There was a point in my life when everything shifted. I had been working constantly—traveling, moving, always in motion. And then suddenly, I wasn’t. I was home. A young stay-at-home mother. And something in me knew: I needed something else.

I had always been a runner. Movement wasn’t new to me. But one day, I went to a small yoga class with a teacher who lived just up the hill in rural Wisconsin. There wasn’t anything extraordinary at the time. But something in me softened. Something slowed down—just enough for me to notice.

When I heard about a yoga training, I signed up. Not because I wanted to teach. I didn’t. I went because I wanted to understand. But by the end of the training, I found myself teaching anyway.

Teaching Felt Right… Until It Didn’t

At first, it felt good. I was teaching in gyms, moving people through sequences, watching them feel better in their bodies. There was a rhythm to it. A sense of purpose.

And then I started working with at-risk teens in trauma-informed wilderness programs. And something shifted.

It hit differently. It wasn’t just a class anymore. It felt personal in a way I hadn’t expected. There were moments in those rooms where I could feel echoes of my own adolescence—years where things felt emotionally complex, at times overwhelming.

I found myself reflecting: How can I actually help?

When Good Intentions Weren’t Enough

But something wasn’t landing. I remember standing in those rooms, guiding practices I had been trained to offer—watching, waiting for something to shift. And instead, there was a kind of distance I couldn’t quite name. Not resistance. Not disinterest. Just… not connection.

I thought I was offering something they needed. I believed I had found a way to help them feel better—more settled, more connected.

But what I thought was the answer—what I thought would help them “get better”—wasn’t as accurate as I believed.

What if it’s not about doing this better? What if this way of teaching isn’t designed for what these teens are actually experiencing?

A Path That Resonated

The way I had been taught to teach yoga wasn’t built for people living with overwhelming experiences. It wasn’t built for people who didn’t feel safe—not just in the world around them, but within themselves. And once I felt that, I couldn’t unfeel it.

I started searching. Modern yoga offers a wide range of trainings, approaches, and philosophies. So many paths to explore, it can be hard to know which one will truly make a difference. I wasn’t looking for something inspiring—I was looking for something that actually worked.

That’s when I found Trauma Center Trauma-Sensitive Yoga (TCTSY). It stood out immediately—not because of branding or language—but because it was research-based. It was being studied, practiced in clinical settings. It had depth and intention behind it. That mattered to me.

I was already deep into a 300-hour yoga therapeutics training when I attended the TCTSY Foundations training at Kripalu Center for Yoga & Health. It was a week long. And it brought up far more than I expected—not just in how I taught, but in how I saw myself, my students, and the space I held for them.

It wasn’t always comfortable. But it was clarifying.

The Shift That Changed My Approach

Not just in how I taught—but in how I saw. I found myself reflecting on things I hadn’t questioned before:

Why do I guide the way I guide? What am I asking of people when I use certain language? Where is choice—and where is subtle pressure?

It wasn’t always comfortable. But it was clarifying.

When I returned to working with adolescents, I didn’t walk in the same way. I was quieter in my approach. More aware of how I was speaking. More attuned to what was happening in the room. I wasn’t trying to get them anywhere. I was paying attention.

And this time—something shifted. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But I could feel moments of connection that hadn’t been there before. Moments where the room felt… different. Less forced. More possible.

What changed wasn’t just my teaching. It was my entire perspective. I started noticing dynamics I had never seen before—in others, and in myself. Subtle things. Relational things. Moments where choice either existed—or didn’t. My understanding of safety, agency, and connection deepened in ways that extended far beyond a yoga class.

From Learning to Living the Work

Not long after, I was accepted into the 300-hour TCTSY Certification program. That experience took everything further. It deepened my understanding in ways that were hard to put into words at the time. But I could feel it in how I moved through the world. In how I listened. In how I responded. In how I understood what it means to support someone who has experienced trauma.

Some of the shifts I experienced through the training included:

Recognizing that offering choice can transform how someone engages.

Learning to slow down, even when I wanted to rush, to create space for connection.

Noticing my own body, voice, and presence as part of how healing unfolds.

Understanding that trauma isn’t something to fix—it’s something to approach with care and presence.

