Letting Presence Take the Driver’s Seat

I’ve been doing this 10-minute practice of mindful movement every day for a couple of weeks now. Fourteen days of setting a timer, meeting my body in simple movement, and starting the day with presence instead of just launching straight into doing.

It doesn’t sound like a big thing on paper. Ten minutes. But something has started to change in how I move through the rest of my day. I’m finding that I’m actually noticing my body at times I used to ignore it completely. Moments that would have just blended into the background are starting to feel a little more alive, a little more available to me.

One of those moments happened on the drive to the coast.

It’s about a five-and-a-half-hour drive. (I still count travel in hours—Wisconsin roots.) At some point into the drive, after I’d been on the road awhile, I started to pick up on how much I was shifting around in my seat. I’d lean a bit to one side, then the other. I would slowly slide forward, then push myself back again. None of this was dramatic, but once I saw it, it was clear that my body was trying to get my attention.

Then I noticed my hands.

One hand was clenching the steering wheel on and off. I’d grip, then loosen, then grip again. My fingers felt a little tight. My breath had changed too—more shallow, with little pauses where it felt like I was holding it without meaning to. All of this was happening while, on the surface, I was just driving like normal.

Before these 10-minute sessions, I don’t think I would have caught any of that. I would have kept going, maybe turned up the radio, told myself I’d stop “later,” and pushed through. My body would have been having an experience and I wouldn’t have really been in on it.

This time, I noticed.

I didn’t launch into fixing mode. I didn’t tell myself, “Relax your shoulders, slow your breath, sit up straight.” Instead, I did what I’ve been practicing every morning: I became aware of what was already happening.

I noticed my seat under me. I noticed the shape of my back against the chair. I noticed my hands on the wheel—how they wanted to clench—and just acknowledged that. I didn’t force them to soften; I just stayed with the fact that my hands were telling a story my mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Somewhere in that noticing, a simple thought arose:
“Maybe it’s time for a break.”

That was the important moment. Not the break itself, but the part where I realized my body was speaking up and I actually heard it. I realized I had a choice. I didn’t have to prove anything to myself by driving straight through. I didn’t have to override what I was feeling.

A little further down the road, there was a turnoff with bathrooms and a place to stop. I pulled over, got out of the car, stretched my legs, moved a bit, and let my system reset before getting back on the road.

It was a small pause in the grand scheme of things. But it felt significant because I could also feel how easily I could have missed it. I almost talked myself out of it—almost told myself, “You’re fine, just keep going.” That old pattern is still there. The difference now is that practice is giving me enough presence to see the pattern while it’s happening, not just after the fact.

The shift wasn’t really about the rest stop or even about feeling the ground under my feet, although that helped. The deeper shift was this: I was more in my body in that moment. I could see what was happening inside me, and from that seeing, I could choose.

That’s what these 10 minutes of mindful movement each day are starting to do in my life. They’re helping me remember that I actually have a body, that it has information for me, and that when I notice that information, more options open up. Instead of going on autopilot, I can pause. I can decide. I can respond.

Presence, for me, is becoming less about doing something “right” and more about being able to say, even in the middle of a long drive:
“I notice what’s happening in me right now. And I get to choose what I do next.”

Presence deepens not by doing, but by noticing what’s already here.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

PS – you’re welcome to join me in my journey if 90 days of presence, Facebook live every morning through Jan 30 at 5:30am PT:

https://www.facebook.com/share/1WuaRNL3jC/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Embodied Pathways — From Hope to Trust

A three-part exploration in somatic healing and presence

There are seasons when healing doesn’t come from thinking differently, but from feeling differently — from allowing the body to guide us back toward safety, steadiness, and connection.

This three-part series explores how movement, awareness, and presence can transform the way we experience ourselves from the inside out. Each piece builds upon the last, tracing a gentle arc through Hope, Faith, and Trust — not as abstract ideas, but as embodied experiences that live in muscle, memory, and motion.

Part 1: Embodied Hope – Finding Possibility in the Body
Part 2: Embodied Faith – Staying in the Middle Space
Part 3: Embodied Trust – Living From Inner Steadiness

Together, they form a movement-based journey through resilience — one that honors the body’s wisdom as a teacher, not a problem to solve.

Part 1: Embodied Hope – Finding Possibility in the Body

Part 1 of our “Embodied Pathways” series — exploring how Hope, Faith, and Trust unfold through conscious movement and presence.

When life feels like too much, hope can seem like a word for other people — too far away, too bright, too ideal. Our minds grasp for reasons, for meaning, for something to fix the ache. But the body knows another way. It knows movement, texture, rhythm. It knows that even when we can’t think our way toward hope, we can sometimes feel our way there.

The Body’s Way of Remembering

Hope doesn’t have to mean happiness or certainty. It can begin as the smallest spark — the possibility that how we feel, both emotionally and physically, might shift.
That possibility lives in the body.

A hand that unclenches.
A spine that lengthens after hours of collapse.
A single moment when you realize you can move differently than before.

These small shifts tell your nervous system, something is changing. And that message alone begins to open a door. It’s not about fixing the chaos — it’s about remembering you have some power within it.

