How to Strengthen New Beliefs So They Become Your Default (part 1)

This post follows and expands on the previous article: You Didn’t Choose Your Core Beliefs—and How You Can Change Them.

It isn’t enough to simply think differently about yourself—healing isn’t an intellectual exercise.

Core beliefs are held in the body, the nervous system, and in lived experience, not just in thoughts.

New beliefs need to be practiced, felt, and anchored in daily life through real choices: speaking a boundary, allowing support, noticing when you’re minimizing yourself and gently choosing differently.

As somatic and trauma researchers remind us, safety and self-worth are learned through repeated embodied experiences.

We ground new beliefs not by repeating affirmations, but by slowly living in alignment with them, again and again, until our system learns, “This is real. This is safe. This is who I am now.”

1.Anchor the New Belief in a State of Safety

Why this matters:

The nervous system cannot integrate new beliefs when it is activated into fight, flight, freeze, or fawn.

When the body perceives threat, its job is not to reflect or rethink—it’s to survive.

Trauma research consistently shows this.

Bessel van der Kolk explains that the body organizes itself around protection first, and cognition follows the body’s felt state.

According to Polyvagal Theory, a regulated nervous system—one that feels grounded, supported, and safe—is what allows curiosity, openness, and learning to happen. In other words: safety comes before insight.

Regulation comes before belief.

So when you try to repeat a healthy belief like “I am worthy,” “My needs matter,” or “I deserve respect,” but your body is tense, your breath is shallow, and your chest feels tight, it’s not resistance—it’s biology.

The nervous system is saying, “Before we change anything, help me feel safe.”

What this looks like in everyday life:

Maybe you want to believe, “It’s okay to ask for help,” but your body freezes every time you reach for the phone to call a friend.

Maybe you want to feel, “I deserve respect,” but your heart races and you feel like a child again when you try to set a boundary.

Maybe you’re trying to say, “My emotions are allowed,” but your jaw clenches and you automatically push everything down.

This doesn’t mean you’re incapable of change.

It means your nervous system needs reassurance.

A gentle practice:

Before saying or thinking any new belief, help your body soften first.

• Place one or both hands somewhere comforting—over your heart, on your cheeks, wrapped around your torso like a hug.

  Touch helps signal safety.

• Let your breath deepen slowly.

  Try inhaling for 4 counts and exhaling for 6 counts.

  Longer exhales activate the parasympathetic nervous system, the “rest and settle” system.

• Notice even small shifts: maybe your shoulders drop slightly, your jaw loosens, your eyes soften, your belly releases even a little.

Then, from that slightly steadier place, gently offer the belief:

“I am allowed to be here.”

“My needs matter.”

“I deserve care.”

Dr. Daniel Siegel describes this as pairing felt safety with new neural pathways—repetition in a regulated state helps the brain actually install new experiences as truth.

Over time, your body begins to associate these beliefs not with danger or risk, but with steadiness, warmth, and grounded presence.

This is how new beliefs begin to root—not through force, pressure, or pushing yourself, but by repeatedly giving your nervous system the experience of safety while it learns a different way of relating to yourself.

2. Strengthen New Beliefs Inside Safe Relationships

Why this matters:

We do not form beliefs about ourselves in isolation.

We learn who we are inside relationships.

Dr. Daniel Siegel explains that we know ourselves through the ways other know us.

Similarly, John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth showed that early attachment relationships create internal working models—deep templates for what we expect from others and what we believe about ourselves.

Trauma expert Judith Herman notes that trauma shapes identity most powerfully when it occurs in relationships, which means healing also needs to happen in relationships.

Your system does not rewrite those internal beliefs by logic alone.

It rewrites them when someone shows up differently—consistently, gently, and safely.

Finding people who are willing to meet us with the depth of openness, emotional honesty, and mutual trust we long for can be incredibly difficult—and even when those people appear, it can still feel vulnerable and uncertain to open up.

Many survivors carry understandable caution; trust takes time, safety needs consistency, and our nervous systems often need repeated proof that connection won’t cost us ourselves.

This is one reason Amanda Curtin, the founder of Relationship Recovery Process made groups the primary forum for childhood trauma recovery work.

RRP groups are intentionally built as slow, safe, and carefully held spaces.

Trust is not assumed; it is cultivated gradually, with clear boundaries, compassionate facilitation, and a shared commitment to emotional safety.

Over time, participants experience a safe space where they are met with respect, attunement, and care—allowing the nervous system to relearn connection as something grounding rather than threatening.

In this environment, new beliefs like “I matter,” “I am not too much,” and “I deserve to be seen with kindness” don’t stay as ideas—they begin to take root through lived, relational experience.

What this looks like in everyday life:

You begin to believe “I deserve respect.” 

Then you sit across from a friend who speaks to you with kindness, listens when you pause, doesn’t rush you, and honors your boundaries.

Your body notices: This feels different. This feels safe.