Discovering that being fully with someone often mattered more than what I thought I needed to “teach.”

The training itself is much deeper and more expansive than these few reflections—but these were some of the pieces that reshaped how I show up, teach, and move through the world.

This work changed me. As a practitioner. As a teacher. As a person. And it continues to shape how I understand what it really means to support someone who is struggling—not by offering answers, but by learning how to be with people in a way that makes space for something to emerge.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

Power doesn’t disappear when we deny it.

It just becomes harder to name.

In relationships, in teaching, in therapy, and in healing spaces, power is always moving. Roles, history, identity, and context shape how influence flows—even when no one intends harm. Pretending power isn’t present doesn’t make it go away. It just makes it harder to see, harder to question, and harder to hold with care.

Power dynamics are always present in relationships.

Not because someone intends harm.

But because roles, history, identity, and context shape how power moves between us.

Other times it moves more quietly: who feels comfortable speaking, who adapts to maintain connection, or who carries the emotional labor in the relationship.

Sometimes power is visible: a title, a role, an expert.

Most of the time, these dynamics aren’t intentional. They simply exist. But when power remains invisible, it can organize the relationship. One person may hold influence without realizing it. Another may adapt or stay silent to maintain connection. And when no one has language for what’s happening, it becomes harder to shift.

Healing work isn’t about pretending power isn’t there.

It’s about noticing it.

Noticing how roles shape the space.

Noticing how influence moves between people.

Noticing who has voice, choice, and room to shape what’s happening.

Power itself can create harm when it’s misused or left unexamined. Many people carry real experiences of authority being used in ways that silenced them or limited their choices. Those histories matter.

Which is why awareness of power is so important in relational and healing spaces.

The goal isn’t to eliminate power. That’s rarely possible.

The goal is to hold it with care.

Sometimes that means being transparent about roles and influence rather than pretending they aren’t there. Sometimes it means creating space for more voices in the room. Sometimes it means intentionally sharing power whenever possible—through choice, collaboration, and openness to feedback.

When power can be acknowledged rather than hidden, something shifts.

The relationship becomes less organized by unspoken hierarchy and more guided by awareness.

Not power over.

But power held in relationship.

In trauma-sensitive and healing spaces, this awareness becomes especially important.

Teachers, therapists, and facilitators hold roles that naturally carry influence. The invitation isn’t to deny that influence, but to hold it with humility and care.

Sometimes that looks like offering choice.

Sometimes it means welcoming feedback or making space for participants to move at their own pace.

Sometimes it’s as simple as acknowledging that the space itself is shaped by everyone who enters it.

When power can be named and approached with curiosity, it opens the possibility for something different:

Not a space without power.

But a space where power moves with more awareness, more care, and more shared responsibility.

Wishing you wellness

Keri Sawyer

Understanding why reconnecting with the body can feel overwhelming—and how awareness can rebuild.

Over the years, many clients have told me some version of the same thing:

“I don’t really feel my body.”

“I only notice it when something hurts.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be feeling.”

For individuals who have experienced developmental or complex trauma, this experience is more common than many people realize. Feeling the body isn’t always automatic.

In fact, for many people the body can feel distant, confusing, or even overwhelming. Some describe feeling numb or disconnected. Others say their attention quickly shifts away whenever they try to notice what’s happening internally.

This isn’t resistance. It isn’t a lack of effort. And it isn’t something that needs to be forced.

Very often, it’s an adaptation.

When the Body Wasn’t a Safe Place

Developmental trauma occurs when overwhelming experiences happen during childhood, particularly in relationships where safety, support, and co-regulation should have been present.

In those environments, the body may have learned something important: being fully present wasn’t always safe.

For some people, disconnecting from body sensations helped them get through difficult or unpredictable situations. Over time, that disconnection can become an organizing pattern that continues long after the original experiences have passed.

Many people develop ways of living that rely more on thinking, analyzing, or focusing outward rather than sensing what’s happening internally.

Again, this isn’t a flaw. It’s a survival strategy that once served an important purpose.

