The body keeps the score, but it also keeps the hope.

The body keeps the score, but it also keeps the hope.

For so many people, the relationship with their body feels complicated.

Sometimes distant.

Sometimes overwhelming.

Sometimes filled with feelings that do not seem to match the moment they are living in now.

If you have lived through trauma or long-term stress, this makes perfect sense. You see, the body is not just a shell that carries your mind around.

It is a living record. A place where sensations, reflexes and protective patterns gather quietly over time.

You might notice it

In the way your shoulders rise before you realise you are tense. In the way your breath disappears at the slightest sign of pressure. In the way you shrink or brace without meaning to. None of this is wrong. None of this means you have failed to heal. It simply means your body learned how to protect you in moments when protection was needed.

Many people come to trauma-sensitive yoga feeling frustrated with their body.

They say they cannot relax.

They cannot feel grounded.

They cannot switch off.

But often, what looks like resistance is actually protection.

The body is doing exactly what it learned to do to keep you safe.

This is where hope begins.

The body keeps the score, yes, but it also keeps the possibility of change. Not through force or performance,

but through small moments of choice that slowly soften old patterns.

When we explore movement together, there is never a right shape to make or a correct way to feel.

Instead, there is an ongoing invitation.

If you like, you could notice how your body responds.

If you like, you could choose to move or choose to pause.

If you like, you could meet sensations with curiosity rather than judgement.

Over time, these small choices begin to matter. Your system learns that it no longer has to brace all the time. It learns that safety can be felt, not just imagined. It learns that stillness can be a place of rest rather than a place of threat.

Healing is not about overriding your body.

It is about listening to it kindly enough that it begins to trust you again and that is where hope lives. Not in a sudden breakthrough, but in the gentle realisation that the body you once feared is the same body that can guide you home.

If this kind of slow, steady, embodied approach feels like something you might want to explore, you are welcome to reach out. There is no pressure, just an open invitation.

 

 

 

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The Side Effects of a Western Brain- Charlotte Nicholson)

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When rest feels unsafe, it is rarely about rest itself it is often about trust.