger parts, to be with the pieces of me that once felt “too much” or learned to quiet their needs to stay connected. Parenting invited me to bring those parts into the room, to let them be tender and emotional alongside my kids.

This is the heart of co-regulation—the truth that regulation doesn’t come from calmness alone. It’s born from connection. From the moments when two nervous systems meet and say, “I’m here. We’re safe enough. Let’s find our way, together.”

Where This All Began—My Inside Helpers

A while back, I wrote a children’s book (well, a “rough draft” anyhow) called My Inside Helpers.

It grew out of these lived moments—the ones where therapy theory meets parenting reality. The story introduces three characters who represent parts of our nervous system:

Owl—helps us feel calm, safe, and connected (our ventral state).
Tiger—shows up when we need to protect ourselves or take action (our sympathetic energy).
Turtle—appears when things feel too overwhelming and we shut down (our dorsal collapse).

Each “helper” has a purpose. None are bad. The story invites children—and the adults who care for them—to notice which helper is present, to get curious about what that part needs, and to learn gentle ways to move between them with compassion and care.

My Inside Helpers was born from years of learning and unlearning—as a therapist, a mom, and a human trying to make sense of our beautifully complex nervous systems.

It’s been deeply inspired by the work of Dr. Stephen Porges, whose Polyvagal Theory gave us a language for understanding safety and connection; Deb Dana, whose compassionate framework helps translate that science into lived experience; and Robyn Gobbel, whose heart-forward teachings continue to guide how I bring these ideas to life with children and families.

I’ve been sitting with this manuscript for months now, wondering how to bring it into the world. As a social worker for more than a decade and now a therapist, I know how needed this kind of resource is—something that helps caregivers and kids learn together about their nervous systems, connection, and co-regulation in ways that feel warm, playful, and real.

But honestly? I’ve felt a bit lost about how to turn this heart project into a tangible resource.

The Nudge Beneath the Socks

This morning—standing there with a handful of socks—felt like a gentle nudge. A reminder to dig a little deeper, to find clarity, and to take the next small step toward sharing this work more widely.

Because My Inside Helpers isn’t just a story. It’s a love letter to families, parents, teachers, and caregivers who are doing this brave, beautiful work every day—learning to meet their kids’ needs while tending to their own.

It’s for those who’ve sat on the floor surrounded by mismatched socks and tears, wondering if they’re doing any of it right.

It’s for those who’ve discovered that healing doesn’t come from perfection, but from presence.

The Gentle Reminder

So here’s to the socks.

To the tiny moments that hold whole worlds inside them.

To the parents and caregivers who keep showing up—not perfectly, but wholeheartedly.

And to the children who keep teaching us what safety, connection, and repair really look like.

Maybe this morning was my body’s way of whispering: it’s time.

Time to bring this story—and everything it represents—into the world.

Stay tuned…