What Disconnection Can Feel Like

Body disconnection doesn’t always look the same. People may experience:

Difficulty identifying sensations inside the body

Feeling numb or blank when asked to notice the body

Only noticing sensations when they are intense or painful

Feeling overwhelmed when attention turns inward

A sense that the body feels distant or unfamiliar

For some, the body simply doesn’t feel like a reliable place to orient.

For many people with developmental trauma, this experience is also connected to something deeper: not having a reliable or predictable sense of self.

When early relationships were inconsistent or unsafe, identity can develop around adapting to others — reading the room, anticipating reactions, or organizing around what others might need.

In those circumstances, attention to the body may not have had much room to develop.

Building Connection

In Trauma Center Trauma-Sensitive Yoga (TCTSY), participants are often invited to notice simple physical experiences — perhaps the feeling of their feet on the floor or a sensation in the muscles of their arms in movement.

For some people, even these small invitations can feel unfamiliar at first.

Because of this, the intention isn’t to push people to feel more or go deeper quickly. Instead, the focus is on creating opportunities for people to notice sensations at their own pace, without pressure or expectation.

Over time, as people begin to notice sensations gradually, something important can begin to shift. Attention can start to move inward again — not all at once, but slowly.

And when that happens, the body can begin to play a role in something many trauma survivors have not experienced consistently before: a more reliable sense of self.

Connection Takes Time

Feeling the body after trauma isn’t something that happens through willpower or instruction.

It happens through careful pacing and through experiences that allow people to notice sensations without pressure or urgency.

For many people, that process takes time.

But when it unfolds slowly and within a safer space, the body can shift from something distant or overwhelming into something else entirely: a source of information, value, and presence.

Sometimes the first step isn’t transformation.

Sometimes it’s simply discovering that the body is there — and that it can be noticed.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

Think of a yoga teacher and you might picture someone super bendy, glowing with spiritual energy, or maybe a hardcore yogi rocking Instagram-perfect poses. You know the memes — athletic, serene, effortlessly balanced, smoothie in hand.

But here’s the real deal: yoga teachers look like… everyone.

Have you ever wondered if you “look like a yoga teacher”? If you have, you’re not alone — this question runs through the minds of almost every teacher.

Breaking the Stereotypes

A lot of people imagine that yoga teachers must fit a certain mold:

Athletic, flexible, always in the perfect pose. Calm, meditative, deeply spiritual at all times. Hardcore yogis who never miss a class and know every Sanskrit term. Social media-ready: minimalist aesthetic, curated wardrobe, flawless glow.

If you’re laughing, you’re not alone — the memes exist because these stereotypes are so common.

The Reality: All Bodies, All Personalities

Yoga teachers come in all shapes, sizes, ages, and personalities. Some are athletic, some are soft and gentle. Some are deeply spiritual, others practical and down-to-earth. Some are extroverted, others quiet and reflective.

Classes I’ve taught have included students with different mobility levels, cultural backgrounds, and learning styles — and each experience has reinforced that yoga is for all bodies and personalities, not just a stereotype.

What matters most? Being present, guiding students, and showing up authentically. Not Instagram aesthetics, not a perfect body, not a predetermined “type.”

Inclusivity is at the heart of teaching: yoga isn’t just for one kind of body or personality — it’s for everyone. The more diverse the teachers, the more students can see themselves reflected and feel welcomed.

As I’ve aged, my body has changed. How I look to the outside world has changed — not in a bad way, just in a different way. And that’s okay. Teaching yoga isn’t about looking a certain way; it’s about showing up authentically, holding space, and guiding students. Your body, age, or appearance doesn’t define your ability to teach — your presence does.

Finding Your Authentic Rhythm

Many aspiring yoga teachers worry they don’t “fit the mold” — that they aren’t bendy enough, spiritual enough, or social-media-ready. Modern yoga programs in the U.S. sometimes promote a certain image of what a teacher should look like or how they should present themselves online.

The truth is: you can teach yoga, find your voice, and show up authentically — whatever that looks like for you. Teaching isn’t about following a program’s idea of what a yogi should be. It’s about discovering your rhythm, your presence, and your authentic self.

