What Is It About The Invitation Into Our Bodies and Stillness That Makes Us Move?
- Allison Bruce
- 7 days ago
- 5 min read
Sunday morning I went to yoga.
I say that as though it is a simple thing, but the truth is that I new to frequently try to go and do not always make it. Life gets busy. Work expands to fill the available space. There is always something that feels more urgent than rolling out a mat and spending an hour listening to my body. This past Sunday was different. I was particularly in need of the class.
As I moved through the practice, I found myself paying attention to the relationship between how I was showing up on my mat and how I often show up in my life and work. Yoga has a way of revealing things we might otherwise miss. The places where I push harder than necessary. The moments where I am already thinking about what comes next instead of being fully present with what is happening now. The subtle ways I evaluate my performance rather than simply experiencing the moment.
The body is remarkably honest. It has a way of telling the truth about where we are, regardless of the stories we tell ourselves. Honsetly....I love this so much even when I want desperatly to resist the truth I am about to learn.
As the class came to an end, we were invited into shavasana, a Sanskrit word that translates to "corpse pose." Traditionally practiced at the end of yoga, shavasana involves lying flat on the back in stillness, allowing the body and mind to integrate the experience of the practice. While it may appear to be the easiest posture in yoga, many people find it to be one of the most challenging. There is nothing to accomplish. No posture to perfect. No movement to perform. The invitation is simply to rest and be present.
As the room settled into stillness, I became aware of the sounds around me. I could hear people shifting their bodies, adjusting their positions, scratching an itch, clearing their throats, or making small movements in response to the invitation to be still. What struck me was not the movement itself, but my awareness of it. While the invitation was to settle into my own body, what I found myself tracking was the movement in the room.
That realization stayed with me. What is it about the invitation into our bodies and stillness that makes us move? What is it about stillness that can feel so uncomfortable?
As a therapist, I have come to appreciate that stillness is not always experienced as peaceful. For many of us, stillness can feel vulnerable. When we stop moving, stop planning, stop producing, and stop distracting ourselves, we are often left face to face with what has been waiting beneath the surface. We become aware of thoughts we have been avoiding, emotions we have been managing through busyness, grief that has not yet been fully felt, anxiety that has been disguised as productivity, or longings we have not given ourselves permission to acknowledge.
The nervous system is always attempting to protect us. If turning inward has not always felt safe, it makes sense that we would orient outward. We scan the room. We pay attention to others. We think about our to do lists. We check our phones. We adjust our bodies. We do almost anything except remain fully present with ourselves. None of this is a flaw. It is simply information. It is a reflection of the strategies we have developed to navigate our lives.
In Gestalt work, we often speak about supporting awareness of sensation before interpretation (see Cycle of Expereince https://scholarlypublishingcollective.org/psup/gestalt-review/article-abstract/10/3/260/277123/The-Gestalt-Cycle-of-Experience-A-Creative-Tool?redirectedFrom=fulltext) . The body frequently knows something long before the mind has language for it. A tightening in the chest, a restless leg, a held breath, or an urge to move may all be meaningful expressions of our experience. Rather than immediately trying to change or manage them, we can become curious. What is this sensation asking for? What emerges if I stay with it just a little longer? The practice is not about achieving a particular state. It is about developing the capacity to remain present enough to discover what is unfolding.
The irony is that many of us are searching for greater peace while simultaneously avoiding the very place where peace is often found. The goal is not perfect stillness. I do not think that is realistic, nor do I think it is necessary. The invitation is awareness. To notice when we have drifted away from ourselves. To become curious rather than judgmental. To gently return our attention inward, again and again.
On Sunday morning, yoga reminded me that the mat is often a mirror. It reflects not only how we move our bodies, but also how we move through our lives. It reveals our habits, our defenses, our strengths, and our struggles. It invites us to become curious about the ways we leave ourselves and the ways we return.
Perhaps the practice is not about becoming better at yoga at all. Perhaps the practice is learning how to stay. To stay with discomfort. To stay with uncertainty. To stay with sensation. To stay with ourselves. Even for one breath longer than we did yesterday.
Reflection Questions
• When was the last time you intentionally created space for stillness? What did you notice?
• How do you typically respond when there is nothing to do, fix, accomplish, or achieve?
• What distractions or forms of movement do you use when uncomfortable thoughts or emotions arise?
• In what ways do you notice yourself orienting toward others rather than toward your own internal experience?
• What sensations, emotions, or thoughts become available when you slow down enough to listen to your body?
• What might your busyness be protecting you from feeling?
• If your body could speak honestly today, what would it want you to know?
• What would it look like to stay with yourself for one breath longer than feels comfortable?
• Where in your life are you being invited into greater presence rather than greater effort?
• What is one small way you can practice returning to yourself this week?
As I continue exploring these themes of embodiment, nervous system regulation, and returning to ourselves, I am reminded why I created the Nervous System Reset course. It is designed for those moments when we recognize that what we need is not another strategy to push harder, but a way to come back into relationship with ourselves.
The course offers practical tools, guided experiences, and opportunities for reflection that support greater awareness, regulation, and connection to the wisdom of your own body. It is not about fixing yourself. It is about learning to listen.
If you are curious about deepening this work, I invite you to explore it.
With light & love,
Allison
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