what the bear teaches us about running a business when your brain works differently

chaos management, nervous system regulation, and building systems that actually accommodate our beautiful, overloaded brains

So I’ve been rewatching The Bear (yes, again, and yes I know it’s a lot) because it captures something I rarely see on screen:

What it actually feels like to work when your nervous system is stuck in “emergency mode”... and you still have to show up, lead, perform, create, whatever.

It’s intense. It’s messy. And it’s familiar.

Because honestly? Running a business with a neurodivergent or trauma-impacted brain feels a lot like being in that kitchen. Sensory overload, constant interruptions, things on fire (literally and metaphorically), and zero time to pause and figure out what your body is even feeling.

So let’s talk about what The Bear gets right—and what we can learn from it when we’re building businesses that aren’t just “optimized,” but accommodating.

Image Description: Carmy, a man with messy hair wearing a white T-shirt, stands outdoors in front of a weathered fence. His expression is tense and emotional, eyes slightly red as if holding back tears. Behind him, Sidney, wearing a headscarf and a blue button-down shirt over a white top, stands slightly out of focus with a serious, concerned expression. The dim natural lighting and shallow depth of field create an intimate, heavy atmosphere.

the kitchen as a neurodivergent brain simulator

Okay, picture this:

You’re Carmy. You’ve inherited a chaotic business (your dream, but like… barely hanging on). People are depending on you. The pressure is sky-high. And traditional business advice feels useless because it doesn’t account for how much your nervous system is already doing just to survive.

And here’s the thing no one says explicitly in the show—but those of us with trauma histories feel it instantly:

Carmy is living with C-PTSD.

You see it in his body. His shutdowns. The tension he carries. His inability to regulate or rest. The way his whole identity is wired to prevent disaster—even when the kitchen is technically calm.

That’s not drama. That’s a trauma-shaped nervous system.

And yeah—C-PTSD is a form of neurodivergence.
It reshapes how your brain processes threat. It makes systems feel urgent. It makes pauses feel dangerous. It makes “just delegate” sound like a trap.

If you’ve ever sat down to work and suddenly felt like your chest was closing in for no visible reason—you get it.

Running a business with that kind of nervous system isn’t just hard—it’s a whole different game.

lesson 1: different brains need different systems

One of the most beautiful tensions in Season 2 is watching Sydney (structured, strategic, organized) and Carmy (intuitive, chaotic, brilliant) try to work together.

Neither is “better.” But they need different systems to feel safe.

So here’s the trauma-informed truth: your system needs to help your nervous system feel regulated—not just efficient.

That could look like:

🧠 For ADHD brains:

• A visual dashboard so nothing’s invisible

• Dopamine rewards (checklists, little wins)

• Body movement scheduled before strategy

🌀 For autistic brains:

• Clear timelines and NO last-minute changes

• Literal instructions. Not vibes.

• A predictable environment (yes, even online)

🫀 For HSP or trauma-impacted brains:

• Emotional buffer zones in your day

• A system for tracking capacity—not just time

• Safe containers for feedback and change (surprise meetings? Nope.)

Most business advice skips this and just tells you to “create better SOPs.”
But real trauma-informed systems ask:
“How can I design my business so my body doesn’t think it’s under attack?”

lesson 2: “yes, chef” is a regulation tool

The kitchen chaos in The Bear is intense. But “Yes, Chef!”? That’s clarity. That’s structure. That’s co-regulation.

You don’t have to wonder if someone heard you. You’re not guessing what comes next. Your brain can relax.

We can build that kind of clarity into our businesses too:

• Swap vague asks for clear timelines

“Let me know if you need anything” → “I’ll check in at 3pm.”

• Replace open-ended meetings with specific goals

“Let’s touch base” → “Can we clarify the next steps in a 20-min call?”

• Build in confirmation loops (no more assuming silence = consent)

Also? Adopt a “Corner!” system in your workspace.
Literal or metaphorical. Let people (or Slack bots) know you’re mid-focus or at capacity. Because crashes aren’t always physical. Cognitive collisions are real too.

lesson 3: scope creep is a nervous system issue

You know those episodes where the kitchen starts spinning out because someone adds a special, a last-minute change, a “just one more thing”?

That’s how it feels when you're trying to run a business without boundaries.
And especially when you have trauma? Overcommitting is a survival pattern.

Saying yes too often isn’t about poor time management.
It’s about wanting to avoid conflict, disappointment, or rejection.

So here’s what I’ve learned (and am still learning):

🍽️ Your offer is your menu. Stick to it. Specials = stress.

🧠 “Small asks” aren’t always small. Shifting direction mid-focus can cost your brain hours of recovery.

🛑 You don’t owe emotional labor for every “no.” Your peace is reason enough.

📋 Have protocols before the chaos comes. The Bear shows us that calm leaders aren't born—they’re prepared.

lesson 4: your team (or clients) need your “user manual”

One of the most affirming arcs in the show is Richie’s transformation.

He goes from stuck and reactive… to grounded and thriving—once he finds a role that honors his actual strengths.

That’s what business can look like when you (and your team) stop masking and start building around what actually works.

Try this:

✅ Share your communication preferences.
(“I process best in writing,” “Give me space before urgent feedback.”)

✅ Normalize sensory or cognitive boundaries.
(“No calls on Mondays,” “Asynchronous check-ins only.”)

✅ Create role clarity—for yourself too.
Are you the visionary, the builder, the feeler, the anchor?

Everyone’s capacity changes day to day. A trauma-informed system accounts for that. A “high performance” one punishes it.

lesson 5: systems are self-care for trauma-brains

This part is personal.

I used to think systems were about “being organized.”
Now I know they’re about keeping me regulated enough to show up again tomorrow.

When you live with trauma (diagnosed or not), your brain is constantly scanning for risk. Even writing an email can feel like threat exposure.

So yeah, I use:

• 🧾 Canned responses (because my freeze doesn’t write good copy)

• 🧘‍♀️ Calendar white space (because I need time to recover, not just rest)

• 🔁 Checklists (because “remembering” is not my job anymore)

• 🫶 Systems that assume bad days will happen—and make space for them

This isn’t about becoming a robot.
It’s about building something that holds you when you can’t hold yourself.

what this means for your business

The Bear doesn’t tell us to hustle harder. It tells us what’s possible when:

• Systems support people—not crush them

• Communication is clear—not assumed

• Brains are accepted as they are—not forced into sameness

So if you’re a neurodivergent, trauma-impacted, brain-different human trying to run a business?

✨ You don’t need to become more productive.
✨ You need a business that helps you feel safe.
✨ And that’s not a luxury—it’s infrastructure.

an invitation to rebuild differently

The most beautiful scenes in The Bear are the quiet ones.
When the kitchen flows.
When people have each other’s backs.
When no one is melting down because the system actually holds them.

That’s what I want for all of us.

Not perfection.
Not constant chaos.
Just a business that lets us breathe.

You don’t have to fix your brain.
You get to build something that fits it.

Let’s do that. Together.