The Science of Hope in Motion

When we move, the body and brain communicate constantly. Movement activates neural pathways that restore integration — connecting feeling, thinking, and sensing parts of the brain. This re-connection is how agency returns. The body learns: I can do something. I can affect how I feel.

Trauma and prolonged stress often take that sense of agency away. Movement, especially gentle and conscious movement, rebuilds it.
Hope, then, becomes less an emotion and more a physiological state — the embodied memory that change is possible.

When Hope Feels Out of Reach

For many, the word hope can carry pressure. When life has been defined by endurance or loss, hope might sound unrealistic or even unsafe. That’s understandable.
Embodied hope asks for nothing more than a willingness to notice — to sense one small difference between how you felt a moment ago and how you feel now.

That difference — however subtle — is the doorway. It doesn’t erase pain, but it adds movement to it. It says, there is still a way forward, and it begins here.

A Practice: Finding Hope Through Subtle Movement

Take a quiet moment.
Notice any part of your body that wants to move — even slightly. Maybe your fingers shift, or your shoulders tilt, or your gaze softens. Let that impulse unfold naturally, without judging or forcing it.

As you move, notice what changes.
Does your sense of balance, warmth, or awareness shift — even a little?
That small difference is the beginning of hope: the lived experience that things can change, however modestly.

Wishing you Wellness,

Keri Sawyer

The Living Conversation of Balance

For a long time, I imagined balance as something solid—like standing still on steady ground, unmoving. But life has shown me it’s much more like the ocean. It moves, it shifts, it fluctuates—sometimes gently like ripples on the shore, and sometimes violently, like a storm pulling the tide. Balance isn’t stagnant. It flows.

When the Ground Shifts Beneath Us

There are seasons when balance feels almost impossible. When my son Chase was hospitalized, everything else fell away. My days and nights revolved around his care. Of course, there was no space for hobbies or routines—how could there be? In that moment, balance wasn’t about “doing it all.” It was about showing up for what mattered most: love, presence, and simply making it through.

I’ve also experienced times when my body forced me to stop. Breaking a bone or being so exhausted that I could hardly get through the day demanded a recalibration. Suddenly, what seemed urgent yesterday no longer mattered. Rest, healing, and saying no to almost everything became my balance.

These moments remind me: balance isn’t about equal distribution of attention or effort. It’s about right relationship with what is most needed now.

Chasing Balance

Here’s where we can get tripped up with balance. There’s a lot of messaging out there about discipline—coaches, influencers, and wellness gurus who promote rigid routines, exact time blocks, and strict accountability systems. And yes, discipline can be powerful. Structure gives shape to our days and can hold us steady when motivation falters.

But when we treat balance like a rigid formula, we start measuring ourselves against an impossible standard. We think balance means the gym five times a week, eight hours of sleep, meditation every morning, all while giving 100% to work, family, and friendships. And when life demands a shift—when we get sick, when a crisis happens, when exhaustion sets in—we look at ourselves and think: “I’ve failed.”

Unhealthy balance often shows up as all-or-nothing thinking (“If I don’t do it perfectly, I’ve blown it”), moralizing rest (“If I slow down, I’m lazy”), or comparing ourselves to someone else’s highlight reel. Naming those patterns helps us loosen their grip and choose a gentler path.

That’s the unhealthy side of balance: when the very idea of it starts to weigh us down, instead of helping us find steadiness.

A Flexible Kind of Discipline

What if we thought about balance differently? Not as perfection, but as permission to pivot. Not as a rigid checklist, but as a living rhythm.

Discipline absolutely has its place. It can keep us grounded and help us follow through on commitments that matter. But discipline without flexibility quickly turns brittle. True balance is discipline with room to breathe. It’s the ability to adjust when life shifts—without shame, without self-punishment.

Discipline can be the anchor, flexibility the tide, and our values the North Star that guides us. When those three move together, balance feels more like navigation than judgment.

The Rhythm of Change

When Chase was in the hospital, I wasn’t “failing” at balance. I was living balance—just in a form that looked different. My focus was singular, my priorities shifted, and that was exactly right for that season.

Balance isn’t something we master once and for all. It’s something we return to again and again. Some days it looks like discipline—getting up early, following the plan. Other days it looks like letting go—resting, recalibrating, being gentle with ourselves.

The key is not perfection, but responsiveness. Balance is about listening to the season we’re in and adjusting accordingly. In chronic stress or illness, balance may look like pacing—small efforts, real rests, then reassessing—like watching the tide rather than forcing a timetable.

And it’s worth remembering: we don’t hold balance alone. Community is part of it too. Asking for help, receiving care, or letting someone else carry the load for a while—these are not signs of imbalance, but of shared humanity.

A More Gentle Question

So maybe instead of asking, “Am I living a balanced life?” we can ask, “What needs attention right now? What can soften? What can wait?”

That feels kinder. More real. More human.

Because in truth, balance isn’t a static goal—it’s a living conversation between our bodies, our hearts, our minds, and the life unfolding around us.

