👉🏽 Subscribe for thoughtful, bite-sized emails — from Liz Zhou, a neurodivergent therapist — on how to take care of your nervous system & understand your brain.
To feel your existence
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This is a story about how animals can help us heal our nervous systems. Recently, my mom got to meet my cat, Tiger. And it was really fun to see them spend some quality time together. You see, my mom had grown up with stray cats in her neighborhood, but never had her own pet in the home. So everything about Tiger — the orange creature that I adopted from the Boulder Humane Society, with a “diagnosis” of “under-socialized & fearful” & the personality of a Sour Patch Kid — was a completely new experience for my mom. “Look, Tiger jumped onto the couch!” she would announce excitedly. “Tiger is rolling on the carpet.” “Tiger is licking her paw and using it to clean her face.” “Tiger is scratching the couch – stop it, Tiger!” And so on and so forth. ​ To feel her existence. “Yes.” I said. “That’s exactly it.” She wants us to feel her existence. I’d never put it that way, and yet those words resonated so deeply. I imagine that when Tiger wants us to feel her existence, she wants to feel seen, heard, and accepted. She wants to feel like she matters. She wants to feel like we’re here with her and she’s not alone. And in that sense... I think we all need someone to feel our existence. I think we owe it to each other to feel each other’s existences. To remind each other that we matter. To remember that we’re not alone, even if it feels really lonely to be here & human sometimes. Being around animals has always reminded me of what really matters in life... Love. Connection. Relationships. Sometimes (or maybe always), it’s really that simple. And just as Tiger wants me to feel her existence each and every day, I hope this message reminds you that, because you are a being in this world, your existence is felt too. And in case no one has told you yet, your existence is a gift to the world. To many more moments of feeling each other’s existences and remembering just how much we matter. ​ Talk soon, P.S. If you need help taking care of your nervous system, I'd love to support you. I offer ​Nervous System Healing Intensives​ — three 90-minute sessions, using brain-body modalities (Brainspotting, IFS, EMDR) that go deeper than talk therapy & help you feel better, sooner.
Intensives are a type of short-term, accelerated therapy — for folks who are looking for something different than weekly therapy; who need longer than 50-min sessions to go deep & get to the root of the issue. 👉🏽 If you want to get an Intensive on the books, click here to book an intro call. I'm scheduling for August 2025! ​ P.P.S. Know someone who needs to hear this? Forward it along. New readers can subscribe ​HERE​. I help highly sensitive, neurodivergent adults heal their nervous systems & connect with their authentic selves.
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​Liz's Neurodivergent Letters
👉🏽 Subscribe for thoughtful, bite-sized emails — from Liz Zhou, a neurodivergent therapist — on how to take care of your nervous system & understand your brain.
While on a hike recently, I came across a sign that said: 🚫 If you see a bear, don’t make eye contact (which the bear may perceive as a sign of aggression) Which was right next to another sign: 👀 If you see a mountain lion, DO make eye contact (which shows the lion that you are aware of its presence & not afraid) These signs made me feel a bit spooked, reminding me of the possibility of encountering these creatures. (Though, to my relief, a third sign in the vicinity stated that the last...
Every single day, our brains are processing countless pieces of input. Notifications from five different apps. The ping of incoming text messages The microwave timer going off. Emails piling up in your inbox. The physical pile of letters & bills on your desk. Phone calls & voicemails. The to-do list that keeps growing. 🧠Due to the sheer amount of stimulation around us, it can be hard for our brains to discern what is actually urgent vs. what seems urgent but is not a true emergency. The...
There’s a book on my shelf that I’ve been reading for... what feels like forever. Every week or so, I’ll pick it up & read through another chapter. The content of the book is complex, so I can only process one chapter at a time. Then, my brain gets tired and needs a break. (The book, for the record, is called A Disability History of the United States, and it’s definitely not a “light read.”) My point is: the slow pace of reading a physical book - feeling the material in my hands, turning each...