Today, we'll sit. And breathing won't be a command. It'll be an invitation.
I watch you fold into the chair, shoulders already anticipating something—protection, perhaps. Or old stories ready to defend. Your body knows how to survive long before it learns how to heal.
"We're going to move slowly," I say. Not as a therapist with a technique, but as a human witnessing another human's profound journey. "Slowly" means we respect your nervous system's wisdom. We don't override. We listen.
Your trauma isn't something to be excavated. It's a landscape to be gently explored, with respect. With patience that has no agenda.
Today, we'll practice being. Not fixing. Not solving. Just being.
I invite you to notice your breath. Not change it. Not control it. Just notice. Some days, noticing is the bravest work. Watching how your chest rises. How your lungs fill. How air moves through spaces that once held only fear.
Your body remembers everything. But your body is also learning. Learning that safety is possible, that quiet doesn't always mean danger. Learning that touch can be gentle. That boundaries can be respected. That you get to choose.
We start with 30 seconds of silence. Not to challenge you. But to create a container. A space where nothing is required. Where your nervous system can remember it is allowed to rest.
Some of us spend years believing our bodies are battlegrounds. Today, we're rewriting that story. Your body is not a war zone. Your body is a home. And you are learning to return to it.
We'll use gentle anchors. A soft blanket within reach. The sound of your own breathing. The feeling of your feet touching the ground. A weighted object to ground you. A glass of water. Simple, tangible reminders. You are here. You are safe. Now.
We'll celebrate the smallest victories. A moment of calm, deep breath. Setting a boundary, choosing yourself. Showing up, even when it's hard.
Some days, this will feel impossible. Some days, the weight of your history will feel overwhelming. And that's okay. There's no timeline for healing. No standard of perfection. Just gentle, persistent presence.
Your nervous system is rewiring. Slowly. Carefully. With compassion that has no deadline.
Healing is a conversation.
With yourself.
Moment by moment.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
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