The Image I Hold

I’ve stopped imagining balance as a scale that must be perfectly even. Instead, I see it as a set of tides—sometimes rushing in, sometimes pulling back, always moving, always changing. The ocean is never “out of balance”—it simply flows with its own rhythm.

Maybe our lives are like that too.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

The Quiet Power of Presence: How walking Changed Everything

I’ve walked every single morning for well over a year — and that one simple act transformed me.

Not just physically.
But emotionally.
Energetically.
Spiritually.

Something in me softened. Realigned. Came home to itself.

Maybe it was the salty ocean air that whispered me awake. Or the steady rhythm of the waves that matched my breath.

Maybe it was simply the ritual — the quiet, mindful movement of walking with awareness, day after day.
Each step became a meditation.
A returning.
A remembering.

Some mornings, I walked alone — fully present to the world around me.
Noticing the way the light moved through the trees or how the ocean moved the sand.

Feeling the earth beneath my feet.
Breathing in deeply.
Listening — not just to the sounds of the ocean, but to the stirrings within.

And on other days, I walked with my husband, my children, or dear friends.
There is something sacred about walking with — About being in motion together, side by side, without needing to speak.

A kind of presence that words can’t reach. A connection born not from conversation, but from shared experience.

That’s mindfulness, too.
The simple act of doing something with full attention. Mindfulness isn’t always sitting still on a cushion. Sometimes, it’s the feeling of cool air on your skin.
The sound of your child’s footsteps beside yours. The knowing that this moment — this exact one — is where life is happening.

And those moments… they add up.
They shape who we are.
They change how we relate to ourselves and to the people we love.
Because:
Our choices matter.
Our presence matters.
How we show up in our bodies and our lives — it all matters.

I found happiness not in a breakthrough, but in the quiet repetition of mindful practice. In choosing to be with myself and others, fully. In learning to listen — to nature, to my breath, to the rhythm of life itself.

Having a clear sense of self — even if it’s something as simple as a daily walk — can change everything.

So:
Know yourself.
Find your still point — even in motion.
Practice presence like it’s sacred.
Because it is.
And when you find that inner balance — that mindful rhythm —
Protect it.
Return to it.
Honor it.
Not because you should.
But because it’s how we stay whole in a noisy world.
It’s how we reconnect — to ourselves, and to each other.

Wishing you Wellness,

Keri Sawyer
Openview Yoga

Flowing Into Connection

Life experiences can leave lasting imprints on our bodies and minds. Stress, loss, or trauma can sometimes make us feel unsettled or disconnected—not only from others, but from ourselves. At times, our bodies may not feel predictable or steady, and that can make it difficult to trust our own signals or feel grounded in daily life.

Trauma-Sensitive Yoga offers a gentle, compassionate practice that isn’t about perfect poses or pushing through discomfort. Instead, it’s about noticing what’s happening inside and making choices based on a felt sense of the body. Each movement is an invitation to come back to yourself in a way that feels steady and empowering.

Cultivating Safety Within

When we carry stress or trauma, our bodies can sometimes feel unfamiliar or hard to predict. A racing heartbeat, sudden tension, or a sense of numbness may seem to come out of nowhere. These experiences can make it difficult to feel safe in our own skin.

Trauma-Sensitive Yoga introduces gentle and consistent practices that support a more reliable relationship with ourselves. Each movement is offered as an invitation. You choose what to explore, what to leave out, and when to pause. Over time, these body based choices create something powerful: a steady, more predictable sense of self. Instead of bracing for what might come next, we begin to notice that we can meet our experiences with curiosity and choice. That sense of steadiness becomes the ground for healing.

From Powerless to Possibility: The Role of Agency

Agency is more than just the ability to make choices—it’s the recognition that our choices matter. In Trauma-Sensitive Yoga, we learn that the way we move, breathe, and notice our bodies can actually change how we feel in the moment. A single decision to pause, stretch, or take a breath can create a shift in our bodies, helping us move toward presence.

Over time, these small moments of choice remind us of something even bigger: we are not stuck. We can influence how our bodies feel, and in doing so, we begin to influence the trajectory of our lives. Agency gives us the capacity to move from surviving toward thriving—one intentional choice at a time.

When we discover agency—the ability to shift how we feel and the course of our lives—we create the foundation for stronger, more authentic connections with others. Healing begins inside and ripples outward, carried forward on the currents of connection.

Strengthening Relationships Through Inner Steadiness

As we begin to build a greater sense of safety and agency within ourselves, it often shifts how we relate to others. When we feel steadier on the inside, we can show up in our relationships with more presence and ease.

We might notice moments where we can pause and respond more thoughtfully instead of reacting right away. We may find it feels a little easier to share honestly, because we’re more connected to our own voice. Over time, we can begin to create boundaries that respect both our own needs and the needs of those around us.

The healing we cultivate inside doesn’t stay inside—it ripples outward, helping us build relationships that feel safer, stronger, and more authentic.

Practicing Together: The Power of Non-Verbal Connection

Another unique part of trauma sensitive yoga is the experience of practicing alongside a facilitator. It’s not a teacher–student dynamic where one person instructs and the other follows. Instead, both the facilitator and participants are practicing together—each noticing sensations in their own body in the same shared space.