You’re practicing “My needs matter.” 

You tell someone, “I’m tired; I can’t show up today,” bracing for disappointment or anger—and instead they say, “Of course. Rest. I’m glad you told me.”

Something softens inside you.

A little rewiring happens.

You’re learning “I don’t have to carry everything alone.” 

A partner or colleague offers help—and this time you let yourself accept it.

The world doesn’t collapse.

No one punishes you.

Your nervous system learns: Support is possible.

These moments may seem small, but neurologically and emotionally, they are profound.

Dr. Dan Siegel, along with interpersonal neurobiology research, shows that experiences of safe connection help integrate new neural pathways.

Stephen Porges’ Polyvagal Theory reinforces this: co-regulation—being with someone calm, kind, and steady—helps the nervous system learn safety from the outside in.

Every safe interaction becomes living evidence contradicting the old trauma story.

A gentle exploration:

You might ask yourself:

Who in my life treats me with respect without me having to earn it?

Who listens when I speak, rather than fixing, dismissing, or overpowering?

Who allows me to be my full self—messy, tender, unsure—and stays?

Who reflects back a version of me that feels truer, more whole, more worthy?

These do not need to be perfect relationships.

They do not need to be many.

One kinder relationship can make a difference.

A therapist, a partner, a friend, a mentor, a sibling, a spiritual figure, a community space—even an emerging connection—can help your system relearn trust and worth.

A gentle practice (if this feels right):

When you are with someone safe, notice—not just mentally, but somatically:

Does your breath soften?

Does your body feel less guarded?

Do you feel a little more like yourself?

Does your chest or throat loosen even slightly?

Afterward, gently name the truth:

“That felt respectful.”

“I mattered in that moment.”

“I wasn’t too much.”

You are helping your nervous system register and store that experience as evidence of a new reality.

Healing doesn’t mean needing no one.

For trauma survivors, healing is learning that the nervous system can finally rest inside relationships that feel safe, honoring, and steady—and letting those relationships help grow new beliefs that once felt impossible.

3.Reparenting: Speak the New Belief to the Child Who Learned the Old One

Why this matters

The part of you that absorbed painful beliefs—

“I’m too much,”

“Love requires being quiet,”

“My needs are dangerous,”did not learn them as ideas.

They were learned in moments of fear, aloneness, confusion, and emotional neglect.

That part lives inside the nervous system as the “inner child”—the younger self who still expects the world to respond the way it once did.

Pete Walker, who writes extensively about Complex PTSD, describes reparenting as the process where our adult self becomes the protector, nurturer, and emotional anchor the child never had.

Janina Fisher explains that trauma healing involves developing compassionate relationships with the traumatized parts of ourselves, helping those younger parts experience safety and care now.

Daniel Siegel’s interpersonal neurobiology also supports this idea: when we bring compassion, curiosity, and soothing to previously fragmented parts of ourselves, the brain begins to integrate rather than remain stuck in survival responses.

In simple terms the inner child holds the old beliefs, the adult self holds the new ones.

Healing resides in the relationships between them.

When you speak to that younger part with warmth, steadiness, and reassurance, you are doing something profoundly reparative: you are giving the inner child and his/her nervous system the attuned caregiver it once needed and did not have.

What this looks like in everyday life

You notice you’re afraid to disappoint someone and feel your stomach tighten.

That fear doesn’t belong to your adult life—it belongs to a younger part who once believed, “If I upset people, I lose love.”

You hear your inner critic saying, “You should have done better.” 

Instead of pushing forward with shame, you pause and recognize that this voice comes from a child who learned that perfection meant safety.

You want to speak a boundary, but you freeze.

That freeze isn’t a failure—it’s a child part remembering times when speaking up led to rejection, anger, or punishment.

In those moments, instead of forcing yourself to “be stronger,” you turn inward that same way a kind caregiver would toward a scared child.

You acknowledge:

how hard it was

how small you had to be

how alone you felt

how much responsibility you carried that never belonged to you

Judith Herman reminds us that trauma brings a fundamental disconnection from the self. Reparenting restores connection by saying, “I do not abandon you now.”

A gentle practice (if this feels right)

When a belief or reaction feels young, vulnerable, or familiar from childhood, pause and place a steady hand on your heart, chest, or cheek.

Then gently speak—aloud or internally—to the part of you that once had to survive:

“Little one, I see how hard that was. You learned to stay small to stay safe. That made so much sense then. But I’m here now. You don’t have to earn love. You don’t have to be perfect. Your needs matter. I will protect you. You are precious to me.”

There is no pressure to believe this perfectly.

You are not “pretending.”

You are offering your nervous system a new relational experience.

Over time, this begins to bridge the past and present:

The child part feels seen instead of blamed.

The adult part steps into loving leadership.

The nervous system learns safety from the inside out.

Bessel van der Kolk reminds us, “We heal in the context of feeling safe.” 

