Politics isn’t just about policies. It’s about people — and the nervous systems they bring into the room.

Behind every hard conversation about race, gender, climate, economics, education, or public health, there’s a much quieter force shaping the outcome: our ability to tolerate discomfort.

We don’t talk about it much, but distress tolerance — the ability to feel difficult emotions without shutting down, lashing out, or avoiding the topic — plays a massive role in our political lives. And when distress tolerance is low, the consequences ripple far beyond individual conversations. They shape what we believe, how we vote, who we trust, and how polarized our world becomes.

What Is Distress Tolerance?

Distress tolerance is your capacity to stay present when things feel bad.

It doesn’t mean you like what’s happening. It doesn’t mean you agree. It just means you can stay — without numbing, panicking, blaming, or collapsing.

In therapy, distress tolerance is often taught as a skill for surviving intense emotion without making things worse. But outside the clinic, it’s also the foundation for emotional maturity, dialogue across difference, and functional democracy.

When Distress Tolerance Is Low, Conversations Become Threats

It’s hard to stay in dialogue when someone says something that challenges your worldview. It stirs discomfort — not just intellectually, but somatically. The body registers social tension as threat: heart rate goes up, breath shortens, muscles tighten. For people with unresolved trauma or chronic stress, these signals can quickly escalate into panic or rage.

And when someone lacks the capacity to tolerate that discomfort, the nervous system searches for escape routes.

Common ones include:

Interrupting or dominating the conversation
Walking away entirely
Mocking or dismissing the speaker
Doubling down on existing beliefs
Flipping into outrage, sarcasm, or superiority

These aren’t always conscious choices. They’re often nervous system adaptations — ways of protecting ourselves when dialogue feels dangerous.

Distress Intolerance Fuels Confirmation Bias

Here’s where things get even more subtle.

When we think of confirmation bias, we often imagine it as a cognitive flaw — the tendency to seek out information that supports our beliefs and ignore what doesn’t. But that’s not just an intellectual mistake. It’s an emotional coping strategy.

We’re wired to protect ourselves from distress. And new information — especially if it challenges our sense of identity or safety — is distressing.

So instead of updating our beliefs, we filter reality in a way that preserves our comfort.

We read the news that agrees with us.

We avoid conversations that challenge us.

We distrust people whose tone or worldview feels unfamiliar.

Not because we’re bad thinkers.

Because we’re uncomfortable — and we haven’t learned how to tolerate that discomfort.

Black-and-White Thinking as a Nervous System Strategy

Polarized thinking — this person is good, that one is evil; this idea is right, that one is insane — is often blamed on ideology. But it’s also a byproduct of stress.

When the nervous system is under strain, we lose nuance. We simplify. We grab for certainty.

That’s not weakness — it’s efficiency. The brain is trying to conserve energy and reduce ambiguity. It’s easier to feel safe in a black-and-white world than to hold the weight of complexity.

Unfortunately, politics requires complexity. So when distress tolerance is low, we default to binaries:

Left vs. right. Us vs. them. Good vs. bad.

And then we get stuck.

Trauma Reduces Distress Tolerance

Here’s where it all ties together.

Distress intolerance is not just a personality trait. It often reflects a history of trauma, chronic stress, or unmet developmental needs.

People who weren’t allowed to express emotion may shut down during hard
conversations.
People who were punished for being wrong may struggle to admit mistakes.
People who’ve lived in unsafe systems may hear disagreement as a threat.
People who were raised in rigid environments may cling to certainty as a survival skill.

In other words, what looks like stubbornness or cruelty is sometimes a trauma adaptation.

Not an excuse — but an invitation to look deeper.

If we want better conversations — and a more functional society — we need to understand that capacity is unevenly distributed. Some people simply don’t yet have the emotional resources to engage well. That’s not a moral failure. It’s a wound.

Building Capacity, Building Society

Distress tolerance isn’t just for therapists and their clients. It’s for classrooms, town halls, families, and political movements.

It’s what allows us to:

Sit with grief, fear, and anger without collapsing into blame
Listen to people we don’t understand
Reflect on our own biases
Change our mind when new information emerges
Stay in conversation even when it hurts

The capacity to stay grounded in discomfort is what makes deeper democracy possible.

And the good news is — this capacity can be built. Not overnight, and not by accident — but through slow, consistent practice.

So What Builds Distress Tolerance?

Distress tolerance isn’t something we’re born with or without. It’s something we grow — over time, and often through relationship.

Some of the most effective practices aren’t dramatic or complicated. They’re subtle, consistent, and grounded in safety. Distress tolerance grows through:

Mindful attention to bodily sensation, especially when it’s uncomfortable but tolerable
Relational safety — having someone stay with you when you’re upset, without fixing or judging
Pacing and choice — learning to stretch your capacity without overwhelming your system
Name-it-to-tame-it practices, like journaling, storytelling, or emotion labeling
Intentional exposure to discomfort, including heat and cold practices like saunas, cold plunges, and ice bathing
Physical challenges, such as sports and endurance training, which require staying with discomfort, delayed gratification, and cooperative regulation
Structured sensation monitoring, such as Vipassana or body scan–based meditative practices
Fasting or other safe forms of intentional deprivation, which strengthen impulse control and interoceptive awareness
Self-soothing strategies that work in real time: breath, touch, movement, sound
Rest, regulation, and community care — because tolerance doesn’t grow in isolation or burnout

These practices work because they gently teach the nervous system that discomfort isn’t always danger — and that you can feel hard things without losing yourself.

You don’t build distress tolerance by forcing people to toughen up.

You build it by helping people feel safe enough to stay present when things are hard — and discover that they can survive it.

Final Thoughts

We tend to think political change happens through activism, debate, and reform. And that’s true. But underneath all of it is the body. And the body’s ability to stay present when things are hard.

If we want to create a better society, we need more than policies.

We need people who can feel discomfort — and stay human in the face of it.

People who can pause before reacting.

People who can tolerate difference without turning it into threat.

People who know how to feel — and keep going.

Distress tolerance won’t solve all our political problems.

But it gives us the nervous system capacity to face them — together.

Author

Dr. Mark Olson holds an M.A. in Education and a Ph.D. in Neuroscience from the University of Illinois, specializing in Cognitive and Behavioral Neuropsychology and Neuroanatomy. His research focused on memory, attention, eye movements, and aesthetic preferences. Dr. Olson is also a NARM® practitioner, aquatic therapist, and published author on chronic pain and trauma-informed care. He offers a variety of courses at Dr-Olson.com that provide neuroscientific insights into the human experience and relational skill training for professionals and curious laypersons.

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