This creates a non-verbal connection that can feel deeply healing. To move and breathe alongside someone who is modeling healthy presence, respect, and choice—without judgment or pressure—offers a new experience of relationship. It’s a way of being with another person that is safe, grounded, and mutual.

Over time, this experience can carry into future relationships. Practicing non-verbal presence with someone trustworthy helps us learn that connection doesn’t have to mean control or fear. It can mean mutual respect, safety, and authenticity. This new template of relationship can become a foundation for building healthier, more supportive connections beyond the yoga space.

Currents of Connection

Trauma-Sensitive Yoga is more than movement—it’s a practice of rebuilding our relationship with ourselves and, through that, creating deeper connections with others. By cultivating safety, predictability, and agency, we nurture qualities like trust, openness, and compassion that allow relationships to grow in healthier, more supportive ways.

Healing begins within, but it doesn’t stop there. Like water flowing outward, each time we practice presence, each time we choose what feels right for us, each time we meet ourselves with kindness—it extends into our relationships and communities.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

Interested in learning more? Openviewyoga.com

Relationships Beyond Words

What if feeling understood didn’t depend on finding the right words?

What if connection could start with simply being in the same space, breathing or moving at your own pace, and knowing the other person is truly with you?

Many of us have had moments where talking didn’t feel like enough—when we wished someone could just get us without us having to explain. This is the heart of attunement through the body—an experience of being met, not with words, but with presence and shared humanity.

Building Well-Being Through Connection

When we’ve been through something stressful or overwhelming, the way others respond matters more than we often realize. If you’ve ever felt unseen, dismissed, or not believed—especially after something painful—you know how isolating that can be. It can make connection feel risky, even in relationships that seem safe. This is even more true when the difficult or harmful experiences happened in relationship—particularly those marked by control, neglect, or disconnection. The wound often leaves the body believing it has to choose between connection and safety. Even when those events are long past, we may find ourselves bracing, holding back, or disconnecting just to protect ourselves.

Attuning through the body offers a different way of relating. It’s not about finding the perfect advice or response, and it’s not about rehashing the past. It’s about being alongside someone in a way that says, without words: I’m here with you, and I’m also here with myself. This kind of connection matters because our bodies and nervous systems are always reading cues from the people around us. When someone can stay steady and present without trying to fix us or pull us into their pace, our system can begin to settle. That settling is where the possibility for trust and change begins.

Attunement in the body creates the chance to be in connection without feeling pressured, to take up space without fear of intrusion, and to feel mutual respect without a hierarchy. Over time, these moments can give the nervous system a new reference point—one that shows it is possible to be connected and still keep hold of yourself.

Connected in Experience

When you’re attuned to yourself, you’re paying attention to your own internal state—your breath, body sensations, emotional cues, and energy. You notice when you’re grounded, when you’re tense, when your breath shifts. This self-awareness isn’t for self-focus alone—it’s the foundation for being truly present with another person.

From there, you can meet someone without needing them to match your pace, mood, or state. Instead, your steady internal presence becomes a cue of safety for them. You’re not just reacting to their signals—you’re in a kind of parallel process where you remain connected to yourself and open to them at the same time.

Builds Mutuality: This isn’t one person “fixing” the other—it’s two people each having their own experience, in the same space, in a way that honors both.Attunement in a body-based setting is not one person giving the other an experience. It’s about each person—whether you’re a participant or a facilitator—having their own personal experience at the same time.

Creates Safety: When you’re grounded, the other person’s nervous system can sense it. This is especially important for people with stress or trauma histories, whose bodies are constantly scanning for cues of danger or safety.

Prevents Overriding: If you lose connection with yourself, you’re more likely to override their needs, push your own agenda, or subtly “pull” them toward your state. Staying with yourself allows you to respect their pace and process.

You might be quietly noticing sensations in your shoulders, the rhythm of your breath, or the impulse to shift position. The other person, at the very same moment, is tuned into their own body’s signals. Neither one is trying to match the other or make the other’s experience happen. Yet, there is connection. It’s a mutual awareness that says: We’re both here, and neither of us has to leave ourselves to be together in this moment.

When both people are tuned into themselves, the connection between them becomes more genuine—rooted in presence rather than performance. It’s a kind of meeting that happens beneath the surface, where each person can feel the other’s authenticity without anything needing to be said. This is not something that can be forced or faked—it’s something that arises naturally when both people are grounded in their own bodies and open to the moment.

In these instances, trust begins to grow—not because of the perfect words or gestures, but because both people can sense that what is being shared is real. The body knows when it’s safe to relax, when it’s being respected, and when the other person is truly there. That mutual awareness creates a quiet, steady foundation for connection, where neither person has to give up themselves to stay in relationship.

Over time, these moments weave together into something lasting—a felt knowing that connection and selfhood can exist together. And once the body learns this, it becomes easier to enter into new relationships, experiences, and conversations with openness rather than fear.

Connection You Can Feel

You don’t have to talk it all through for connection to happen. In fact, sometimes words can pull you out of the very experience you most need to feel. Attunement through movement or presence often happens in subtle ways—moving in a rhythm that feels natural, breathing without trying to sync up, or responding to small shifts in posture and energy. It can also mean being in the same space without the pressure to make eye contact or fill every pause with conversation.