Reparenting is one way to offer that safety internally—patiently, gently, and compassionately—so the old belief doesn’t just loosen, it finally feels less necessary.

Building a Relationship Through Dialogue

One of the most powerful ways to bridge the child who learned the old beliefs and the adult who now holds the new ones is through compassionate inner dialogue.

In Recovery of Your Inner Child, Lucia Capacchione describes how writing and dialoguing between the Inner Child and Inner Adult helps create an ongoing, living relationship inside us.

Instead of the child part remaining silent, scared, or hidden, this process allows them to speak—often for the first time.

And instead of the adult self dismissing, ignoring, or criticizing that child (the way caregivers may once have done), the adult learns to respond with warmth, protection, and stability.

Capacchione emphasizes that this is not imagination or “pretend healing”—it’s relational repair happening internally.

By listening to the child part’s fears, needs, anger, sadness, and longings, and responding consistently with empathy, reassurance, and clarity, we slowly build trust inside.

Over time, the Inner Child begins to believe, “I am not alone anymore. Someone is with me now. Someone cares.” 

The Inner Adult grows into a grounded, nurturing presence capable of soothing, guiding, and protecting.

This dialogue helps reorganize the nervous system’s expectations: instead of anticipating abandonment or criticism, it begins to expect care and responsiveness.

In this way, dialoguing is not simply reflective—it is deeply reparative.

It creates a bond between the part of you that once had to endure life without enough support and the part of you that can now finally provide it.

And that relationship becomes one of the strongest anchors for installing new beliefs about worth, safety, and love.

Amanda Curtin, founder of the Relationship Recovery Process (RRP), explains that it is often our Inner Child who responds to present-day situations—especially when those moments trigger unresolved wounds from childhood trauma.

Just as they did in the past, this part of us feels compelled to react emotionally in order to protect, connect, or survive.

Through intentional dialogue with our Inner Child, we begin to recognize this younger part of ourselves and bring awareness to the ways it has been acting on our behalf, often outside of our conscious awareness.

During this connection between adult and child, our Inner Adult can name the truth of what we endured as children and begin to lift the burdens we were never meant to carry—responsibilities imposed by trauma and neglect.

4.Reinforce the New Belief Through Small Actions

Why this matters

Beliefs don’t become real simply because we say them—we begin to trust them when we live them, even in very small ways.

Healing requires new experiences that teach the nervous system it is no longer trapped in the past.

Judith Herman emphasizes that trauma survivors reclaim empowerment through choice and action.

And psychologist Rick Hanson’s work on neuroplasticity reminds us that “neurons that fire together wire together”: repeated moments of self-care, protection, and boundary-setting slowly create new internal truths.

In childhood, your nervous system learned survival through behavior: being quiet, over-performing, pleasing, disappearing, enduring harm.

So it makes sense that your nervous system also needs behavior to learn a different way of being.

Every small action says,“I am not in that environment anymore.”

“I am allowed to care for myself now.”

“I have choices.”

These do not need to be huge changes.

They simply need to be embodied.

What this looks like in everyday life

You’re tired and your old belief whispers, “Keep going. Don’t inconvenience anyone.”

This time, you rest.

Even for 10 minutes.

Your nervous system learns: My needs matter.

A part of you feels anxious about disappointing someone.

The old rule says, “Say yes so you don’t lose connection.”

This time, you say, “I can’t today.”

Your body shakes a little—but nothing terrible happens.

Your nervous system learns: Boundaries can coexist with connection.

You’re confused in a conversation and shame starts rising: “I should understand. Something is wrong with me.”

Instead, you ask for clarification.

Your nervous system learns: I am allowed to take up space.

You notice hunger.

The old rule says, “Ignore it. Push through.”

You eat.

Your nervous system learns: My body deserves care.

These moments may seem ordinary, but they are radical acts of healing.

They are how your adult self shows the younger self:“We are not living by the old rules anymore.”

A gentle practice

Instead of trying to overhaul your life, choose one small act that aligns with the new belief you’re growing.

If your new belief is “I deserve respect,”your small act might be not laughing off a hurtful comment.

If your new belief is “My needs aren’t a burden,”your small act might be asking for a glass of water, asking for help with a task, or taking a moment to rest.

If your new belief is “I don’t have to be perfect,”your small act might be finishing something at “good enough” instead of pushing past exhaustion.

After you do the action—pause.

Notice your breath.

Notice your body.

Notice what you are feeling.

And gently name it:

“That was different.”

“That was me taking care of myself.”

“That was me choosing something new.”

Rick Hanson reminds us that when we savor positive experiences for even a few seconds longer, the brain encodes them more deeply.

So linger.

Let your nervous system register the safety, worth, and agency in what you just did.

Over time, these small acts accumulate.

They become a pattern.

A new way of relating to yourself.

And slowly, gently, the belief shifts from something you hope is true…into something your body and mind finally know is true.

My next post will offer additional tools for strengthening new core beliefs.