Whether that means sharing your teaching online, guiding a small class quietly, or blending yoga with your own style, what matters is alignment with your soul, not someone else’s standard. Yoga teaching is about expressing your true self, not becoming a stereotype. The students who need your guidance will resonate with your authenticity, not your Instagram aesthetic or flexibility level.

Imposter Syndrome: It’s Everywhere

Even experienced yoga teachers go through this. I remember standing in a yoga room at Kripalu, about to lead a trauma-sensitive yoga class. I looked out at the mass of yoga mats before anyone arrived and thought, “Who am I? What am I doing here?”

That feeling is completely normal — nearly every teacher experiences it at some point. The key is showing up anyway. Your presence, authenticity, and guidance matter far more than any self-doubt or stereotype. Yoga teaching isn’t about perfection — it’s about connection, alignment with your soul, and creating space for students.

We Can’t Be Everything for Everyone

As yoga teachers, we will resonate with some students and not with others — and that’s okay. You don’t need to fit a stereotype to be a great teacher. The best teachers show up as themselves, fully present, creating a safe and inclusive space for anyone to move, breathe, and explore their practice.

Cultural Mindfulness

Yoga comes from a rich cultural and spiritual tradition. While many modern programs in the U.S. focus on fitness or aesthetics, teaching it today is about honoring the practice while bringing your authentic self to every class. Your style, personality, and rhythm matter far more than any external expectation.

Conclusion: Real, Present, Inclusive

Yoga teachers aren’t a stereotype. They are real people — all bodies, all personalities, all walks of life. Teaching is about finding your own rhythm, your presence, and your voice. It’s not about living up to a program’s idea of what a yogi should be — it’s about being true to yourself.

You really can do this. Your voice matters, you are worthy, and what you bring to the world is meaningful. When teachers show up authentically, they create spaces where yoga truly belongs to everyone.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

Many of our clients with developmental and complex trauma don’t just feel disconnected from their bodies — they don’t have a stable, predictable sense of self.

This often happens when early relationships are unpredictable, neglectful, or overwhelming — leaving the body and sense of self organized around survival instead of stability.

Why Disconnection Happens

It’s not that they avoid sensation or lack insight.

It’s that early experience demanded constant adaptation.

The body became a site of danger, overwhelm, or unmet need, and the self organized around survival rather than internal continuity.

Fear.

Longing.

Shame.

The ache of unmet need.

Without consistent attunement or repair, sensation never cohered into identity.

Over time, disconnection from the body and fragmentation of the self became protective… and eventually, familiar.

The child whose crying doesn’t bring comfort…

The child whose excitement overwhelms a caregiver…

The child whose anger is shamed or rejected…

Over time, the system learns:

Don’t feel that.

Don’t need that.

Don’t show that.

Disconnection becomes intelligent. But it doesn’t remain a strategy.

It becomes identity.

I’m not emotional” — the self I learned to survive.

“I’m independent” — the identity I developed to stay safe.

“I don’t need much” — the story I told myself about who I am.

“I’m fine” — the default identity I carried inside.

The Unreliable Sense of Self

Many of these clients don’t just feel disconnected from their bodies — they don’t have a reliable, internally anchored sense of who they are.

Internal experience never organizes consistently because early relational environments required constant adaptation to survive.

Identity becomes fluid, externally organized, and highly attuned to others — but not grounded internally.

And here is the paradox:

Many of these clients are exquisitely attuned — just not inwardly.

They track tone shifts instantly.

They anticipate what others need before it’s spoken.

They scan for cues of safety or rupture.

Their sensing capacity is intact.

It was simply organized around survival in relationship rather than forming an internal reference point.

Developmentally-Informed Somatic Therapy

So when we say somatic therapy begins with reconnection, we have to be careful.

For some clients, this isn’t re-connection.

It’s first connection.

The work is not about calming the body.

It is not about symptom management.

It is not primarily about self-regulation.

Developmental trauma interrupted the formation of a self that could safely exist from the inside.

Developmentally-informed somatic therapy (such as Trauma Center Trauma-Sensitive Yoga, TCTSY) becomes a form of developmental repair.

It offers an experience that was missing:

That sensation can arise and not lead to rejection. That need can surface and not lead to withdrawal. That emotion can move and not destabilize the relationship.

