Steve Carr BCAh

Steve Carr BCAh Multi Award Winning, Mental Health, Suicide Prevention & Wellbeing Facilitator | Breath Work Practitioner | British Citizens Award Madallist 2025.

Awarded the prestigious British Citizens Award for Services to Healthcare and recognized with multiple accolades for his contributions to mental health and suicide prevention, Steve Carr is a highly sought-after mental health and well-being facilitator. With a wealth of expertise and a unique personal perspective, Steve designs and delivers transformative workshops that inspire change and foster resilience. Steve is one of a select few Suicide First Aid tutors globally, bringing invaluable expertise to his sessions. His signature keynote, "From Trauma to Triumph," shares his extraordinary journey of walking the length of Great Britain in recovery, raising awareness for mental health and homelessness. This powerful narrative of resilience, determination, and personal growth forms the foundation of his approach to helping others. Having faced and overcome significant challenges—including the loss of loved ones, homelessness, and mental health struggles—Steve is deeply committed to understanding and addressing the barriers people face in accessing support. His workshops focus on equipping participants with practical tools to navigate mental health challenges, explore nervous system regulation, and build sustainable well-being practices. While mental health has gained attention in recent years, Steve’s work goes beyond awareness by empowering individuals and communities to thrive. Combining his lived experience with professional expertise, he offers a unique blend of inspiration and practical guidance, making a lasting impact on those he works with. How to work with me:

Podcasts – Guest appearances and interviews
Interviews – Media and professional insights
Talks – Keynote speeches and motivational sessions
Webinars – Online mental health, resilience & wellbeing sessions
Training – Mental health, well-being and suicide prevention workshops
Breath work – Guided sessions for individuals and teams

Email: Steve@mindcanyon.org
Website: www.mindcanyon.org
LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/steve-m-carr

16/01/2026

The reason you ghost your friends avoid responding
and disappear even when you care is not because you do not value connection.

It is because your nervous system experiences connection as a demand not a comfort.

You are not a bad friend.

You are overwhelmed.

When your system is overloaded even love can feel like pressure even care can feel like obligation.

And if responding feels like a chore it is not a character flaw, It is a signal.

A nervous system asking for safety before it can offer presence.

That reframe changes how you relate to yourself.

Less shame.

More curiosity.

So the real question becomes what helps your system feel safe enough to stay?

Have you ever been on the receiving end of words that cut deeply, only to be left wondering if the other person even rea...
08/01/2026

Have you ever been on the receiving end of words that cut deeply, only to be left wondering if the other person even realised what they’d done?

Avoidant patterns can be brutal at times.

Not always intentionally, but brutal nonetheless.

When an avoidant nervous system is overwhelmed, language can turn sharp.

Cold.

Dismissing.

Dehumanising.

Things get said that land like character assassinations.

“You can’t love.”
“You’re the problem.”
“You’re narcissistic.”

I’ve heard those words, and for a long time I tried to make sense of them through labels.

Narcissist.
Avoidant.

This or that diagnosis, but I’m stepping away from that now.

Because labels often shut down curiosity rather than open it.

What I see more clearly is this.

This isn’t evil, it isn’t always malice.

It’s trauma speaking through a dysregulated nervous system.

When someone has learned that closeness equals danger, their system goes into protection mode fast.

Fight doesn’t always look like shouting.

Sometimes it looks like cutting someone down to create distance.

If I make you the problem, I don’t have to feel the fear underneath.

If I attack your character, I regain control of my nervous system.

That doesn’t make it okay, and it doesn’t mean you should tolerate it.

Understanding the why doesn’t erase the impact.

But reframing it as a specific kind of trauma response helps me hold my ground without becoming bitter.

It allows me to step out of the blame game, and it stops me internalising words that were never actually about me.

So instead of saying “they’re a narcissist,” I now say this.

That was a trauma driven reaction from a nervous system that couldn’t tolerate intimacy in that moment.

And then I ask the more important question.

Is this a nervous system I can safely be in relationship with?