Attunement doesn’t have to happen only in a formal practice space—it can arise in all kinds of shared activities where each person is tuned into themselves while also aware of the other. Hiking side by side on a quiet trail, for example, allows for a shared rhythm of steps and breath, without the need for constant conversation. Walking through a neighborhood together can offer the same sense of connection, where pauses, pace changes, and moments of noticing become shared experiences. In a yoga class, attunement might emerge when two people practice in the same room, each exploring their own movements but held in the energy of the group. Even in other forms of movement—like tai chi, dancing, or paddling a canoe—there’s an opportunity to be in your own body while also subtly syncing with another’s presence. These moments build relational trust non-verbally, creating a quiet but powerful bridge between self-awarenes.

Choosing Connection, One Movement at a Time

When movement is used—not as a performance to get right, but as an open exploration—it becomes a living conversation between two people. The aim isn’t to choreograph an outcome or get somewhere specific, but to be in the moment together. Each of us stays rooted in our own body while also staying aware of the other’s presence. You’re with yourself, I’m with myself—and we are also with each other.

In this space, there’s no pressure to match or mirror perfectly. We each move, pause, and breathe according to our own needs, yet the awareness of one another becomes part of the experience. This isn’t about leading or following—it’s about moving alongside, in a way that says, Your pace is welcome here, and so is mine.

Over time, these shared moments begin to build something that words often can’t: trust. Trust that the connection between us can hold differences without breaking. Trust that you can express yourself without fear of being corrected or hurried. Trust that I can stay with my own sensations and choices while still being attuned to yours.

This kind of trust grows slowly, often quietly, but it’s deeply stabilizing. It’s not only trust in the relationship—it’s also trust in yourself. The more you feel that your own rhythms, signals, and responses are valid and worth listening to, the easier it becomes to stay present in connection. That’s when relationship stops feeling like a risk and starts feeling like a place of possibility.

The Space Where We Meet

Attunement isn’t something one person does to another. It’s something both people engage in, moment by moment. You listen to your body. I listen to mine. We share a space where no one has to match or fix the other.

In that shared, unforced space, something important shifts. The body begins to believe: It’s possible to be connected and still be myself. That realization is more than a fleeting moment—it’s a re-patterning. It tells your nervous system, I don’t have to abandon myself to stay in relationship.

Once that possibility is felt, it becomes a living resource you can return to again and again. It’s there when you navigate a difficult conversation with a friend, when you set a boundary at work, when you choose rest instead of pushing past exhaustion. It reminds you that connection doesn’t have to mean compliance, and that self-trust can exist right alongside relationship.

Over time, this felt experience strengthens like a muscle. You start to notice earlier when you’re leaving yourself to please, perform, or protect. You begin to recognize the cues—tight shoulders, shallow breath, a pull to disconnect—and instead of overriding them, you respond with care. The more often you practice staying with yourself while staying with another, the more natural it becomes.

And in that, relationships shift too. They feel less like a negotiation for safety and more like a space where two whole people can meet—each grounded in their own center, each offering presence without losing themselves. This is the heart of attunement: not matching perfectly, not fixing, but being together in a way that makes room for both people to belong fully.

If you’ve ever longed for connection that feels natural, safe, and without pressure—or if you want to learn how to create that space for others—body based attunement through relationship is a profound place to begin.

Wishing You Wellness,

Keri Sawyer

P.S. Stay tuned: The next blog will explore how turning inward can deepen the connections we build outward.

What It Means to Let the Body Lead: A Non-Directive Approach to Somatic Therapy

In many wellness and therapeutic spaces, we’re often told what to feel, how to move, or what healing should look like. But for many people—especially those recovering from trauma or nervous system dysregulation—this kind of direction can feel overwhelming, even re-traumatizing.

That’s where the non-directive approach to somatic therapy comes in.
It’s slower. Deeply respectful.
And it begins with a simple belief:
Your body already knows.

What Does “Non-Directive” Mean?

In traditional or more directive therapy, the practitioner might lead the process by suggesting specific techniques, postures, breathing patterns, or emotional releases. While this can be helpful in certain contexts, it can also unintentionally override the your sense of agency (that you can change the way your body feels) or safety—especially if you feel you “should” go along, even when it doesn’t feel right.

A non-directive somatic approach flips that script. Instead of guiding or pushing, the practitioner creates space for your experience.

This means:

You’re not told how to feel something.
You’re not rushed to “release” or “fix” anything.
You’re never pressured to go deeper than what feels right.

You are always asked, never told. Your body is the guide.

Why Non-Coercion Is Essential in Somatic Work

For many people, trauma involves a loss of choice: being told what to do, being touched without consent, or being stuck in situations that felt unsafe. These experiences don’t just live in memory—they live in the body. The nervous system remembers what it feels like to have no say.

So when therapy—even somatic therapy—is overly directive or structured, it can unintentionally recreate that same dynamic. It might feel subtle, but it can still land as pressure or even threat.