Beginning the Work

We begin simply:

Contact with the chair. The subtle movement of breath. One neutral sensation for a few seconds.

Not to reduce activation.

But to allow experience to organize internally — instead of constantly shaping themselves around someone else’s expectations or reactions.

When someone can remain present to their own sensation while still in relationship, the internal experience begins to align, so the body, emotions, and sense of self start to feel more connected.

A self begins to take shape that is not built around bracing, scanning, or disappearing.

This is not stabilization work.

It is the slow restoration of embodiment as a foundation for identity.

And that is far deeper than regulation.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

“Trauma-sensitive work requires more than good intentions.”

Being well-meaning is not enough when we step into spaces where trauma lives — in bodies, memories, and relational patterns. The why behind our work, the skill we bring, and our awareness of what we don’t know all shape the experiences of the people we serve.

“Our clients deserve seriousness, respect, and understanding from us — intentions alone aren’t enough.”

Intentions Matter, But They Aren’t Enough

Intentions guide us, but they cannot create safety, choice, or connection on their own. Movement, breath, language, and pacing communicate far more immediately than words. Even subtle cues — a rushed session, an assumption about capacity, or a well-intentioned instruction — can unintentionally reinforce discomfort or disconnection.

Being trauma-sensitive requires moving beyond “I mean well” to how we show up in the moment, consistently and skillfully. It’s about presence, curiosity, and relational responsiveness — skills grounded in both reflection and clinical knowledge.

Trauma-Sensitive Practice is Integrated, Not a Manual

Trauma-sensitive work is often misunderstood as a set of rules or a checklist. In reality, it lives in the practitioner. It is integrated into your presence, your choices, and your capacity to notice, reflect, and respond.

This integration relies on:

Structured training providing grounding and evidence-based principles

Reflection on our values, biases, beliefs, and personal history

Self-study and engagement with research and ongoing practices

Consultation and supervision to examine blind spots

Applied practice in real-world professional contexts

“Who we are — our beliefs, experiences, and personal history — shapes how we hold space. Awareness of this lens is essential.”

Our own experiences are not universal. What feels supportive or safe to us may feel very different for someone else. Trauma-sensitive work asks us to set aside assumptions, notice patterns, and respond relationally.

Trauma-Sensitive Practice is a Journey, Not a Checklist

Sometimes practitioners stop at the training or a list of principles. They learn, apply a few strategies, and assume that’s enough. But trauma-sensitive practice is an ongoing journey.

Training gives the foundation, but principles become meaningful only when they are embodied, reflected upon, and consistently applied. This ongoing journey strengthens awareness of how our own lens shapes the experience of those we serve.

Why Training Matters

Even the most thoughtful practitioner can unintentionally reinforce discomfort or dysregulation without a strong foundation. Trauma-sensitive training equips us with:

Embodied frameworks to recognize and work with bodily responses Choice-centered approaches to movement, breath, and engagement Relational strategies for both individual and group settings Evidence-informed practices supporting agency and embodied awareness

Research on somatic, trauma-sensitive practices — including the Trauma Center Trauma-Sensitive Yoga (TCTSY) model — shows that outcomes depend heavily on practitioner integration, relational presence, and reflective awareness.

Reflection, Integration, and Growth

Skilled trauma-sensitive practitioners integrate: training, reflection, supervision, self-study, and applied practice into a coherent, embodied approach. This is not about following rules; it is about living the principles.

Awareness of our values, biases, beliefs, and lived experience is crucial. These shape how we respond, guide, and hold space. Reflection strengthens clarity, relational presence, and the ability to support choice and agency in others.

“Good intentions are the beginning — real impact comes from integration, reflection, and ongoing learning.”

Why This Work Matters

Trauma-sensitive practice is relational. The people we support co-create the experience with us. Our responsibility is to show up with presence, care, and humility — honoring both their agency and the limits of our understanding.

Our clients deserve this kind of seriousness, respect, and understanding from us. Good intentions are only the beginning. Real impact comes from integration, reflection, self-awareness, and ongoing learning.