Because compassion doesn’t require self abandonment, and clarity is often the most regulated response of all.

Have you ever noticed who someone feels safest talking to, and what that quietly tells you about their nervous system?At...
07/01/2026

Have you ever noticed who someone feels safest talking to, and what that quietly tells you about their nervous system?

Attachment shapes our social worlds more than we realise.

Some women with a dismissive avoidant attachment style tend to have mostly male friends.

Not because of flirtation or secrecy, but because many men express less emotion.

That emotional distance feels regulating to a dismissive nervous system.

Connection without depth.

Validation without vulnerability.

Likewise, some men with an anxious attachment style often have more female friends.

Women are often more emotionally expressive, empathetic, and relational.

For an anxious nervous system, that warmth and attunement feels safe.

It soothes.

It steadies.

Problems arise when these patterns collide in romantic relationships.

I once heard the accusation, “You always run to your female friends.”

But the truth was more nuanced.

When emotions came up, my partner at the time shut down.

There was no space to process, reflect, or repair.

So I sought regulation where it was available, with people who could sit with feeling.

At the same time, she surrounded herself with male friends.

Not for intimacy.

For validation without emotion.

Attention without accountability.

Neither of us was wrong.

We were regulating differently.

But without awareness, these dynamics get personalised.

Needs get moralised, and nervous system strategies get framed as betrayal.

Understanding attachment doesn’t excuse avoidance or invalidate emotional needs.

It explains why some people move toward feeling and others move away from it, and it highlights something essential.

If your partner cannot sit with emotion, you’ll keep seeking it elsewhere.

If your partner needs distance to feel safe, closeness will feel like pressure.

This isn’t about blame.

It’s about compatibility and capacity.

Because intimacy doesn’t just require attraction.

It requires two nervous systems that can meet in the same emotional room, knowing the difference can save a lot of confusion, and a lot of self doubt.

What if the version of you that once felt certain was actually just protecting itself from being challenged?When I first...
07/01/2026

What if the version of you that once felt certain was actually just protecting itself from being challenged?

When I first met my ex partner, I was dismissive of almost anything that didn’t match my view of the world.

I was deep in the personal development space.

Isolation dressed up as empowerment.

Self trust taken to an extreme.

My opinion mattered most.

Everyone else’s perspective felt irrelevant.

At the time, I thought that was strength.

In truth, it was avoidance.

Too much self reliance.

Too much self love without reflection.

Too little room for another nervous system in the room.

That was my dismissive avoidant pattern.

It took years to see it, and it took a relationship to soften it.

Through being with someone who was secure, calm, and emotionally available, my defences slowly came down, and when they did, something else surfaced.

Anxious attachment.

A need for reassurance.

A fear of loss.

A heightened sensitivity to distance or disconnection.

I moved from dismissive avoidant into anxious avoidant.

Wanting closeness.

Struggling when it wasn’t immediately available.

Needing repair and reflection to feel safe.

That shift was uncomfortable, but necessary.

Because it revealed the parts of me that had been hidden beneath independence.

The parts that still needed connection, attunement, and co regulation.

What made the difference was this…..

She was securely attached.

Not perfect.

Not rescuing.

But steady.

We could talk about needs like adults.

Name triggers without blame.

Repair without drama.

That kind of relationship does something powerful to the nervous system.

It teaches you that closeness doesn’t require collapse, and distance doesn’t mean abandonment.

I’m now working consciously with my attachment shadow.

Not from shame, from awareness, because recently I met a Dismissive Avoidant and it almost destroyed me.

I now feel stable again.

Not because I’ve mastered attachment.

But because I’ve learned how to regulate quicker.

I think that’s why we’ve stayed such good friends even after breaking up.

There’s no charge left in the system.

No unresolved conflict.

Just mutual respect, emotional maturity, and a shared understanding of what it means to grow.

Sometimes relationships don’t end because they failed.

They end because they did their job.

Have you ever paused to ask whether what you’re doing with your emotions is actually helping you, or quietly hurting you...
07/01/2026

Have you ever paused to ask whether what you’re doing with your emotions is actually helping you, or quietly hurting you?

