The Day the Colics Vanished: How the Beach Revealed the Power of Nervous System Co-Regulation

By Veronique Scheer.

When my daughter Riley was born, it wasn’t the calm, gentle beginning I had envisioned. Her arrival via emergency caesarean was abrupt, intense, and left both of us shaken. In the weeks that followed, she cried endlessly. She couldn’t sleep. Her body seemed to hold a constant, invisible tension. Everyone called it colic — but in my heart, I sensed something deeper.

Nothing seemed to help. Until one day, in a haze of exhaustion, my mother suggested we drive to the beach in the Netherlands. I didn’t expect much — I just needed a change of scenery. But what happened that day changed everything.

As soon as we arrived at the shore, something shifted. Riley stopped crying. Her little fists unclenched. Her breath softened. And for the first time in weeks, she slept — deeply and peacefully, wrapped in the ocean air.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand what had happened. But that moment marked the beginning of a long journey — a journey into motherhood, nervous system healing, co-regulation, and the deep unraveling of everything I thought I knew about soothing, parenting, and being.

A Baby’s Cry for Nervous System Safety

Today, with everything I’ve studied and lived, I can say this: colic isn’t just about digestion. For many babies — especially those born through surgical or traumatic births — colic is a sign of nervous system dysregulation.

Riley didn’t experience the natural hormonal, microbial, and physical transitions of a vaginal birth. She came into the world fast and disconnected from the biological rhythm she was designed for. That matters. Her body didn’t know how to downshift. And so, she cried.

Why the Beach Was the Medicine

What soothed her that day wasn’t magic. It was biology. Sensory memory. Nervous system alignment.

• The sound of the waves mirrored the rhythmic, low-frequency sounds of the womb — my heartbeat, breath, and internal rhythms. It was familiar and safe.

• The ocean’s white noise provided an auditory cocoon that calmed her startle reflexes and blocked out overstimulating sounds.

• The negative ions in sea air supported parasympathetic activation — the “rest and digest” mode she had struggled to find.

• The open space, light, and fresh air reset her circadian rhythm and created a sense of openness and possibility.

• And maybe most importantly: I softened. My breath deepened. My body relaxed. And babies, more than anything, co-regulate through us — our tone, our pace, our presence.

She borrowed my calm. And I began to borrow hers.

The Awakening

That day was the first time I truly realized: I am my child’s nervous system in the beginning. She doesn’t just cry into the void. She cries into my regulation. Or my dysregulation.

And from that moment on, I knew this was going to be more than a chapter in motherhood. It was going to be a practice — a life’s work.

That beach day didn’t just soothe Riley. It opened my eyes. It was the doorway to everything I now teach — about trauma, regulation, feminine embodiment, and the power of presence.

If You’re in the Early Days

If you’re navigating those raw, sleepless, uncertain early days of motherhood — this is what I want you to know:

Your calm is medicine.

Your breath is a bridge.

And nature remembers what we forget.

Let yourself be held by the ocean, the sky, the softness of what is ancient and true. Sometimes, healing isn’t in doing more. It’s in returning to the body, to rhythm, to connection.

That day on the beach was our beginning.

Not just of soothing colic.

But of learning to regulate — together.