Learn and Grow with a Global Professional Network

Trauma-Sensitive Yoga (TCTSY) Training provides:

A solid foundation in evidence-based, somatic principles

Opportunities for reflection, supervision, and consultation

Connection to a worldwide professional network of trauma-sensitive practitioners

Support for ongoing integration of principles into clinical, educational, or movement-based practice

Training is the starting point; integration, reflection, and relational presence are the ongoing work. Together, they form a pathway for professionals committed to offering care that truly meets the needs of the people they serve.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

Ambiguity can feel activating — especially for people whose experiences include complex or developmental trauma. Many movement or therapy spaces operate with unspoken dynamics: the teacher leads, the participant follows, discomfort is pushed through, and silence is assumed to mean consent. For individuals with trauma histories, these invisible norms can create stress, replicating environments where choice was limited and safety felt uncertain.

In trauma-sensitive movement and clinical somatic work, we intentionally bring these dynamics into the room, naming expectations, making power visible, and supporting choice. Safety is not assumed — it is actively built, moment by moment. Naming what’s unspoken doesn’t just reduce stress in a single session — it helps create a culture of safety and respect in every space.

Bringing Norms Into the Room

In TCTSY ( Trauma Center Trauma Sensitive Yoga) bringing norms into the room is about making expectations and choices explicit. Here are some examples:

Facilitators announce their own movements if they leave the mat.

There are no hands-on assists.

Language is invitational rather than directive.

Participants are reminded they are in charge of their bodies and can shift, pause, or stop at any time.

Participants can move, shift, or change in a form at any time, practicing choice in real-time.

Feedback is welcomed and valued.

By making norms explicit, we reduce ambiguity and redistribute power. Participants can anticipate boundaries, engage fully, and practice with choice rather than obligation. Making norms visible also signals respect and builds trust — participants know their choices will be honored. This is the essence of a trauma-sensitive container: clarity, predictability, and relational safety.

Agency: Choosing What Comes Next

Agency is the ability to notice what’s happening in the body and decide what comes next. It’s not about fixing or forcing a feeling to change. It’s about experiencing influence over one’s own body and internal experience.

Small moments of choice — shifting, pausing, or stopping — repeated over time, help restore a steadier sense of balance and confidence in one’s own autonomy. When participants notice how it feels to have choice and control, even small, it reinforces that their body is theirs. When participants experience this consistently, they learn that their choices matter and that they are in charge of their own experience.

Why Naming Matters

Many people enter movement or therapy spaces expecting ambiguity and unpredictability. By naming expectations, making norms visible, and inviting choice, facilitators create a space where participants can experience autonomy and safety. These practices are the foundation for supporting agency and trust within a movement or somatic practice.

Practical Takeaways for Facilitators

Announce movement: Make your intentions visible.

Invite feedback: Show participants their voice matters.

Use invitational language: Avoid commands or assumptions.

Honor autonomy: Remind participants they can shift, pause, or stop.

Structure predictably: Clear sequences reduce ambiguity and support a sense of safety.

By bringing the unspoken into the room, we turn invisible stress into visible choice — supporting participants in experiencing both safety and agency in movement and somatic work.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

The terms “trauma-informed” and “trauma-sensitive” are increasingly used in yoga spaces — and that’s a good thing. It signals a shift toward greater awareness, care, and relational safety.

For clarity:

Trauma-Informed Yoga / Trauma-Aware): Practices adapted to reduce the risk of re-traumatization, focusing on choice, consent, bodily awareness, and creating safer yoga spaces. These practices spread widely across yoga communities, increasing accessibility and safety.

TCTSY (Trauma Center Trauma Sensitive Yoga, Trauma-Specific): The original trauma-sensitive yoga, developed as a structured, evidence-based clinical model to support recovery from complex trauma and PTSD. Today, TCTSY is offered and further developed through the Center for Trauma and Embodiment, emphasizing interoception, personal agency, relational safety, and consistent delivery across trained facilitators.

Understanding the difference matters — especially for clinicians, yoga teachers, and those working with complex trauma.

What Is Trauma-Informed Yoga?

Trauma-informed yoga generally refers to yoga classes adapted to reduce the risk of re-traumatization.