There’s a crucial difference between managing, regulating, and controlling emotions, and many of us were never taught how to tell them apart.

Managing emotions is often about coping.

Getting through the day.

Keeping things together.

Holding it in until later.

This can be useful in the short term, especially in places where it isn’t safe to express everything, like work or public spaces.

But managing isn’t the same as regulating.

Regulation happens in the nervous system.

It allows emotions to move, rise, and fall without overwhelming you or being pushed away.

You feel the emotion without becoming the emotion.

Control, on the other hand, is usually fear based.

Controlling emotions means suppressing them.

Forcing yourself to be calm.

Telling yourself you shouldn’t feel this way.

Spiritualising discomfort.

Intellectualising pain.

It looks like strength.

It sounds like discipline.

But underneath, the body is still holding everything.

Suppression doesn’t make emotions disappear.

It stores them.

Over time, that stored energy shows up as anxiety, burnout, chronic tension, irritability, or sudden emotional collapse that seems to come out of nowhere.

This is why people say things like…

“I’m fine”

“I’ve dealt with that”

“I don’t let things affect me”

Until they do.

True regulation isn’t about being calm all the time.

It’s about having the capacity to feel without flooding, and to pause without shutting down.

It’s knowing when to contain emotion because the environment demands it, and knowing where and how to release it safely later.

That’s not weakness.

That’s emotional intelligence.

When you stop trying to control your emotions and start learning how to regulate them, something shifts.

Your body trusts you more.

Your reactions soften.

Your choices become clearer, and instead of emotions running you from the background, you learn how to stay with them, listen to them, and move forward without carrying their weight everywhere you go.

When you strip everything back, past the coping strategies and the stories we tell ourselves, what is it you’re actually...
07/01/2026

When you strip everything back, past the coping strategies and the stories we tell ourselves, what is it you’re actually longing for?

Most of us want one thing…..

To be loved

Not fixed, not managed, not tolerated.

Loved.

Where it gets complicated is not the desire, it’s the way we learned to receive it.

Attachment styles shape this more than we realise.

Anxious attachment often learned that love was inconsistent.

So closeness feels like safety.

Reassurance feels like oxygen.

Dismissive avoidant attachment often learned that emotions were unsafe or ignored.

So distance feels regulating.

Independence feels like control.

Disorganised attachment learned that love and threat lived in the same room.

So connection is craved and feared at the same time.

Then layer in mother wounds and father wounds.

A mother wound can carry fear of being replaced or unseen.

A father wound can carry fear around worth, safety, or having to earn love.

So when two people meet, it’s rarely just attraction meeting attraction.

It’s nervous systems meeting nervous systems.

If one system seeks closeness and the other seeks space, both can feel under threat.

One feels abandoned.

The other feels overwhelmed.

Neither is wrong, but without regulation, both react.

This is where nervous system regulation becomes essential.

Not to change who you are.

Not to override your needs.

But to notice what’s happening in your body before it turns into blame, pursuit, withdrawal, or shutdown.

When you can regulate in the moment, you stop making the other person responsible for your safety.

You stay present.

You stay curious.

You respond instead of react.

This is the work I do in my breathwork and nervous system regulation workshops.

We don’t try to fix attachment styles.

We work with the body.

Because when your nervous system feels safer, love becomes clearer.

Boundaries become easier, and compatibility stops being something you argue about, and starts being something you can feel.

Most of us want to be loved.

The real work is learning how to stay regulated enough to receive it and wise enough to know when someone can meet you there.

Have you ever asked someone to clarify what they meant and felt the atmosphere change instantly?A simple question.No acc...
06/01/2026

Have you ever asked someone to clarify what they meant and felt the atmosphere change instantly?

A simple question.

No accusation.

No edge.

Yet suddenly they’re defensive, sharp, losed.

This reaction is rarely about the question.

It’s about what the nervous system hears.