Non-coercive work means:

You can pause, shift, or say no at any time
Nothing is expected or required of you
Your boundaries are honored as they arise

This isn’t about avoiding challenge—it’s about creating the conditions where you can be met with support. When choice and voice are present, the body can begin to feel what safety really is—not as a concept, but as a lived experience.

What If I Just Want to Be Told What to Do?

This is a completely valid feeling. In fact, it’s an incredibly important one. Wanting to be told what to do is often an intelligent survival strategy—especially for those who have lived through trauma, codependency, or environments where autonomy wasn’t safe.

In these situations, giving away choice can feel like:

Relief from internal pressure
A way to avoid judgment or failure
A way to stay safe in relationships or systems that punished dissent

While this strategy may have protected you in the past, it can also keep you from reconnecting with your own wisdom. This approach gently rebuilds your muscle of choice-making — without force.

It helps you move from external authority to internal guidance, without judgment or pressure. Over time, your body learns: It’s safe to choose. It’s safe to listen to myself. I can trust what I feel.

This is what makes this so powerful:
It doesn’t push you to be “independent” or figure it all out.
It helps you rediscover that your choices matter—and always have.

What Changes – When You Stop Trying to Change

With this approach the focus is less on fixing a symptom or reaching a specific outcome—and more on simply being with what’s here, just as it is, in a supportive and relational way. There’s no pushing, no pressure to get somewhere else. The body isn’t treated like a problem to solve, but like a part of us that longs to be heard.

Because healing doesn’t come from force. It doesn’t come from trying harder, or from overriding what we feel. Healing comes from listening. From allowing. From the present moment. When we stop trying to fix and instead offer deep permission to just be, something begins to shift. And the body starts to unwind—not on demand, but in its own time, in its own way.

This gentle approach invites trust. Trust that you don’t have to force change for change to happen. It’s in this spaciousness—in the absence of pressure, in the presence of connection—that real healing begins to take root.

You’re Not Being Led—You’re Being Accompanied

Something powerful happens when the practitioner walks beside you- not an expert who takes the lead.

You can begin to feel a sense of trust in yourself. You can notice what’s happening in your body and realize you have options. You can begin to understand that what you feel matters, and you get to decide what’s right for you in each moment.

Over time, this builds a steady kind of confidence. You can also experience what it’s like to feel safe in relationship—not just because someone says it’s safe, but because it actually feels that way. You are met with patience and respect. There’s room for you to be exactly as you are, without pressure or expectation.

This is the foundation for embodied healing.
Healing that begins from within. Healing that doesn’t rely on someone else having the answers, but grows as you listen to their own body and follows what feels supportive.

And it all begins when the client is given space to take the lead.

Healing in Relationship

This work isn’t something that you do alone. It’s something that unfolds between two people—together. When the practitioner is also attuned to their own body—pausing, noticing, breathing—they’re quietly saying: “I’m here with you. I’m listening to my own body too.”

This shared presence creates a different kind of safety. It’s not about one person fixing another.
It’s about two nervous systems learning how to be with what’s real—side by side, moment by moment. When the practitioner stays connected to their own somatic experience, it opens the door for you to do the same. Without words, it communicates: “You don’t have to do this alone.”

In this kind of relationship, healing becomes less of a task and more of a natural unfolding. A gentle return to connection—within, and between.

Something to Carry With You

A non-directive somatic approach isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing what’s most aligned with how healing really happens: through relationship, choice, and presence.

It’s not about a practitioner “healing” you. It’s about you returning to your own body, your own timing, and your own truth—with someone by your side who truly honors that.

Your body already knows.
Sometimes, it just needs the space to speak.

Wishing you wellness,

Keri Sawyer

PS – The next blog will be about how to bring non-directive approaches specifically into yoga spaces and what that looks like – Stay tuned!

From Holding to Healing: Nervous System Alignment

In a world that often demands more than our nervous systems were ever designed to manage, learning how to balance our internal state is not just helpful—it’s transformational. When our nervous systems are in balance, we experience life with more clarity, resilience, and connection. We feel safe in our bodies, steady in our relationships, and capable of responding rather than reacting.

But nervous system balance isn’t just about managing stress. It’s about creating healing. And that healing doesn’t always happen in the storm—it often happens in the quiet moments we create on purpose.

Not Just Self-Regulation—This is Healing Work

Too often, nervous system work is viewed as something we do only when we’re overwhelmed—a set of tools to de-escalate panic or calm ourselves under pressure. While those strategies are essential and life-saving in many moments, they are just the beginning.

Most nervous system techniques help us hold pain: to stay with difficult sensations or emotions without collapsing or exploding. But the deeper potential lies beyond holding. When we begin to work with our nervous system intentionally—in the present moment—we open the door to true repair and reconnection.

Healing doesn’t happen just by regulating during distress—it happens when we work with the nervous system in a state of safety and openness.

This is when the nervous system can learn, reorganize, and rewire. It’s how we move from survival into a more authentic, empowered way of being.

One of the most important insights from trauma research is this: trauma is not stored in the past—it’s stored in the now of the body. The nervous system does not register time in the way the thinking brain does. If something was too overwhelming to process safely, the body holds onto it and continues to signal danger—even if the threat is long gone.