This often includes:

Consent based hands-on assists

Invitational language

Emphasis on choice

Awareness of nervous system activation

These adaptations create safer environments and can be deeply supportive. Trauma-informed yoga as adapted from TCTSY can help transform yoga spaces increasing accessibility, safety, and awareness across the yoga community.

However, trauma-informed yoga is not necessarily a clinical treatment model. Training standards vary, and approaches differ widely depending on the teacher or organization. Some programs may include breathwork, thematic content, or sequencing goals, while others may focus primarily on accessibility or choice.

What Is TCTSY?

Trauma Center Trauma-Sensitive Yoga (TCTSY) was developed as the original trauma-sensitive clinical model for complex trauma and chronic PTSD. Today, the model is housed and offered through the Center for Trauma and Embodiment, continuing research and program development. It is:

Structured, evidence-based, and consistently delivered

Grounded in attachment theory, neuroscience and trauma research

Designed specifically for individuals with complex trauma histories

TCTSY is not simply “gentle yoga.” It is a trauma-specific, clinically structured model, with trained facilitators following evidence-based practices to create safer, supportive spaces.

Core Differences

1. Clinical Intention

Trauma-informed yoga increases safety within yoga practice. TCTSY was designed as part of trauma treatment.

2. Focus on Interoception and Agency

In TCTSY, the primary goal is not relaxation, catharsis, or regulation. It is the rebuilding of interoceptive awareness and personal agency — the capacity to notice sensation and make choices in the present moment.

3. Relational Framework

TCTSY emphasizes shared experience without interpretation, correction, or imposed breathing techniques. The facilitator does not adjust, diagnose, or fix. The relational field itself is part of the intervention.

4. Consistency

TCTSY follows a structured facilitator training pathway and delivery model. Trauma-informed yoga varies widely in depth and structure.

5. Research Foundation

TCTSY emerged from decades of trauma research exploring developmental trauma, attachment disruption, dissociation, interoception deficits, and group-based interventions. Trauma-informed yoga continues to help change yoga culture through increasing awareness and safety, but is not a research-based clinical intervention.

Why This Distinction Matters

Language shapes expectation. If a participant is referred for adjunctive trauma treatment, the structure, scope, and training of the facilitator matters.

At the same time, trauma-informed yoga has expanded awareness in meaningful ways, helping yoga culture evolve toward greater sensitivity, safety, and consent.

This is not about hierarchy — it is about clarity of intention. Different models serve different purposes.

Final Reflection

As trauma education grows, so does responsibility.

Whether you are a clinician, a yoga teacher, or a student seeking support, it’s worth asking:

What is the intention of this space? Is it trauma-aware? Or is it trauma-specific clinical intervention?

Both can be powerful. They are simply not the same, and understanding the distinction ensures trauma-sensitive practices are delivered effectively and safely.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

In wellness and mental health spaces, the word empowerment is everywhere.

We talk about empowering others.

We describe our work as empowering.

And yet, empowerment isn’t something we can give.

It isn’t delivered.

It isn’t bestowed.

It isn’t created inside someone else.

Empowerment is something a person steps into for themselves.

As trauma-sensitive practitioners, our role is different. We don’t empower others. We create conditions where someone might begin to empower themselves.

The Reality of Trauma and Safer Spaces

When we understand developmental and relational trauma, we understand something important:

The idea of a completely “safe” space is complicated.

If harm happened in relationship, then relationship itself can carry activation. Even caring environments can feel charged to a nervous system shaped by unpredictability.

And beyond personal history, many of the systems we work within — healthcare, education, mental health, even wellness — were not built with trauma sensitivity at their foundation. Power imbalances and systemic inequities influence how safe a space can truly feel.

So instead of promising safety, perhaps we aim for safer spaces.

Spaces with predictability.

Spaces where choice is honored.

Spaces where participation is not coerced.

Spaces where power is acknowledged.

Safer spaces are not perfect spaces.

They don’t guarantee comfort.

They reflect an ongoing commitment to reducing harm, sharing power, and repairing when rupture happens.

Healing doesn’t begin because we empower someone.

It begins when a person experiences enough relational steadiness to make a choice.

Power Dynamics Are Real

Anytime there is a therapist, teacher, facilitator, or guide in the room, there is a power dynamic present. That shift exists whether we name it or not. Pretending otherwise doesn’t help.