For some attachment styles, especially dismissive avoidant, clarification can register as criticism.

Their system learned early that questions meant judgment, control, or being found lacking.

So the body reacts before the mind has time to assess intent.

Defensiveness is the shield.

For others, particularly those with unresolved trauma, a request for clarity can feel like exposure.

As if they’re about to be cornered emotionally.

So they push back to regain control and safety.

In both cases, the nervous system moves into protection.

Fight shows up as defensiveness.

Flight shows up as withdrawal or shutdown.

This isn’t emotional intelligence failing.

It’s regulation failing, and here’s the important part.

Healthy nervous systems can tolerate curiosity.

They can pause, reflect, and respond without threat.

When clarification feels unsafe, it often points to limited emotional capacity in that moment, not bad character.

Understanding this helps you stop chasing explanations or over explaining yourself.

You can name what you see, regulate your own body, and decide what you’re willing to engage with.

Because clarity should not require self abandonment.

And if curiosity consistently triggers defence, your nervous system is receiving information too.

Not about them.

About what it feels like to be in connection with them.

Have you ever noticed how someone can be labelled a narcissist when something much quieter is actually happening underne...
06/01/2026

Have you ever noticed how someone can be labelled a narcissist when something much quieter is actually happening underneath?

Not everyone who feels distant, emotionally shut down, or hard to reach is narcissistic.

Many were conditioned at a young age to suppress their emotions.

To stay self contained.
To not need.
To not feel.

That conditioning doesn’t disappear in adulthood.
It becomes a strategy.

This is often dismissive avoidant attachment.

A nervous system that learned safety through independence.

Through minimising emotion.

Through keeping closeness at arm’s length.

From the outside, it can look cold.

Uncaring, even selfish.

But internally, it’s protection.

Now place that alongside someone with an anxious attachment style.

Someone whose nervous system learned safety through connection.

Through reflection, through repair and reassurance.

They move toward when distressed, they want to talk, clarify, resolve.

These two styles are polar opposites.

One regulates through distance.

The other through closeness, and when they meet, it can be explosive.

The anxious partner feels unseen, unchosen, destabilised.

The dismissive partner feels pressured, overwhelmed, criticised.

Both feel unsafe.

Both feel misunderstood.

This is where labels like narcissist often get applied.

Not because there is malice.

But because nervous systems are clashing.

Understanding this doesn’t mean tolerating emotional neglect, and it doesn’t mean excusing harm.

It means seeing clearly.

Because once you understand attachment and nervous system regulation, the question stops being
“What’s wrong with them?”

And becomes…

“What does my body need to feel safe here?”

That answer is where real healing begins.

05/01/2026

Have you ever mistaken injury for arrogance?

I used to think people were narcissistic far too quickly.

Sharp words, deflection, no accountability, I labelled it sarcasm or ego.

But the truth is more nuanced.

We all carry narcissistic traits.

Self protection, image management, defensiveness when we feel exposed.

That alone does not make someone narcissistic.

The difference is capacity.

A narcissistic structure cannot turn inward without collapsing.

Responsibility feels like annihilation.

So blame is externalised.

Reality is rewritten.

Empathy is conditional.

A dismissive avoidant is different.

Still defended, still distant.

But underneath is fear not superiority.

They learned early that needing was unsafe.

That closeness meant loss of control.

So they minimise. Withdraw. Intellectualise.

I met someone like this once.

And I could feel it in my body.

Not malice, Injury.

They were not cruel by nature, they were armoured by necessity.

That distinction matters.

Because one is protecting a fragile self.

The other is protecting a false one.

Understanding this changed how I relate.

I stopped pathologising everyone who hurt me, and I became more honest about what I could and could not stay present with.

Compassion does not require self abandonment.

Understanding does not mean endurance.

Some people are wounded.

Some are unsafe, and learning the difference is part of growing up.

06/08/2025

Steve Carr KohPhanCast Interview!! ❤️🙏🏼"I lived on the streets… scrounging for food… praying no one I knew would see me."That’s how Steve Carr started his ...

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