Trauma Is Timeless. The Body Holds the Key.

This is why talk therapy or logic alone isn’t enough. Trauma creates a disconnection between body and brain, disrupting the circuits that help us feel, interpret, and respond to experience with clarity. Healing requires us to reestablish that connection—not through rehashing the past, but by building safety in the present moment.

The Brain-Body Connection and the Power of Safety

Neuroscience shows us that the brain and nervous system are deeply responsive to experience. Through neuroplasticity, we can create new patterns—but only when the nervous system feels safe enough to learn.

Trying to regulate or “heal” while in a high-stress state often reinforces survival pathways. In contrast, when we gently engage the nervous system in calm, resourced moments—through breath, movement, or co-regulation—we begin to reshape how the brain and body relate to threat, identity, and emotion.

This is more than self-regulation. This is repair.

Why Non-Coercive, Non-Directive Practices Matter

True healing cannot be imposed—it must emerge from within. This is why non-coercive, non-directive body-based therapies are so powerful. Rather than guiding someone into an experience, we hold space for their own experience to arise. In this model, the facilitator is not the authority on what healing looks like—the participant is.

When we allow individuals to move at their own pace, with full autonomy over their body and their process, we foster a sense of agency and trust that is foundational for nervous system healing. There is no agenda, no narrative required. Simply noticing what arises in the body—without judgment, interpretation, or story—is enough to begin restoring the brain-body connection.

This approach cultivates empowerment in the here and now. It honors that the keys to healing live within the individual, not in someone else’s insights or instructions. The body knows what it needs. When given space, support, and safety, it begins to lead the way.

Living in Alignment with Your Nervous System

Living in alignment with your nervous system is not about striving for control or perfection—it’s about building a relationship with yourself that is rooted in safety, attunement, and trust.

It means:

Rebuilding the connection from body to brain, nurturing a sense of inner communication and wholeness
Engaging in mindfulness that honors your embodied experience, strengthening patterns of presence and coherence
Staying within your window of tolerance—Noticing when you feel supported, stable, and grounded, without needing to push beyond what feels manageable
Making space for your body’s wisdom to guide you, Allowing yourself to be exactly where you are
Choosing practices that prioritize safety, curiosity, and presence, not just performance or outcome
Allowing your healing to unfold in the present, not just in response to the past

When we live in alignment with our nervous systems, we move from effort to ease—from surviving to truly belonging in our own skin.

The Invitation

Balancing your nervous system is not about getting it “right.” It’s about coming home to your body, again and again—perhaps with curiosity, compassion, and care.

When you stop trying to fix the past and start building safety in the now, something powerful begins to happen: You stop just holding the pain—and start healing.

Wishing You Wellness,

Keri Sawyer

P.S.

If you would like to learn more about Nervous System Balance, Check out a workshop with Keri in Sept 2025 Here

Next Blog: There’s a deep wisdom within every person—one that can’t be given, only uncovered. Non-directive healing invites practioners to step back, to trust that the answers don’t come from us, but from within the client. It’s not our insight that transforms—it’s their discovery. When we stop directing and start honoring their pace, their story, their knowing—real, lasting healing can finally begin.I t’s not about leading the way. It’s about walking beside someone as they find their own. Learn more about non directive healing with my next post!

10 Ways of Being I’ve Learned in the Helping Field

The current image has no alternative text. The file name is: in-the-helping-professions-we-often-focus-on-what-we-can-do-to-support-otherse28094but-just-as-important-is-how-we-choose-to-be.-over-time-ive-realized-that-our-way-of-beinge28094our-pre.png

10 Ways of Being I’ve Learned in the Helping Field

By Keri Sawyer

In the helping professions, we often focus on what we can do to support others—but just as important is how we choose to be. Over time, I’ve realized that our way of being—our presence, alignment, and self-awareness—impacts others far more than we might imagine.

These are 10 ways of being I’ve learned, practiced, and come to trust as cornerstones in my work and life.

1. Your Practice Matters

Are you using the tools you suggest to others? Whether it’s breathwork, journaling, boundaries, or somatic regulation—are they alive in your daily life?

We can’t authentically offer what we haven’t integrated. It’s tempting to teach new material right after a workshop, but wisdom takes root through repetition, reflection, and embodiment. If we want to share something powerful, we must first let it shape us.

We can’t give what we haven’t practiced. It’s one thing to talk about grounding; it’s another to know what helps you ground in real-time, under stress, and to teach from that place of knowing.

2. Self-Study is the Foundation

Introspective teaching starts with us.

Are you aligned with your own values? Or are you unknowingly teaching from inherited beliefs? It’s easy to pass along what we were taught without checking if it still fits who we are now. Self-study helps us stay honest about where we are, where we’re headed, and whether our work is truly serving the people we aim to help.

Are you working from your authentic center, or from values passed down from a mentor, teacher, or family system? Do you feel uncomfortable with how you’re showing up or what you’re teaching? If so, don’t ignore it. Lean in. Self-alignment is a living practice—and when you align with your truth, you begin to teach and support from a place of grounded clarity.