We may not want a power dynamic to exist — and we can work to reduce hierarchy, share power, and invite agency — but it is always present in some way.

Because of that dynamic, the idea that we empower others deserves careful reflection.

We can share power.

We can use invitational language.

We can offer choice.

We can reduce coercion.

We can acknowledge that each person has full control and say over their own body and their experience.

All of that matters.

But that is not the same as empowering someone.

Those actions create a safer relational space. They shift conditions. They make agency more accessible.

Empowerment itself is the moment a person experiences their own capacity to choose.

That experience does not come from us.

It arises within them.

We can’t empower others — we create conditions where empowerment can arise from within.

It is to create the kind of space where someone can encounter their own.

What Helps Create Safer Spaces?

This work isn’t formulaic. It’s embodied.

But there are principles we can return to:

Predictability

In the physical space.

In how we begin, transition, and close.

In how the practitioner shows up internally.

Consistency

Not perfection.

Not rigidity.

But reliable presence over time.

Choice — without overwhelm

Clear, simple options.

The option to do something differently.

The option to do nothing at all.

Participation as invitation, never demand.

Non-directive, invitational language

“You might notice…”

“You’re welcome to explore…”

“You could adjust in any way that might feel useful to you.”

Choice isn’t a technique.

It’s a nervous system experience.

When someone experiences their choice being respected, something shifts.

Not because we empowered them.

Because they experienced themselves having power.

Being With Instead of Holding Space

The phrase holding space can subtly position us as steady and someone else as struggling. What does it mean to be with someone instead?

To sit alongside. To remain present without fixing. To share the experience rather than manage it.

Healing happens in relationship — not through authority, and not through performance.

Being with someone says:

I am here. Not above you. With you.

Making Room for Empowerment

Empowerment isn’t something we give.

It happens when someone notices their own internal cues, reconnects with sensation and self-trust, and practices agency repeatedly in small, embodied ways.

We can offer predictability.

We can offer presence.

We can offer choice.

We can share power.

But the moment someone realizes:

I can decide. I can choose. I have say here.

That belongs to them.

Trauma-sensitive practice asks us to soften our language. Instead of saying we empower others, perhaps we can say:

We create safer, relational spaces where people can begin to access and explore their own sense of self and agency.

Because the only true empowerment is self-empowerment.

And our role is to make room for it.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

Ever feel like your emotions are too big, your body too restless, and no advice makes a difference?

Breathing exercises, grounding cues, mindfulness instructions — they’re meant to help. But for people who have been through difficult or overwhelming experiences, these can feel stressful or impossible to follow. A breathing script can feel like added pressure. Grounding can feel like nothing is happening at all.

Even the common advice to “calm down” can be misleading. Calming your body and mind isn’t the same as feeling balanced. Sometimes what your body really needs is awareness and the freedom to make small choices that feel supportive in the moment — not a forced sense of calm.

Feeling out of balance can show up in ways that are exhausting and overwhelming. You might feel:

Hopeless, stuck, like there’s no way out

Angry or on edge

Wanting to scream or run

Exhausted, wanting to sleep all the time — or not being able to sleep at all

Emotionally raw, reactive, or flooded

Disconnected from your body, yourself, or the people around you

These experiences aren’t a flaw. They’re your body and mind trying to protect you after hard, stressful, or unsettling experiences.

That’s why scripts often fail. True balance doesn’t happen because someone tells you to “calm down.” It comes from noticing what’s happening inside you and making choices that feel safe and supportive in that moment.

That’s what we mean by agency.

Agency is your ability to notice what’s happening and decide — even in a very small way — what you might need.

It could be noticing a breath, a pause or a small shift in your body.

Choice is the doorway back to yourself. Even when everything feels overwhelming, you can take steps forward in your own way.

Some days the doorway is tiny. Other days it’s bigger.

Even simply recognizing it — and stepping through when you’re ready — creates movement and change in your body and mind.

You’re not broken. You’re learning to navigate a body and mind that have always tried to protect you.

And here’s the part that matters: every choice you make, no matter how small, can change the way your body feels — step by step, moment by moment.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer