The body often carries our deeper story.

In this work, we don’t focus only on what you’re saying, but also on what your experience is evoking inside. We slow things down and gently turn inward, listening to sensations, emotions, and subtle shifts in the body that can reveal what’s truly going on beneath the surface.

You might notice a tightness in your chest, a heaviness, a warmth, or a sudden urge to pull away. I may draw attention to a gesture, a change in posture, or the way a smile appears alongside tension. These cues are not analyzed or judged—they’re treated as meaningful signals, offering information that words alone often can’t reach.

This attention to the body is especially important because many of our most painful experiences were either overwhelming or occurred before we had language for them. In those moments, parts of the brain responsible for memory and meaning-making may have gone offline, leaving the experience stored not as a clear narrative, but as a felt sense—something known by the body rather than the mind.

Because of this, insight alone is often not enough. Rather than trying to “figure things out,” we listen to what the body is communicating and stay with it long enough for new understanding, relief, and integration to emerge.

Just as importantly, we also attend to moments of ease, connection, and rightness. When something shifts—when you feel lighter, calmer, more yourself—we pause and notice how that change lives in your body. By staying with these experiences, we help them take root, strengthening new neural pathways and supporting lasting change.

This is not about fixing or optimizing the body.
It’s about learning to listen to it with care—and allowing it to guide the healing process.