3. Teach from Your Truth

Teaching from someone else’s truth may feel safe—but it’s not sustainable.

Do you know your truth? Are you living it? Are you speaking from it, or quoting a mentor whose voice is louder than your own? Authenticity invites trust. When your words rise from lived experience, people feel it. And they listen differently.

If your guidance doesn’t land, pause and ask: Is this really mine? If it’s not something you’ve embodied, integrated, and tested in your own life—it may still belong to a past teacher. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong, but it does mean it may not be yours to teach yet. Let your truth evolve. Share from the realness of your journey—not perfection, but process.

4. Use Your Voice

If the world stopped to listen for one minute, what would you say?

Your voice is a tool of service. What is your message? What makes your heart beat faster? Get clear on what matters to you, then share it in grounded, courageous, and helpful ways. You don’t need to be loud—but you do need to be real.

Your voice is sacred, and your story holds power. Ask yourself: What do I care so deeply about that I’d want to scream it from the rooftops? Find the grounded version of that message, and speak it in a way that helps others. Your voice may be exactly what someone else needs to hear to come home to themselves.

5. Self-Care is Non-Negotiable

You are not a machine. You are a vessel.

The way you care for yourself directly impacts the care you offer others. Rest, nourishment, boundaries, and play are not indulgences—they are professional necessities. When your cup is full, your presence becomes a healing force.

You matter. Your nervous system, your body, your energy—all of it influences your work. You can’t support others from depletion. Tending to your own well-being is not selfish—it’s the foundation of sustainable, effective, and ethical helping. You can’t pour from an empty vessel, and you don’t need to try.

6. Learn Your Presence

Presence isn’t just being in the room—it’s being fully here.

That means tuning in to your body, your surroundings, and the person in front of you—without drifting into the past or jumping ahead to what’s next.

Start by checking in with yourself. Are you grounded? Holding tension? Breathing? Your body often reveals your state before your mind does. Notice the subtle shifts—tightness in the jaw, shallow breath, restlessness. These are signs, not flaws. They help you recalibrate.

Then, expand your awareness outward. Feel your feet. Listen to the sounds in the room. Soften your gaze. When you’re truly present, you’re able to listen actively, notice subtle cues, and respond with attunement instead of habit.

Stop planning your reply or worrying about outcomes—and instead, witness and connect.

This kind of presence is the root of strong relationships. It builds trust, fosters mutual understanding, and makes others feel deeply seen and heard. In a world full of distractions, your full presence is a rare and powerful gift—and it starts with you being here now.

7. Live Harm Reduction as a Practice

We often think about harm in big, obvious ways. But harm can be subtle—tone, impatience, projection, avoidance.

Do your actions ripple wellness or tension into your relationships? Are you self-regulated enough to respond instead of react? Harm reduction isn’t just a philosophy. It’s a daily, embodied practice. It starts with awareness—and leads to action.

Ask: How might my presence impact someone who’s vulnerable today? Am I rushing, rescuing, or controlling? Or am I spacious, responsive, and grounded?

To reduce harm, we must also acknowledge our scope. Are we staying within it? Are we doing our own healing so we’re not unconsciously seeking to heal others as a proxy for ourselves? Moving from thought into action in non-harming takes time—but it’s the heart of ethical helping.

8. Relationships Are Sacred

People want to feel seen, heard, and understood.

Are you making space for that? Inclusivity, accessibility, and genuine compassion matter. How are you showing that others matter—through your words, your energy, your posture, your availability?

Connection is a healing intervention in itself.

Being relational means slowing down. Making eye contact. Letting someone know they are not alone. It means asking: How am I energetically, verbally, and physically communicating that this person matters? Because the truth is: they do. And how we show that—consistently—is what builds healing relationships over time.

9. Release Attachment to Outcomes

Helping can easily become rescuing.

We want to make things better. We want people to succeed. But crossing the line from witnessing to controlling another’s journey—even with good intentions—can be deeply harmful.

Ask yourself: What part of me needs to manage this outcome? Am I uncomfortable with uncertainty? Am I trying to protect them from discomfort—or myself?

It takes courage to stay with someone on their path without trying to shape it. But when we trust their inner wisdom, even when it’s messy, we honor their autonomy. And we free ourselves from the pressure to fix, save, or carry what was never ours to hold.

10. Focus is a Form of Integrity

You can’t be everything to everyone.

So where is your energy going? Are you scattered, or focused? Let your efforts follow your calling—knowing that your focus may change as you grow. Letting go of distractions isn’t selfish—it’s how we make space for meaningful work.

What are you drawn toward right now? What distractions are pulling you away? Focus doesn’t mean rigidity—it means alignment. As you change, your purpose may evolve. But your capacity to discern what matters—and honor that—will always serve you and those you help.

Reflection

These aren’t commandments—they’re invitations. Invitations to slow down, look inward, and remember that who you are is just as powerful as what you know.

Let these ways of being guide your process. Revisit them when you feel off track. Come back to them when you need grounding. And trust that your presence, your intention, and your alignment are some of the most impactful tools you have.