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Hello Reader!

I hope you're well. Things are back on track for me this week, as I delve deeper into my work and I start to be in touch with more joy. I wish the same for you! ❤️

Musings

I have been thinking about rising this week. Not the triumphant, movie version of rising, in which we emerge from difficulty stronger, wiser, and entirely transformed. Real life is rarely that tidy, and recovery is almost never such a linear process. I mean the quieter process of finding a way to move again when the familiar pathway no longer seems to work.

When things become difficult, most of us instinctively add effort. We brace. We resist. We force against the obstacle, often using old strategies that stopped working. This happens in the body, literally. When movement hurts, the body adapts. It may protect the painful area, recruit other muscles, or avoid certain movements altogether. This is often useful. Pain is information, and protection is part of healing.

But sometimes we continue organizing ourselves around the injury long after it's gone. We anticipate the pain before the movement has even begun. We grip more tightly. We stop exploring. Our world becomes smaller. This is true emotionally as well.

So to learn how to do this, I have been returning to one of the most basic movements we learn: getting up from the ground. When we slow that movement down, we notice that rising is not simply a matter of pushing upwards. We may need to roll to one side. Shift our weight through a hand, a forearm, a foot, or a knee. Rotate. Pause. Move backwards before another direction becomes available.

What looks like a single movement is actually a sequence of small transitions. There is rarely only one possible route. What this teaches us is that resilience is not the ability to withstand difficulty or push through adversity. It is the capacity to remain flexible enough to notice possibilities, especially when the route we had imagined is no longer available to us.

Sometimes the next movement requires less force and more attention. Slowness matters because it gives us access to information that effort can mask. When we rush toward the outcome, we may miss the small adjustments that would make the process easier. When we slow down, another possibility can emerge.

Try it with me this week, let me show you how (ps: i'm actually in the video this time!)

🎁 NeuroSomatic Practice of the Week

🧠 NeuroMinute...

Pain and anxiety can both pull us into protective patterns. Those patterns are not imaginary, and they are not signs of failure. They are attempts to keep us safe. But the nervous system can learn new possibilities.

​In this article, I explain how slow movement, sensory awareness, and safety cues can help us begin working with the body rather than against it. Research by pioneers like Michael Merzenich and others has shown that attention is the “magic ingredient” of neuroplastic change. In practical terms, it means that even the smallest, gentlest movements — if done with awareness — can create powerful shifts in how the brain functions. In sessions, I guide clients to:

• Move more slowly than usual.
• Pay attention to small sensations, reduce pain.
• Identify and manage their emotional patterns as they translate into their body
• Rest frequently, giving the brain space to integrate new patterns.

Come join me!

Warmly,

Joana

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