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:
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.
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.
Stepping into Wellness 