Coraline, on alert in front of her computer, while hummingbirds fly past the window — The Hammock and the Hummingbirds, practical guide
Hummingbird, the icon of the practical guides of The Hammock and the Hummingbirds

How do I stop being on alert all the time?

Peace bunker

15 minutes with nothing to sort out. It’s the “nothing to sort out” that heals.

The keySafety isn’t something you decide. It’s something you repeat.

“Tonight, zero explosions. I think I’m becoming civilised.”

Chapter 23 — Jazz, Dark Side

When it happens to you

You’re always on alert. Even in the evening. Even when nothing’s happening. Your body stays at its post, waiting for something, and you don’t even know what any more.

Why reassuring yourself isn’t enough

A body that has kept watch for a long time doesn’t stop because you tell it it’s over. It stops because you prove to it, every day at the same time, that nothing is happening. It’s proof by repetition, not by reasoning.

Rule

Safety isn’t something you decide. It’s something you repeat.

How to set up your quarter of an hour, in 4 steps

  1. 15 minutes, always at roughly the same time. The time matters more than the content.
  2. Soft music, a hot drink, low lighting. And that’s it.
  3. What’s banned: screens, discussions, decisions, to-do lists. Nothing to sort out — it’s precisely the fact that there’s nothing to sort out that heals.
  4. If someone knocks: “This is my peace bunker. If you knock, I’ll answer — after my herbal tea.”

⚠ 15 minutes, not an hour

An hour, you won’t manage three evenings in a row. A quarter of an hour, you will. It’s the repetition that counts, not the length: the body learns from the number of times, not the time spent. And if the alert doesn’t go down at all after several weeks, it’s not an exercise you need, it’s someone to talk to.

What it changes for you

You get your evenings back. And your body ends up lowering its guard elsewhere too — that’s what surprises people most: you set up 15 minutes and the whole day comes down a notch.

How to practise

Three weeks in a row, without skipping. Tick off the evenings on a calendar: it’s silly, and it’s what keeps you going, because you can see the streak.

Remember

Safety isn’t something you decide. It’s something you repeat.

You may be wondering

I haven’t got 15 minutes.

Then take five, but every evening. 5 minutes repeated are worth more than an hour once a week.

I get bored and reach for my phone.

That’s exactly the moment the exercise is working. Boredom is what a body on alert feels when it’s given nothing to watch. Let it pass, it lasts a few evenings.

Does it work in the morning too?

Yes, but pick one and stick to it. The routine is the active ingredient.

Watch the hummingbirds

Watching the hummingbirds means changing your point of view.
Seeing things from every angle.
Accepting every part of ourselves. And of other people.
And laughing about it.

A hummingbird has every colour. So do we. Our shadows and our light.
You take one step to the side: green turns pink. Then gold.
Nothing has moved, except you.

What a practical guide is for

Trying out a tool.
Changing your point of view.
Laughing at something that weighed on you this morning.

What it isn’t

It isn’t therapy.
It isn’t a diagnosis.
It isn’t a courtroom: nobody’s looking for a culprit.
It isn’t a rulebook for good behaviour. You do what you like.

What it’s for

Accepting that we’re human. And fallible.
Our shadows. Our light.
Taking the drama out, to melt the resistance.
Not judging ourselves. Not judging others.
Laughing about it. It works better, and it’s more fun.

Nobody gets judged here. Least of all you.
We don’t know anything you don’t. We just wrote some tools.

Where these guides come from

Nobody made them up. They came out of a novel, chapter by chapter — in the order I learnt them. Not in logical order: in the order life threw them at me.

What you get, end to end:
Not getting stuck in the middle.
Not having to prove your worth.
Understanding the other person without carrying what’s theirs.
Spotting what keeps repeating.
Setting the limit, and holding it.
Naming the manoeuvre, which is enough to defuse it.
Getting out when the judges are also the accusers.
Listening to the body, which answers before we do.
Sorting out what we keep.
And finally: choosing where we’re heading.

I only saw the logic afterwards, reading it back. That’s why it holds: nobody drew it up in advance.

If something feels too big for you, see a professional. A guide is a tool, not a doctor.