Daniel Siegel teaches about the brain and emotional responses—how we can "flip our lids" when fear or stress takes over.
Here is an analogy: if you look at my hand, it represents different parts of the brain. My wrist leading up to my thumb represents the brain stem and the limbic system, the more primitive parts of the brain. These four fingers represent the frontal cortex. When we operate from a place of wholeness, the frontal cortex—a more recently evolved part of the brain—provides information to the rest of the system. This helps us make wise decisions.
For example, when fear arises as Nature's protector, the frontal cortex can assess whether it's a serious situation or simply past conditioning. It either tells us to take action or reassures us to breathe and stay calm. But when we get a strong jolt of fear and lack stability in mindfulness, we "flip our lid."
When we flip our lid, the survival brain takes over, hijacking our ability to think clearly. We act as if it's a life-or-death situation, often causing harm because we lose access to perspective, mindfulness, and compassion.
Most of us experience this flipped-lid reaction regularly, even if it’s not in dramatic situations. We may not "throw a bomb," but in our everyday lives, we react from that primitive part of our brain, triggering others in the process. How many of us have had that happen even in the last week? Most of us, right?
And sadly, this same reaction plays out on a larger scale in the world, which can be heartbreaking.
A few years ago, I had a moment that brought this concept of “flipping the lid” to life in a way I’ll never forget. It was a typical Wednesday afternoon, and I was running late for a class I was teaching. My mind was already racing, planning out the sequence, wondering how I would make up for lost time. In the middle of it all, I received a phone call from a close friend. She was in tears, sharing that she had just lost her job. I could feel her fear and anxiety through the phone, and in that moment, instead of offering calm and support, I could feel myself tightening up—almost panicking with her. My own stress, combined with her fear, started to overwhelm me.
What happened next was like a switch. I snapped at her. “Why didn’t you see this coming? You should’ve prepared better!” The words flew out of my mouth before I could even think. Her silence on the other end of the line was deafening. In that instant, I knew I had flipped my lid. Instead of helping her navigate the situation with perspective and kindness, I reacted from that primitive place of fear and frustration.
We ended the conversation awkwardly, and I went on to teach my class, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had let her down—and myself. Later that night, I sat in meditation, trying to understand what had happened. I realized that I had let my own survival brain take over. Her fear had triggered something deep in me, and instead of pausing, I acted from that reactive, instinctual place.
The next morning, I called her back and apologized. We both cried on the phone, and I explained what had happened to me. It was a moment of vulnerability, but also a moment of deep connection. She told me that she didn’t need me to fix anything—she just needed someone to be present with her in her pain.
That experience was a wake-up call. It reminded me how easily we can be hijacked by fear and lose our access to the parts of us that can offer love, perspective, and compassion. But it also showed me that healing is possible when we acknowledge those moments, reflect on them, and make amends.
Since then, I’ve tried to practice more mindfulness in moments of stress, reminding myself to breathe, to pause, and to let the frontal cortex—the part of me that can make wise decisions—guide my actions. We all flip our lids sometimes, but it’s how we come back to ourselves that matters.
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